"How many days has he been in there?"
Outside the capsule, despair had settled in differently in each of the two women. Morgana couldn't stay still — she walked, stopped, walked again, in such a way that the hours dissolved in her mind without leaving a trace. Time wasn't passing and at the same time seemed to have passed years. Livina, in contrast, was motionless — but with the kind of stillness that wasn't calm. It was containment. Unlike Morgana, who could at least heal, could do something, Livina didn't have that outlet. The most she could do was keep herself together.
"One week, two days and 13 hours."
"How can anyone last that long…" — Morgana said with the voice of someone reporting something they had verified personally and would have preferred not to have verified. — "Given the state he's in, I don't think he can hold on much longer. His body won't stop bleeding. I can heal him, but only for a few hours a day — and it's not enough."
Every day, Morgana forced the capsule open for a few seconds — just enough to pour water down Leonidas's throat and heal whatever she could before the system sealed it shut again. Her Lord was nothing like when he had first entered — his body now cadaverous, fragile in a way that felt one breath away from the end. It was only by his pulse, faint to the extreme, that she could tell he was still fighting.
"You're doing your best. He needs to react." — Livina's voice came out firmer than she had probably planned. — "There's nothing more you can do beyond what you're already doing."
"But the Purge."
"Yes." — a pause. — "He won't have much time, but the Oasis willed it this way. There's nothing to be done about that."
Livina spoke without looking at Morgana. Her eyes were on the sky — on something that hadn't been there a day before and was now the only visible thing in the night sky, glowing with the specific quality of something technological in the middle of the medieval, making it completely impossible not to notice.
Above the castle, a giant countdown had appeared in the air, suspended as though it had always been there and had only waited for the right moment to become visible. The Purge had no fixed date — there was the notion that it would happen within the first year, but even that wasn't precise. Sometimes a little before, sometimes right on time, in extremely rare occasions after. The average was one year. But average didn't mean certainty.
The Oasis allowed some weaker races — humans among them — to receive this warning in advance. It was a way of giving a chance to a race that, without this benefit, would see its already extremely high mortality rate reach levels that would make its presence in the system unviable. For some reason, this seemed to bother that system — as though the Oasis understood that completely exterminating a race didn't serve its purposes.
The problem was that the countdown the two were watching hadn't appeared counting down months. Much less weeks.
Hours.
Neither Morgana nor Livina, coming from strong and capable races, had benefited from this kind of advantage in their previous lives. But they knew from what their Lord had told them that humans had the advantage of knowing months in advance — that was what made the countdown useful, that was what made it different from a sentence.
For some reason, it had gone wrong.
"Even if time runs out, perhaps it's for the best." — Livina said, more to herself than to the friend at her side. — "If he loses consciousness in there, the Oasis will probably force him awake — and perhaps then he'll be able to use the magic to recover."
"The problem is if that doesn't happen." — Morgana spoke, her eyes red from something that wasn't anger but was equally intense. — "If he loses consciousness and the Oasis does nothing, he'll be dead. How did we not foresee this."
"We'll have to leave it in the Oasis's hands." — Livina finally looked into the young Archon's eyes, placing her hand on her shoulder with the gesture of someone who had learned that certain forms of comfort don't need elaborate words. — "The Purge is not a place of senseless death — it's an ordeal. Leaving our Lord unconscious would go against everything that place represents. The Oasis won't allow that." — she paused. — "And even if I'm wrong, we need to trust him. As long as he's alive, there's still a chance."
In the past week, they hadn't been able to train. Hadn't been able to concentrate. Even with the kingdom extremely safe and without threats — evolved constructions, workers with their routines, the territory taking the shape of something that had decided to last — they couldn't feel at ease. The one who had made the impossible seem easy was facing his greatest ordeal, and they — even being considered extremely powerful — could do nothing beyond watching.
"Only five minutes…" — Morgana murmured, finally gathering the courage to look at the enormous countdown. As though contemplating the abyss that would come when that clock reached zero.
"Yes."
When the countdown approached one minute, a dome began to form — identical to the one that protected the territory when the flag was placed, expanding slowly over every construction, every worker, every centimeter of the kingdom — stopping everything, freezing it in place. Morgana knew what it was. That dome would protect them from harm while the Lord was away. But it would also freeze them there, suspended between what had happened and what would come, until he returned or died.
"Damn." — Livina looked at the capsule and then at Morgana. — "Would you hold my hands?"
Morgana looked at Livina's outstretched hands. And took them.
"You're a good friend."
Livina's smile opened as she looked into her friend's eyes — but before she could say anything, the two froze at the same time, still holding hands.
The capsule opened.
[ Identifying target for the Purge — ]
[ Leonidas Aquiles — Lv 1… Unconscious. ]
[ Activating contingency plan… ]
[ Releasing protective enzymes… ]
[ Finalizing DNA reconstruction… ERROR. ]
[ Forcing deconstruction… ERROR. ]
[ Forcing reconstruction… ERROR. ]
[ Completing construction manually… Permitted. ]
[ Expanding cells and restoring consciousness… ]
Leonidas's body began to rise.
What had been cadaverous and on the brink of the end began to transform in seconds — not like something artificial, but like a structure being returned to what it had always been meant to be. The white hair grew visibly, as though months were passing in seconds, falling almost a meter down his back. The body, previously stocky and strong, now lean but sculpted — each muscle with the precision of something rewritten with intent.
But it wasn't just that which set him apart from before.
Tattoos.
Two — one on each arm — that seemed to come alive as he rose. Not static like common markings, but moving slightly, tracing each muscle as though breathing with him, growing little by little as he moved away from the ground.
When he finally reached the countdown, it disappeared.
The entire territory froze — like a photograph, static and lifeless.
The ordeal had begun.
✦
When I woke up, the first sense to return was touch.
Wind. Hitting my face with the intensity of something that wasn't a breeze but constant and growing pressure. My body ached as though I had cramped for hours — or perhaps days. There was no way to calculate yet.
I opened my eyes.
I was falling.
"Damn. Damn."
My body plummeted while my mind tried to piece together what had happened. Below me, an enormous plain — and points, several points, falling alongside me. Humans. The screams arrived before I finished processing — men, women, the kind of scream that isn't rehearsed but involuntary, that comes out when the body understands it's falling before the mind decides how to react.
"Damn… The Purge."
I didn't know how long I had been in the capsule. But my stomach answered before I needed to calculate — growling with the urgency of something that had been ignored for too long, and my mouth was dry with the specific texture of dehydration that starts collecting before the person realizes how much they owe.
Days. I had been there for days.
As I was still plummeting, I noticed the speed was decreasing. Gradually. Someone — or something — was controlling the descent. The good news was that I wouldn't turn into a pool of blood on the ground. But that was the only comfort available at the moment.
"I need to find water."
Hunger could kill — but more slowly. Dehydration was faster, more treacherous, and harder to ignore once the body started collecting.
I took advantage of the descent to observe the terrain. It was a large space with several biomes — the day seemed to be breaking, and it was clear there were borders between the environments, though there was nothing physical demarcating where one ended and another began. In the middle of everything, I spotted what appeared to be a lake and tried to move toward it.
It worked.
Somehow — I couldn't explain how, only that it had worked — I could choose which side to move toward while falling. It was like walking through the sky. Others nearby noticed what I was doing and began to copy it, with the speed of adaptation of those who understand that copying what works is more efficient than discovering from scratch.
Nobody seemed interested in the lake. Everyone moved away in opposite directions, toward what I believed to be the edges of the territory dividing into the various available biomes — leaving the center, and the lake, for me.
"Everyone probably came prepared." — I said to myself. — "Except me."
I laughed inwardly at my own incompetence. I had been so obsessed with power that I hadn't thought this could happen — exactly what was happening.
"To hell with it. I just need to drink something and figure out what I need to do to survive."
✦
As I descended, I began to map the landing area.
An enormous swamp — few places to hide. Some holes in the ground. Sparse trees, but with thick trunks that could serve as cover or support. Nothing that communicated reliable safety for more than the short term. It was exposure terrain — designed to hinder escape before hindering combat.
And then I noticed the second problem.
Of course I was in shock when I realized I had no weapons or clothes. But that wasn't what made the situation strange to me.
It was the body.
Leaner. With the build of someone who had spent their entire life running — but without having lost any muscle in the process. It wasn't the result of training. It was process — something that had rewritten the structure before rewriting the appearance. And across the entire body, tattoos I hadn't chosen and couldn't remember receiving.
"What are these tattoos?" — I paused. — "Wait… they're the same as his."
"Zeus. Show me what I gained from Zaridan."
Silence.
"Zeus?"
Nothing. I called again and understood — there, in that place, we were abandoned. No system. No support. No information beyond what the senses themselves could gather. It was strange, after so many months depending on a voice that answered everything, to feel the silence where it used to be. More human than I had felt in a long time. It wasn't comforting.
When the lake water came close enough, I glided like a leaf to about three meters above the surface — when whatever was holding us let go and I fell toward the water.
"Holy hell. This is the best water I've ever had in my life."
Thirst had completely overtaken me. I drank without worrying about whether I needed to boil it, without calculating risks, without any of the precautions I had learned were necessary. Honestly, I didn't believe the Purge would allow someone to die not from combat, but from dysentery — but it was a theory I was putting into practice, because there was no way I could light a fire or make the water viable before everything started. It was a gamble.
When I finally moved to dry land, I fell on the ground looking at the grey dawn sky — with only a few lights breaking through the clouds, insufficient to illuminate, but enough to remember there was something on the other side.
"Damn. What the hell do we have to do here."
✦
While watching the sky, four bright points descended slowly — separate, each in a different corner of what I understood to be the entire available territory.
And then the voice arrived.
Robotic. Rhythmic. With the specific quality of an announcement that hadn't been designed to be pleasant, only to be heard.
[ ATTENTION, creatures of the Purge. ] [ Today, the universe grants you an honor that few have received and fewer still deserve: ] [ You will be hunted by the finest newcomers. ] [ Trasco and Trisco — blood of the Birmans. ] [ Selkari — blade of the Bogari. ] [ Zurko — storm of the Aquamarines. ] [ Run. Fight. Pray to whatever gods still hear you. ] [ And if by the slimmest of odds you endure… you will know what it means to have survived the impossible. ]
[ Let's Begin ]
[ 71:59:58 ]
A countdown appeared — large, filling almost the entire field of vision for a second. Then it shrank, rising until it fixed itself in the far corner of vision like something that had decided it would stay there for as long as necessary.
I was in shock.
The silence that remained was the kind heavier than the noise that had preceded it.
"So that's why so many die."
The pieces fell into place all at once. It wasn't simple survival — it was survival against the strongest hunters in the Oasis.
The Birmans were bipeds with feline faces — Lion or Tiger, depending on the lineage — known for overwhelming strength that made them C-level danger creatures even alone, without armor, without preparation. They were among the ten strongest, firmly in position eight.
The Bogari were living blades — a race built for precision and speed before being built for brute force. As lethal as the Birmans, just using different instruments of death. Where the Birmans crushed, the Bogari cut. The result was the same. Considered the weakest among the great races, they held firm in position ten — but "weakest" was a relative term when any member of the race would kill any human with their eyes closed.
And last, the most feared — the Aquamarines. For decades, the strongest in the Oasis. Amphibious bipeds of the deep seas, where only B-level creatures could survive long enough to be relevant. Extreme cognitive capacity. Telekinesis that allowed the strongest to move spacecraft weighing thousands of tons. They had lost first position recently — but remained, by far, the race I least wanted to encounter. Psychic powers seemed to have no real limits. And what has no real limits has no turning point that can be calculated in advance.
Four hunters. Seventy-two hours.
"If our mission is to survive, theirs is probably to kill — but I doubt it's to kill everyone. Otherwise the Purge wouldn't make sense, even if it's difficult it always leaves some alive. So I just need to survive seventy-two hours."
It was the most optimistic calculation I could make. I didn't need to win. I needed not to be found for long enough.
Clearly easier said than done.
The first scream arrived before I finished thinking.
Then the second.
Then an entire chorus — the kind of sound that has no name because there's no context in which it occurs frequently enough to need one. Screams in cascade, coming from different directions, with the consistency of something that had started and had no plan to stop.
"There are around two hundred of us." — I calculated, looking at the points I had seen falling. — "If ninety percent die, twenty are left. At most."
I was furious. I had prepared so much — and there I was, naked, without weapons, without the system, trying to calculate how not to die in the next seventy-two hours while four incomparable level hunters circled.
"To hell with this. To hell with the Oasis."
✦
Wandering through the plain crouched, trying to find something I didn't quite know what it was, I finally saw another person.
A girl. Inside a hole large enough to hide two or three people, well camouflaged against the terrain. When she saw me, her expression was irritation before it was anything else.
"Get away from here, you crazy pervert. This is my hiding spot."
"I don't want your hiding spot." — I said. — "Do you have food?"
"You want my food? Go to hell, you lunatic."
I stood up and positioned myself in the open plain. Visible. Without cover. Her face went from irritated to desperate in less than a second — she understood what I was doing. I was deliberately exposing myself, and if someone noticed me, I could draw unwanted attention in the same direction as her hiding spot.
We stayed like that for a minute.
She gave in first. She threw at me what appeared to be a small wooden box — with enough force to communicate the irritation without needing more words.
"Just get away from here, you lunatic. You'll end up dragging me down with you."
I opened the box.
It was a bento. Complete, organized, with a variety I hadn't expected to find in any context, much less that one. The kind of thing that only appears when someone has planned carefully and had access to resources to plan well. Noble, certainly — probably with a storage ring full of provisions. I wanted to thank her properly. But I needed to leave quickly.
"Thank you. I won't forget what you did."
"Good. Go to hell. Just get out of my sight."
I ran. Found another hole at some distance and threw myself inside.
I ate.
It was absurdly good — as though the best chef in the world had collaborated with the best home cook in the world and the result had been that. I barely opened my eyes while eating. And then it was over.
"Damn. Already gone."
But my body was responding. Strength returning in waves, the insatiable hunger yielding, the senses growing sharper as the fuel reached where it needed to reach.
"Right. No hunger, no thirst." — I organized what had been resolved. — "Clothes are still missing."
Without armor coverage, any attack would be a problem. But earth could serve another purpose — camouflage. It wasn't protection against force, but it was invisibility against common eyes. The problem was the Birmans — with thermal vision, any human silhouette in open terrain would be identified with one hundred percent certainty. Wet swamp earth could mask body temperature enough to create doubt, if not certainty. It was a gamble. But it was the only one I had available without resources.
I covered my entire body with earth. Lay down. And waited.
The screams, which had previously arrived in constant cascade, were now sporadic. More spaced out. But no less desperate — when they came, they came whole, with the quality of sound from someone who had stopped calculating and was simply reacting.
[ 52:32:02 ]
"Time seems to stand still."
Almost a day lying tense on the ground. Exhaustion was collecting its debt, but sleep was impossible — any new sound was reason enough not to sleep, and the intense cold of the wet earth didn't help, demanding constant control not to let chattering teeth betray the position. Without Zeus, I didn't know how many of us were still alive, nor could I understand what was happening beyond the reach of my eyes. I could still see, far away, the spot where the girl had hidden — she appeared to be fine.
As the night passed, visibility gradually returned. Dawn arrived.
And brought more tension than relief.