Boots skidded across slick, razor-edged crystal, kicking up clouds of shimmering dust that caught the moonlight like a thousand tiny stars. Blades were drawn in hurried, clattering motions; shields were checked with grim efficiency.
Then, almost suddenly, the terrain leveled out into a vast area of fractured glass-like stone, sharp enough to slice through thin soles with a single careless step. The air buzzed with a strange, electric hum, as if the valley itself were alive, its pulse thrumming just beneath the surface.
And then the visors lit up.
Each soldier's HUD flickered to life, a deep, echoing voice slithering into their minds like an unwelcome guest:
ㄴWelcome, Dear Actors, to your first Act! Wishing you the best in your survival!ㄱ
The message was too cheerful, too rehearsed, as if some malevolent force behind an unseen curtain was watching, waiting for the performance to begin.
Belial let out a quiet exhale, his breath visible in the frigid air. He stood close to Xin, who adjusted his satchel of healing kits and mana pouches with nervous precision. Belial placed a firm hand on Xin's shoulder, a silent vow. He was the shield to the healer's flame, and he'd carve through hell itself before letting anything through. Behind them, Shun stood tall among the middle ranks, the faint glint of his Dragonborne scales reflecting the valley's eerie glow. Hard as Diamond, colder than death, those scales were a testament to his unyielding preseverence. He barely blinked, scanning the field ahead with a quiet confidence that anchored the unit. Shun didn't need defending. He was the storm others braced against.
But at the front—where fate's blade cut first—stood Raven and Toren.
Raven towered over the others, a colossus in black armor as if forged from the night sky itself. The horns of his helm curved forward, framing an expressionless mask that had become legend in training. He was silent, as always, his presence a void that swallowed doubt. His gauntlets, nearly as big as a mans head, he cracked his knuckles ready, its surface glinting with the promise of ruin.
Beside him, Toren's lean frame was taut with anticipation, a predator poised before the hunt. Narrow cuts crisscrossed his cheek and neck from earlier skirmishes, barely crusted over, ignored like background noise. His dual blades hung loose at his sides, their edges catching the moonlight in wicked flashes. He was speed and precision incarnate, a storm compressed into human form.
The soldiers shuffled into formation behind them, thirty strong, their breaths ragged but their eyes burning with resolve. The valley stretched out before them, a glittering death trap of jagged crystals and shifting shadows. The hum in the air grew louder, more insistent, a vibration that set teeth on edge and made hearts race.
And then the monsters came.
At first, they shimmered at the valley's edge like heat waves on desert stone, indistinct and unreal. But as they moved, they solidified—hulking forms of reflective crystal and shadow, shaped like animals twisted in a mirror's nightmare. Limbs that ended in blades, faces with too many eyes, movements too smooth to be natural. A pack of them surged forward, their forms flickering as they reflected the soldiers' own faces back at them, distorted and wrong.
Raven lifted his greatsword in silence. A slow inhale. A grounding of his stance. The weight of his gauntlets felt like home.
Toren's voice cut through the tension like a war drum: "Form two lines! We run fast—we hit hard! This is a Hit and run, not a slog! We have no stragglers!"
Raven didn't wait for the second shout. His armored boot struck the crystal floor, and the ground beneath him cracked with the force, a spiderweb of fractures radiating outward. He charged, a tidal wave of obsidian and fury, his fist raised like a guillotine.
The soldiers surged behind him, spurred by the thunder of his motion. Toren was right at his side, slipping through gaps like liquid shadow, his dual blades glinting as he sliced past the first wave of creatures with surgical grace. The air exploded with the sound of shattering glass and unearthly screams.
Raven didn't think—he moved. His breathing became rhythmic with each step: inhale, swing, exhale, impact. The first mirror beast lunged—a hulking ape-like creature with arms like spears, its face a warped mockery of Raven's own. He ducked low, shoulder-checked the beast with enough force to stagger it, then brought his fist down in a thunderous arc. The creature's head shattered into kaleidoscopic shards, spraying glass and viscous blood across the ground. The light bent strangely around the corpse, and the earth hungrily absorbed the remains, as if the valley itself were feeding.
He didn't stop to watch.
Another came, smaller, faster, its body a blur of crystalline claws. Raven let it leap, then used its momentum against it, grabbing it mid-air with one massive hand and slamming it into the ground. The impact sent a quake through the platoon's line, and a soldier behind him faltered, stumbling. Raven grunted, already moving, dragging his sword behind him like a reaper's scythe ready to rise again.
They couldn't slow down. Every second counted.
Shun's voice echoed in his mind from earlier: "There are weak points. Fast ones. Scout-class monsters. Kill them first. If we're fast, we avoid the heavy hitters until the end." Raven was born for this pace, his every motion a testament to relentless momentum.
Toren, meanwhile, didn't charge—he glided. He moved between creatures like a ghost, his feet barely touching the ground. Every strike was precise, every motion deliberate. The mirror monsters couldn't keep up. His blades sang with each cut—a high, deadly tune that ended in screams and shattering. A serpent-like wraith with a mouth like a broken window lunged at a younger soldier on the right flank, its jagged maw snapping. Toren was there before it reached him, a single spinning slash removing the creature's head in a spray of glittering fragments. Before the soldier could even stammer a thank you, Toren was already cutting through two more that had tried to flank him.
"Eyes forward!" he barked, his voice sharp enough to snap the unit back into focus. "Don't hesitate!"
His presence grounded them. His speed inspired them. He was what they could become if they survived.
Toren glanced to his side. Raven moved like a god of war, unstoppable, unyielding.
Good. They were setting the pace.
Behind them, the soldiers fought like a well-oiled machine, cutting down monsters in their path without stopping. Each kill triggered the system, a faint pulse of energy as the valley absorbed fragments of ether. Power swelled in those who struck true—strength bloomed where fear had once taken root.
Kaz, the young soldier from earlier, drove his spear through a dog-like beast, his face alight with a mix of terror and triumph as the system registered his kill.
Another soldier, a woman with a scarred lip, laughed wildly as she cleaved a monster in two, her axe glowing faintly with newfound power.
Xin's healing waves pulsed through the lines when wounds threatened to slow them, a warm golden light that knitted flesh and steadied nerves. Belial covered him like a shadow, his wheel a blur as it cleaved through any monster that dared approach. One creature—a spider-like horror with legs like mirrored blades—lunged at Xin, only to meet Belial's weapon mid-air. The impact sent shards flying, and Belial's cold, calculating eyes never wavered as he stepped back into position, ready for the next threat.
Shun, at the center, was the unit's heartbeat. He adjusted their formation with crisp, cold commands, calling out weak spots and redirecting soldiers as the battle shifted.
"Left flank, tighten up! Watch the scout-class on the ridge!" His voice was a lifeline, keeping morale high and casualties low. His empty scabbard hummed at his side, its runes flaring with each kill the unit claimed, as if it were drinking in the valley's energy.
And still, Raven and Toren pushed forward.
They had to.
Because somewhere in the heart of the valley, the final wave waited. Bigger. Smarter. Meaner. The heavy hitters Shun had warned them about, the ones that could turn this speed run into a slaughter if they weren't careful.
But for now, Raven focused only on what was in front of him. A bear-like monster with a face like a shattered mirror roared, its claws raking the air. He stomped forward, fist clenching and his voice finally broke the silence—a deep, guttural command that shook the air: "NO MERCY. YOU MUST PRESEVERE"
Toren echoed it with a smirk, his blades flashing as he darted past another beast. "No survivors..."
The run continued—fast, brutal, unforgiving. The valley sang with the clash of steel and the shattering of crystal, a symphony of chaos and defiance. The soldiers were no longer just survivors—they were warriors, carving their place in this nightmare world with every swing, every kill.
But the hum in the air was growing louder, deeper, a warning that the valley wasn't done with them yet. The ground trembled faintly, and in the distance, something massive stirred, its silhouette looming through the crystal fog.
Raven and Toren exchanged a glance, their resolve unshaken.
The final wave was coming.
And these thirty individuals were about to enter their first nightmare under the glassy sky.