Yamino sat upon the dark obsidian throne deep within his dungeon. As he closed his eyes, his body vanished, pulled into the ether like smoke caught in a vacuum.
When his eyes opened again, the world had changed.
He stood amidst a vast, infinite plain of cracked marble and ancient stone. Pillars of forgotten empires stretched into the gray sky above, and beneath them—chaos. A sea of people. A million, at least.
Voices overlapped. Some shouted in confusion, others whispered in awe. Languages from worlds beyond comprehension filled the air, clashing and colliding.
"Where are we?!"
"Is this some kind of simulation?"
"I was just at school… what the hell?!"
"Who touched my arm—was that YOU?!"
"Silence, mortals! This must be the Trial of Gods!"
No one noticed Yamino. They couldn't. To them, he didn't exist—just another background phantom. Being a ghost in the real world had its advantages. Here, it was a perfect disguise.
He observed calmly, eyes scanning. Most of them aren't from this world, he thought. Different auras, different presences. Some feel like fantasy. Some… like sci-fi. It's a gathering of chaos.
And then—
> [Hello players. Welcome to the Game of Wars. Your first game is: War of Babylon.]
Everyone froze. The sky above crackled with golden runes, forming letters and symbols in all languages.
> [Game Rules:]
1. Survive.
2. Kill and win.
3. Kill everyone.
> [Note: No one will die here… except the last 100.]
> [Top ten players will receive one wish fulfilled.]
[1st ranked player will receive a mystery prize.]
> [Warning: Personal powers are restricted in this zone.]
> [Game begins in… 10.]
"W-what?! We have to kill people?!"
"What kind of sick joke is this!?"
"Only the last 100 survive? That's murder! Mass murder!"
"Oh my god… Oh my god…"
Yamino cracked his neck and gave a half-smile. "Heh. Same as those memories."
No one noticed the quiet man grinning to himself.
> [The Game Starts.]
The ground vanished beneath their feet.
Screams echoed as a million souls fell from the sky, wind whipping through them like bullets. Some flailed helplessly, others closed their eyes, embracing the unknown.
Yamino didn't move.
He was calm, eyes scanning the world below.
There.
In the thick green spread of a forest, he saw it—a village, half-hidden beneath the canopy. That must be one of the early spawn points. His body responded instantly.
Teleportation confirmed.
The world blurred. The next moment, Yamino was standing just outside a worn wooden house at the village's edge. Moss clung to its walls. The air smelled like pine and ash.
Without hesitation, he sprinted inside.
BANG!
He slammed the door shut behind him and slid the rusty latch into place. Dust rained from the frame.
Yamino muttered under his breath, "First rule of war: don't be the first one spotted."
He ducked beneath the window, peeking out carefully. In the distance, other players blinked into existence—some on rooftops, some in fields, some already shouting and swinging makeshift weapons.
Heavy boots thudded on dirt outside. Someone was close.
Yamino didn't breathe.
"Anyone in there?! Open up!"
Bang! Bang! Someone hit the door twice.
"Come on, I saw you! I know you're in there!"
Yamino whispered, "Idiot." He quietly stepped back, grabbing a nearby broomstick. It wasn't much, but it would do.
Then the footsteps retreated.
Yamino exhaled. "One down… 999,999 to go."
.
.
.
The house was old, creaky, and falling apart. Yamino spent the rest of the day searching every corner—from broken drawers to spider-infested cupboards, even lifting floorboards in hopes of finding something of value.
All he found were three guns: two rusted pistols and a long sniper rifle, its scope cracked at the edge. Limited bullets. No enhancement. No enchantment. Just standard human-world weapons.
"Tch. Garbage," Yamino muttered, holding one pistol up to the fading light leaking through the dusty curtains. "In a game like this, without powers, these won't even scratch the real monsters."
Still, he slung the sniper over his back and shoved the pistols into his waistband. Useless or not, a weapon is better than bare fists.
He climbed to the second floor, an unsteady wooden stair groaning under each step. The windows up here gave a better view—tall trees swaying, the distant sound of battle, a few distant flashes of light and explosions. But no people. No targets.
He sighed, lowering the sniper. "Figures. The one time I try to act like a sniper."
Too tired to keep watch, Yamino unhooked the strange metal boxes from his side—those strange artifacts from the dungeon, still sealed and faintly pulsing. He dropped them gently next to the guns by the window. With that done, he let his body fall backward onto the floor.
"Just a few minutes," he mumbled, arms spread, eyes heavy.
What Yamino didn't notice was the faint hum that began to vibrate through the air.
The metal boxes began to twitch, barely noticeable at first. Then the pistols shifted—sliding across the wooden floor as though pulled by invisible threads. Closer… closer… until they slammed into one of the boxes with a metallic click, vanishing inside like iron into a furnace.
The sniper was next.
It shook once, twice—then zipped across the floor and into the second box with a soft whump.
Yamino, lying motionless, didn't flinch.
His breath was slow. Calm. For the first time since the game began, he looked almost… human.
The boxes pulsed once more, a faint glow radiating from their seams, like something inside was changing. Evolving.
And Yamino?
He slept through it all.