She’s remained out of the spotlight until now—quiet, observant, easily overlooked. But now she speaks with a calm, level tone that slices through the panic. Her face is flushed from the cold, but her eyes are sharp and steady.

“Who’s that girl?” Rig asks, standing before the projection.

“Beats me—I don’t usually pay attention to anyone this early,” Gemml replies.

"Is there a countdown? Maybe a few more people need to die first… or some combination of both?" She thinks, careful not to give anyone an edge.

At this point, two thousand and three contestants remain. Many have lost the will to continue—given in to despair. The sight of drifting limbs, the stench of blood, the lifeless heads bobbing on the surface.

Isaac—still unconscious—is unaware of the chaos above as he continues to sink—now ten metres from the floor. The Virelith senses this and charges toward him. But it shows no interest in devouring his limp body. Instead, it slams him upward toward the surface—so fast the ripples become waves. The waves drag exhausted swimmers closer to the edge. The Virelith detects three within the ten-meter zone and attacks again.

POOF! The water disappears. Sprawled across cold stone was the bodies of everyone who survived. Isaac and a few other unresponsive bodies now lie on solid ground. The floating body parts—the stench of blood—all gone.

A boy collapses forward onto all fours and vomits, the sound of retching cutting through the still air.

His breath comes in choking gasps, tears streaming down his face. “I was drowning,” he sobs. “I was drowning—I was dying—!”

Beside him, another contestant scrambles backward in a blind panic, eyes darting across the dry floor like he’s still trying to swim. “It was just there—the water—where the hell did it go?!”

A girl clutches her chest and begins rocking back and forth, her voice barely audible. “I can’t feel my legs… I can’t feel my legs—”

A boy with red-rimmed eyes just sits in place, soaked and shivering. He doesn’t move—doesn’t speak. He stares at his own trembling hands like they belong to someone else, then lies back against the stone and exhales a long, broken breath.

Despite being rid of the immediate danger, a majority were still petrified. Blank stares—profuse sweating and heavy breathing.

A lanky teen in a soaked hoodie crawls over to one of the unconscious bodies and checks for a pulse. "This one's alive," he says. "Still breathing!"

A few others shuffle toward the scene-hesitant, wide-eyed.

One of them blinks. "Wait... is that the flappy arm guy?"

"I'm not surprised," someone mutters. "The weird ones always live.”

Suddenly a swirl of black smoke appears in front of everyone.

The smoke curls and fades, revealing Rig and Gemml standing at the centre of the stone platform.

“Congratulations on getting here,” Gemml applauds them.

“The goal was simple—survive until two thousand remain. Considering we started with over three thousand—I’d say you ought to applaud yourselves,” Rig added mockingly.

“YOU!” The shout erupts from a girl near the edge, her voice ragged, sharp with grief and fury. “You monsters! What the hell was that?!”

Others join in—weak at first, then growing louder.

“People died! You killed them!”

“You think our lives exists to play your sick game!”

Rig doesn’t flinch. Gemml doesn’t even blink. They remain unfazed, it wasn’t the first time they’d heard such outbursts.

“Say something!” a boy cries, staggering toward them, fists clenched. “You—You made us believe in this world! You lied!”

Gemml lifts a brow. “Did we?”

The boy stops, trembling.

“You said we could leave pain behind,” someone else growls. “That this world would be better. That we could live.”

“You can,” Rig replies, a slight grin tugging at his mask. “You just have to survive this first.”

That hangs in the air for a moment—bitter and cruel. Another contestant tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat. He sits down instead, head in his hands. The silence creeps back in. Gemml surveys the soaked, scattered contestants—all shivering, dazed, or collapsed.

“You seem confused. So let us make something clear.” Gemml steps forward, gaze sweeping the crowd like a blade. “That was Trial One.”

A stunned hush follows. For some, the words don’t register. For others, they hit like a hammer. A few visibly deflate—shoulders dropping, eyes hollowing out. They had been too focused on survival, too overwhelmed by panic, to even consider that this was only the beginning.

“There are more?” someone croaks.

“But of course, it’s called the Derium Trials for a reason,” Rig says brightly. “Get it? Trial—s, plural. Did you really think it’d be over after only taking a dip in the pool?”

“I barely made it through that one,” another voice whispers, trembling.

“And many didn’t,” Gemml adds, tone colder now. “Take that however you will.”

The backlash fizzles. No one has the energy to fight anymore.

Gemml turns away, voice flat but firm. “Get some rest. Settle down. You’ll need it.”

Rig’s grin widens. “Once everyone’s up, we’ll share the details for Trial Two!”

And with that, the two figures dissolve into smoke—leaving behind a silence too thick to cut.

The surviving contestants remain still. No more outbursts. Just the occasional sob, the rustle of clothes, and the haunted breaths of those who’ve seen too much in too little time.

Isaac still hasn’t woken up. His chest rises and falls gently now, but he lies limp—his expression is calm in contrast to the chaos around him.

Risa sits quietly nearby, waist bag still clutched tight, eyes narrowed in thought. She watches Isaac for a moment, then looks out over the others.

Two thousand contestants remain to challenge the second trial.