On the dark world of Earth, deep within the smog-choked city of Saruda, Markus Remington sat through another mundane morning at Altain Liberal Arts College. The day had been aggressively average: wake up late, stumble through lectures, and retreat to the cafeteria at noon.

In the half-empty hall, Markus stared at his tablet, his finger drumming a frantic rhythm on the table. He was staring at a writing assignment that was long overdue.

“Ugh, how am I supposed to write a story when nothing ever happens?” Markus groaned.

“I swear Ms. Ashton gave me this assignment out of pure spite.” He rubbed his temples, but before he could retreat into his thoughts, a pair of arms hooked firmly around his neck.

“Hey, Mark!” a familiar voice chirped.“Whatcha up to?”

Markus sighed, though a soft smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back into the embrace. It was his best friend, Layla. 

“Why must you always resort to strangulation as a greeting?” He reached up and gently flicked her forehead.

“Ow!” She let go, pouting as she rubbed the spot. “Why do you always hit me? Also, you didn't answer my question.” Layla playfully punched his shoulder before sliding into the chair beside him.

“Just Ms. Ashton's stupid assignment.” Markus let his head hit the table with a dull thud.

Layla watched him, casually crunching through a bag of salted chips. 

“Oh, the ‘Tell Your Story’ thing? I think it’s just her way of getting to know us. She’s still new, give her a break.”

Markus sat up, looking at her with an annoyed look. “If she wanted to know me, she should’ve just asked questions like the last teacher. This is just homework with extra steps.” He looked up at the ceiling, sighing. Seeing an opening, Layla slid closer and rested her head on his lap.

“Relax, would you?” She reached up, her hand tracing his jawline. “You’re way too stressed. You need a day off.” She paused, a predatory little smile blooming on her face.

“I’m…not doing anything tomorrow. If you're free, we could finally go on that date you promised me...” Her voice dropped to a soft, sensual purr, her fingers tracing a slow, teasing circle over his chest.

Markus caught her hand, looking down at her. “You still remember that? That was a year ago, back at—”

“Graduation. On the rooftop,” she interrupted, her smile growing. “It was really romantic. Just so you know, if you had confessed that day...” She pulled his face inches from hers. 

“I would have happily been yours~”

A faint red hue touched Markus’s cheeks, but he knew her better than that. 

“...You just want to have sex again, don't you?”

Layla’s gaze flickered away, her voice tinged with mock annoyance. 

“...Yes.”

“Well,” Markus grinned, turning her face back toward him, “My classes are over and the night ones are boring. Let’s just head back to my place.”

As they walked out, Markus pulled her closer, interlocking their fingers. “You could’ve just asked to hang out, Layla. You didn't have to do all the extra stuff. You almost made my heart jump out of my chest.”

She rolled her eyes, though she didn't pull away. “Where’s the fun in being direct?”

The next morning arrived as quickly as night fell. Markus lay buried in his sheets while Layla dressed quietly. Before heading out, she leaned over the bed, pressing a small kiss to his cheek.

“I’m heading out. Call me when you’re up, okay?”

“Mmmph... I’ll text you,” he mumbled, opening one eye.

She sighed, flicking his forehead one last time. “Try not to be late, again”

The click of the lock was followed shortly by the aggressive ring of his smartphone. Markus groaned and fumbled for the device. “...Hello?”

“Is this Markus Remington?” The voice on the other end was a monotone chill.

“Yes? Who is—”

“I regret to inform you that your father has passed away.”

The words hit like a physical weight. Markus didn't feel sadness—not for the man who had abandoned him—but a strange, hollow shock.

“He has left a will for you,” the voice continued, cold and professional. “It will arrive shortly. My condolences.” The line went dead.

“Why would that old piece of shit leave a will?” Markus paced the room, his hand under his chin. “He walks out when I’m twelve, stays gone for eleven years, and then just... dies? What the hell is this?”

A sharp knock at the door interrupted his spiral. Before he could reach it, a plain envelope slid through the mail slot. He checked the peephole—the hallway was empty.

Inside wasn't a check or a legal document, but a single, dark purple card. As Markus inspected the heavy stock, the sharp corner sliced his index finger. He winced, a drop of blood smearing across the surface. The card reacted instantly.

Glowing, violet letters burned into the paper: “You have been invited to participate in the Gambit Games. Do you accept it? To confirm, spill more blood to be teleported.”

“What the fuck?” he muttered. He checked the card for batteries or hidden projectors, but there was nothing. Shaken and confused, he tossed the card into the trash, shoved the experience into the back of his mind, and left for class.

The next morning, the sound of knocking was heard—loud and insistent. Markus dragged himself to the door, his temper fraying.

“Coming!” he yelled, throwing the door open. “God damn, what part of 'I’m coming' did you not—"

The words died in his throat.

Standing in his doorway was a woman nearly seven feet tall. She wore a crisp white shirt tucked into a black miniskirt, with a black-and-gold coat draped over her shoulders like a cape. Without waiting for an invitation, she stepped past him, her presence filling the small apartment.

“Well hello there, handsome,” she said, dropping onto his couch with practiced grace. She studied him for a few seconds. “Wow. You look just like your father.”

Markus blinked, his heart hammering. “H-How...do you know my father?”

“I’m an….old friend.” She crossed her legs, her expression a mask of empty sincerity. “Knew him for years. Sorry for your loss, by the way.” 

Something was wrong with this woman. She looked human, but the air around her felt heavy and distorted. Markus’s stomach turned; a sharp, stabbing headache began to bloom behind his eyes.

His breathing grew heavy. The room seemed to tilt. “What are you? An angel? Some kind of Celestial?”

“Haha, no, darling,” she laughed, slouching back and resting her chin on her hand. “I’m Niyra. I’m something much worse, and a lot more powerful than a simple celestial. Now, I’d like to formally invite you to the Gambit Games. Your father’s contract is already in process, so let’s get moving.”

“Contract? The hell are you talking about?” Markus snapped, the mention of his father like salt in an old wound.

Beneath his anger, a logical gear turned. Niyra claimed to have known his father for years, yet she looked barely older than a grad student. She didn't have the pointed ears of an elf or the horns of a demon. She just looked... human. While he spiraled into thought, his gaze lingered on her a second too long.

“Hey, you gonna keep staring?” she grinned, her teeth white and scarily sharp. “I know I’m beautiful, but at least have the decency to say it instead of gawking like a deer in headlights.”

She let out a short, melodic laugh that died as quickly as it began. Her expression flattened into a cold, lifeless mask. “You have yet to give me an answer, child.”

The air in the room curdled. The tension was a physical weight on Markus’s chest, a silent promise that one wrong word would end his life. His fight-or-flight reflex screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go.

“...I accept,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He couldn't look at her. Even with his eyes averted, he felt the presence of something ancient and predatory sitting on his cheap sofa.

When he finally looked up, his blood turned to ice.

Niyra’s face had split into a wide, unnatural smile that reached far past her cheeks. Her eyes were twin pits of endless black, and her hair began to writhe and lengthen like a nest of shadow-snakes.

“Mr. Markus Remington...” Her voice had morphed into a distorted choral nightmare, an echo of two voices speaking in unison. 

“I, the Soul Devourer, happily accept your entry into the most deadly game throughout the realms.”

Her limbs began to stretch, growing grossly out of proportion until she resembled a living sleep paralysis entity. “Welcome to the Gambit Games~”

The sound of a single, sharp finger-snap echoed through the apartment. Then, the world vanished into black.

The darkness broke with a blinding flash. Markus gasped, his eyes flying open to find himself in a world of sterilized white. He was lying on a white bed with sheets that felt like silk against his skin. A spike of panic hit him as he realized he was completely naked.

He scrambled up, heart racing. In an open closet nearby, his clothes were neatly hung. He dressed with trembling hands, realizing with a jolt of recognition that these were his favorites—the set Layla had bought him for his birthday.

The thought of her hit him like a physical blow. He collapsed to the floor, his breath coming in ragged hitches. Layla would be looking for him. She’d go to his apartment and find it empty, or worse. He looked around the featureless white void, the silence ringing in his ears.

“Where the hell am I?”