The arena was silent now.
The weapons that had risen from the ground shimmered under the artificial light, their gleaming edges untouched. Ethan's grip on his sword was firm, but his arm trembled ever so slightly. It wasn't fear—at least not in the way it had been during the gorilla fight or the werewolf game. No, this was different. This was the realization that everything—the pain, the blood, the betrayals, the alliances—had brought him here. To this final standoff. To this choice to not back down.
Across the arena, Violet sat cross-legged, her dagger resting in her lap, eyes closed. Her breathing was steady, almost meditative. It made Ethan wonder what she was thinking—what her last thoughts might be, if this was it.
He lowered himself to the ground, resting the sword beside him. The cool floor sent a chill through his body, but he welcomed it. It kept him grounded. Present.
His mind wandered.
Flashback — Age 16
The group home had smelled like bleach and loneliness. Ethan remembered the flickering overhead light in the hallway, the way the other kids avoided eye contact. Everyone had their own scars—some visible, some buried—but they all wore the same quiet hopelessness like a second skin.
He remembered when a social worker had told him he was "emotionally shut down." That he needed to learn how to "connect." But how could he? Everyone he'd ever connected to had left or betrayed him.
Except her. Amy.
His first girlfriend.
She'd smiled at him like he was a person. Like he mattered.
But years later, she smiled at another man the same way—after draining his bank account and leaving him with debt collectors at the door. That betrayal had hurt more than the orphanage ever did. More than any punch he'd taken in the maze. It wasn't just about the money. It was the confirmation that maybe… maybe no one ever really meant it.
Maybe he was disposable.
Back in the arena, Ethan's fists clenched.
This game—this madness—had been the first time he'd felt alive in years. Not happy. Not safe. Just real. Like the layers of fake smiles and polite small talk had been peeled away, and what was left was something honest: blood, sweat, fear, instinct.
He looked up at Violet again. She was still motionless.
And then she opened her eyes.
She met his gaze, and something passed between them—silent, raw, unspoken understanding. She, too, had been broken by the world. She, too, had chosen this fight over fading into irrelevance.
Flashback — Violet's Past
A hospital corridor. Screaming. The taste of metal in her mouth.
She was 12 when the drunk driver T-boned her family's car. Her father was gone instantly. Her mother lingered in a coma for weeks before passing. Violet had survived with a fractured arm and a chest full of guilt. The state said she was lucky. But she didn't feel lucky. She felt like a mistake.
She learned quickly that pity only lasted so long.
By 16, she'd been kicked out of three foster homes and was couch-surfing with people who used her as a disposable roommate. She toughened up. Learned to lie, manipulate, fight when needed. And most of all, she learned to depend on no one.
And yet, here she was. Facing Ethan. A man who didn't flinch when others cowered. Who protected strangers when it would've been easier to walk away. Who chose to fight her rather than sacrifice her.
She respected him. That was the worst part.
Because now she had to kill him.
Violet stood and dusted off her pants.
Ethan stood too, sword back in hand.
"Still sure about this?" she asked, voice low but clear.
He nodded. "You?"
She gave a half-smile. "Yeah. I didn't come this far to settle for just money."
Ethan looked around. The walls of the arena had become distant, like the battlefield existed in its own world now—separate from time, separate from everything they'd left behind. There was nothing left to go back to. No home. No comfort. No illusions.
Just the fight.
But still, they didn't move.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. They stood across from each other, ten paces apart, holding the weight of their entire lives in their hands, staring at someone they didn't want to hate.
"What do you think the power is?" Violet asked suddenly.
Ethan blinked, caught off guard. "I don't know. But it has to be real. They've gone too far to be bluffing."
"You think it'll be worth it?"
He hesitated. Then: "If I live... I'll make it worth it."
She nodded slowly. "Me too."
They sat down again. It wasn't time yet. The billionaire's voice hadn't called for it. It was as if the game was letting them say goodbye—not to each other, but to the versions of themselves that existed before the game. The ones who'd cried quietly at night. The ones who trusted the world to be kind.
That world was gone now.
And maybe, they didn't want it back.
Flashback — Maze Night
The night before the first round, Ethan had stayed awake, curled under a metal staircase. He could hear people crying in the dark, whispering to themselves, praying. He remembered feeling alone—but also free. No one expected anything from him anymore. No job, no bills, no lies.
Just survival.
And it felt pure.
Like the world had finally stopped pretending.
Violet had watched him that night from a distance. She'd seen the way he checked on others, gave up a ration bar without asking for one in return. She'd marked him early—not as weak, but as dangerous. Because people like him… people with hearts—they could break you without even meaning to.
And now, she wondered if he had.
The lights in the arena dimmed.
The air grew colder.
A familiar voice—calm, amused, inhuman—filled the space around them.
"The time has come."
Ethan and Violet stood, no longer uncertain.
"You've made your choice. There will be no turning back. The final round begins… soon."
They looked at each other one last time.
Not enemies.
Not friends.
Just two people who refused to quit.
Two people who were ready to leave behind everything they were… for the chance to become something more.