Chapter 59 – Natural Selection

  Prince of Hell.

  The Warden raised a hand.

  “This,” he said, voice like war drums in a cathedral, “is your first task.”

  Gone was the syrup. Gone was the show. What remained was command—unflinching, unmerciful.

  “You stand here—one hundred strong. Not for mercy. Not for survival. But for purpose.”

  He stepped forward. Eyes grazing over the arena like a threat not yet spoken.

  “You will form twenty groups. Five members each. Ten minutes. Choose wisely. The ones nearest to you are... advisable.”

  He paused.

  “Teamwork,” he said without turning, “is key.”

  Then walked away like it meant nothing.

  Silence dropped like a blade.

  Then: rustling. Stammered footsteps. The math of panic—proximity over loyalty, body count over belief.

  Sael moved first. No hesitation.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Tapped three nearby men.

  Tapped Grim.

  “Let’s be a group.”

  No objections.

  Grim’s eyes flicked across them.

  One: twitchy. Shoulders tucked like he’d flinch even from sunlight. Deadweight.

  Two: smiling too fast. Nervous hands. Begged for approval with every breath. Liability.

  Three: silent. Straight-backed. Scar across his cheek. Grip like he’d already chosen who to kill. Acceptable.

  Grim nodded. Fine.

  Sael? Gone again. Already at the guards. Talking. Calm. That salesman smile like it wasn’t a bloodbath waiting.

  Five minutes crawled.

  He came back as the clock screamed final.

  “I got the task,” Sael said. “No deaths if we do it right.”

  Then he grabbed Grim’s wrist. Dragged him aside. Voice low. Words sharp.

  “You’re the Nation Slayer, right?”

  A beat. That same smile—gone.

  “I know what people like you are. What you could be.”

  He leaned in.

  “We survive this. Together. Don’t waste yourself with the rest.”

  Then—

  The Warden returned.

  Hands behind his back.

  “The first task,” he said, “is called... Natural Selection.”

  He smiled.

  “When one member remains from every group... the round ends.”

  Silence.

  One?

  It clicked too slowly. Whispers. Panic. The rules were a joke. They were the punchline.

  “What do you mean ‘one’?”

  “Are they picking?”

  “He said teamwork—what the hell—”

  “Wait—do we kill each other?”

  Confusion. Then comprehension. Then the real silence. The one with teeth.

  Grim turned to Sael.

  “I’ll pass,” he said. “I’m here to die.”

  A moment. Taut.

  Sael didn’t argue.

  He didn’t smile.

  He just said:

  “Then die.”

  Grim froze.

  Turned.

  And saw it.

  That smile.

  That smile.

  Not pity.

  Not cruelty.

  The kind that meant: This is mercy.

  The kind that burns worse than a wound.

  The kind that only appears when someone’s already said goodbye.

  End of Chapter.