The floor lurched forward, walls shifted, fog twisted, Players tossed around.

  In front of them as they regained their composure was a forest of dead trees and flowers.

  Grey as far as the eye could see.

  Whispers could be heard off in the distance.

  Lucia and the group gathered around each other, for a moment in silence trading glances to one another.

  Lucia broke the pattern, " What the hell is happening? Are you all OK?"

  Brant responded with a snarky "What do you think?" while looking at the other players.

  The other players sat in disbelief, shock, horror, confusion.

  Time passed, eventually small conversations formed between the others, while names were exchanged throughout.

  Lucia, Brant, Camden, Marcus, Veyra, Kelly, Tyne, Kayla, John, Quentin, Luke, Adam, Zack

  Lucia asked the others around her if they knew where the other guy was that took down Calvarix, no surprise to her none of them knew and some asked "Who"?

  She realized thinking back that aside from her, Saylor, and Brant no one else had fought that monstrosity.

  "Wait, how do I know his name?" She never asked him or even approached him. "What is happening"?

  She re-approached the group "Did you all get abilities"?

  All of them shook their heads, Brant followed up with "We should tell each other our abilities to formulate a strategy. We do not know how long this game will last or what we encounter"

  Some agreed to share, others hesitated.

  First to explain her abilities was Lucia, BloodWright, enables her to manipulate blood into weapons, barriers, chains.

  Veyra explained next, System-Breaker, allows her to see brief visions of battles and possible outcomes, can influence her surroundings to those visions.

  Marcus volunteered next, BurnWrought, allows him to set fire to objects based on his pulse and control the timing of ignition.

  No one else volunteered information, silence settled, some started to cry, others fell asleep.

  Lucia pacing back and forth thinking of all that has transpired deep in thought failed to notice a presence approaching.

  Meanwhile, Saylor found himself standing in a white room, static filled the air, an odor unidentifiable pierced his nose.

  The hairs on the back of his neck raised, his head began to feel as if it was on fire, eyes watered, he fell to his knees, nausea overwhelmed him.

  He looked up and saw the most colorful snake he had ever laid eyes on. Red, Blue, Green, Brown, Black and White, with faint purple woven in.

  As he gazed upon the monster, it stared not into his eyes but his soul, a small ache pierced his heart, the pain grew, his chest burned and itched, he ripped his shirt off.

  Two holes had appeared on his chest with gold liquid seeping out, purple veins began to streak across his chest and up his neck.

  Visions of the other players swarmed his thoughts, their thoughts, emotions, and abilities all swimming around in him.

  BloodWright Synced, Glass Shepherd Synced, Echo Marauder Synced, System-Breaker Synced, BurnWrought Synced, Abyssal Consumption Synced...

  Ability after ability Synced simultaneously within Saylor.

  As it had started so it ended. Saylor, passed out. He awoke to screaming and the ground shaking.

  The scream was not human.

  It rolled through the forest of dead trees like a cannon blast made of shattered glass, shaking branches loose from their brittle perches. The earth quaked with such force that the grey blossoms collapsed inward, their petals decaying midair.

  Saylor rose unsteadily from the cracked soil, his body trembling with raw feedback. His ears rang. The veins across his chest pulsed with a faint gold and purple hue, glowing with each heartbeat. He wiped dried blood from his nose and turned toward the sound.

  A rift was tearing open in the sky above the canopy.

  The Wheel was spinning again — violently.

  This time, it wasn't just creaking. It was howling.

  Players stumbled to their feet in the clearing. Brant and Lucia both snapped their heads toward the widening rift as pressure in the air thickened into something tangible — like drowning without water.

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  "Not again," Veyra whispered.

  Lucia gritted her teeth, clutching her bloodchain.

  The Broken Wheel released another divine shriek.

  And from the void above, something began to descend:

  A cloak.

  Not worn — but alive.

  It billowed across the sky like spilled ink on reality itself. Beneath it came an emaciated creature, head bowed, arms extended, countless needles floating around its skeletal form.

  A porcelain mask covered its face — no mouth, no eyes, no holes.

  GOD DESCENDING: QUIEL, THE NEEDLE VEIL.

  RULE: "TRUTH MUST BE BLED."

  The forest darkened.

  ---

  The Field shifted.

  The trees recoiled inward as if bowing, revealing a blood-stained chapel in the distance — malformed, its steeple bent sideways and pulsing like a tumor.

  A new message blinked in every player's vision:

  > OBJECTIVE: OFFER CONFESSION OR FACE NEEDLE BINDING.

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Marcus asked.

  Without warning, a needle tore through the air and pinned his shoulder to the ground.

  "AAAGHH—!"

  Lucia moved to help, but more needles fell like rain, spearing the ground around them, spiraling toward each player.

  "Move!" Brant barked.

  The group scattered.

  Saylor didn't run. He watched. His vision shimmered — and in the space between seconds, he saw them: invisible threads connecting each needle to the god above.

  Each thread pulsed when someone lied. Or when they refused to speak.

  "Truth must be bled," he repeated quietly. "It's not a metaphor."

  One player, Tyne, fell to his knees, bleeding from dozens of punctures.

  "I—I cheated on my wife!" he screamed. "I lied! I left them without saying goodbye!"

  The needles hesitated. Froze. Then vanished from him.

  Tyne collapsed, sobbing.

  Another tried to run without confessing.

  He didn't make it far.

  Six needles skewered him mid-stride — into the ground, into the trees, and finally, through the throat.

  > PLAYER ELIMINATED: 13 REMAIN.

  ---

  Inside the Chapel

  Saylor Rift-stepped into the chapel alone.

  The stained-glass windows showed horrifying versions of saints: flayed, hollow-eyed, screaming behind translucent halos. The pews were filled with waxen effigies of former players — some whole, some mutilated, mouths sewn shut.

  He approached the altar.

  Another ticket floated down before him, already aflame.

  He grabbed it.

  > MIMETIC SPIN — TRUTH THREAD SYNCED

  His vision flickered.

  He could now see lies. Not hear them. Not sense them. See them — as red threads across mouths and hearts, pulsing like veins.

  Behind him, the sound of wood cracking — Lucia had entered.

  She looked at the altar, at him, her hand on her chain.

  "You going to explain how you're still alive?"

  Saylor looked at her, and saw her lie before she even spoke again.

  She didn't trust him. She didn't want answers.

  She was afraid of him.

  "I don't know," he said. It was the truth.

  The god outside began to descend upon the chapel. The roof evaporated in a cloud of dust. Quiel looked down, mask humming.

  Its needles rose.

  ---

  The Final Confrontation

  "Confess, or be unmade," the voice thundered inside every skull.

  Saylor stepped forward.

  "I trusted people," he said aloud. "They destroyed my life. I still want to help them. And I don't know why."

  Lucia stepped beside him.

  "I wanted to kill my father," she said. "When he beat my mom. When I saw him choking her. I wanted to rip his throat out. I still do."

  Brant stood in the doorway. "I watched someone drown once. Could've saved them. Didn't move. Said I couldn't swim. I lied. I just... froze."

  The needles trembled, uncertain.

  Saylor's voice cut through.

  "You're not here to judge truth. You're feeding on it."

  The threads shimmered.

  And with the Truth Thread Synced, Saylor reached up — and cut them with a wave of his hand.

  Reality snapped.

  The needles fell. Harmless.

  Quiel's mask cracked.

  Lucia struck first — chain through the eye.

  Brant struck next — kinetic uppercut that shattered the god's chest.

  Saylor leapt above them, Rift-echoed behind the mask — and whispered:

  "You've heard enough."

  Then drove a stolen needle through the back of its skull.

  ---

  GOD DEFEATED: QUIEL, THE VEILED.

  A burning mask floated down, split in half.

  > TICKET GRANTED: SHATTERED CONFESSOR

  ---

  Aftermath

  Lucia dropped to her knees, panting. "How many of these are there?"

  Saylor looked up at the Wheel.

  It was still spinning.

  Still hungry.

  And far above them, hidden in the distant void — a new figure watched.

  Unseen. Unnamed.

  Not a god.

  Something worse.