The Survival Games

Chapter Eleven: Breaking Point

I stood over Neo, silent, letting my gaze speak. His face flushed deep red, from both anger and shame. I didn't have to say a word. He knew what might happen.

Daemon's smirk was long gone. His face had twisted into something far less amused. "Well?" he barked, his voice low but heavy with authority. "You've lost the game. You know the rules."

Neo's lips twitched. His eyes flicked around the room, seeking allies, support—anything. None came. His own gang members looked uneasy. They hadn't expected this.

"Come on, Sir Daemon," one of Neo's men finally said, forcing a grin. "It was just a joke, right? A game?". Trying to lighten the mood.

Another joined in quickly. "Yeah, what will our members say if they hear one of our men was made a clown by some weakling?"

"Shut up," Daemon snapped, the words slicing through the air like a whip. The room went still.

The gang members face went pale and was afraid if they say anything they will be in the same position a Neo...or worse.

His leaned down next to Neo's ear, stripping off the the last cover. "You wanted to impress me, didn't you? Thought you could use me as a stepping stone to climb higher in the gang. But you've lost. So now... you will take your punishment."

I could see it clearly in his eyes: the disgust. Neo had gambled on using Daemon for his own ambitions, but now that he'd failed, Daemon wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, he wanted him humiliated. Because a Red Vulture member losing to a so-called weakling was one thing—but backing down from a promised punishment? If it spreads that him saying that his words were a joke that would actually make Daemon's word a joke. And if word got out that his words meant nothing, what would the other gangs think of him? How will the members listen to him?

No, Daemon would rather burn one of his own than lose face. Neo had accepted the terms, he had to face the consequences. So whether Neo likes it or not, Neo need to do it. This was also his way of getting back at Neo for calculating him.

Daemon got up, eyes glared at Neo. "Get up," he said coldly.

Neo didn't move. His face was pale, sweat sliding down his cheek.

"Fine. Since you want it me to help you...I will" Daemon growled, waving to his men. "Make him."

Two gang members dragged Neo up, forcing him against the wall. They stuck the apple on his head.

I could see the tremble in Neo's legs, the sweat rolling down the side of his face. The same Neo who had always looked down on me, always tried to remind me I was beneath him. He was shaking.

I stepped forward, picking up the knife.

Neo saw this, he twitched and cried in fear. "Please....forgive me."He begged "No, I don't want to die." He yelled. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Daemon's gang watched, with bitter expression.

"Don't worry," I said flatly, staring at the apple. "I'll aim for the fruit."

The first throw missed, since I hadn't practiced aiming at objects using a knife.

The knife sliced the air and grazed Neo's shoulder. He winced and bit back a scream. Blood beaded through his shirt.

The room was filled with silence.

At this moment, I knew that it was no turning back from making enemies with Red Vultures. But....

I threw it again. My hands trembled. 

This one scraped his ear. The apple didn't move. Neo clenched his eyes shut, breathing shallow.

"He's got terrible aim," one gang member whispered.

Daemon only watched, expressionless, lips pressed into a line.

I know I would be tortured by Neo and his gangs, if I lost. If I failed—even once—Neo and his gang wouldn't stop at a laugh or a few bruises.

Third throw. I exhaled slowly, focused. The blade flew.

It clipped the apple, sending it tumbling to the ground.

Silence.

—Which is why surviving in the slums felt just like surviving the brutal games. I thought.

Neo collapsed, unable to stand from the shaking in his legs. His pants where wet and a suspicious puddle of water was beneath him.

Daemon didn't even took a glance at Neo and just waved for his men to get him off the ground. Two of his men rushed to him, dragging Neo up like discarded trash.

They passed by me, their eyes burning holes into my skin.

"You'll regret this," one muttered under his breath.

"Dead man walking," said another.

I didn't flinch.

Daemon stood. As he walked past, he stopped beside me. A cruel smile ran across his face.

"You know what to say. And what not to say," he muttered, voice laced with threat. Then he turned and left.

I didn't answer. But I knew now: the Red Vultures and I were enemies. I knew it from his eyes that showed his hatred towards me since I have also humiliated him. It was sure they would go after me. 

That night, when the restaurant finally emptied out, I slipped out the back and took the long, hidden path toward the hideout.

The ruined factory had long been abandoned, but it served my purposes. I locked the rusted gate behind me and crept down the narrow stairwell.

The basement still held old crates, piles of junk, and my training space. I pulled out the Raven Fang—a small, crescent-shaped blade with thin black thread tied to its hilt. The weapon was strange, bonded to my thoughts.

I stared at the cans I'd set up on crates. One flick of my fingers. The Raven Fang spun outward—and missed the first few times.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply in and out. 

Again.

This time it sliced a rusted pipe.

Again.

It landed in a pile of rags.

I gritted my teeth and focused. My breath steadied. I visualised the arc.

Again.

Clang.

It stabbed right into one of the cans and made a group of cans topple.

Again, again and again.

I retrieved the blade, sweat dripping from my forehead, but a smile tugged at my lips.

Better.

I kept going. Each round, the throws grew sharper, faster. I targeted crates, nails, and swinging chains. Each time when I have successfully hit the object I extended the distance I threw the blade.

Back in my room, I collapsed onto the mattress. Sleep came hard.

The next morning, I stepped into the alley, garbage bags slung over my shoulder. As always, I watched the shadows.

Something was wrong.

My steps slowed, but I didn't stop. I turned down a narrow lane, ducking under broken pipework and avoiding the old surveillance cameras.

When I reached a dead end, I paused.

A shadow moved.

Then he appeared.

A man cloaked in black, his face masked. In one swift motion, he threw his hand forward. Silver threads shot toward me like spiderwebs.

I dove, rolling across the dirt.

What was that?

The way he moved—silent, precise. The clothes were too clean. Fabric of the clothes were not from the slums.

He attacked again. I twisted aside, barely escaping.

Whoever this was, he wasn't normal.

My lungs burned. I yanked out the Raven Fang and hurled it.

He ducked. Effortlessly.

Again. Again. But I was slowing down.

Agility and thought-control with the Raven Fang took a toll. My body couldn't keep up.

Damn.

He moved forward. I tossed a trash bag into his face and ran.

He kicked it aside and chased me.

I zig-zagged through the alleys. But he appeared again—this time, right in front of me.

He had moved through space. Teleportation?

I reacted, but not fast enough.

He grabbed me by the neck and lifted me off the ground.

I clawed at his hand, my legs kicking uselessly.

Is this it? I asked myself. I haven't escaped this place and.....

My vision blurred. Spots of white danced across my sight. I gasped, my thoughts spinning.

Then—

Flash.

Everything stopped.

I was sitting at a desk. I shook my head and opened my eyes. Neon lights buzzed overhead.

The air smelled like chalk dust and old metal. The walls were faded green, cracked in places. Desks lined in perfect rows, occupied by still, motionless students in dull uniforms. Their faces were blank. Not lifeless. Just… blank.

At the front stood a pale woman with colorless lips and hollow eyes. Her voice echoed unnaturally.

She smiled cruelly.

"My dear students," she said. "It's test time."

And I knew then—this was no normal classroom.

I got teleported in the game again.

To be Continued.....