Two hours later, near the towering colosseum at the heart of the second level, an ocean of players had gathered. Tens of thousands stood shoulder to shoulder, wrapped in hoods and cloaks that masked their identities. A sense of eerie unity clung to them, like members of a secretive order preparing for a divine ritual.
The air was thick with anticipation. No one spoke. Each heartbeat carried the weight of what was to come. For many, this would be their first time facing the gate—a mythical threshold spoken about in awe and fear. For some, it might well be their last.
And then there was one who stood apart from them all— by presence alone.
Moving from the far edge of the crowd, a tall man walked steadily through the horde. He wore no hood. No mask. No attempt to hide his face. His long white coat, adorned with a black dragon curling across its back, fluttered gently behind him with every step. Beneath it, a simple black shirt clung to his sculpted frame, paired with black pants and boots. His black eyes scanned the crowd.
Wherever he stepped, the crowd instinctively parted. No one dared to stand in his way.
It was him.
Ali.
The man whose name had echoed through Paradise ever since his duels in the arena. The man whose presence alone carried the weight of death. And he was walking—unbothered—through a field of players, many of whom had entertained the idea of claiming the bounty on his head.
He made his way to the very front of the mass, closest to where the portal would soon open. In front of him stood the golden circle—ancient, mysterious, radiant. Intricate lines of arcane energy pulsed across its surface, forming the perfect ring to contain the gate.
Beside it, atop a raised platform, stood a peculiar duo. A white rabbit in a tailored black suit—Toto, the administrator of the second level—stood tall, as tall as a rabbit could, with both hands raised. Beside him stood an elven beauty, her luminous emerald eyes fixed gently on Ali. Her features were flawless, ethereal. The very image of grace. And yet, there was an air of uncertainty in her gaze.
Ali looked up at her and gave a casual wink.
Toto stepped forward and opened his arms wide. His voice boomed across the area, empowered by magic.
"Congratulations to all of you brave souls who stand here today!" he declared. "For accepting this challenge, for embracing the unknown, you will be rewarded! Through this gate lies opportunity, danger, chaos—and power. Your ambition will be tested. Your courage will be broken or strengthened. Your intelligence will be your blade. And your will to survive…" he paused, "will determine whether you return stronger—or not at all."
"Go now, and seize what you believe is yours!"
VVVVVVVVVVV
A sudden burst of violent wind ripped across the field, howling with primal energy. Dozens of hoods were blown back as the sheer force of magic raked over them. The players squinted against the gale, shielding their faces as the golden ring began to hum, the runes along its edge glowing brighter with every passing second.
Then came the spark.
From the very centre of the circle, a small bolt of blue light flashed—and then detonated outward, erupting into a swirling storm of blue and purple, a vortex that expanded until it filled the circle with a churning, otherworldly tempest. It was as if a storm cloud had been trapped inside a frame of gold—alive, moving, inviting.
Ali didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward, his eyes locked on the storm. He reached out with one hand and pressed it into the swirling magic. Instantly, his fingers vanished into the storm, and with them, all sensation. No pain. No heat. Just the absence of feeling.
Then he jumped.
In one smooth motion, Ali disappeared into the gate.
A heartbeat later, the crowd surged forward. The silence shattered as the players ran—leapt—dived—into the storm. Thousands of super-humans vanished in waves of blue light, their bodies swallowed by the gate, their fates sealed by the roll of cosmic dice.
In under a minute, the plaza was emptied of those brave enough to risk everything.
The observers remained behind, watching from the rooftops, the alleyways, and the shadows. Many had chosen not to enter.
Toto stood silently as the last flickers of light faded from the gate. Sweat clung to his white fur, dampening his polished suit. Opening the gate had drained him—it always did.
"How many do you think will return?" asked Lorien softly, still standing on the platform, her gaze distant as she watched the now-empty golden ring.
Toto didn't answer right away. His red eyes narrowed.
"Many will die the moment they arrive," he said eventually. "Luck alone will decide that."
He turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes meeting hers. "But this batch… this is the most talented group of players I've ever sent through. Don't underestimate them."
Lorien arched an eyebrow. "All of them? Or just one specific human who makes me question his species every time I lay eyes on him?"
Toto smirked faintly. "I'll let you decide."
Then, with a single hop, his body blurred—and vanished, leaving only a trail of disturbed air behind him.
Lorien remained still.
'Ali…' she thought.
'Did I make a mistake by refusing his request?'
She remembered their conversation clearly. His offer. His eyes. The unsettling certainty behind every word he spoke.
'For the sake of all of us', she thought, 'I hope not.'
Every supervisor across Paradise held the same concern. After all, building a guild without the gods came with its own terrifying risks. If the players they were betting on failed—players like Zain and many others throughout paradise—then there would be no mercy.
The gods would see to that.
Meanwhile, elsewhere—lost in the void between realms—Ali floated through the gateway.
'It's… beautiful.'
Surrounding him were soft clouds of violet, cobalt, and pale blue. Like smoke and starlight woven into a dream. White streaks of light flashed occasionally, painting ghostly trails through the mist. His body was weightless, drifting through the current like a leaf on water.
Time didn't seem to exist here. There was no sound. No gravity. Only motion, and the gentle hum of magic vibrating through his skin.
Then it all disappeared.
And solid ground slammed into the soles of his feet.
Ali stood still.
He opened his eyes—and was instantly met with an overwhelming wall of light.
A violent flash of piercing, unnatural brilliance exploded across his vision like a white-hot blade stabbing straight into his pupils. His eyes snapped shut with instinctual urgency, but it was already too late.
'My eyes!!' Ali cursed internally, searing pain radiated through his skull. His nerves were on fire—his sight gone.
The photonic overload had torn through the rods and cones of his retinas in an instant. He was blind.
Darkness swallowed him.
Immediately, his healing cells surged to life—but the regeneration was slow. His body, typically a furnace of relentless recovery, was sluggish. Something was wrong.
BREATH.
Ali inhaled instinctively.
And that's when true danger struck.
The first breath of this foreign atmosphere invaded his lungs like a dagger of pure ice. His chest constricted. His bones trembled. His core temperature plummeted.
'COLD—COLD—COLD.'
He didn't just feel the cold—it gripped his soul. Like ancient claws dragging him into frozen oblivion. The air was a blizzard of death, cutting through every fibre of his being. And what terrified him most was not the cold itself…
…but the silence of his healing cells.
'My weakness…' he thought grimly. 'The cells stop functioning in temperatures like this.'
Ali stumbled forward, blindly, his boots scraping over jagged terrain. His foot hit uneven stone, and he staggered—arms extended to catch himself. His fingers brushed something sharp and smooth.
CRACK.
A razor-thin jolt of agony fired up his arm. He jerked back.
His index finger had turned black. Frostbite had consumed it instantly—just from touching the object for a single second.
'One touch… that's all it took…'
'This is worse than Antarctica. Worse than anything I've felt before. My body is shutting down. My nerves are starting to go cold. If I stop moving—I die.'
He kept moving.
Step by trembling step, Ali forced himself forward. Each motion was deliberate. Controlled. He knew that if he strained his muscles in this condition, they would freeze and tear apart from the inside.
'I need to push through with minimum breathing…'
The Force was still with him—but barely. It was sluggish, fogged by something in the air, like interference that muted his senses.
Ali extended his awareness as far as he could. He reached for his Force sense—but even that felt shackled.
Still, he pressed forward.
And then, realisation.
'I'm in a cave.'
As he staggered, his Force sense—though weak—had begun mapping the immediate environment around him. Slowly, painfully, he pieced together the layout.
Narrow tunnel.
Jagged edges.
Solid stone beneath his feet.
The walls were close.
There was no wind.
A cave.
'Bahamut's eyes…'
Ali pulled on his Spirit, channeling it through the nerves that led to his darkened sight. The familiar burning sensation of dragon energy surged through his optic nerves. He clenched his fists and let the transformation begin.
His eyelids fluttered open.
Where once were human eyes, now shone two violet orbs—reptilian and slitted, like those of a dragon.
He blinked slowly.
'I can see.'
Not normally—no. His vision was flooded in monochrome shades of darkness. Everything appeared through a spectral veil, highlighting silhouettes and heat sources as shadows and flares of light.
He glanced up.
The ceiling was close. The walls jagged. The floor uneven and littered with frost-slick stone. But what caught his eye were the blinding sources of light nestled into the cavern's natural design.
They pulsed with unnatural brightness—even through his dragon-enhanced vision.
He squinted, focusing on one.
And then he saw it.
A crystal.
It jutted from the stone like an embedded star, glowing with intense white energy. It shimmered faintly, and he watched carefully as fine clouds of misty vapour leaked out from the edges, snaking through the air like icy tendrils.
'This is what's doing it…' he realised. 'It's creating the cold. These crystals… they're lowering the temperature.'
But he had no time to waste.
He kept moving.
With each step, the pain intensified. His arms felt heavier. His legs slower. Muscle control was degrading at an alarming rate. He was tracking every percent of muscle he was losing with meticulous precision.
If he stopped now, he wouldn't get back up.
One minute passed.
Then two.
Then three.
Still the cave went on, the terrain rising subtly in elevation—perhaps an exit was near. But Ali could feel his margin shrinking. The oxygen in his body was almost gone. His healing cells had devoured a chunk of it to regenerate his eyes before shutting down.
He needed another breath.
Now.
Ali braced himself.
He parted his lips and inhaled.
Pain exploded down his throat like swallowing molten ice.
He dropped to one knee.
'No… not now…'
His right leg seized up—numb. Useless. Deadweight.
Ali clenched his jaw and opened his inventory with a flick of willpower. His hands shook as he summoned his lightsaber, gripping it tightly in numb fingers.
'Come on… work…'
He reached deep into the Force, willing it to ignite.
Nothing.
The hilt remained cold and dark.
He tried again.
Still, nothing.
Something in this environment was suppressing it—dampening the very essence of the Force and lightsaber.
Ali sent the lightsaber back into his inventory.
And then—he started crawling.
His arms dragged his freezing body across the stone. His fingers, purple with creeping frostbite, clawed at the rock.
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Finally a new arc in the story starts🤩
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Five chapters ahead of webnovel on patreon.com/Rondo312