Emery's POV 
I stood up, clapping my hands once, sharp and echoing through the room. The sound made every one of them jump. Good. I liked the tension. It made the game more interesting, more real.
"Alright, everyone," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "This third round was one of my father's originally game." I glanced at him—barely hanging on. Noah had his arm around him, helping him breathe, helping him stay upright. It was strange seeing him so weak now, after everything. But this wasn’t about him anymore. This was about me.
I turned my attention back to the participants, their faces pale, eyes wide with fear. "It’s a simple game really. Like hide and seek." I smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly one. "But in my father’s original game, every room is pitch black. All you have to do is find the light."
I let the words sink in for a moment, watching the way their expressions shifted from confusion to dread. They knew by now that nothing was ever as simple as it sounded.
"But I’ve added a little fun for you all," I continued, stepping closer to the edge of the platform. "Wrong steps will lead you to... consequences. Let’s just say, some of the traps I’ve set will determine whether you come out fully alive or leave... pieces of yourself behind."
The room was silent, save for the occasional coughing from my father in the background. His labored breaths filled the space like a reminder of how quickly things could go wrong. Noah kept his eyes on me, his face unreadable, but I could feel the tension in him too.
"Wrong steps could be your last," I added, my voice cold and precise. "One misstep, and you could lose a leg, an arm, maybe more. Or maybe, you’ll just disappear entirely." I tilted my head, my smile never fading. "Who knows?"
I could see the fear in their eyes now. Good. They should be afraid. This game wasn’t meant to be kind.
"Now, get to your rooms," I said, not wanting to waste any more time. "The game starts now."
No one moved at first, all of them frozen, staring at me like they couldn’t believe this was happening. But I clapped again, louder this time, and that seemed to jolt them into action.
They began to shuffle toward the rooms, the tension thick in the air. I could see Lucas, Finn, Nathalie, and the others all trying to keep their heads together, but it was clear that the fear was starting to eat at them. Good. Fear made people sloppy. Fear made the game more fun.
I watched them, feeling the familiar rush of control. This was my game now, not my father’s. I had taken what was his and made it my own. And they were all just pawns, moving to my command.
As the last of them disappeared into their rooms, I turned to my father, who was still wheezing beside Noah. He looked at me, his eyes glazed over with a mixture of pride and exhaustion. I couldn’t tell if he was proud of what I’d become or horrified. Either way, it didn’t matter.
This was my time now.
"Let’s see how many of them survive this," I whispered to myself, taking my seat again.
I sipped my tea, the taste cold on my tongue. I had a feeling this was going to be the best round yet.
As the last of the participants entered their rooms, the first thing I heard were the screams. It didn’t take long. Barely a minute in, and they were already losing their minds. How pathetic. A laugh escaped my lips, sharp and bitter. I couldn’t help it. How could they be this weak?
I turned to James, my voice calm despite the chaos. "Get ready for the fourth round. Prepare the weapons. Clear the battlefield." The thought of them fighting, tearing each other apart, made my smile widen. "Arrange the seats for the show. Two participants will fight later." This was going to be glorious. I wanted them to see everything—the pain, the struggle. They needed to feel it, just like I did. 
James nodded and hurried off to make preparations. I glanced at Amara. "Push the button," I commanded.
Without hesitation, she moved toward the control panel, her fingers hovering before pressing down. The sound of machinery whirring filled the air, and I leaned back, satisfied. Each room would spin now, disorienting the participants, making them question every step they took. I didn’t want it to be easy. Where was the fun in that?
The rooms weren’t just dark. They were traps, designed to twist their minds and bodies. Wrong steps, wrong choices, could mean the end. I wanted them to feel it, all of it. Especially my father. He needed to understand what he put us through. What he put ‘her’ through.
I felt my mind slipping into memories I didn’t want to revisit, but a loud bang brought me back. The door slammed open, and I turned, surprised to see Abigail standing there. She was the first one out, her body bruised, her breath shallow, but she was alive. No missing limbs, no bloodied stumps. Just...alive.
A smile tugged at my lips. She impressed me, that girl. More than I expected.
Before I could say anything, Abigail collapsed to the floor, her chest rising and falling rapidly. A small trail of blood dripped from her left arm, but she had made it out. Barely. I mumbled to myself, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, "Just like her father." 
I closed my eyes for a moment, thinking about the past—about the games my father played with people like her father, Lucas’s parents, and others. They pushed each other, always trying to outlast, even as their bodies started breaking. It was never enough for them.
Another door banged open, followed by another. Alex staggered out, holding his arm—barely attached, blood dripping down his side. He was next. And after him, a few other Elites stumbled out, some in better shape than others, but none untouched by the game.
Exactly as I expected.
I watched as more of them came out—Nathalie, Noah, Finn, Lucas. The strong ones always pushed through, didn’t they? The weak? They would be left behind. Or worse.
But there was still no sign of my father. The man who had started all this. I leaned forward, intrigued. Could he survive his own game? Could he handle what he had created? The tension built inside me as the seconds ticked by. I wanted to see how far he could go, how much pain he could endure. Maybe now he’d understand what he’d done to us.
Finally, the door creaked open. My father stumbled out, barely holding himself together. He looked like a shell of the man he once was. Weak, drained, and barely clinging to life.
I smirked, watching him struggle to stand. He deserved this. He deserved to feel every ounce of pain he had inflicted on others, especially on her—on my mother.
Sixteen players stood outside now. Sixteen survivors. But there was still one more left inside. I wondered who it could be. Who was the last to fall behind? 
The third round bell rang, signaling the end. 
I mumbled under my breath, "Weak." Whoever was left in that room was too slow, too fragile to make it out.
And in this game, there was no mercy for the weak.
I stepped forward, clapping my hands once to get their attention, the air thick with tension as they stared at me, barely catching their breath. "We’ll take an 8-minute break," I announced. Relief washed over some of their faces, but I didn’t let it last long. "After that, the fourth round begins."
Their gazes snapped back to me, fear creeping in again.
“This next game will test your strength and flexibility against each other.” I let the words sink in. They knew what was coming.
I turned toward Amara, giving her a quick nod. “Get the Ball of Fate.”
Amara quickly moved, fetching the ball, while the rest stood in silence. They were anxious. Good.
Stepping forward again, I explained further, “Your names will be drawn one by one. Two players will fight. The winner moves on. The loser...” I let the pause linger, watching their faces tighten. "Well, I’m sure you can guess." A cruel smirk tugged at my lips. "But here’s the twist. The loser will get injected, but you’ll still have a chance to find the cure. If you don’t... well, the funeral arrangements will come soon after."
I glanced around the room, watching them exchange uneasy glances. The fear was almost palpable.
I stole a look at Noah. He knew this game all too well. Back when we were kids, our father forced us to play it, fighting against each other until we were battered, broken, and barely conscious. I could tell by the look in his eyes he remembered those days, just like I did.
Amara returned with the Ball of Fate, and I motioned for her to place it in front of me. It was time.
I gave the ball a spin, watching it rotate slowly, suspense filling the room. It stopped, and I cleared my throat. "The first players are... Finn and Aaron from the Black Elite."
Finn’s face hardened, while Aaron stood tall, confident. I could already tell this was going to be an interesting match.
The ball spun again, coming to a stop. I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the names. "Next up... my father." I glanced over at him. His expression was stoic. "And a Blue Elite." I almost laughed. "I guess it’s your lucky round."
The ball rolled for the third time, and I had to hold back a grin. "Lucas..." I looked directly at him, then at Alex, who was standing nearby. "And Mirein from the Blue Elite." The tension between Lucas and Alex was palpable. They exchanged a quick glance, knowing the weight of what was coming.
Without missing a beat, I spun the ball again. It stopped on the next pair. "Alex will face Christian from the Black Elite."
Now, only six players remained.
I spun the ball one more time, and this time, I didn’t announce the names right away. Instead, I looked over at Nathalie, my smirk growing wider. Then, I glanced at Abigail, knowing this would be the most entertaining fight of the round.
“Nathalie,” I finally said, “you’ll be going against... Abigail.”
Nathalie’s eyes widened in shock before narrowing with fury. She clenched her fists but kept quiet, her face red with anger.And the look on her face was priceless. This was exactly what I wanted.
Lucas moved forward, about to speak, but I held up my hand. “Save your breath, Lucas. This isn’t personal. It’s just a game.” I couldn’t resist a small, bitter laugh. “Geez, have some fun, will you?”
A bitter laugh escaped me as Lucas gritted his teeth, but he said nothing more. He knew better than to challenge me now. The look on his face told me he wanted to say more, but he stayed silent.
Glancing up at the clock, I gave one last instruction. “You’ve got five minutes to prepare yourselves. Make them count.”
The room was silent, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. They knew the stakes, and they knew what was coming next. But this was my game. And I wasn’t done playing yet.
As the participants prepared for the fourth round, I stood back, watching the chaos unfold with a sense of detachment mixed with anticipation. The games had been thrilling so far, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing out on the true action. My mind wandered to the two remaining rounds. When would I get to join the fun? For now, though, I had to enjoy the show.
I glanced around the arena, noting the tension in the air as the fighters readied themselves. This was it—the stage was set for the fourth round. The real test of strength and skill. It was time to see who could truly survive.
Finn and Aaron were the first to face off. The arena was a vast, open space, with various obstacles scattered around, making it perfect for a fight. Aaron, tall and imposing, was already brandishing a gun. Finn, on the other hand, was more reserved, his eyes darting around, calculating his moves. 
The air crackled with anticipation. I leaned forward, eager to see how this would unfold. Aaron's laughter echoed through the arena as he took his first shots. The gunfire was relentless, a barrage of bullets aimed at Finn. 
Finn dodged skillfully, weaving through the chaos. His movements were precise, calculated. I could tell he was waiting for the right moment to strike. Aaron’s shots were quick, but Finn’s agility kept him out of harm’s way. 
Then, out of nowhere, a bullet grazed Finn’s side. He grunted in pain but didn’t falter. Aaron’s smirk widened, clearly pleased with the hit. He took a few more steps closer, taunting Finn. “Is this all you’ve got? Pathetic,” he jeered, his voice dripping with contempt. 
I watched intently, feeling the thrill of the fight. Aaron seemed to relish his control over the situation, thinking he had Finn cornered. But Finn’s expression was cold, determined. He had a plan, I could see that much.
Just as Aaron raised his gun, aiming for what he believed would be the final shot, a sudden, deafening noise shattered the moment. Aaron crumpled to the ground, blood spreading around him. The crowd gasped in shock. Finn stood, gun in hand, a satisfied glint in his eyes.
It was a clever trap. Finn had lured Aaron into a false sense of security, only to turn the tables when Aaron least expected it. Aaron’s body lay motionless on the floor, his earlier arrogance replaced by the stark reality of defeat.
Finn’s breath came in heavy gasps as he lowered his gun, wiping the sweat from his brow. The intensity of the battle was evident in every line of his face. He had fought hard and emerged victorious, but the cost was clear. The blood on the floor and the pain in his side told the story of a brutal and grueling fight.
The arena was buzzing with excitement. I found myself impressed by the way Finn had handled the fight. It wasn’t just about physical strength, it was about strategy and good timing.
As I watched, I couldn’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline. This was what the games were all about. The thrill of watching players push themselves to their limits, the raw emotion, the strategy—it was all so satisfying.
But the show wasn’t over yet, other players still have their moment to claim their lives. There were still two more rounds to go, and I was eager to see how they would unfold. The games had become even more intense, and I had a feeling they would only get more so from here. 
For now, though, I savored the moment, knowing that the next fights would be just as fierce, if not more so. The games had a way of twisting and turning, keeping everyone on edge. And that was exactly how I liked it.
The battlefield was tense as the next fight was about to begin. I stood nearby, eyes fixed on the center where my father and Angelo, a blue elite, were preparing to face each other. This fight promised to be intense. Angelo was known for his speed and precision, and my father was a seasoned fighter. It was a clash of experience against agility.
The signal sounded, and the fight began. My father, despite his age, moved with surprising energy and strength. Angelo, quick and nimble, darted around, trying to keep his distance and land quick strikes.
The moment is immediate and fierce. My father seemed to anticipate Angelo’s every move. He used his experience to predict Angelo’s actions, countering with precise punches and kicks. Angelo tried to use his speed to stay out of reach and deliver rapid attacks.
My father took a few hits but didn’t back down. He was relentless, landing solid blows despite Angelo’s agility. Angelo struggled to keep up, and my father’s pressure was relentless.
In a crucial moment, my father faked a left punch and followed up with a powerful right cross. It connected solidly, staggering Angelo. The fight’s intensity was clear. Every move, every punch, was full of force and purpose.
My father pressed his advantage, landing another decisive blow while Angelo tried to get up but was clearly beaten. The fight had taken a toll on both fighters, but father emerged victorious.
Breathing heavily, my father stood over Angelo was fallen. He looked exhausted but determined. He had won the fight, though it was clear the battle had drained him.
The victory was hard-earned, and it was evident how intense the fight had been. I watched with a mix of relief and anticipation, knowing there were still more rounds ahead.
For now, I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. The game was living up to its promise of excitement and danger. The next rounds would be just as intense, and I couldn’t wait to see how it all unfolded.