Our surroundings shimmered, and in an instant, we were transported from the rubble-strewn maze to a grand, ornate lobby. The scent of food hit us first—roasted meats, pastries, fresh fruits—all laid out on long tables that stretched across the room. Hunters mingled around, voices buzzing with excitement and tension, as they took their time feasting and nursing whatever bruises and fatigue they’d picked up along the way.


    I did a quick scan of the room, noticing several waiters and waitresses moving fluidly between tables. One of them seemed familiar, and I realized they’d been one of the clerks from the registration area before the elimination round.


    Selena marched up to one of the waiters. “Where are we?” she asked, a touch suspiciously.


    The waiter, with a practiced smile and a voice that could’ve soothed a storm, replied, “Welcome. This is a rest stop, a temporary sanctuary if you will, and a celebratory event for those who have passed the fourth stage.” His words had the kind of smooth polish that implied it was something he’d said at least a hundred times.


    “Rest stop, huh?” Kara muttered beside me, arms crossed, looking about as trusting of this setup as I felt.


    I shrugged. “Better than a death maze, right? Let’s eat while we can. No telling what’s next.”


    Wolf, already eyeing a roasted pheasant leg, gave me an approving nod, as if I’d just declared the best plan he’d ever heard. But even as I picked up a plate and scanned the buffet, I couldn’t shake the sense that we were still being watched, judged—and possibly gauged with.


    Since awakening my connection attribute, I’d developed an almost sixth sense for danger—like a faint, persistent prickle at the back of my mind, just enough to keep me wary. The room may have been a resting point, but that nagging feeling told me otherwise. I had a strong hunch that the assassins from the Elsewhere Cult, who’d marked me some time already, were here, likely blending into the crowd of hunters as easily as anyone else.


    Beside me, Kara took a step forward and caught the attention of the same waiter. “So, where’s my license?” she asked, tapping her foot impatiently. It was a valid question; as far as I knew, only passing the first four stages was necessary for a license. The rest of the stages were optional—and, if you were still sane after the fourth, apparently encouraged.


    The waiter gave her that same polished smile. “Ah, patience, miss. You’ll receive your license when the fourth stage has been officially closed. For now, please feel free to enjoy the refreshments.”


    Kara, ever the picture of grace even when she was annoyed, sipped her drink through the veil that obscured half her face. It was both impressive and slightly awkward to watch. Wolf, on the other hand, had no reservations—he tore through a pheasant as if it were his last meal. Across from him, Selena, daintily scooped up bites of dessert, somehow managing to look like she belonged at a royal banquet.


    I wandered over to the drink dispenser and poured myself a glass of iced coffee, feeling the coolness seep through my fingers. I took a sip, letting the bitterness wake up my senses. Around us, more hunters were appearing, teleporting into the lobby in bursts of white light, each one stumbling a little as they adjusted to the change in scenery. Our group had finished early, so we had a bit of breathing room before the place grew more crowded. I glanced over at the timer mounted on the wall, which blinked out the remaining time until the fourth stage was officially closed—1 hour and 39 minutes left.


    “Still plenty of time,” I muttered, half to myself, half to the others.


    Kara caught my eye, lifting her glass. “So what’s the plan, Reynard? Stay here until the next round, or…?” Her eyes sparkled with barely concealed anticipation, a look I’d come to recognize. She wasn’t good at sitting still, especially when danger was afoot.


    This was Kara of the Undead Troupe we were talking about.


    “Depends,” I replied, casually scanning the room. “Sticking around seems easy enough.”


    I kept close to Selena, anticipation coiling tightly in my chest. Four stages, no attacks—I should’ve known they’d wait until we were in the thick of so-called "safety." But I barely had time to curse my luck before Selena yanked me forward by the wrist, and I felt the whoosh of two knives slicing the air right where I’d been standing.


    Without missing a beat, Selena’s hands blurred, and suddenly, she was gripping a pair of Uzis that she’d summoned from nowhere. Gunfire erupted, and the crowd scattered as bullets tore into the attacker—a man wearing an orange vest and goggles. The assault should’ve been over, but the figure didn’t drop. The bullets ripped into it, yes, but instead of blood, shredded fabric and sawdust spilled out. A mannequin.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    I cursed under my breath. There were two of them, not one.


    How could I tell? I could detect two different auras from the mannequin. It was so blatantly obvious Selena would have seen it too.


    Pulling from Selena’s disguise attribute, I wove myself into the crowd’s confusion, hidden among the fleeing hunters. Skirting along the edge, I moved closer to Kara. She shot me a frown as I sidled up to her, and I flashed her a reassuring smile.


    Selena reloaded smoothly, her eyes sweeping the crowd for any sign of the second ambusher.


    “Hand,” I muttered, extending mine to Kara. She rolled her eyes but stretched out her hand anyway. The moment I gripped it, I siphoned her sound attribute, the faint hum of her aura threading through me.


    “You owe me one,” she said, barely concealing her disgust.


    The ability to tamper with the aura of others wasn’t looked favorably, so it was understandable.


    Another volley of bullets echoed from Selena’s Uzis, tearing through more mannequins on the left side of the room. Hunters scattered, ducking for cover as the chaos intensified. Masked by my disguise and the sound-dampening effect of Kara’s attribute, I slipped into the crowd, grabbing a fork stabbed into a brownie from a nearby table as I passed. I took a casual bite, blending in effortlessly, even as the scene around us unraveled.


    I moved toward a woman in a yellow dress dripping with ornate jewelry. She hardly noticed me until the fork pierced her throat, her scream echoing before I drove it into her eye. Her face contorted, a burst of shock freezing her features, sending the other hunters darting away. Just what I needed. The cry gave me the brief chance to sync with her aura, letting me take over her mannequin ability. I could feel the control as her mannequins responded to me, like puppets on a string.


    “Let’s end this mess,” I muttered, bringing my boot down on her skull with a satisfying crunch, scattering her power across the floor in a sudden, bloody release.


    The woman had been a Maker type, and her puppetry attribute now flowed through me like a second set of senses, giving me a direct line to every mannequin she’d controlled. Forty-seven in total, each one bristling with concealed knives ready to be unleashed. I sensed the shift a moment before it happened—several knives jerked in mid-air, honing in on me with unsettling accuracy. Another hunter, a Seeker type, must’ve been imbuing his own aura to guide their path.


    I didn’t panic. Moving with calculated efficiency, I sidestepped each knife, thanks to Wolf’s Observation attribute I recharged earlier and the enhanced hearing provided by Kara’s Sound attribute. Dodging was almost too easy, and I stepped between the projectiles, weaving through the attack. Then, I pulled my mannequins close, using my puppetry attribute to block the blades mid-air, forcing them to a halt within their frames. Whoever had made these mannequins had crafted them to perfection, human enough to deceive anyone at a glance.


    The other knives within my vicinity refused to move as per the ambusher’s will as I suppressed them by tagging them with my Soul Link.


    Across the room, Selena and I shared a quick look. She gave me a nod, recognizing I had the situation under control. She slipped a pair of night-vision goggles from her inventory, slipped them on, and fired at the chandeliers. With each shot, lights shattered one after another, the room plunging deeper into shadow. I crouched low, pulling the mannequins tighter in a defensive arc around me. Now, with sound as my main guide, I could sense the exact positions of anyone nearby.


    Every step, every frantic breath from the hunters scattered in the dark painted a precise map for me, one that would make any further attacks futile.


    Gunshots echoed again, and I knew Selena had the Seeker-type hunter in her sights. I felt a few stray projectiles whizz by as hunters scrambled, shouting and cursing, each one vying for a shred of cover. It was chaos, but the frenzy didn’t last long. Within minutes, an eerie silence settled over the room, and then—light.


    The chandelier above seemed untouched, casting an unsettling glow on the lobby. In the center of it all stood a figure dressed in an immaculate black suit and top hat. His face wasn’t flesh and bone but a dark, shifting mass of aura, like a shadow brought to life in three dimensions. His aura cast a heavy, unnatural stillness that made the hair on my arms stand on end. He looked like an animated silhouette, and his presence demanded attention.


    I glanced left and spotted Selena bound in chains, her eyes sharp and narrowed, but her body was restrained. To his right stood a young man in his early twenties with gray hair and a scowl that could kill. Dressed in a white suit, he looked like he had no intention of hiding his hostility—no doubt another agent of the Elsewhere Cult—probably the Seeker who was after me..


    The shadowy figure spoke, his voice smooth but carrying an edge that was impossible to ignore. “Oh, such ruckus! My apologies on behalf of the Association for allowing… this little disturbance to unfold.” He tipped his hat with a slight flourish. “I am Silhouette, your gracious host for this exam.” The voice struck me instantly. It was the same voice that had guided us through each stage, the one that had injected humor and warnings alike.


    "Such a travesty," Silhouette murmured, flicking his wrist as a mass of shadow tentacles slithered across the floor, lifting the body of the woman I’d killed to rest at his feet. His tone was half-amused, half-disappointed. "What happened to the no-kill rule I so generously imposed?"


    I took a step forward, meeting his gaze or his face without flinching. "It was an act of self-defense."


    Silhouette’s expression didn’t change, but his voice took on a sharp edge. "And your proof?"


    "I can’t give you proof," I replied coolly. "Not now, anyway. The woman’s dead."


    "How convenient." A voice chimed in from my left, and I turned to see the gray-haired young manstill bound in place but glaring at me with a forced smugness. “My name is Gerry Mansell, of House Mansell. I swear on my House that that man killed her without provocation!"


    Ah. So that was the angle he was playing now, given that they’d been caught red-handed.