𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐀𝐜𝐞𝐬 || 𝘉𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘤𝘬

CHAPTER 3

Bachira stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the ball as if he was seeing something no one else could. There was an eerie calm about him, a sort of dangerous curiosity that made you wonder how serious he was taking this.

"Bachira, wait," you called out, your voice wavering as he moved closer to the ball. "We don't even know what's going on!"

Isagi's fists clenched at his sides. His usual calm and level-headed demeanor was cracking under the pressure of the situation, his eyes darting around as if searching for a way out. But there was none. The black walls that surrounded you loomed high above, too tall to climb, too solid to break through. You were trapped.

Bachira stopped in front of the ball, his back to you, and you could almost feel the grin spreading across his face.

"Come on," he said, his voice light and teasing. "It's just football. That's what we do, right?"

Your stomach twisted with unease. "This isn't normal football, Bachira. This—this could be life or death."

Bachira's foot hovered over the ball, but he didn't move. "Exactly," he said, voice soft, yet filled with a strange excitement. "Isn't that what makes it fun?"

Before you could protest, a loud mechanical whirr echoed through the arena, and the ground shook beneath your feet again. Isagi grabbed your arm, pulling you back instinctively as something emerged from the shadows of the far end of the field.

You squinted against the dim light, trying to make sense of the shapes coming into view. At first, it looked like a group of people—dark silhouettes moving silently toward you. But as they stepped into the faint light of the street lamps, you realized with a sinking feeling that these weren't people.

They were figures—tall, humanoid, and completely black, like shadows pulled from the deepest corners of the earth. Their faces were blank, featureless. Each one wore the same black, tattered football uniform, their bodies unnaturally stiff as they moved into formation on the opposite side of the field.

Bachira's grin only widened as he eyed the figures. "Now this is interesting."

"Interesting?" you snapped, your heart pounding as the figures settled into a defensive formation. "Bachira, this isn't a joke! They—"

"Focus," Isagi interrupted, his voice low and tense. His eyes were fixed on the faceless figures, his jaw tight. "Whatever this is... it's real. We have to play."

You wanted to argue, to scream that this was insane, that you didn't sign up for whatever twisted game this was. But the cold, mechanical voice from before echoed in your mind, chilling you to the bone.

"Score a goal or be eliminated."

The meaning of the word "eliminated" hung over you like a death sentence.