After a while, he finally arrived at his house. It was located in the slummiest part of the city, where the city lights were now far into the distance. The neighbor, if one could call that shummy collection of broken houses, reeked of drugs and molded trash. Filled with complete and absolute fear, he cautiously approached his house. Continuously taking one very slow step after the next. He had a secret way of getting up into the attic using rope hanging off of the window. But last time he was here, he closed the window because of the weather and forgot to open them later. Big mistake. Slowly getting to the front door, his heart was beating what seemed like, a thousand beats per minute. Trying to maintain his breathing, he watched his breath. Only taking silent shallow breaths. <Are you sure you want to enter, there is no going back after this. You could always come back tomorrow> Ignoring my warning, he reached for the door handle and creaked it open. It took almost half a minute to open the door wide enough to get inside silently with his two bags. Opium slipped inside and eased the door shut behind him. The entering room was a square room, maybe fifteen feet across. The TV sat in the top-left corner, dim blue light washing the walls. A single couch faced it, wrapped in blankets. To the far top right, a kitchen opened through an archway; beside it, a closed bedroom door on the far bottom right. Midway along the right wall stood the door he needed—the attic stairs. ‘If that couch moves, I'm out.’ Everything else was darkness. No lamps. No sound. Just the hum of the dying television showing nothing but dark blue on the screen. Suggesting the tv will turn off at any moment. Then the only source of light would vanish. ‘Shit!’ His fear paralyzed him for a good while, then he started moving again. Each step felt stolen, as if blaring alarms might scream, consuming the dead quiet atmosphere, at any moment. He hugged the wall, clutching the bags tight to kill their crinkle, eyes locked on the couch. The blankets loomed like a body. Taking each step felt like a nightmare on its own. With each new opportunity to be discovered was slowly mentally killing Opium. However, he had walked a few steps to see the blanket-covered couch in a slightly new angle. A new sense of fear and relieved washed over his body. ‘Its empty’ Hurriedly snatching his gaze from the couch, he swiftly scan the right side of the house in panic. The top right corner was a small kitchen, consumed in shadows and utter darkness. The tv light, barely visible at all, was not able to get to the kitchen. The kitchen had an open arch to easily access. The bottom right corner is a black bedroom door. This became his new eye of fixation. Imagining the horror that would come if that door ever creek open. The hallway cut between them like a throat, leading to the attic stairs. His only way out. This door was an old brown door. He crept toward it, every step a nightmare. The bags felt heavier, every breath shallow. Passing the couch was bad enough. Passing the bedroom was worse. His whole body was practically facing to the ominous black bedroom door. With his back towards the kitchen. Just then, after a few more steps of walking, Opium finally had reach the his destination. The brown door leading towards the attic. Gladdened by this, He stretched for the knob. Just then cold breath grazed his ear. Opium froze. His fear spiked to a new level. He then turned around, not wanting to believe what he was thinking. Wishing that there was nothing behind him, or that this was some terrifying nightmare and he just had to wake up. But what he saw induced mortal fear, absolute terror. What was standing before him was a taller lithe woman hiding in the shadows of the kitchen, staring directly down at him. Her face was ghost pale, faded white hair tangled and messy, an oversized black sweater swallowed her frame, fusing her into the darkness. She watched without blinking. An indescribable terror hollowed him out, leaving nothing behind but a shell too petrified to even breathe. The brief seconds of eye contact with the woman flooded his body with absolute, bone-splintering horror. Then the women open her mouth “Today, I’ll make some bowl… cereal.” She turn her around to face the cabinet high on the kitchen. Opium was still frozen, still shell shocked of what happened. He snapped out of it and stepped back, opened the door and slipped inside quickly. Then he closed the door and locked it with many locks. Panicking, he switching each lock with messy haste. Only when switching the last lock, he froze against the door, taking a second to register everything that had just happened. Everything was pitch black when he did. Still stricken with fear, he took a second and breathed. “What… the… fuck.” Finally gaining the bravery, he crawling up the stairs, scrambling toward the narrow hole above. The attic entrance was absurdly small, barely wide enough to push through. He hurled his two bags inside first, then twisted and contorted his body, forcing himself into the cramped space. It was not painful at all when did, he was very accustomed to it. Once through, he seized the pull-down staircase and dragged it shut, fumbling with trembling hands until every lock clamped into place. At last, he was safe. His room. His only refuge. — He quickly flipped a switch and a few small lamps illuminated the room. It was nothing impressive but it dispelled the pitched black darkness. Before him was a small creakily room, with very old wood, completely covered with trash. Assortments of snacks wrappers, energy drinks, along with an assortment of miscellaneous items to pass the time. This room was about as small as a king size bed with a triangle frame on the roof. In the middle of the tiny room was a makeshift gaming station. Consisting of a piles and blankets to make a reclined chair. There was an old tv facing the makeshift chair. Much older than the one downstairs. Next to it, was a gaming console. Along with a stack of video game cases. He walked over to his makeshift chair, plopped down. Opium to a deep breath of relaxation. ‘Finally.’ Closing his eyes he melted into the chair, for only a short while. ‘I wonder if anything got damaged’ Putting the snack bag down right next to him at a comfortable reach, he grabbed the prized blue bag. Undoing the tight knot, he peak inside. Pulling out first was a set of batteries, opened them, and set them in a baby monitor meant to survey downstairs. He wanted to do this before the fun. But the real joy was what came after. He then pulled out a set a collection of brand new video games, 6 of them. Each worth around 60 dollars each. Along with a brand new video game controller. He was full of joy, giddying with excitement like a normal kid opening his gifts on Christmas day. ‘Haha tonight's gonnabe a fun night, so many options, I don’t know which to choose, they all look so damn good!’ Shuffling through the games, he found one strange one in particular, holding it up, he observed the cover. ‘Hmm, this is one looks interesting, If I remember, this was that last game on the shelf’ ‘Champion’s Culling’ ‘Hmm, I've never heard of this game. But since it was the last one on the shelf, its bound to be popular.’ <No play the new Grafter Game first, everyone has been talking about it> ‘You were always such a Grafter nerd, didn’t we just finish a Grafter game two days ago’ <Yes, exactly that is why we should play the new one, it is still fresh in our minds> ‘Nerd, I don’t want to’ <I don't want to hear “nerd” from you, did you not just watch the entire lore dump of Lord of the Rings. That is you’re 3rd time watching!> ‘Don’t act like you were not interested the whole time’ <When are we playing the new Grafter Game> ‘My Precious’ Taking Champion’s Culling out of the case, he slid into the game console and turned on the old tv. He was greeted by the game system menu, then quickly loaded up the game. ‘This better be good.’ Lately, Opium had been drawn to those grim punishment-driven games—slow, merciless things built on death and repetition. He was … ill-suited at first. Still, he kept playing. ‘Damn what's taking so long! This better be a good game if its taking this long to load’ He took this opportunity to reach open his bag crack open a hot and already immensely shaken up energy drink. Fizz exploded all over himself but he didnt care. After it was done, he greedily chug the drink leaving it almost barely empty. He had plenty more so he wasn't very conservative. After munching on a fair amount of snack from the bag. Opium took the game case and examine it to pass the time. Then he picked up the game case to exam it more to pass the time. The picture on the front show this character in front of a shiny black castle with A huge crystal-like stone jutted from the sky. What was carved into the crystal was the number ‘50’. Flipping the case over he said a lengthy description. Oh beloved fated one, Heed these words, and enter the Fiftieth Season of the Glorious Culling. Beyond this seal lie realms wrought in ruin, where broken laws yet bind the living, and death is denied its rest. There shalt thou wander lands unmade, contend with beasts shaped by rule and decay, and cross blades with those who yet cling to breath. Only one shall endure. The one who overcometh the Culling shall claim a seat among the Aspirants — a seat reserved for those who outlast their fate. Come forth, and heed the call of the final season. Contend, and be numbered among its victors. ‘What a strange description, it almost seems like a note than describing the game’ Just as he finished reading, the game loaded. He lingered on the intro screen, studying it. The colors clashed awkwardly. The font felt wrong. The UI looked rushed—half-built, almost careless. There was only one option. —Play— “Maybe it’s some kind of style choice… one of those new-game aesthetics.” Instantly after pressing play, the screen went black. Not screen black. True black. Before he could react. He felt a small tug towards the screen. Instantaneously, the tug grew Exponentially. ‘What th-‘ The force hurled him forward. He threw his hand up, bracing for the impact on the old glass. But he pass straight through. ‘WHAT THE FUCK!’ The television didn’t shatter. It swallowed. In less than a second, the tv was able to throw him inwards then suck him inside, As if the old tv hosted a small black hole. His small body was dragged effortlessly toward it. Instinct took over. He twisted hard and yanked his left arm back, fingers clawing at the TV’s edge. His hand caught the frame. For a heartbeat, he held. But the pull intensified gradually and drastically. His arm screamed. Joints strained. It felt as if his shoulder were about to tear free. “ARGH—!” Around him, the room began to become alive with flying trash. Wrappers. Snacks. Loose junk lifted and shot past him, pelting his face. On the far side of the room, trash skidded across the floor. Furniture groaned. Something heavy shifted. He knew he couldn’t hold forever. But he refused to let go. It didn’t matter. The metal wrench from his makeshift lock tore free, rocketing across the room. It struck him square in the head. —Welcome, Player, to…. He lost conscious. Letting go, he flung back into the abyssal darkness.