The cold was the first thing.

  A biting cold, not from the air, but from the hard, icy stone pressed against his cheek.

  Renji’s eyelids fluttered, fighting against a heavy inertia. The darkness was almost absolute, thick as black velvet, disturbed only by an indiscernible light source that seemed to illuminate nothing at all.

  A smell of ancient dust and damp earth stagnated in the still air. There was something else too, a subtle metallic odor, slightly acrid.

  Where am I?

  His last memory was a formless blur, like fragmented images of a mundane street or the commute home. Impossible to grasp.

  His muscles protested, numb, but adrenaline was already starting to flow. He perceived muffled groans, gasping breaths, and the sound of fabric rustling against stone.

  He wasn't alone. Nine other figures vaguely took shape. Without wasting another second on self-pity or analyzing from the ground, Renji got to his feet with a swift, though still clumsy, movement. His gaze swept the gloom, immediately seeking a tactical advantage.

  A wall.

  He quickly backed up until he felt the cold, smooth rock against his spine, positioning himself slightly angled to get the best possible view of the scattered group and the surrounding space. From this position, he quickly assessed: ten people in total, all apparently disoriented, some panicked, no one visibly armed.

  The room, if it was one, seemed vast and carved from dark, smooth rock. No furniture, no windows. The walls rose high, disappearing into impenetrable shadows.

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  A prison? Some kind of vault?

  The feeling of confinement was absolute.

  Just as the confused hubbub of voices began to rise.

  “Where are we?”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Let me out!”

  Another voice echoed. This one was different. It didn’t come from any specific direction, seeming to emanate from the walls themselves, or perhaps, more disturbingly, directly from inside their skulls. Cold, devoid of any emotional inflection, yet carrying an indefinable nuance of cold, amused detachment.

  “Let the game begin.”

  The voice announced, its almost casual tone making the moment even more surreal.

  “Your playground: the Yokai Abyss, thirty levels of deadly folklore. Your goal: the exit, at the very top. Fail, and you become part of the scenery. Simple, right?”

  A dead silence followed this chilling declaration, broken only by a few terrified hiccups.

  A game? Deadly folklore? Part of the scenery?

  The monstrous absurdity of the situation crashed down on them. Some burst into tears. One man started pounding the wall, screaming curses, his voice breaking against the indifferent rock.

  Renji, back against the wall, felt an icy shiver run down his spine despite his attempt at control. His mind was already racing, trying to process the unthinkable, to find logic in this orchestrated nightmare.

  It was then that a new sensation, sharp and shared by all, manifested, pulling them out of their horrified stupor.

  A burning, unbearable pain exploded on the back of their left hands, as if a red-hot iron had just been pressed against their skin.

  “AAAAARGH!”

  “MY HAND!”

  Cries of agony erupted in unison.

  Instinctively, everyone brought their injured hand to their eyes. On the reddened, throbbing skin, a complex, ethereal symbol seemed to engrave itself, glowing with an intense white light for a few unbearable seconds before fading, leaving behind a kind of spectral tattoo, dark but clearly visible on their flesh.

  “Your status is now visible. Learn to use it.”

  The voice resumed, its tone still neutral, ignoring the pain it had just inflicted.

  The physical pain slowly subsided, leaving a tingling sensation where the mark had formed, a phantom presence beneath the skin, an indelible sign of their new and terrifying reality.

  The deadly trial, had officially begun.