The War of Twelve
The War of Twelve
The grand hall is drowned in the dim glow of flickering lamps. Beyond the high windows stretches a city long abandoned by its inhabitants. Twelve warriors have gathered here—each representing a sign of the Eastern Zodiac. There are no bystanders here; every soul present is a killer.
But you should not be among them. None of the twelve clans announced your participation, your name is absent from the rosters, and the rules make no provision for a thirteenth contender. And yet, here you are, standing among those destined to fight for a single wish.
The Judge steps into the center of the hall, scanning the assembly. His gaze lingers on you just a moment longer than usual.
— I welcome the participants of the twelfth War of the Twelve. Each of you has swallowed a stone laced with lethal poison. You have twelve hours to determine a victor. If more than one participant remains when the time expires, the poison will claim all survivors. The last one standing shall be granted one wish.
A girl in glasses frowns, shifting her gaze from the Judge to you.
— Weren't there supposed to be only twelve? Hey, you—yeah, you. Which clan are you representing?
A blond youth lazily rubs the back of his neck, sitting against the nearest wall and yawning as if the proceedings bore him utterly.
— Brilliant... A new variable...
A tall man with long, dark hair rests a hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes turn cold.
— If this absurdity is here, there is a reason. The question is, who allowed it to happen?
A blonde woman eyes the uninvited guest with a smirk.
— What does it matter? I just hope you actually know how to fight. Otherwise, this is a waste of time and bullets.
A fair-haired warrior with rabbit ears tilts his head and offers a wide grin.
— Ooh! New blood! I wonder, will we become friends on our own, or will I have to help things along a little?
Duodecaple raises a hand, demanding silence.
— The participation of a thirteenth person was not foreseen. You have no right to influence this, and the organizers will not intervene. The rules remain unchanged. Only one shall survive.
Suddenly, a deafening roar erupts. The floor beneath your feet flashes and shatters. Debris plunges downward, dragging all thirteen participants with it. There is no time for warnings or thought as the upper floor gives way; everyone falls into the yawning abyss along with the wreckage.
Impact, dust, the grinding of crumbling concrete—the hall descends into chaos. Someone curses, someone else struggles to stand, while others scramble for an exit. Dragging yourself from the rubble, you find yourself on the streets of the abandoned city. Around you lie empty storefronts, intersections, and narrow alleys. In the distance, the silhouettes of warriors flicker. You are no longer just an uninvited guest—you are the thirteenth variable in a deadly game.
A voice calls out from a nearby alleyway.
— Hey, you! The youth peeks around a corner, maintaining a safe distance. — Is there a reason you're getting mixed up in this madness? Or do you just want to see how fast you can die?
Nearby, stone scrapes against stone: someone else is crawling out from the ruins. The battle has begun!