NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 633: Iced
The screen flickered off, leaving Ty with only the distant hum of the drones and the oppressive silence of the tundra. He glanced up, catching sight of a massive clock far above, the numbers blinking in bright red: 30:00. The countdown had begun.
The cold stung, biting into his skin and seeping into his bones. Ty forced himself up, taking a deep breath, watching it cloud in front of him. He surveyed the vast room, snow stretching endlessly, the only sound the crunch under his boots. A few scattered ice formations broke the otherwise flat landscape, their jagged edges catching the sparse light.
"Where are the others?" he wondered, looking around. He knew they had all fallen, but where they had landed was anyone's guess. The place felt massive—designed to make him feel small, insignificant, lost. He knew it was psychological—Heissman wanted them to feel hopeless, to believe there was no way out.
Ty felt a prickle of warmth along his palms, his fire begging to be unleashed, but he held it back. He needed to play this smart."
Taking a step forward, Ty stumbled slightly, his boot hitting something buried in the snow. He paused, bending down, his breath misting in the cold air, and brushed away the packed frost. Beneath, a medium-sized sack revealed itself, the rough canvas almost camouflaged in the whiteness.
"What the hell is this?" Ty muttered under his breath, his fingers touching the sack. It was frozen solid, the fabric stiff and unyielding. He grimaced as the cold bit into his hand, then applied a gentle flame, the heat radiating from his palm until the ice loosened its grip on the sack. Steam rose in small wisps, adding to the dense chill of the environment. Slowly, the fibers began to thaw, and he tugged it open.
Inside lay the items he'd carried during the first stage. He frowned slightly, recognizing the supplies he had managed to gather—packets of food, frozen bottles of water, medical bandages, and, rather oddly, the shovel he got in the first stage shovel and the sword. Ty's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing as he took a mental inventory of the contents, only to notice something unexpected.
A small, frost-coated wristband sat at the bottom of the sack. Its metal gleamed faintly under the dim, artificial light overhead. Ty reached in, prying the wristband free. He didn't remember seeing it before. Turning it over, he noticed intricate engravings—symbols he didn't immediately recognize—and the metal was icy to the touch, numbing his fingertips as he examined it.
His eyes flicked to the sky as he heard the faint whirring of mechanical wings. A couple of drones hovered in the distance, their lenses fixated on him. Ty frowned, the edges of his lips pulling into a scowl. "Always broadcasting," he muttered, shaking his head slightly.
The arena stretched out in every direction, a seemingly endless tundra of biting wind and thick snowdrifts. The cold was oppressive, sapping the strength from his limbs as he stood there, staring out at the landscape. The drones flitted about, their presence a stark reminder that every step he took, every breath, every motion was being watched. No doubt the audience was glued to their screens, waiting, expecting—maybe even hoping—for him to fail.
Signing he stated
find the key, get out, and deal with Heissman later. He moved cautiously, the snow crunching beneath him, his eyes scanning for anything that seemed out of place.
Ahead, a cluster of ice spires jutted out, their forms sharp and almost crystalline. Ty moved towards them, hoping for some sign, a hint, anything. As he approached, he noticed a glint, something embedded within the ice. He stepped closer, squinting against the glare of the reflected light. A key—or at least something that looked like one—was frozen within the largest spire.
"Convenient," Ty muttered. He placed his hand against the ice, feeling the cold radiate through his skin, and let the warmth build in his palm, the fire seeping out just enough to melt the ice. The key dropped, and Ty caught it, holding it up to inspect it. It was ornate, almost ceremonial, with strange etchings running along its length.
"One down... maybe," he said under his breath, tucking it away. There would be more, he knew as he looked up toward the cieling as the clock hit 25:00 minutes left.
Ty stumbled backward, struggling to keep his balance as he landed on a patch of ice that hadn't cracked beneath him. His heart pounded, the echo of his near-fall still reverberating through his mind. The black flames flickered around his arms, barely holding the frostbite at bay, the temperature gnawing at him mercilessly.
He took a breath, trying to control the tremble in his muscles, but the cold was biting. The acid pit below hissed as the ice patched over it again, mocking him with its deadly proximity. Ty gritted his teeth and shook his head, trying to pull himself together.
"Can't keep messing up like this," he muttered, looking around the vast, icy room, his breath fogging up in front of him.
The frozen landscape before him stretched on for what seemed like miles, harsh winds whipping through the barren tundra, the low hum of drones echoing around him, ever watching. Frozen trees lay ahead—perhaps a clue, perhaps a dead end. He couldn't be sure. He needed to find the keys. He needed to find the door.
He could feel the frostbite creeping up his hands as he lowered his arms, taking in the grim scene around him. The cold was unbearable. It gnawed at his skin, dug into his bones. Summoning the black flames to keep himself warm came with risks—he'd already learned that. But he had to do something. Stay updated with My Virtual Library Empire
His eyes settled on a cluster of frozen trees in the distance, branches encased in frost, glittering dully in the light. It was a long shot, but he had to check—there had to be something, anything, that could help him. He cautiously made his way toward the grove, each step gingerly placed to avoid another pitfall.