suspenseful reincarnation

Game rules

The woman's scream ceased, and everyone's thoughts came to an abrupt halt.

The men who had been shouting and cursing just moments before were now silent.

This was no longer a matter of mere "illegality"; the strange figure before them was truly capable of murder.

For over a minute, an oppressive silence filled the room. Finally, the goat-headed figure nodded slightly, "Very good, the nine of you have quieted down."

The crowd's expressions changed dramatically, but no one dared to speak. As he had pointed out, there were indeed only nine of them now.

With a trembling hand, Enzo reached up and removed a piece of pale yellow matter from his face.

The shattered piece of brain tissue, still warm, quivered slightly but within seconds, it lost its vitality like a deflated balloon.

"Allow me to introduce myself..." The goat-headed figure extended a bloodstained finger towards his mask and said, "I am the 'Human Goat', and you are the 'participant'."

The group was momentarily stunned, then puzzled. "Human Goat"? "Participants"?

"I have gathered you here to participate in a game," the goat-headed figure continued in a calm tone, "to ultimately create a 'god'."

These successive statements caused the group to furrow their brows in confusion.

In the few minutes they had spent together, everyone had come to realize that the man before them was a madman. Yet this madman claimed he wanted to create a "god"?

"Create... what kind of god?" a muscular young man asked nervously.

"A god like 'God'!" the goat-headed figure exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. He emitted a foul odor, and his voice carried a menacing tone. "How wonderful! You will witness history with me. The old God created humans but became a rainbow when repairing the sky... We cannot lose God, so we must create a God! A great task awaits this 'god'!"

His voice grew increasingly fervent, and he seemed almost maniacally energized.

"A god..." The muscular young man's brows knitted tightly. He found the idea difficult to accept. After a pause, he asked, "Are you some kind of religious cult?"

"A religion?" The goat-headed figure paused and then turned to the young man. "We are far grander than any 'religion'. We have a 'world'!"

Upon hearing this, everyone fell silent once again.

The muscular man's question hit the mark. The goat-headed figure's actions were reminiscent of a cult, yet most cults fabricated new gods rather than using a heroic figure like God.

"If that's the case," the muscular man continued, "what do you want us to 'participate' in?"

"I've already told you, it's just a game," the goat-headed figure replied without hesitation. "If you win, one of you will become a 'god'."

"Creating a god..." The man with the floral tattoos seemed to calm down, cursing as he spoke. "Creating a god, right? What if we can't win?"

"If you can't win..." The goat-headed figure looked at the blood on his hands with some disappointment. "If you can't win, it would be a real pity..."

Though he didn't say it outright, everyone understood his implication.

If can't win, die.

The options he offered left no room for "walking out alive." One could either become his so-called "god" or end up dead, like the young man with the shattered skull.

"If everyone understands," the goat-headed figure continued, "then let the 'game' officially begin. This game is called 'The Liar'." He slowly pulled out a stack of papers from his coat and casually walked around, placing a sheet in front of each person. Then he handed out a few pens.

The table was stained with blood, and each sheet of paper became smeared with red as it touched the surface. When someone flipped their paper and wiped it with their hand, the blood spread like paint, turning the white paper crimson.

"Next, I want each of you to recount the last event that happened before you arrived here," the goat-headed figure said. "But keep in mind, among the storytellers, one will be lying. After all nine of you have told your stories, you will vote. If all eight identify the 'liar,' the liar will be eliminated, and the rest will survive. If even one person votes incorrectly, the liar will survive, and everyone else will be eliminated."

"The liar...?" The group was puzzled. Would someone really lie at such a life-and-death moment?

"Wait, can we discuss 'strategy'?" the muscular man suddenly asked.

"Feel free," the goat-headed figure nodded. "Before the game starts, you have one minute to strategize. Would you like to use it now or later?"

"I want to use it now," the muscular man said without hesitation.

"Go ahead."

The goat-headed figure stepped back, distancing himself from the table. The muscular man pressed his lips together, then looked around at the group, carefully avoiding the headless corpse slumped on the table. He said, "I don't know who among you might lie later, but this 'rule' seems too arbitrary. If even one person votes wrong, we all die. And even if we vote correctly, the liar will die. It seems there will be death either way. Now, I've thought of a way for everyone to survive..."

Everyone turned to the muscular man upon hearing his declaration. Was it really possible to ensure everyone’s survival?

"We just need to make sure no one lies," the muscular man quickly revealed before anyone could fully grasp the idea. "If all nine of us tell the truth and write 'No one lied' on this paper, we won't break the rules and we'll all survive."

The man in the white coat tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully before speaking. "Your plan sounds solid, but it hinges on one crucial point: that you are not the liar. How can we trust you? If you are the liar and we all write 'No one lied,' you would be the sole survivor."

"That's absurd!" The muscular man’s face showed a flicker of anger. "If I were the liar, why would I propose such a plan? I’d only need to save myself."

The goat-headed figure raised a hand slightly and said, "Time's up. Please stop talking."

Both men exchanged cold glances but fell silent.

"Now, please draw a card." The goat-headed figure pulled out a small deck of cards from his pocket. They were the size of playing cards, with "God's Game" written on the back.

The muscular man hesitated, then asked, "What’s this?"

"These are 'identity cards,'" the goat-headed figure laughed. "If you draw 'Liar,' you must lie."

The muscular man gritted his teeth. "Are you kidding us? Why didn't you mention this rule earlier?!"

"This is to teach you a lesson," the goat-headed figure sneered. "You wasted your precious minute asking if you could strategize instead of letting me finish explaining the rules. It’s not my fault you didn’t know."

The muscular man’s expression darkened, but recalling the goat-headed figure’s lethal abilities, he swallowed his anger.

In one minute, all nine participants had drawn a card from the goat-headed figure’s hand, but none dared to look at them. If their card read 'Liar,' it would come down to a choice between their survival and everyone else’s.

The four women’s hands trembled slightly, while the men’s faces were grim. This draw wasn’t just about identity—it was about life and death.

Enzo took a deep breath, nonchalantly holding his card before his eyes. He flipped it open.

It boldly read 'Liar.'