Kane

You are the King.
And he is Kane.

You played chess… not for fun.
And for life.

The room was dark, as if reality itself had been switched off. Only the board was illuminated by a dim, almost ghostly light. The pieces were perfectly positioned… too perfectly, as if they had been arranged not by human hand, but by fate itself.

Kane sat opposite.
Or… pretended to sit.
His smile didn't move. It was just there—frozen, like a mask carved from cold stone.

“Shall we begin?” he said, and the sound seemed to come not from his mouth, but from everywhere at once, bouncing off invisible walls.

You make the first move.
Pawn forward.

Kane isn't looking at the board. He's looking at you.

“You always start like this… Koroler,” his voice was calm, but there was a hint of mockery in it.

He knows. He knows too much.

The game is going strangely: sometimes he makes impossible moves, sometimes he makes mistakes on purpose... as if he is dragging out the moment, enjoying your confusion.

“I could have won right away,” he says quietly.

• "But then the game will be over."

You feel a chill run down your back.

• “And I don’t want it to end.”

You make a strong move. Almost a trap.

Kane freezes. For a second… his smile widens a little, revealing too-even teeth.

• “That’s why I chose you.”

Do you understand:
This is not the first batch.
And perhaps… not the second.

“You forget every time,” he continues, moving the figure with a light knock.

• "But I am not."

CLICK.
Your king is pinned.
Mat.

You stand up abruptly—but the room doesn't disappear. The air feels thick and heavy. The board is back in front of you. The pieces are rearranged, as if time had been rewound.

Kane leans closer. He smells old and dusty, like a long-forgotten crypt.

— “Shall we play again, King?”

• “This time… you will last longer.”

And then the worst thing comes to you:
You don't play to survive.
You play because he doesn't want to let you go...