A soft, black feather the color of the night drifted lazily to the ground. In the distance, bright lights illuminated the sky, for night had fallen. A flash of light hit the feather, given it an almost purple sheen to it. A light "fwap" sent the feather flying off on a wild course downward. Down in the distance, one could see a small town, dotted with trees with green leaves, a few small houses, some major buildings, including what looked like a shop, a museum, and a town gate. There were patches of dirt showing through the green grass where the grass refused to grow. If one got close enough to the ground, they could've been able to hear the soft gurgling of the river that snaked through the town, finally emptying into a vast ocean, one that seemed to go on forever without an end.
But the interesting thing that was going on wasn't in the town. In fact, there was a large platform somehow suspended above the town, with a smaller platform above that. Gathered atop it where many people there, though some couldn't have been considered humans. If one were to count them all, they'd be able to count at least over thirty gathered on the large platform. Above them on the smaller platform, though, were two more, although they seemed different from the others, besides being dressed in black. Something just didn't seem right about the two, as if something had happened to them, to separate them from the rest.
One of them looked like a young, teenage boy. But he wasn't some ordinary boy. In fact, he had wings that were as black as night attached to his back, and they were as real as the town below. His eyes were a pure black, not reflecting any light, as if he were dead. In his right hand, he held a blue bow lined with a golden edge. If he wanted to, he could detach it into dual blades, useful for putting someone in line. Some considered him a fallen angel, one whose heart was corrupted by darkness. . .
The other seemed a bit older than the angel, and was a swordsman. He was wearing a black outfit, just like the angel was. In his right hand, he held a sword that seemed perfect for cutting flesh nice and cleanly. His hair was a deep blue color, the color of sapphires. His eyes were the same color blue, and there was something about him that sent a chill down the others.
Who were they? Nobody knew. Why were they here? Again, nobody knew. But something about the two seemed to keep the others here. Maybe if they stayed, they could get out of this alive. . .
Then a small voice cut through the silence of the night.
"Why are we here?"
That ended up with many other voices shouting out questions, all at once, so no one could tell who said what, nor what they said.
Without saying a word, the angel cocked his bow, and an arrow made of light appeared. He released the arrow, and it shot into the middle of the group below, causing them to fall to silence. The swordsman got up to his feet, and started to speak.
"You are all here to play a game. Depending on how well you play will decide your fates." The way he said it caused fear to spread to the group below. A game? What kind of game? Then the angel got up to speak.
"When the sun rises, one of you will have turned into a trophy, the worst thing that can befall a fighter. When that time comes, you shall vote on who you think did it. There are traitors in your group, in which we have turned. Then there are three others with a special power. Try not to vote them out.
"Whoever you vote out will then be turned into a trophy. If they vanish in a flurry of purple smog, then you have gotten a traitor. If not, then you have just lost someone. Play well, and you shall live. Fail, and may you never see the light of day again."
With that, no one spoke, as the day was arriving, all too quickly.