Foodstuffs LitRPG Series

Welcome to the challenge. You're an absolute nobody here-nothing; a zero; a useless lump of meat filled with bones. You're but a delicious morsel for your antagonists and those who got lucky at the start. The only goal you can have in your miserable existence is to kick the bucket as soon as possible.

The Challenge continues, and there is no end in sight to the bloodletting. It doesn't matter whether you are a "Brahmin" or a disenfranchised piece of meat, a popular top dog or the lowliest loser. You still don't know squat, and if anything, the questions just keep piling up. Yet, the new tier is also different, at least for some. You can go hard, or go easy, but the harder the going, the higher the loot. If you are lucky, you may even get a respite from feeding on your own kind. Instead, you'll be eating right. But don't rejoice finding yourself all alone on a deserted shore. Nature is the worst killer ever, and the puppet masters know your most secret nightmares. Eating right may well kill you just as dead.

They plucked him out of his own familiar world to kill him with extreme prejudice. This is what always happens to those who are just food in the bowl for someone with a better luck. But consider yourself warned: he is a very special food-the kind that eats you right back. Think again whether you really want to come and get him. And if you still do, just stay put. He'll come for you himself.

The desert has been left behind, but Sinner's troubles have not. He finds himself in an elaborate trap-him, and everyone else who failed to go north early. Now he has two options: accept his fate and die along with countless other losers or escape from the trap and pull his friends out. Except to do that, he will have to fight the most terrifying animal ever. Man.

The new, detached setting is teeming with "land mines"—highly unusual ones. Plenty of other, deadlier things would be happy to reach out and touch someone anywhere, be it the roof of a skyscraper or a subway tunnel deep underground. Tons of somnambulant extras could swing either way: cut your throat or help you, purely on a whim. Weapons are as deadly as they are improbable. Deliberately imposed multiple handicaps make any attempts at camouflage meaningless. It looks like there are way too many top Challenge participants around. Culling time is upon us.