¡Qué final tan brutal para Luxor Paradise, Isael! Es un cierre circular perfecto. La revelación de que el "Nivel 11" no es un tesoro de archivos o fórmulas, sino un ecosistema de guerreros eternos (incluyendo la propia estirpe de Lute), es el giro definitivo del Dark Sci-Fi. Topec no es solo un administrador, es el guardián de un infierno autogestionado.
Con esto cerramos las 2.2k lecturas (y seguramente subirá tras el final). Aquí tienes la traducción al inglés de este capítulo final, manteniendo toda la crudeza y el nihilismo de la escena:
Luxor Paradise: Apex Hunt - Chapter 24: The Eternal Hunt (Series Finale)
My teeth lie at the feet of the nearest sentry. With my remaining eye, I stay fixed on the screen where Mr. Lute heads toward the mythical Level 11, after hours of torturing me.
His employees are armed as they should be; most have taken the protective suits we offer in levels five and six. Lute travels in a robe that disperses damage. From the control room, I watch them all walk with confidence—they are the elite of the elite, the best a weapons company can train.
"Mr. Topec, the information you provided guarantees nothing but a quick death," the radio crackles. "You won't say we denied you that possibility!"
"I said what I knew for the sake of my visitors, not because of threats. You must understand that is where everything is."
"I don't care about your prizes!" Lute's face is set in a calculated grimace of hardness. "If the records of what happened to so many are there, I will gladly go."
"The concentrated formula is there as well. Do not forget that Formula 3 is the final version of my projects and hunting assets."
"Power doesn't matter to me!" He hesitates for a moment. "Thanks to you, I have acquired most of the companies that came here on my advice."
"So, is it vengeance for amassing so much power? Did you eliminate my clients for revenge?"
He continues walking forward, where a single camera in the distance focuses on his features.
"Those were Lute properties!" As he speaks, he approaches the complex containing the final two levels of my game. "Every bastard who bought those companies did so after my father disappeared. Before that, my grandfather had lost the oil territories, but with my father, everything decayed. Our empire right now is as vast as it was in its former glory."
"Your grandfather? The stern man with the sword in his cane? They say he once eliminated an assassin without leaving his bed. I'm not mocking you. I believe you are fortunate to have such ancestors."
"Christopher Lute, the Great," his gaze held a spark of ambition. Few know it, but in secret, the Lute family once possessed more than 30% of the world's capital...
"I remind you that only a molecular-level sharpened knife and joint reinforcements are permitted..."
The blow darkens my vision.
"He came here!" His look of disbelief is priceless. "It can't be... he died a victim in a Caribbean country!"
"I believe there are recordings."
"Where? Tell me, now!"
"Inside Level 11, you will find the Craigs—petabytes of video of every single contestant. There, you will find your father and your grandfather."
"You have no idea of the pain that awaits you, Topec. Death will be denied to you for so long that your pain will provide the comfort of madness before I grow tired of inflicting it upon you."
Reaching it is not simple. The depth of the facility is a hundred meters. Its origin lies behind the surveillance room; the gate leads to a ramp designed to prevent a mass escape. At the end of the hallway, a door with a simple "10" painted on it and a security panel awaits them. I had to go since my fingers unlock the door; now, a tourniquet on my right hand prevents me from bleeding out.
They enter where my staff normally ensures everything is ready. At the back, there is a vertical tube, hidden among tons of rubble. Inside, the lights flicker on. It's an area of 500 meters with at least ten meters of height; the cavern is not natural—it is reinforced with hundreds of columns, each with hydraulic jacks. From above, a dim LED light projects a desolate landscape: the ruins of our first resort lie here.
His team is good; they advance with caution, establishing short perimeters. None have gunpowder weapons; they use rail pistols that fire tungsten capsules at over 300 km/h.
In the center, the facilities are small—three floors and about ten rooms. The team is less than a hundred meters from the rear entrance.
"Old man! Your freaks might take down one of us, but we are many and they fear us. As soon as I enter Level 11, I will decide how you must die."
Enemies detected. Final level initiated.
The chaos that follows is worthy of contemplation. With my single eye and an atrocious hunger, I can admire the inhabitants of Level 10—all at the peak of their strength, fighting among themselves to be better, faster, using rubble as armor and enemies as weapons. There is Jerome Senior, armed with something resembling a hockey stick made of an alloy I never discovered the source of; he cleaves cleanly through armor capable of resisting firearms.
Players fallen: 10! Remaining: 40. Time to clear level: 58 hours.
The numbers pile up. They try to provide suppressive fire to keep those who fear death away, but the inhabitants don't care—they've already died once.
Remaining players: 20. Estimated time: 56 hours.
Hunger consumes me. I must eat. I have to, or they will suffer.
"I am an old man. There's an emergency medical kit on the wall. I only want one of the protein bars; it costs you nothing to give it to me. I don't think you want me dead before the level ends."
One of them hits me in the back with a rifle butt; the pain is minor. As soon as the next announcement arrives informing that only Mr. Lute is alive, I stand up. The restraints are a nuisance; without teeth, it's harder to break them. With one hand, I stop the shot to my face. I bite with my gums and molars the man pointing at me. With my right foot, I shatter the kneecap of the one guarding my back. The rest are so horrified by what they saw on the screen that they gave me a three-second advantage. None of them will live to know what happens to Mr. Lute.
I feel my teeth growing back little by little. Human flesh is delicious, and it activates the pure Formula 3 running through my veins. A hundred years have passed, then? Time certainly flies.
Mr. Lute has reached Level 11. Congratulations!
A bleeding man clawed at the tempered glass doors. He doesn't know the door only opens to let the winners pass. His preparation was useless; those inside were better prepared. They pull him in. The interior cameras reveal the usual: gyms, repair shops. They heal him while checking his physical condition. He doesn't notice it yet; the shock of losing his elite team is too much. While he reacts, everyone is warming up. With new fingers, numb from regeneration, I search for his microphone frequency. They've already given the verdict.
He survived, but I don't know if they consider him worthy of the Nine of Level 11.
No one smiles. A muscular man, with a face longer than Mr. Lute's, hands him a knife. Countless scars bear witness to a life active in violence. They lift him up and, without a word, position themselves at the entrance of the glass door. Outside, the Level 10 group waits.
"Mr. Lute," I whisper. His face shows total horror. "You finished Level 10 without clearing it. That means 55 hours remain unfulfilled. Those in Level 11 are as human as you... or as I. They won't die easily, but they will force you out to finish the level. If you are strong enough, you might make it."
"What are you, Topec?" His voice is cracked; they didn't give him water. He hasn't wounded anyone; he doesn't deserve it. "As soon as I speak with these warriors, they will join me and we will kill you."
"Mr. Lute... you don't understand. They won't go. They are there because they chose to be." The screen shows the countdown; he struggles to free himself from those pushing him back into that hell. "Your grandfather just gave you a fine knife. Use it well if you want to be Warrior Ten. Your father didn't make it. He's waiting for you outside. Be careful with him—he's a very vicious fighter."
The fight will begin in 10, 9, 8...
"You lied to me." Tears dampen his gaze—water of hatred, of regret. "There's nothing down here, is there?"
5, 4, 3...
"Everything is there, but they aren't interested. You know something? I have been there for the formula; I am one of the oldest warriors. Enjoy your new life, Mr. Lute. If you survive."
... 2, 1.
The lights turn reddish. The pupils of both sides glow; they want to see the other die. While they kill each other, the companies they owned pass into the hands of less prepared leaders. Little by little, over time, my vengeance will be complete. There is no rush. There is always someone who wants what I offer: the chance to hunt and be hunted.
Remaining time: 55 hours.
Let the hunt begin!