Outside the room, the players remained pressed against the door, straining to catch the faintest sounds within.
Those from the first group looked on with relief—they'd gotten lucky, finishing their round without incident. No one had expected the second group to encounter something... irregular.
All ears were poised, hoping to hear that familiar cough that marked the game's end. But the silence dragged on, stretching nerves to a breaking point. The players waiting outside grew anxious; those trapped within the darkness were already nearing panic.
Cooper had touched the ice-cold presence at Corner 1 more times than he could count. From the initial jolt of terror to a numb, dulled acceptance, he had long since lost track of how many cycles they'd completed. His legs felt leaden, as though anchored by weights.
The dark magnified every flicker of fear. As a complete novice, Cooper had been thrust into pressure far beyond his threshold with no preparation, no gradual exposure. The taut string of his sanity had been pulled tighter and tighter, now on the verge of snapping.
Eventually, in a haze of disorientation, he arrived once again at Corner 1—unaware he had returned. He numbly reached out and tapped the figure before him.
Even as the cold body shifted and moved away, Cooper failed to register what he had done. He simply followed, pressing himself into the vacated space.
When the player at Position 2 felt an icy hand tap her back, she nearly lost consciousness—startled to her core. That chill—it was bone-deep.
But wasn't the rookie supposed to be the one behind her?
His hand couldn't possibly be that cold.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Something was terribly wrong. Stiff with dread, she staggered forward toward Position 3.
It didn't take long for Grayson to notice the error. He knew the feel of Position 1 intimately by now—it was impossible to mistake. Yet the figure he brushed past wasn't right. They were trembling. Their breathing—labored and human.
Breathing?
The entity at Corner 1 shouldn't breathe.
This sound—it resembled a player's breath. The rookie's.
Realization struck Grayson like lightning—followed by a storm of panic and fury. His thoughts spun rapidly, but the rules offered no solution for this deviation. What now? Should he tap Cooper's back and pretend nothing was wrong? Or skip him, and hope to avoid further chaos?
Was there still a way to reset the balance?
His hesitation lasted mere seconds before he made his choice—he tapped Cooper's back.
With no other solution, he chose to adhere to the rules—to continue the game as written. Above all, he had to ensure he himself had not violated the system.
Outside the room, Erik's mind was racing.
The second team was clearly in trouble. If she had been the one facing this predicament, how would she have resolved it?
"We need to talk—quickly," Erik pulled her teammates together.
Giselle offered a theory. "I think the reason the second group accidentally let the extra… entity into the game was the rookie. I don't think he did it on purpose—probably lost track. They've been in there for over thirty minutes now, and it's pitch black. A rookie might just snap under the pressure."
Compared to the Pen Spirit ritual, Erik actually found the Four Corners Game "safer."
At least its rules gave a clear path to victory—*ignore* the extra player.
Still, compared to seasoned players, a newcomer with no prior experience was far more likely to panic and make mistakes in the dark.
This was why most veterans hesitated to team up with newbies. Even Erik, who had once been a rookie herself and benefited greatly from others' help, couldn't deny the logic.
She had once been confident she wouldn't make mistakes like Melissa—who had asked forbidden questions in the Pen Spirit game. Melissa wasn't even a true first-timer—she had cleared ordinary dungeons before.
After twenty days in this nightmare, Erik understood more deeply than ever the individuality of each player. Everyone had different thresholds. No one could fully control another person's actions. Instability in the dungeon was inevitable—the only solution was to distance oneself from the risk.
"Let's hope for the best—but we need a plan in case the same thing happens to us," Erik said. "Ghosts don't tire. The rules say to ignore the haunted corner, but after enough cycles, our minds may grow confused. We need a strategy. I have an idea—let's brainstorm together."
Her idea: if the ghost *did* manage to join the game, could they re-isolate it? She proposed marking the wall at the haunted corner with a subtle sign—a memory point. If everyone touched it during each pass, they could identify it with certainty.
"That's a solid idea," Giselle nodded. She added her own proposal, though it was more dangerous. "If we *know* which corner has the ghost, why not do the opposite—deliberately tap its back?"
The others stared.
"Don't look at me like that—hear me out. The rule says the game ends when all *four players* are occupying the corners. So if we trick the ghost into the rotation and then occupy *its* next corner before it gets there, we complete the set—four players in four corners. It's locked out. Game over."
It was bold—perhaps reckless. Erik did have a daring streak, but she preferred steadier approaches. Unless they were cornered, she would never risk everything on a gamble.
Her plan, she believed, was gentler.
The rules were laid out in black and white—she clung to them as lifelines, hoping to find salvation through obedience. Giselle's strategy disrupted the system and could very well provoke the ghost's wrath.
Their two remaining teammates, Hailey and Jameson, gave their takes. Hailey leaned toward Erik's method—safer. Jameson favored Giselle's—more efficient than endless loops.
"We'll try both," Erik concluded. "Start with mine. If it fails, we go with yours."
Giselle accepted this. "So what's your memory marker?"
"I have a storage item—small capacity, but useful." Erik produced a small wall hook. "I'll stick this near the clockwise path to Position 1. No matter how many cycles we make, we'll recognize the spot and stay vigilant."
If the ghost had taken Position 1 in the first round, so be it.
But with the marker in place, they could avoid it entirely—never allowing the entity into the game.
Giselle's eyes lit up. "You have *items*? You can bring things into the dungeon?"
Hailey and Jameson hadn't heard of such a thing either. Their eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Meanwhile, inside the room, Cooper's last thread of composure snapped. He had finally realized his mistake—he had tapped that ice-cold back *again*, after stumbling through the corners in a daze.
With a jolt of horror, he came to.
And with it, a surge of defiance. Enough. He'd had enough of this psychological torment. Enough of this cursed game, enough of this cryptic monster.
He didn't care anymore.
He had never tasted the full horror of a dungeon, had never seen its cruelty firsthand. The first group's clean success had shielded him from understanding the true stakes.
Even after realizing he was already dead, Cooper hadn't truly believed in the game's supernatural threat.
He was already dead—what more did he have to fear?
The others' warnings of the game's dangers had been mere stories to him. He'd only gone along with it out of peer pressure. But experience was always more vivid than words.
And so, in a final act of rebellion, Cooper did the unthinkable.
Without the others' knowledge, he reached out and flipped the light switch.
*Click!*
The light blazed on without warning—illuminating the stunned, wide-eyed faces of Grayson and the others.
Grayson squinted, momentarily blinded by the light—but he didn't blink.
He stared, jaw clenched, at the source of the betrayal.
Just as he suspected—it was Cooper.
Rage erupted from his core—only to be smothered by pure terror the moment he looked toward Corner 1.
"…"
Grayson opened his mouth, but no words came. His pupils dilated in terror, tears spilling involuntarily from his eyes.
"AHHHHH!!!" the others screamed.
Cooper, frozen in horror, finally found his voice—and screamed louder.
"AHHHHHHH!!" he shrieked—and fainted on the spot.
He had been the closest to Corner 1.
And now—Corner 1 was looking back.
Countless eyes turned toward Cooper. Countless hands reached out, scrambling to grab him first.
He was seized and *absorbed* into the monstrous form.
The towering figure stood tall—but its head was a grotesque bouquet of human faces.
A new face joined the cluster. Cooper's eyes fluttered open—only to find the others staring at him in paralyzed terror.
He blinked, confused. He tried to move an arm—and collided with others. He turned his head—and found himself face-to-face with a pair of unfamiliar eyes.
No—*many* eyes.
Dozens of heads, like wilted flowers, were crammed together atop a single neck, each with distinct expressions, each impossibly close.
"AHHHHHHH!!!" Cooper screamed, a sound of mind-shattering horror.
Grayson and the others were nearly out of their minds.
They'd known someone—or something—occupied Position 1. But they hadn't imagined *this*.
Not this abomination.
It was like a towering vase—its surface crawling with arms of all sizes, its top blooming with heads. Each head moved independently, wore a different face, bore a different stare. The sight alone could drive one mad.
They had passed that spot dozens of times—sometimes brushing against it.
Never had they imagined it was *this*.
Panic erupted. Players scrambled to escape.
Outside the room, Erik had just finished explaining the use of her item when a bloodcurdling scream rang out.
Everyone turned.
In an instant, they raced for the door.