*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
A furious pounding struck the door, accompanied by frantic shouts:
"Open the door! Hurry—open up!"
"Help! Help me!!!"
Faces outside turned pale in alarm, unable to fathom what was unfolding within. Ian seized the doorknob and yanked with all his strength—but the door refused to budge.
"This door isn't locked," he said with a frown. "Why won't it open?!"
It was merely closed, never locked—meant to grant players inside an easy escape.
Nor was there fear of anyone opening it from the outside. Knowing a supernatural game was underway, no one would dare invite death through that threshold.
But now, even with force applied from both sides, the door remained firmly shut.
"Help me! No—ahhh!!!"
The screams stopped abruptly.
*Click.*
The door creaked open.
A sickly stench of blood struck the group like a blow, forcing them to hold their breath. Someone switched on the light, revealing—
Nothing.
No blood. No bodies. No trace of struggle. The room was clean—eerily so.
"Where is everyone?! They've vanished!"
"What the hell happened in here?!"
The players surged inward, overturning every surface, yet found no sign of life or death. Erik scanned the walls, the floor, her lips pressed into a silent line.
"All right. Clear out," Ian said. "Time for Group Three to begin their round."
The others withdrew, leaving only Erik and her three teammates. Erik shut the door and affixed a small hook to the corner of the wall immediately to the left of the entrance. This marked *Corner 1.*
"I'll take Corner 4," Erik announced, crossing to the far diagonal.
"I'll stand at Corner 1," said Giselle.
Hailey positioned herself at Corner 2, and Jameson took Corner 3.
The light switch was beside the door. Giselle flipped it off, then stepped quietly back to her position.
Darkness swallowed them.
Giselle set off, heading toward Corner 2. The sequence began smoothly. When Jameson tapped Erik's back, she started walking toward Corner 1. Feeling her way along the wall, she suddenly struck something with her foot.
Someone was already there.
Her breath slowed. Without hesitation, she bypassed the corner and continued to Corner 2.
Soon, the others noticed it too—Corner 1 was already occupied. Tension rose.
The second loop began. Then the third… the tenth.
Still, no one touched Corner 1.
Time crawled forward, thick and silent. Though she had her wall hook as a guide, Erik kept meticulous mental notes of each position.
But on the twenty-ninth round, she reached the corner and found the hook *missing.*
This *had* to be Corner 1—she was certain of it!
Her anxiety rose. The hook was of excellent quality. It couldn't have simply fallen off. Even if tampered with, it wouldn't come loose easily.
Could she have miscounted?
Impossible. She was exhausted, yes, and under pressure—but not disoriented. She trusted her mind.
This *was* Corner 1.
Without wasting time, Erik affixed another hook and moved forward. Her foot nudged the icy presence once again. She exhaled in relief, reached Corner 2, and gently tapped Giselle's back.
The game resumed.
Jameson was next to pass by Corner 1. He, too, failed to find the hook.
*It's gone?* His heart skipped.
Had he miscounted?
Just like Erik, he wrestled with doubt—but in the end, he trusted his memory.
Next came Hailey, then Giselle. Both found Corner 1 unmarked, yet avoided it with discipline. Giselle, braving her fear, pretended to stumble and deliberately brushed against the icy body.
*It's real. It's the ghost.*
Relief flooded her. She had gambled—and won.
When Erik reached Corner 1 again, she found the hook had vanished *once more.*
This time, she knew for certain—it wasn't faulty craftsmanship.
It was *the entity*.
And it was growing impatient.
Desperate. Eager. Longing to join the game.
But constrained by rules, it could not enter uninvited. So it waited… and waited.
Until it noticed the hook—and removed it.
Yet Erik wasn't frightened. Its interference was confirmation: without an invitation, it could do *nothing*. The rules were real. The creature was a tiger—its fangs pulled.
The group pressed on. They completed thirty-two loops.
Still excluded, the ghost's patience waned.
By the sixty-third cycle, as Erik approached Corner 1 again, measuring her steps, she unexpectedly brushed her fingers against the hook.
Still intact.
Surprised, she paused. Took another step.
Nothing.
Two more.
Still clear.
She walked straight into the corner and stood there.
Ten seconds passed.
Just as she began to doubt the validity of the game's rules, a message echoed in her mind:
> *"After a night of delightful play, it's a shame your new friends couldn't join you. Perhaps next time, you might be a more gracious host and let them enjoy the fun as well."*
No time for sarcasm—*they had survived*. The game was over.
Giselle and the others heard the prompt as well. Hailey let out a cheer.
The door opened.
A roomful of anxious faces awaited them. Erik held up a sack of hooks and asked the fourth group, "Interested in a trade?"
The hooks had served their purpose. Ultimately, though, survival relied on the players themselves.
Still, as support tools, they had value. After Erik gave a brisk summary of their experience, the fourth group agreed. Each player handed over a basic medical kit in exchange.
Erik accepted the kits and passed them the sack of hooks, watching as they disappeared into the room.
The door shut.
She stored the medical kits in her personal inventory, watching with satisfaction as they transformed into a tidy line of digits.
Selling the more valuable supernatural kits would have netted more profit, but they couldn't divide points. Which of the four should bear that cost? To save time and avoid dispute, she had offered a fairer trade—and it worked.
The second group had been wiped out. The first and third had survived. Now it was up to the fourth group.
Most players were focused on the ongoing game. Only members of Group Three remained preoccupied with Erik's earlier remarks.
Giselle pressed her about the tools she used.
Looking at their eager faces, Erik felt a flicker of pride.
Perhaps, one day, she would become the one answering questions for others.
In their eyes, she saw a reflection of her former self.
But she had only been in the game for less than a month.
Her thoughts drifted to Natalie.
A pang of sorrow.
Natalie was gone.
How long could *she* last?
What fates awaited the players she met within these dungeons?
The sorrow passed.
In life, Erik had lived with ease, never lacking in food or comfort. Peace Mart—the supermarket her parents left behind—had sustained her.
Now, in death, she fought with everything she had for a second chance.
She had been luckier than most.
Her parents' legacy still shielded her. She owed it to them to press forward with strength.
For now, she would serve as a conduit of information, offering others the help she had once received.
When her explanation ended, the fourth group's game was still underway.
The first group had passed in a single round—too fast to provide insight.
The second group had been annihilated.
The third had completed sixty-three loops. Erik estimated the fourth would need at least sixty.
She hoped the hooks would help.
Inside the room, all four players were silently counting rotations. With the hooks marking key positions, they could manage.
Slow was fine—so long as they didn't make a critical error.
No one knew exactly what doomed the second group, but it was clear—they had let the ghost into the game.
The third group's success gave them hope.
Lilian, the team leader, distributed the hooks evenly.
But by the eighth cycle, the first hook had already vanished.
That didn't match the third group's report.
Lilian didn't assume they had lied. She immediately realized:
The conditions had changed.
The ghost had adapted.
The third group had only noticed missing hooks after twenty cycles. Now the ghost was acting faster.
*It had learned.*
Not good news.
In hindsight, perhaps the ghost hadn't fully reacted during the first group's game—or perhaps it hadn't *arrived* yet.
The first group had been safest.
Each successive group faced more danger as the ghost grew familiar with their tactics.
Now, their trick had been seen through. The hooks were useless.
Lilian felt a twinge of regret. She had thought the first round would be the most perilous. But this dungeon had flipped expectations.
Still, regret was useless now.
The only way was forward.
Loop after loop, hook after hook disappeared into darkness.
Eventually, they ran out.
After 117 cycles, the four players were disoriented, barely clinging to their bearings.
Lilian's head throbbed. In her mind, she chanted the sequence:
*"…2…3…4…1!! Skip!"*
She bypassed the corner.
As she passed, a cold breath grazed her cheek and neck, sending a shudder through her body.
Her first thought: *It's lost patience.*
It had remained still for so long—why start acting up now?
Instinct said fear.
But logic rejoiced.
*Let it lose patience. Good. Run along now, you damned thing!*
*You're not joining our game—no matter how hard you try.*