The sky had turned into a blazing sea of fire, the earth consumed by murky darkness. Massive fragments tore through the burning clouds, crashing onto the polluted ground below. Every second, the world twisted and shattered further.
Amidst this apocalyptic scene, a figure in a crimson-gradient trench coat stood on the edge of a cliff, holding a wine glass. He gazed out at the meteor shower with an air of detached celebration, as if toasting the destruction around him.
Who was he?
What had happened?
Why had the world come to this?
Suddenly, a woman with fiery red hair emerged from the fiery heavens. She wore a sleek black skirt, her eyes swirling with the fury of a blood-red sea. In her hand was an intricately carved longsword. As she stepped forward, the sword's sharp intent sliced the sky into halves, the mere sight of her silhouette causing one's eyes to sting.
The mysterious figure seemed to sense her presence and began to turn his head, about to reveal his face.
Igula strained his nonexistent eyes, trying desperately to catch even the smallest detail of this enigmatic figure—
"Cough, cough! What the hell are you doing?"
Igula abruptly pushed Ash's hand away, wiping his damp lips with irritation.
"I was giving you water!" Ash retorted, holding up the bottle. "What did you think I was doing, drowning you in a toilet bowl? Not that I'd mind, but unfortunately, the toilet doesn't even have a drop of water. If you don't want it, fine. Harvey, want some?"
"I'd rather not use the bathroom here," Harvey muttered weakly from where he sat against the wall, his exhaustion apparent even on his darkened face.
Ash twisted the cap back on and set the bottle aside. "Then we'd better save it. Who knows? Maybe they'll bring us food later…"
Igula finally took stock of their situation: a small, padded room about ten square meters in size. The walls and floor were covered in soft material, and light seeped through the cracks in the walls. In the corner stood a compact unit with a sink and a toilet.
There were no windows, just a ventilation duct in the ceiling corner, steadily releasing a warm white mist that blended into the room's air.
Igula checked his belongings. His knife, small firearm, and multipurpose keychain were gone. However, his metal hairpin remained. Straightened, it could serve as a sharp weapon—though it was only useful against an unarmored, unsuspecting target, perhaps during their most vulnerable moments, like undressing or using the toilet.
He tried to stand, intent on blocking the vent, but his legs gave out, leaving him to collapse awkwardly in front of Ash.
"That's a sedative mist," Ash explained lazily. "Haven't you noticed how we're all so weak, even when we talk?"
"You always sound constipated, so how could I tell?" Igula grumbled, rolling up his sleeve to inspect the gunshot graze on his arm. To his surprise, the wound had already started to scab over.
"This level of healing… it's better than basic first aid," he murmured, impressed.
"Do you know what time it is?" he asked aloud.
"May 2nd, just past 1 a.m.," Ash replied. "We've probably been out for less than an hour. Though, given we're in a different nation now, there might be a time difference."
Igula didn't bother questioning how Ash could tell the time without a chip or clock. Pressing his palm to the padded floor, he noted the faint vibrations. "We're on a moving vehicle. Probably a transport, though I've never seen one with soundproofing and shock absorption this good…"
He touched the collar around his neck. "Have you tested this yet?"
"Channeling any sorcery triggers a nasty shock," Harvey said flatly. "If you want to test it, I'd recommend taking off your pants and sitting on the toilet. Though honestly, you can test it anywhere. These cushions are super absorbent; any accidents will clean themselves up in no time."
Igula shot Harvey and Ash a suspicious look. "Given how detailed your explanation is, I won't ask how you know that… Anything else you've figured out?"
After a brief silence, Ash spoke. "Before passing out, I heard someone say, 'I only caught three otherworlders.' This wasn't a random ambush—it was a trap specifically for us. They even knew Ronald and Lonna wouldn't make it here."
"Precognition or fate-altering miracles," Igula concluded without surprise. "What about the wolf and his prey?"
"Ronald died saving Lonna," Ash summarized succinctly.
Igula raised an eyebrow but showed no other reaction. "I see."
Ash, struck by a sudden intuition, asked, "You knew Ronald would do that, didn't you?"
"Not exactly," Igula admitted with a faint smile. "I did give him the idea. I sympathized with him and offered to team up to take down Lonna after our escape. He wasn't interested, but he wanted 'real revenge.' Since I'd uncovered some of Lonna's secrets, I simply shared the method with him."
"You manipulated him."
"I don't manipulate people," Igula replied smoothly. "I fulfill their wishes."
"Funny. Isn't that what gods are supposed to do?"
The cult leader and the con artist locked eyes in a tense silence, broken only when Harvey remarked, "Even if Ronald and Lonna didn't come, why hasn't anyone else from the hunt shown up? The Blood Moon Hunt doesn't stop just because of us. In fact, there's probably a bounty for capturing us."
Ash shrugged. "After the scare we gave them, they're probably hiding in the safe zones, demanding written guarantees from Gerard before resuming the hunt. If that delays them until tomorrow night, I'd call that efficient."
"Or the virtual realm gate has been sealed," Igula speculated. "If they had the precision to predict our arrival, they might have also prepared to isolate us."
"Which means no one's coming to rescue us," Harvey sighed.
The trio fell silent, each feeling a mix of exhaustion and frustration. After all their struggles to escape the Blood Moon Nation—deceiving Gerard, crossing the virtual gate—they'd barely breathed the air of freedom before being captured.
Now, their best hope for escape lay with their pursuers.
Suppressing a twinge of regret, Igula pushed those thoughts aside and turned to Ash. "What about your 'Sever Self' miracle?"
Ash shook his head. "I tried. It clears my status for a second, but since the collar is an external device, it just re-applies the binding effect immediately. We need to remove it physically."
"Given this thing shocks us for any funny business, I doubt it'll play nice if we try brute force," Harvey added, tugging at his own collar. The device lit up with a menacing red glow.
"Shock collars, padded cells, sedative mist… This level of preparation isn't random. If this setup wasn't made for us, it must mean their clients require similar conditions," Igula mused.
"What kind of people need this level of restraint?"
"Death row inmates, lunatics, slaves," Ash suggested.
"Or corpses," Harvey added with a sly grin.
"Don't spook me! Corpses don't need shock collars—they get body bags!"
"But a fresh corpse, still warm… that's a unique treasure," Harvey said wistfully.
"Shut up!"
Igula wanted to snap at them for their idle chatter but quickly realized the significance of their exchange. The sedative mist not only weakened their bodies but also kept them awake, preventing true rest. This prolonged fatigue would erode their mental resilience, eventually leaving them too disoriented to think clearly.
Ash and Harvey might not have understood the psychological tactics in play, but their instinct to keep talking was a valid countermeasure.
Sensing the need for clarity, Igula forced himself to think through their predicament.
The situation wasn't entirely hopeless. If their captors intended to study or exploit them, that meant they were still valuable alive. In a society with rules and structure, Igula was confident he could eventually turn the tables.
For now, though, they could only wait—and prepare for their next move.
On the other side of the room, Ash fell silent, struggling to keep his mind alert. Desperate for stimulation, he conjured a familiar game interface before his eyes.
Time to draw some cards.