For the others, the space the man had been staring at was nothing but empty air. A silent, oppressive void.
Z, however, tapped his cane against the ground with a deliberate motion.
The sound echoed unnaturally, like a pebble dropped into an endless abyss. Slowly, the empty space began to ripple, the edges warping and twisting as if reality itself had been smudged by an invisible hand. The walls began to bleed—a slow, oozing flow of crimson that seemed to defy gravity.
A faint knocking noise reverberated through the air, so subtle it felt more imagined than real.
Z's enhanced senses sharpened, and his vision began to pierce through the distortion. Blood trickled from the eyes of the dead climber, and the faint outline of something began to materialize. A shadowy figure—a presence both blurry and defined, teetering on the brink of reality.
It moved.
The form twisted, its indistinct features locking onto Z.
His breath hitched as blood began to seep from his own eyes, streaking his cheeks before pooling at his feet. A wave of dizziness crashed over him, the ground tilting as if trying to pull him under.
Then, a voice echoed in his mind:
"Chaos has taken place. Eyes of ?? deactivated."
The vision dissolved as swiftly as it had come. Z staggered slightly, catching himself on his cane.
"Z!" Hao's voice called out, sharp with surprise.
Z blinked, his vision clearing to see all eyes on him. The atmosphere in the room was tense, heavy with unspoken questions.
"What did you do?" Neo asked, his tone cautious but demanding.
Gladly, more curious than alarmed, added, "And… what did you see?"
Z smiled at them, his expression serene and disarming despite the blood streaks on his face. "Oh, just a small trick of mine," he said, his voice light and nonchalant.
He brushed past them, his cane tapping against the floor as he made his way to the table in the corner. As he approached, his suspicions were confirmed.
Sitting there, just as he'd seen in his own room, was a folded piece of paper resting beside a bottle of medicine.
Z picked up the paper with steady hands, feeling the weight of every eye in the room on him. The folded edges were crisp, as if freshly placed, yet there was an unmistakable aura of age to the item—like it had existed far longer than it should.
Jack approached, his brow furrowed. "What's that?"
"Something we all seem to share," Z replied casually, flipping the paper open. The familiar scrawled writing greeted him: "Take your medicine and follow the rules. Or suffer."
The same warning. The same ominous tone.
Neo stepped closer, glancing at the bottle. "Medicine, huh? So what happens if we don't take it?"
"Maybe that," Hao quipped, pointing lazily at the body on the floor. His smirk was thin, masking the tension in his voice.
Jack grabbed the bottle from the table, examining it closely. The liquid inside was thick and black, swirling like an oil slick under the dim light. He sniffed it and grimaced. "Doesn't smell like anything good."
Kai crossed his arms, his gaze sharp. "What if it's a trap? Something to weaken us instead of help us?"
"Possible," Gladly murmured, her voice distant as her fingers hovered over the paper Z held. "But the Ladder doesn't usually make survival impossible—just… unpleasant."
The room fell silent, the weight of their situation settling over them like a suffocating fog.
"Well," Neo broke the silence, leaning against the wall with an exaggerated sigh, "if it's optional, I vote no. I don't fancy dying from mystery poison, thank you very much."
Naya's cold voice cut through. "It's not optional."
Everyone turned to her.
She gestured at the body on the floor. "The [Rules of Erasure] apply to everyone. When the Ladder gives an instruction, you follow it. Hesitation is often lethal."
"And yet," Z interjected softly, "this poor soul did follow the rules."
All eyes snapped back to him.
"What are you saying?" Jack demanded.
Z tilted the paper toward them, his smile faint but wry. "The message says to take the medicine and follow the rules. I suspect he did. The paper wouldn't have appeared if he hadn't. Yet, here he is, dead and forgotten. Makes you wonder—was his mistake taking the medicine… or following the rules?"
It was not necessary for Z to wonder how everyone alive here had survived the first round. As he had disharmony everyone here had secrets of their own that would help them discover the way to survive the room is to take the medicine.
Everyone here surely had their own means, not to talk of the fact that they were all seasoned when it came to the Ladder. No one, questioned how anyone escaped, it was basic courtesy to mind one's business unless it was directly affecting their way out of the scenario.
The room grew colder, the unspoken implications gnawing at their collective nerves.
T-Jan stepped forward, his voice low and gruff. "If you're saying the Ladder lied, then what's the point of doing anything it says?"
Z chuckled softly, a sound both amused and bitter. "The point, dear T-Jan, is that the Ladder doesn't play fair. But it always plays. And if we want to survive, we have to learn its game before it learns us."
"Impossible," Jack gruffed, "Even if the Ladder is playing tricks, this a scenario governed by the [god] of [order], following order is definitely the path to clearing the scenario."
At Jack's words, everyone's heart deepened. It wasn't wrong. Everyone knew the path to clearing a scenario governed by [god] of [order] is following [order] and defending [order].
Yet, this is a scenario governed by the [god] of [order]. This is a scenario governed by [order]. Z thought. The difference was one word, but everyone knew the magnitude of the difference. Whether everyone else was thinking along this line. Z didn't care. Despite this [order] was still [order].
Something was devily wrong with this scenario. And everyone could clearly see it as well.
As his words hung in the air, the faint sound of knocking returned—this time louder, more deliberate.
It came from the hallway.
Everyone froze.
Neo's jovial demeanor vanished, replaced by a sharp alertness. "Who's out there?" he whispered.
The knocking stopped, replaced by the sound of slow, dragging footsteps.
Z's grip tightened on his cane as his pulse quickened. Whatever was coming for them wasn't in the mood for rules—or mercy.