"Hahaha… hahaha… HAHAHA!" The sinister laughter of a woman echoed eerily through the castle, reverberating off the empty stone walls. It was a bone-chilling sound, making the group of eight look around in alarm. Solara couldn't take it anymore. She clamped her hands over her ears and crouched beneath the crimson flames of the central brazier, trembling.
Orion's sharp ears picked up on the familiar voice. It was unmistakable. "Grana? Is that you? Where are you?" He scanned the high throne, but there was no sign of her.
"Smart little mortals," the voice answered, dripping with mockery. "You're absolutely right—this isn't reality. Or rather, it is a reality… the world during the era of the Black Death. From now on, each of you will play a role in this twisted tale. Your task is simple: find the prodigy, save the village, and win the game. But let me warn you—fail to uncover his identity, and you'll remain here forever, joining the restless souls of the plague's victims. Hahaha… HAHAHA!" Grana's laughter grew louder, spreading like a malevolent force, amplifying the cold dread in the room.
Michael lowered his head, his wide eyes gleaming with a mix of disbelief and fear. "What's this… beneath us?" His voice trembled as he pointed at the ground.
Just then, Solara, still curled up near the flames, let out a bloodcurdling scream. "Ahhh! I-it's… h-h-h-human bones!" Her voice broke with terror, and she scrambled to her feet in a panic.
Everyone looked down. The floor, once seemingly solid stone, was now layered with countless human bones. Leg bones and tibias were stacked like firewood, forming a grotesque carpet beneath their feet. Over near the throne, the bones piled higher, creating a mountain of skulls. From a distance, it resembled a grotesque, skeletal monument to death.
"So many… I've never seen this many bones, not even in the cadaver labs at med school…" Ethan muttered, his usually steady hands trembling as he wiped at his trousers. The fabric stuck to his skin, damp from a nervous sweat he couldn't quite explain. Despite the increasingly frigid air, his body felt uncomfortably clammy.
"Everyone, stay calm!" Orion commanded, his voice steadier than he felt. He drew in a sharp breath, his words fogging in the icy air. "This is a virtual space. It's not real. None of it is real. We must focus. Stick to our roles and find the prodigy—quickly. That's our only way out of here."
"Come closer, everyone," Halia urged, holding the trembling Solara in a protective embrace. She moved to the brazier, kicking aside bones with her boots to clear a small patch of ground beneath the flame. "Stay near the fire—it'll keep us warm. Let's stick together."
The group gathered beneath the flickering red glow of the flame. The women huddled in the center, while Michael, Thompson, and Orion formed a protective outer ring. Thompson stood rigid, his back turned to Michael, his disdain for the younger man barely concealed. Michael, never one to let a slight go unanswered, shifted deliberately closer to Orion, smirking as he muttered, "Some people think their job makes them holier than thou. Guess being a cop comes with a stick up the ass."
Thompson's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, focusing instead on scanning the room for threats.
After some time, the warmth of the flames eased the chill in their bones. Elton, the ever-curious professor, adjusted his glasses and gazed toward the grotesque mountain of skulls. His face suddenly froze, disbelief written across his features. "W-what is that… up there?" he stammered, pointing with a shaky hand.
The group followed his gaze. Something small and dark scurried atop the pile of skulls.
"Rats," Orion said grimly, his voice hardening. "The damned creatures that brought the plague. Look at them—still feasting on the dead."
"Rats, huh? Let's see how they like this!" Michael growled, bending down to grab two of the longest, sturdiest femurs from the pile of bones. With a quick test swing, he brandished them like clubs. His eyes glinted with reckless determination as he charged toward the mountain of skulls, yelling, "Come on, you filthy vermin! Let's see how tough you are!"
The group watched in stunned silence as Michael stormed toward the grotesque sight, the sound of bones crunching underfoot mingling with his battle cry. The rats, momentarily startled, paused their movements, their beady eyes reflecting the firelight like tiny, malevolent stars.
And then, they began to move again.
"Michael, watch out! Don't let those nasty rats take a bite out of your crotch!" Orion shouted from a distance.
Michael turned his head and shot back, "You little punk, can't you wish me well for once? Don't worry, your grandpa here knows how to guard his family jewels!"
In the instant Michael turned his head, a large, crazed-looking rat lunged at his right leg. By the time Michael realized what was happening, the rat had already sunk its teeth into the area just above his ankle, leaving a bite mark at least three centimeters wide.
"You little bastard! Damn rat, I'll tear you to pieces!" he yelled.
Grabbing a relatively thin bone off the ground, Michael snapped it into two sharp ends. With a powerful thrust, he drove the pointed edge straight into the rat. Under the force of his attack, the rat was impaled and died instantly.
Michael held up the freshly killed rat triumphantly, raising it high for the others to see. He turned to face them, a smug grin plastered across his face, as if showing off his victory.
Under the flickering firelight, the seven figures stared at Michael. Orion furrowed his brows, a deep crease settling between them. He knew exactly what that cursed rat bite meant. Michael, meanwhile, let the bones in his hand clatter to the ground and started walking back toward the group. A few remaining rats darted out from behind him, their tiny claws skittering over the bones.
As Michael approached, his eyes caught something behind the group—a faint glimmer.
"Look over there! What is that?" he shouted, his voice tinged with both curiosity and urgency.
The others turned to see three doors materializing behind them, their appearance as abrupt as it was ominous.
The doors were identical in shape—tall, rectangular, with intricate golden frames etched with ancient inscriptions. What made them truly mesmerizing, however, was what lay within: rippling, watery surfaces, shimmering like waterfalls suspended in midair. It was as though they had been presented with three... liquid portals.
"Could this be the way out? We should hurry!" Naima exclaimed, her excitement breaking through the eerie tension. She placed a hand on Thomson's shoulder, looping her arm through his as they moved closer to inspect the doors. Ethan trailed behind, his expression tightening. A bitter feeling churned in his chest—Naima was an expert at wrapping men around her little finger. In less than a day, she already had two of them vying for her attention.
"Hurry up and choose one already!" Michael snapped, swatting at a rat that darted too close to his feet. He shifted uncomfortably, his skin clammy with sweat despite the increasing cold. A dull ache throbbed in his chest, and he coughed—a rough, hacking sound that echoed through the chamber. He instinctively pressed a hand against his ribs but said nothing. Showing weakness now would only invite ridicule, and he wasn't about to give anyone the satisfaction.
The group gathered near the mysterious doors, studying them closely. No one dared to step through, unsure if these portals led to salvation... or something far worse.
Alton stepped closer to the middle door, his gaze fixed on the swirling surface. He took off his glasses and wiped them carefully with the hem of his shirt, his movements deliberate and meticulous. Once his lenses were spotless, he leaned in to examine the inscriptions carved into the golden frame.
"These doors may look identical at first glance," Alton murmured, his tone measured but tinged with growing certainty, "but they're not. Each one has a different inscription. And I suspect that's the key."
"Professor, are you saying you've found something important?" Orion asked, his voice calm but his eyes sharp as he joined Alton. He, too, noticed the subtle differences in the symbols.
However, something more pressing nagged at him, a quiet alarm ringing in the back of his mind.
Michael coughed again, this time harder, the sound wet and rasping. Orion glanced over at him, his jaw tightening. Michael's face was pale, far too pale, like all the color had been drained from his skin.
Orion's unease deepened. If his suspicions were correct...