"Everyone, spread out and hide in the corners! Cover your ears! No matter what the people outside say, do not open that door!" Simon barked.
Even without his orders, everyone had already scrambled to their positions. Each of them crouched in the corners, hands over their heads, trembling uncontrollably.
Over the past three days, they had experienced similar situations multiple times. Almost every morning, they would be surrounded and attacked by swarms of villagers. Those villagers were unpredictable and terrifying, even capable of transforming into loved ones to lure them into opening the door.
The best way to handle it was simple: don't look, don't listen, don't respond.
Outside the door.
Thomas kept knocking but received no answer. "Weird. What's wrong with them? Why won't they open the door? I'm sure there's someone inside."
"They're probably misunderstanding the situation," Sam speculated, glancing over his shoulder at the row of "zombies" standing behind him. It made sense. After being chased by humanoid monsters for three days in the Nightmare World, it wasn't surprising that the sight of a group of black-clad figures would terrify anyone inside.
Especially since these black-clad individuals had been hypnotized. Their minds held only one thought: absolute loyalty to their chief. They had no concept of fear, which made their presence feel unsettlingly out of place.
"Chief, let me break the door down," Ryan volunteered eagerly.
"Go ahead," Sam nodded, but before Ryan could act, Ethan stepped forward.
"No need. Let me talk to them. Forcing the door open could cause unnecessary misunderstandings."
With that, Ethan stepped up to the door and spoke loudly, "Don't misunderstand us. We're not Nightmare creatures—we're Nightmare Apostles, just like you. We simply entered three days later. I'm a Extraordinary. Open the door, and let's discuss how we can cooperate to survive this nightmare."
Silence. A deathly silence. No one inside responded.
Ethan stood there for a moment, frowning.
Bang!
Suddenly, he kicked the door open. The dilapidated iron door crashed to the ground with a piercing metallic clang.
But the moment the door swung open, a blazing fireball shot toward Ethan like a bullet!
The fireball tore through the air, distorting it with intense heat and leaving a fiery trail in its wake, slicing through the darkness like a burning meteor.
Ethan's expression shifted drastically. There was no time to dodge, so he raised his hand to intercept it. His palm shimmered with a metallic sheen, a sign of his extraordinary ability.
Boom!
The fireball exploded in a burst of fiery light, sending Ethan flying backward as if struck by a cannonball. His hand, once shining with steel-like strength, was now charred black.
From inside the room came Simon's startled and suspicious voice: "[Iron Will]! You're really a Extraordinary!?"
At that moment, Simon held his right hand in a finger-gun pose: thumb and index finger extended, the other three fingers curled inward, resembling a child's playful mimicry of a gun. However, a flickering flame burned brightly at the tip of his index finger, casting an unusually vivid glow in the dimly lit room.
"Damn it!" Ethan scrambled to his feet, brushing off dust and glaring angrily. "Didn't I just say we're not Nightmare creatures?!"
"Misunderstanding, misunderstanding," Simon replied with an awkward grin. Despite his words, his right hand remained in its gun-like posture, and the flame at his fingertip stayed lit.
"You don't understand," Simon continued. "This nightmare is filled with creatures disguised as humans. They'll do anything to trick us into opening the door, so I couldn't take any chances. But… judging by your ability, [Iron Will], and the fact that Nightmare creatures can't break through doors or windows, I can confirm now—you're a Extraordinary, not a Nightmare creature."
Ethan dusted himself off, his expression easing slightly.
Simon's gaze then shifted toward Sam and his group, his wariness returning. "I can confirm you're not a Nightmare creature, but what about them? Why are they all dressed the same?"
Sam, leaning lightly on his snakewood cane, took a small step forward and smiled faintly. "What's wrong? Are Nightmare Apostles not allowed to coordinate their outfits?"
"It's not about the outfits," Simon replied, his tone sharp. "Nightmare Apostles always enter alone, and each nightmare is random. You all look like part of some organized group. Since when could Nightmare Apostles team up? Don't tell me you just happened to form an organization after entering—and that you prepared matching uniforms ahead of time."
His voice grew colder as he added, "You'd better give me a reasonable explanation. Otherwise, I'll have to assume you're not human but Nightmare creatures!"
Simon held his left hand under his right, steadying his aim at Sam and the others. If it weren't for the flame at his fingertip, the scene might have seemed almost comical.
Sam's eyes narrowed slightly as his mind raced. He had begun piecing things together. It seemed that Nightmare Apostles entered this world much like a matchmaking system in a game: random teammates each time, with no way to queue as a group.
This, of course, was exactly why Simon had grown so wary.
Now, how should Sam deceive him?
It was impossible for Sam to reveal the truth—that he had brought everyone into the same nightmare through a dream. Even if he did, it was doubtful Simon would believe him.
So instead...
Sam adjusted his brown-tinted glasses, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. "A reasonable suspicion, indeed. But... I can't help but ask, Mr. Simon, who do you think you are? What makes you think you're worthy of an explanation from me?"
Click! Click!
The chilling sound of guns being cocked echoed throughout the room.
In an instant, a dozen pistols were aimed directly at Simon.
Whoosh!
Cold sweat dripped down Simon's face. The flame on his fingertip nearly sputtered out as a paralyzing sense of danger washed over him.
He might be an Extraordinary, but he wasn't invincible. With so many guns pointed at him at such close range, there was no chance of survival.
What truly terrified him, though, was the look in the eyes of those holding the weapons.
The rows of black-clad figures stood as still as statues, their expressions blank, their gazes filled with an unsettling coldness. Their bodies were tense, their fingers ready to pull the triggers at any moment. Under the faint moonlight, the shadows cast across their faces only deepened the chilling aura they exuded, making their already terrifying presence even more sinister.