The room was unnervingly still, as if the world itself had been placed on pause. Aron Zephyr blinked, disoriented, the faint scent of mahogany and waxed wood invading his senses. He felt the sharp sting of cold air against his skin and realized he was sitting upright on a plush velvet chair in a grand, dimly lit hall.
Tall, arched windows lined the walls, and golden chandeliers above bathed the room in a warm, flickering light. The decor screamed 1920s opulence: gilded mirrors, intricate patterns on the carpet, and an air of wealth so thick it felt suffocating. Around him, nine other people sat or stood, their expressions ranging from confusion to outright fear.
"What the...?" Aron muttered, his voice barely audible.
A chime, soft but commanding, echoed through the room. Then, a voice—not human, but cold and mechanical—rang out, silencing every breath in the room.
"Welcome, Players. You have entered the Mansion of Secrets, a place of mystery and danger."
Aron stiffened, gripping the armrest of his chair. Players? A game?
"Tonight, during the grand party, the owner of this mansion, Mr. Victor Thornhill, was murdered. Among you and the other guests lies the culprit. Your task: uncover the murderer before the clock strikes midnight on the seventh day."
Aron scanned the room. Beside him, a tall, broad-shouldered man sat with a rigid posture. His eyes, sharp and piercing, swept the room with calculated precision. When they met Aron's gaze, something flickered in his expression—interest, perhaps curiosity—before he spoke.
"I'm Zander Arthur. Special Forces." His voice was low and steady, like a command in itself. "Do you know how we got here?"
Aron hesitated, then shook his head. "No. One moment I was... I think I was driving? And now I'm here."
Zander's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't respond but kept his focus trained on the room. Aron followed his gaze, taking in the other people.
A young man, barely in his twenties, with disheveled brown hair and a smudge of dirt on his cheek, stood near the fireplace. He seemed less panicked than the others, more resigned. When he noticed Zander and Aron watching him, he gave a half-smile and a shrug.
"Well, looks like we've got some newcomers," the boy said, his tone casual, almost teasing. "Welcome to the nightmare, gentlemen. Name's Zane. I've been through two of these death traps already."
Aron frowned. "Death traps? What are you talking about?"
"This isn't reality," Zane replied. "You're in what we call an infinite flow world. A cursed place, full of dungeons like this one. Solve the puzzles, survive the challenges, and maybe, just maybe, you'll make it out alive. Or you could fail. Then... well, let's just say you won't be worrying about anything anymore."
The casual delivery sent a chill down Aron's spine.
Zane gestured to the girl next to him—a striking figure with long, bubblegum-pink hair tied into a loose ponytail. She leaned against the mantelpiece with an easy confidence, arms crossed.
"This is Livia. She's been through two dungeons with me. Same batch."
"Nice to meet you," she said, her voice light but tinged with sarcasm. "Hope you're fast learners. Otherwise, this'll be a short partnership."
Aron barely had time to process that before Zane added, "The rest of them?" He jerked a thumb toward six others scattered around the room. "Experienced players. They won't help us. They think newbies are dead weight. Better to ignore them."
A chime interrupted their conversation.
"Players, you have seven days to solve the murder and protect at least five of the mansion's guests. Failure will result in elimination."
The words sent an eerie hush through the room. Aron's pulse quickened as the voice continued:
"Rooms have been assigned. Rest tonight. The game begins tomorrow."
Zane clapped his hands. "Right. Let's find our rooms."
He motioned for Aron and Zander to follow. Livia trailed behind, and together they exited the grand hall, their footsteps echoing against the polished wood floor.
Zane pushed open one of the heavy oak doors, revealing a hallway lined with identical doors on either side. Each was marked with ornate brass numbers.
"Double rooms," Zane explained, reading the engraved plaques. "You two are sharing that one." He pointed to a door marked 201.
"Livia and I'll take the one next door."
"Wait," Aron said, still trying to catch up. "You said we're players. What does that mean? Why us?"
Zane sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "No one knows why they're chosen. You could've been hit by a car, struck by lightning, whatever. One moment you're living your normal life; the next, you're here."
"Do we have any... abilities?" Zander asked, his military instincts kicking in.
"Not yet," Zane replied. "You're fresh meat. Pass your first dungeon, and you'll get an innate ability. Something tailored to you. Until then, you've got whatever skills you brought with you from the real world."
Aron's mind buzzed with questions, but before he could ask, Zane pushed open one of the doors. "We'll talk more tomorrow. Get some rest."
-
The room was spacious, decorated in the same vintage style as the rest of the mansion. A single king-sized bed sat in the center, flanked by two nightstands. A wardrobe stood in one corner, its mirrored doors reflecting the golden glow of the bedside lamp.
Zander stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room. "No windows," he observed. "One door. Easy to defend."
Aron raised an eyebrow. "You think we'll need to?"
Zander shrugged. "I'd rather be prepared."
Aron sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. "This is insane. A cursed world? Dungeons? Murder games? It doesn't make sense."
Zander sat down beside him, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. "Let's start simple. What's the last thing you remember?"
"Driving home after a conference," Aron said. "It was late, raining. I think I saw headlights coming toward me, then... nothing."
"Same," Zander said. "Except I was on a mission. Middle of nowhere. Ambushed."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their situation settling over them.
"So," Aron said finally, glancing at the single bed. "Guess we're sharing."
Zander smirked, the first hint of humor Aron had seen from him. "Hope you don't snore."
-
The room was unnervingly silent, the kind of silence that crawled under Aron's skin. The dim lamp on the nightstand cast long, dancing shadows across the walls, its glow too weak to banish the gloom completely. Beside him, Zander slept with the stillness of someone trained to rest under any conditions. His breathing was steady, almost too quiet, like he was on guard even in his sleep.
Aron envied that calm. His own nerves were stretched thin. Every creak of the old mansion, every faint whisper of the wind outside, set his heart racing. He closed his eyes and forced himself to focus on the rhythm of his breathing.
In. Out. In. Out.
He was almost asleep when the temperature in the room dropped sharply. The air turned icy, and the faint scent of iron and decay crept into his nostrils.
His eyes snapped open.
"Zander," he whispered, shaking the other man's shoulder. "Wake up."
Zander was already awake, his hand moving to the knife he'd kept hidden under the pillow. "What is it?"
"I don't know," Aron murmured. "Something feels wrong."
The light flickered, plunging the room into near darkness for a moment. When it steadied, the shadows seemed to writhe on the walls, coiling and stretching like living things. Aron's stomach twisted as an oppressive weight pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Do you see that?" Aron asked, his voice trembling.
"I see it," Zander said grimly, rising from the bed. His body was tense, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike.
The shadows gathered, forming a humanoid shape that loomed at the foot of the bed. Its eyes—or where its eyes should have been—glowed with an eerie, greenish light. It let out a low, guttural growl, a sound that vibrated in Aron's bones.
"Stay back!" Zander barked, stepping in front of Aron, knife at the ready.
The shadow lunged.
Zander moved with lightning speed, slashing at the creature. The blade connected, and the thing recoiled with a hissing sound, like steam escaping a pressure valve. But it wasn't enough to stop it. The shadow twisted around Zander, bypassing him entirely to lunge at Aron.
"Aron!" Zander shouted.
Before Aron could react, cold, clammy tendrils wrapped around his arm, pulling him forward. He yelped as pain seared through his flesh, like ice and fire burning simultaneously. He tried to yank his arm free, but the grip was unyielding.
Zander slashed again, this time severing the tendrils. Aron stumbled back, clutching his bleeding arm, but the shadow didn't relent. It surged forward, engulfing Aron in a suffocating embrace. His vision blurred, and for a moment, the world was nothing but darkness and whispers.
"Give in..." the voices hissed. "You don't belong here..."
A crash jolted him back to reality. The door to their room burst open, and Zane and Livia stormed in. Livia's hands glowed with a faint blue light, water swirling around her fingers like living serpents.
"Get down!" she shouted.
Zander didn't hesitate. He yanked Aron to the floor just as a torrent of water shot across the room, slamming into the shadow. The creature let out an otherworldly screech as the water tore through its form, dispersing it like smoke in the wind.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Zander was the first to move, catching Aron as he sagged forward. Blood dripped from Aron's arm, staining his shirt and pooling on the wooden floor. He hissed in pain, clutching the wound as Zander guided him to sit against the wall.
"Are you okay?" Zander asked, his voice tight with concern.
"I'm fine," Aron lied through gritted teeth. The truth was, his arm felt like it was on fire, the pain radiating up to his shoulder. He forced himself to meet Zander's gaze. "Thanks for... not letting it eat me."
Zander's expression softened, but before he could respond, Zane knelt beside them. He glanced at Aron's arm, then sighed. "Damn it, Aron. I told you newbies to be careful."
Aron managed a weak smile. "You think I planned this?"
"Doesn't matter," Zane said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. "Here, wrap this around the wound for now. We'll get it looked at later."
As Aron fumbled with the cloth, Livia crouched nearby, inspecting the room with a critical eye. "This mansion's got more surprises than I thought," she said. "That wasn't just any ghost. It was a fragment of something bigger. Something... nasty."
"Nasty?" Aron echoed, his voice shaky.
"Yeah," Livia said, meeting his gaze. Her pink hair glinted in the soft light, her expression serious for the first time since they'd met. "This place isn't just haunted—it's alive. And it's not happy we're here."
"Great," Zander muttered. "Anything else we should know?"
"Just this," Zane said, standing. "If that thing had taken you, Aron, you wouldn't have come back. These infinite worlds don't play fair, and they sure as hell don't forgive mistakes. You're lucky we got here in time."
"Lucky," Aron murmured, leaning his head back against the wall. He felt anything but.