Cipher understood what DEM was saying, so he decided it was best to prepare himself for the possibility of anything happening. The building loomed ahead, silent and still, its pristine glass exterior betraying nothing of the horrors within.
The moment he stepped through the glass doors, the scent of blood hit him. It was thick, metallic, clinging to the air like a suffocating fog. The floors were streaked with crimson, smeared by hurried footsteps—some leading out, others stopping abruptly in dark pools. In some places, the walls were stained with dried sprays of red, chaotic splatters that told stories of frantic struggles and merciless slaughter.
Cipher moved carefully, his boots leaving faint imprints in the drying blood. The outer structure of the building was completely glass, giving a clear view of the empty streets outside. The stark contrast between the stillness of the world beyond and the carnage within sent an uneasy shiver through him.
Glancing left, then right, he saw no one. The reception area should have been bustling with researchers, security, and workers going about their routines. Instead, it was eerily vacant, the only sound coming from the hum of flickering overhead lights.
Then, a scream.
It came from the left hallway—a high-pitched, desperate wail that cut through the silence like a knife.
Cipher didn't hesitate. He sprinted in that direction, the soles of his boots sliding slightly on the slick floor. The hallway stretched long and empty, doors lining both sides, some ajar, others hanging off their hinges. Every step carried him deeper into the heart of the massacre.
The first floor seemed abandoned. If anyone had been here, they had either escaped or were already dead. That left two possibilities—either the Nightmare had yet to reach this level, or it had already passed through.
Cipher took the nearest staircase, gripping the railing as he climbed two steps at a time. The second floor was worse.
Blood coated the hallways. Some doors had been forcefully torn open, their frames splintered. Others remained eerily untouched. The overhead lights flickered erratically, casting brief moments of darkness that made his pulse quicken.
He forced himself to keep moving, checking each room as he passed. The first few were empty—bloodstained, but void of bodies. Then he reached one that wasn't.
Room 233.
The door was open. The harsh fluorescent light flickered from within, casting jittery shadows across the walls. Cipher stepped inside, and his breath caught.
Two bodies lay sprawled on the floor. They were researchers—dressed in white lab coats, now soaked in deep red.
One was a woman. Or, at least, she had been. Her body was split cleanly in half, a vertical bisection from head to groin. Her two halves were splayed apart, her insides spilled onto the cold tile like discarded entrails from a butcher's table. Her face, or what remained of it, was frozen in an expression of sheer agony.
The other body—a man—had been decapitated. His head was missing entirely, his torso unnaturally crushed. The floor beneath him was cracked, as if he had been slammed down with monstrous force.
Cipher clenched his fists, his stomach twisting violently. His breathing grew heavy, his fingers trembling at his sides.
{Cipher~ DEM, I need to know—are all Nightmares like this? Do they all just take pleasure in killing and destroying?}
{DEM~ Nightmares follow their instincts. It would be best to compare them to insects. Nightmares at A-Class and higher are known to have cognitive thought, but even then, in almost all recorded cases, they still carry bloodlust and a need to destroy.}
Cipher exhaled sharply. The explanation made sense, but it did nothing to settle the fury burning in his chest. He forced himself to breathe, to push past the nausea and the overwhelming urge to rip something apart.
His gaze flicked to the floor near the desk, where a small, handheld video recorder lay discarded. He picked it up, shaking off the blood spattered across its surface. Whatever had happened here, this device might have recorded it. Tank would want to see it.
He left the room and kept searching.
The building was massive, but he still hadn't seen the Nightmare itself. That meant it was either avoiding him, or he was about to walk straight into it.
Then, another scream—sharper than before.
Cipher reacted instantly, gripping the handles of his swords. The silver metal pulsed beneath his fingers, the fluid-like material shifting subtly as he moved. He held one blade angled up, the other downward, keeping his stance balanced.
His pulse pounded in his ears as he stepped forward. The next hallway was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the floor like grasping fingers.
Then he saw her.
A woman stood at the end of the corridor, shaking. Her wide eyes locked onto his, filled with silent terror.
Cipher opened his mouth to speak—
She split apart.
A clean, effortless bisection from shoulder to hip. Her body peeled open like a grotesque flower, a violent explosion of crimson painting the walls, the floor—Cipher.
The warmth of fresh blood soaked into his clothes, dripping from his hair, his skin.
And then he saw it.
The Nightmare.
It stood just beyond the collapsing body, its form illuminated by the dim emergency lights. It was tall and lean, its limbs unnaturally long, its exoskeleton gleaming a deep, crimson red. Black highlights ran across its frame, giving the illusion of shadows shifting beneath its surface.
Its head was vaguely humanoid, but grotesquely elongated. A jagged grin was carved into its face, a mouth filled with angular, uneven teeth that seemed permanently frozen in amusement. Its large, round black eyes reflected no light, no emotion—just endless voids of emptiness.
The creature's body had four arms. Two ended in razor-sharp metal claws. The other two bore curved, scythe-like blades, still dripping with fresh blood.
Cipher's fingers tightened around his swords. His breathing was steady, controlled, but his mind burned with fury.
This thing had slaughtered dozens. It had torn them apart like paper, left their remains in mangled heaps, and now it stood before him with that same sickening grin.
Cipher understood that he couldn't blame the Nightmare for being what it was. But in that moment, none of that mattered.
All that mattered was stopping it.
Cipher stepped forward, his boots splashing in the thick puddle of blood beneath him. The Nightmare tilted its head slightly, its grin widening ever so slightly—as if amused.
Cipher shifted his stance. His muscles tensed.
Then he lunged.