"Fuck!"

  Clutching the retrieved coin, the player stood nailed to the earth. His legs rebelled. Staring into the face of immediate execution, he could do nothing but tremble.

  His two remaining lackeys locked eyes. A silent, grim exchange. They lowered their heads. Then, disregarding their leader completely, they sprinted into the mist without looking back.

  "Hey! You fucking assholes!"

  The abandoned player crushed the gold coin in his fingers, staring with unblinking terror at Number 99, who waited in silence.

  The crushing pressure of being prey—his soul practically clawing to escape his body—finally forced his legs to move.

  He spun around, expelling every ounce of strength to run for his life.

  He hoped to vanish into the mist. Instead, he was slammed face-first into the dirt as black chains slithered like snakes and coiled around his legs.

  He clawed the earth like a helpless animal, trying to drag himself forward, but the monster pulling him back was too strong.

  Annoyed by the futile struggle, Number 99 yanked the chains with full force.

  The player lost his grip. He was flung through the air, smashing violently into a nearby tree before collapsing in a heap.

  Number 99 retracted his chains of black mist. He cast a cold glance at the unconscious player, then turned to Number 25, who had remained silent throughout the slaughter.

  Her knuckles were white, gripping her bow with deathly tightness. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the corpse of the female player who had died screaming moments ago.

  Number 25 finally tore her gaze from the drying blood and looked up at Number 99. She pointed a trembling finger at the unconscious man.

  "What are we going to do with him?"

  "What do you want to do?"

  It was exactly the question she expected. She weighed her thoughts in the heavy silence, but before she could answer, the sharp crack of a twig stole her attention.

  The player was stirring. Like a wounded gazelle, he dragged his useless legs through the dirt, trying to crawl away while emitting high-pitched, pathetic groans.

  She drew her bowstring taut. But just as she locked onto the target, Number 99 reached out, placing a hand on the weapon to stop her.

  "If that is your decision... Wait. Let him crawl a little longer."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going after the runaways, of course."

  ***

  Sprinting until their lungs burned, the two lackeys slowed to a walk. They gasped for air, trying to scavenge a moment of relief in the crushing atmosphere of Sisula.

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  "Damn it! Damn it!"

  "Shut your mouth! Are you trying to give away our position?"

  "We just left Number 72 back there, what..."

  A heavy punch to his shoulder cut him off. Muttering curses, the struck lackey raised an eyebrow at his accomplice.

  "Just think of it as our dear leader sacrificing himself. Focus on staying alive. Besides, what were you going to do? Did you see that guy in black!?"

  Aggravated by his friend's panic, the lackey tightened his grip on his war axe, scanning the mist for a hiding spot.

  The sight of a stone house emerging from the fog finally eased the weight on his chest.

  "Hey, idiot! Follow me."

  Dragging his companion, he shattered the chains barring the wooden door with a single swing of his axe. He shoved the door open, stooping to snatch up the broken links before stepping inside.

  The interior of the mundane village house reeked of dampness and decay.

  Once his eyes adjusted, he spotted the stairs leading to the basement. Together, they descended into the dark, stepping onto creaking floorboards.

  "It feels like a bottomless pit; I can’t even see my own nose."

  "Quit your whining and sit down!"

  Sliding against the wall, the lackey set his axe down and buried his face in his hands. He tried to silence his racing mind, then glanced at his companion.

  Across from him, his accomplice stared at the stairs, hand glued to his hilt, muttering to himself.

  "If you're going to waste breath, use it to pray we see the morning."

  "What is your problem..."

  Before he could finish, a rough hand clamped over his mouth. The lackey’s attention snapped upward, locking onto a sound from the wooden door above.

  He signaled silence, then fixed his gaze on the ceiling.

  With every heavy footfall, dust rained down from the rotting boards. The rhythmic thud continued for a moment, then stopped dead at the top of the stairs.

  The silence shattered with a single step. The wooden stairs groaned, screeching in agony under the descending weight.

  "Oh, fuck!"

  Reduced to helpless cursing, the lackey scrambled for the axe he had abandoned on the floor.

  "Look, Shadow! I swear, this is all that bastard Number 72's fault! We were just following him!"

  His words swallowed by the void, the lackey couldn't take the silence and lashed out:

  "Tell us what you wa..."

  "Please... Please don't kill me! Take him! Please!"

  Enraged by the pathetic pleading, the lackey’s neck veins bulged. He seized the other man by the collar, spitting saliva as he roared:

  "You bastard! How dare you sell me out!"

  Number 99, watching this circus in silence, finally cut in with a voice devoid of emotion:

  "For a scumbag who just did the exact same thing, aren't you acting a little too proud?"

  Unable to stomach the insult, the lackey gripped his axe and lunged at Number 99 with a roar.

  He swung overhead, only to collide with a barrier of black mist. The impact rattled his skeleton. Before he could recover, the mist lashed out, blasting him backward to smash through a wooden table.

  "You got him! Please, just leave me alone!"

  Number 99 turned his gaze to the second prey, whose body was in open revolt from terror. The player, pupils trembling, babbled incoherently, begging the monster to leave.

  But when he met the gaze of the creature, the black mist in 99’s eyes infected his own.

  The babbling stopped. Tremors took over. Frothing at the mouth, he began to scream. The black veil didn't lift; it seeped directly into his wretched soul.

  Writhing in agony, spitting curses, he clawed at his head, tearing clumps of hair from his scalp.

  "Please stop! Stop looking at me!"

  Scrambling to his feet, the hallucinating man stumbled, drew his sword, and began swinging wildly at the void.

  In a cruel twist of fate, his companion was just trying to stand up. The blindly swinging blade sliced clean through his stomach.

  Before he could comprehend, the axe-wielder clutched his midsection. Feeling the sudden warmth of his entrails, he vomited blood and collapsed.

  "Leave me alone!"

  Tears streamed from eyes blinded by mist as his soul surrendered. His arm, leaden from swinging at phantoms, finally failed him.

  Frowning at the display, Number 99 intensified his grip on the man's mind.

  The broken player dropped his sword, fell to his knees, and began to shred his own face. As his screams filled the house, his mist-clouded eyes began to glow with a sickly light.

  He was finally silenced by a massive shockwave of pain that slammed him to the floor.

  His eyes had burst. The blood flowing from the empty sockets looked like a macabre continuation of his weeping.

  Having buried the house back into silence with that final strike, Number 99 scanned the two broken bodies. Then, he spoke to himself.

  "Only Number 72 remains."

  Gliding back the way he came, Number 99 stepped out and sealed the wooden door forever.

  I know this chapter runs a bit shorter than usual (1.2k), but I made a conscious choice to keep the pacing relentless and brutal for this sequence. No fillers, just pure chaos.

  Don't worry, Part 3 is coming very soon.