Herwoj's eyes fluttered open, hazy and raw, as if reality itself had been rewound. The air stank of blood and burning fur. His body felt heavy—too heavy—like it wasn't his own anymore.
And that's when he saw it.
His body—no, something in his body—was moving with terrifying precision. The Entity, a monstrous will hidden inside him, danced across the cavern floor like a demon spun from nightmares.
Its strikes were brutal, yet graceful. Every claw slash, every flick of its wrist, carved through the massive rabbit with a purpose—as if each blow was part of a greater story only it could see.
Herwoj felt the words, not in his ears, but inside his mind, like a story being etched into his very bones.
Carmeicheal, ever the smug observer, chuckled as he leaned on the dagger embedded in the stone nearby.
"You see it, don't you? That thing fights with a Story. A higher perspective. A demon's legend."
Herwoj barely heard him. His eyes were glued to the entity—his own hands, his own body—ripping into the rabbit with ruthless efficiency.
The rabbit, a hulking monster of twisted fur and bone, was no match. It flailed, snapped its teeth, tried to crush the entity with its bulk, but it was already too late. The entity moved faster, thought deeper, like it had already seen the outcome.
Herwoj's breath caught.
"Wait…"
That's when something shifted.
A pulse of energy rippled through the air, and a faint blue glow shimmered into existence.
The System had activated—like a switch flipped by some higher law.
Herwoj felt it: an invisible audience, eyes like distant stars, turning toward them. The gods were watching now.
The Entity's head snapped up.
Tch. Not yet…
In a blink, it vanished, slipping away from Herwoj's body like smoke dissipating in the wind.
Herwoj crumpled to the ground, gasping for air, feeling like a puppet with its strings cut.
The cavern fell silent, save for the dying gurgle of the rabbit.
Carmeicheal's grin widened as he muttered under his breath,
"This… is getting interesting."
"O great ones… the rabbit breathes. What shall I do with this flaw in your design?"
Its words echoed, twisting the air into threads of tension, a plea for divine judgment.
And the gods, unseen but palpably near, listened in silence.
Meanwhile, at the edge of the cavern, the survivors—those few Japanese who had been dragged into this nightmare—stood frozen in awe and fear.
Their eyes were wide, reflecting the monstrous violence that had just unfolded.
The boy Herwoj had saved earlier gripped his trembling fists, his lips barely moving as he whispered to himself—like a secret prayer he dared not speak aloud:
"If it's him… he can save her."
His voice was soft, yet carried an unshakable hope, fragile and desperate.
Herwoj, barely able to stay conscious, heard those words faintly—as if they came from the far end of a tunnel. They pierced him, anchoring him in the moment.
The air shifted—like a string pulled taut across the bones of the world.
Above them, unseen yet felt, the gods stirred. Their voices bled into existence, a low whispering chorus, layered upon itself, as if countless mouths spoke in perfect, hollow unison.
A sudden notification—not from the System Herwoj knew, but something older, heavier, carved in the roots of the universe—burned into the space above them, glowing in an ominous, blood-red font:
⟬ Anomaly Detected: Irregularities Beyond Design.
Trial Initiated.
Survive for 5 Minutes.
The Child of the Embodiment of Fear Descends.
Incoming: DEFILEMENT. ⟭
And then—it came.
The very air collapsed.
A monstrous cloud began to form at the far end of the cavern—a swirling, churning maelstrom of black dust and writhing, distorted shadows. The cloud wasn't just smoke; it was fear itself, twisted into form. Every breath felt wrong, the very air tasted of ash and old blood, the smell of forgotten graves clawing at the back of their throats.
The survivors stumbled back, eyes wide in horror. Their minds buckled under the weight of what was emerging.
A shape, barely humanoid, began to emerge from the storm—its limbs too long, head tilted at an impossible angle, a face twisted in a grin that didn't belong to flesh, but to nightmares. Its skin seemed stretched, almost translucent, revealing veins that pulsed with a dark, sickly glow.
And in its chest, pulsing like a corrupted heart, glowed a faint yellow ember, like the core of a dying star—an echo of the Yellow Lantern Entity's sickening aura of fear.
The boy who had whispered for Herwoj to save her, the one who had dared to hope—he froze. His body shook, his teeth clattered. Even breathing felt like a sin under the gaze of that thing.
The system message flickered again in the air, as if it too were afraid:
⟬ Defilement Arrival in 00:07 ⟭
Herwoj's heart hammered in his chest. The taste of metal flooded his mouth. The shadows stretched, and the Defilement grinned wider.
It hadn't even attacked yet, but the fear was already crushing them.
Herwoj layed gasping for air, feeling the weight of a story that wasn't entirely his anymore.
The announcement still echoed in the survivors' minds:
A Child of the Embodiment of Fear Approaches. Prepare.
But no preparation was enough.
Without warning, a roar like a thousand screams woven into one erupted from the darkness.
A cloud—no, a storm—of shrieking black tendrils burst into the chamber.
It was the Defilement.
Panic erupted.
Survivors scattered in every direction, screaming, clawing at the walls, desperate to escape the inevitable.
But it was already too late.
The Defilement surged forward, moving like a living nightmare.
In the blink of an eye—
People fell.
Their bodies were devoured by the darkness.
Skin peeled away, flesh melted, bones shattered into dust.
No one had time to react.
The boy Herwoj had saved—his arms trembling—hoisted Herwoj onto his back.
Herwoj's body felt heavy, his breathing shallow, his face pale and slick with cold sweat. The entity had used him up, drained him completely, and now he was a broken shell.
"Hold on—just a little more," the boy whispered, his voice cracking as he dodged falling stones and bodies.
The Defilement raced across the chamber, a swirling storm of despair.
The boy's heart thundered in his chest.
I have to get out. I have to—
The Defilement's howl rose behind him, its tendrils closing in—fast, faster than he could move.
The boy stumbled, tripped, nearly dropped Herwoj—but kept running. His vision blurred with tears and fear.
The Defilement's shadow fell over them.
He could feel it. The inevitable.
The end.
Then—
CRACK!
The ground beneath him gave way, a gaping fissure opening in the floor of the dungeon.
He clutched Herwoj, barely conscious, both of them jumped into the pitch-black cavern.
Suddenly—a hand grabbed him.
A firm, calloused grip.
The boy and Herwoj vanished into the depths.
Above them, the Defilement howled in frustration, then turned its hunger on the rest of the survivors—ripping them apart, leaving nothing behind but bones and ash.
He gasped, tensing—until a low, calm voice spoke from the shadows:
"Relax, kid. If I wanted you dead, you'd already be in pieces."
The boy's heart pounded as he blinked into the dim light. Slowly, the figure came into view—a young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, his face shadowed by messy black hair, eyes sharp but distant, a dark, tattered coat draped over his shoulders. He looked like a man who had stared death in the face and laughed.
Herwoj's body shifted in the boy's arms, a faint groan escaping his lips.
The man's gaze dropped to Herwoj, then back to the boy.
Before He says anything He drags the boy and Herwoj in the boy's hand down the into the dark cave the boy looks back into the small opening that saved him and Herwoj
The young man then starts saying
"You two got lucky," he muttered. "Damn lucky."
"Who… who are you?" the boy asked, still breathless, clutching Herwoj tighter.
The man tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching—not quite a smile, more like a grimace of someone tired of explaining the impossible.
"Just a survivor. Someone who's been here longer than I should have."
He leaned back, resting against the jagged wall of the cavern, his voice dropping lower, like a secret he didn't really want to share.
"I was part of the first test—the first batch they threw into this nightmare."
His eyes glimmered faintly in the dark.
"That was before the overworld began devouring Earth. Before they decided this place would be a… what do they call it? A tutorial? A game? A joke, maybe."
The boy stared, shivering.
The man's voice hardened, a bitter edge in it.
"They think the rules matter. That the Rabbit follows orders. But I've seen it—he knows there are survivors. He leaves them because…"
His voice trailed off for a moment, then he leaned closer, voice low and urgent:
"Because sometimes it's better to let something live… to see how the story plays out."
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"The Rabbit knows—this place is broken. Every move, every breath, every choice… it can all change in an instant. Unpredictable. That's what makes it dangerous. That's why you're alive."
The boy swallowed hard, his grip tightening on Herwoj.
"But why… why are you here?" he managed to ask.
The man's eyes locked on his, something dark and heavy behind them.
"I'm here because I failed. I survived the scenario… but not the game."
He looked down at Herwoj, his expression unreadable.
"And maybe… I'm waiting for the right person to finish what I couldn't."
The cavern fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the distant echoes of Defilement screams far above.
POV(young man's backstory)
The young man's voice sharpens, a bitter grin twisting across his face as he continues, almost like a confession:
"They told us we were going to be rich."
His fingers twitch, as if remembering the feeling of holding something that was never really his.
"Trillions of dollars. They dangled it in front of us like meat on a hook. A prize beyond imagination. They told us we'd be part of a new global game show—the first of its kind. The ultimate survival experience. 'Survive the Dungeon, Claim the Prize.' That's what the banners said."
He scoffs, voice cold.
"They sold it to the world. Ordinary people from every country, dragged in by the promise of wealth beyond their dreams. We were just names on a list, faces in a crowd. They told us there would be rules, that it was safe, that there were livesets—respawns, like a game.
But the moment we stepped into the dungeon, everything changed.
The system greeted us—those hollow words burned into our minds:
'Welcome to the First Test. Survive. No Resets. No Mercy. No Exits.'
And then the bodies started to fall."
He leans closer, his eyes dark and hollow, voice low, almost a whisper:
"It wasn't a game. It was a slaughterhouse—and the moment we realized it, it was already too late.
The gods—those things watching us—they wanted a show. They didn't care about the prize, the money, the dreams. The trillions of dollars? That was just bait to make the stakes look bigger.
And the worst part? They called it a test run. A warm-up.
We were just a pilot episode for the real nightmare to come."