No time to rest. If we made it out of here alive, then we could worry about recovery. The odds were terrible. Mana didn't regenerate naturally in this dungeon. Something held it back, like a debuff tightening its grip around all of us. If that miniboss had nearly torn us apart, how the hell were we supposed to take down the final boss when our Paladin was out of spells and barely clinging to life?

  I studied the tattered map in my hands, keeping my gaze low. No more tripping.

  Horror Maze – Everland

  Dead rides. Decaying attractions. A place that once thrived, now nothing but a ghost town of rust and memories.

  My fingers absentmindedly traced the torn edges of the paper. Halloween. I was eight. My mom held my hand as fog crept through the streets and pumpkin lanterns flickered. I was excited. The Horror Maze. Almost too young to get in. My mom laughed, squeezed my hand.

  "Don’t be afraid. I’m right here."

  Inside, it was dark. Too dark. A scream. A door flew open. A figure lunged from the shadows, a zombie student with a twisted face. My heart pounded, and I clung to my mom’s arm.

  "They’re just actors, sweetheart," she had said, brushing my hair. "The monsters are only as strong as you let them be."

  That sentence had stuck with me. Back then, there had only been actors. Now, five years after she vanished into the Abyss, I knew that monsters were real.

  I blinked back to the present, back to this dead amusement park. And suddenly, Everland felt colder than ever before.

  The silence was unnerving. Even the roller coaster had stopped. By now, we had a pretty good idea who the one passenger had been, the one enjoying the ride so damn much. It had to be Nihilith himself.

  We marched past towering thorn hedges, their tangled masses pressing in so tightly it was hard not to feel claustrophobic. Ahead, we reached a rose garden.

  Guide description: Romantic garden, full of beautiful roses, the Queen of Flowers.

  Yeah. Not quite.

  Moving cautiously, we stepped through this corrupted garden, heading for the castle at the northern edge of the Everland Dungeon, bordering Magic Land. The roses clawing their way out of the ground like worms were pitch black. Their leaves crumbled into ash, sending a steady stream of demonic particles drifting toward us.

  We halted before the massive gate—the entrance to the boss chamber.

  The double doors were huge. Freakishly enough, they looked just like I remembered from my childhood visit with Mom. Back then, though, the castle had just been a themed hostel.

  "Is breathing this stuff actually bad for us?" I asked nervously.

  Ryn Valen wheezed and spat a dark clot of blood onto the ground. "Who gives a shit."

  "Not me," Sin-Joo muttered, eyes completely void of emotion.

  The Paladin placed a foot on the first step, and instantly froze. A sharp, pained gasp escaped his lips as he doubled over. The bandages Hye-Rin had wrapped around him were soaked through with blood.

  "Shit. My Nexus Link registered the wound as a debuff. Fittingly called Vital Rupture—drains 2% of my remaining HP every eight seconds. Stays active until a high-level healer purges it or… I drop dead. Killing the boss won’t even matter. This thing’s taking me to the grave."

  "How much HP do you have left?"

  "A third."

  Hye-Rin frowned, yanked out her phone, and opened the calculator. She mumbled as she tapped the screen. "Okay, 33% of max HP… tick rate is minus two percent per eight seconds… but it’s exponential, not linear…" She sighed and pulled up the logarithm function. "I just need to figure out how many ticks until you hit zero…" Her thumb flicked rapidly over the display.

  "Don’t bother," Ryn Valen interrupted. "It’s seven minutes and twenty seconds."

  Hye-Rin stiffened. For a moment, we had all forgotten what Paladins were capable of, how their bond with the Nexus allowed them to perceive their remaining time like a running countdown, a HUD only they could see. A soul-linked interface for those connected to this unknown power.

  "Seven minutes," Hye-Rin whispered.

  The Paladin gave a grim nod. "Yep. Timer’s ticking."

  "Mana?"

  "Zero."

  "Fuck."

  That lump in my throat? Yeah, everyone in the party probably had it too. We swallowed our fear, but it didn’t go down. It stayed lodged right there. Would another great Paladin die here today?

  I took the lead while our tank, Dae-Won, supported Ryn Valen. The fact that Ryn even accepted the help was proof of how weak he had become.

  My shoulder pressed painfully against the massive double doors. With a long, agonizing creak, they swung open, revealing a hall shrouded in darkness.

  Not complete darkness.

  Our eyes adjusted. It was dim, eerie. As we moved forward, we passed row upon row of occupied seats, just like a movie theater.

  A completely surreal sight.

  The... audience... were demons, staring straight ahead in silence. They had to be the park visitors... people who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time when the Abyss cracked open and the cosmic horror Nihilith corrupted the innocent.

  The Abyss.

  Where was it?

  We marched past the rows of demons, all of us hyper-aware of the timer ticking in our heads. Without the Paladin, we didn’t stand a chance.

  Ahead, a cold blue light glowed behind thick red curtains.

  Then, suddenly, the curtains pulled apart on their own, revealing an enormous stage.

  Was this the moment where physics broke, and reality dissolved into something else—a dream, a performance?

  At the center of it all sat Nihilith on a throne of solid gold. A god of strings, a puppeteer twisting the fabric of reality itself. Shrouded in darkness, he sat motionless, waiting. Just beyond him, where the stage should have ended, the floor fractured into nothingness, dissolving into a gaping void. And at its edge, pulsing with an eerie glow, a dimensional rift hovered, shimmering, shifting, like a wound carved into existence itself.

  The Abyss.

  It hovered in the air like a floating crystal, radiating both light and unbearable cold. Science claims this cold comes from the universe itself. Abysses are ruptures in spacetime, pockets filled with monsters. But the truth? No one really knows. Expeditions have been few. Successful ones, even fewer.

  What we did know: To close an Abyss, a magic crystal had to be destroyed (and magic, when you broke it down, was just technology we hadn't figured out yet). That crystal, deep within the Abyss, was always guarded by a cosmic horror.

  The fragments, shards of a shattered Abyssal core,were the most valuable resource in the world. Worth far more than gold.

  So far, only three Abysses had ever been successfully sealed.

  And there were thousands of them across our world.

  A lonely, manic laugh shattered the silence of the hall.

  Undoubtedly, it was the same unhinged laughter from the roller coaster.

  Nihilith was a nightmare given form, tall and gaunt, dressed in a long coat and top hat. A grotesque showman, towering over three meters in height, with four elongated arms that held the strings of unseen marionettes.

  "Alright. Let’s kill him and get our reward," Dae-Won said, his confidence far stronger than anything the rest of us actually felt.

  I moved forward, my body acting on its own as we ascended the stage. My legs carried me up the stairs, even as every instinct screamed at me to run.

  Was this Nihilith’s influence? Or was it the merciless countdown, the reminder that Ryn Valen was running out of time?

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  Just like Malgrave, we had no idea what abilities Nihilith had. No clue how many phases this fight had.

  We walked onto the stage like clueless spectators in some sick interactive theater.

  Only this time, the worst part wasn’t stage fright.

  It was knowing that one wrong move would mean death.

  We didn’t need to pull the boss.

  The moment we set foot on stage, we were already in his aggro radius.

  For the first time, Nihilith moved.

  He rose from his throne, descending the steps toward us. Between him and us stood a table covered in props. Weapon oils, shimmering vials, and… blades. Swords. Daggers. The objects glowed faintly under the dim stage lights.

  At the far end of the stage, another table. What lay upon it? Potions? Talismans?

  Were these our rewards?

  The spoils for killing the final boss?

  "Let the honorable game begin," Nihilith said.

  His voice wasn’t spoken. It was whispered by the void itself.

  A grotesque figure. Long limbs. His face cloaked in darkness. Only the gleam of round glasses and the distorted grin cut through the shadows.

  A grin like the Cheshire Cat’s.

  Only infinitely more terrifying.

  And then, we noticed it.

  Sin-Joo and I were the only ones still moving.

  A creeping silence settled over the stage. Something was wrong.

  We turned back.

  Dae-Won stood rigid, his muscles straining against an unseen force. His jaw was clenched, his voice tight.

  "I… can’t move."

  Hye-Rin’s breath hitched. Her fingers twitched, but her body refused to obey.

  "Me neither," she growled.

  "Those are Chains of Being," the Paladin said. "With them, he holds us in a state between existence and nonexistence. We can't move because, for us, the very concept of action has ceased to exist."

  What kind of bullshit was that? And why weren’t Sin-Joo and I affected?

  Nihilith staggered forward in long, unsteady strides, his four hands playing with shimmering, magical strings—each thread thin as a chain of atoms strung together.

  "What is honor, if not a comforting fairy tale for the weak?" Nihilith mused. "A last flicker of meaningless hope in a universe devoid of light, devoid of ... purpose."

  The Puppeteer wore a long coat over old-fashioned attire, something out of a Victorian-era play. But wherever he stepped, the world itself grew colder, grayer.

  "How long does this bullshit debuff last?" I shouted.

  "No countdown on my HUD," Ryn Valen called back. "But did you see the daggers on that table up front? They’re epic. Take them, quickly."

  His voice sounded off, just slightly, like a note played out of tune, but we had no time to dwell on it. Sin-Joo and I sprinted for the prop table before Nihilith could reach it. Or us.

  I didn’t have a soul interface like the Paladin, and there was no time to open the DungeonDex to scan the weapons. Sin-Joo grabbed the right dagger, I took the left.

  For a brief moment, our eyes met. A heartbeat of silence.

  Then I felt it.

  A sudden yank in my arms. My shoulders jolted forward, like invisible hands were pulling at me. A force tugged at my legs, a shift in my balance that wasn’t my own.

  Sin-Joo moved too—but not of his own will.

  "What the...?"

  The threads tightened. We were being manipulated. Our hands jerked forward. I grabbed a deep blue phial. Poison or blessing? No clue. Sin-Joo snatched a dark green one. It reeked of rot and iron. Droplets ran down razor-sharp steel. Our weapons drank the darkness, soaking in venom and magic.

  His arms rose. His fingers clenched around the hilt of his dagger.

  Then I saw it.

  Or rather, I didn’t.

  There was no struggle in his eyes.

  I froze. Not because he looked like a marionette. But because he didn’t.

  His gaze was too clear, too steady.

  He should have been fighting this. Fighting the threads. Fighting the control.

  But he wasn’t.

  His eyes were calm.

  "That’s not you… is it?!"

  Sin-Joo blinked. His jaw clenched.

  "I… I don’t know."

  Nihilith leaned forward slightly, as if he had just orchestrated the perfect scene.

  "How marvelous… how familiar…" His grin widened. "A man who bathes his blade in poison to pass judgment upon his enemy."

  His voice dropped to a whisper.

  "Tell me, Sin-Joo… were you ever really his friend?"

  Sin-Joo’s dagger snapped up.

  Steel sliced through the air.

  I barely managed to raise my blade in time.

  Nihilith shook his head, amused.

  "Oh, my prince. Isn’t it refreshing? No more masks. No more lies. No more doubts. You two were never friends. You never were. And now that all illusions have been stripped away, there’s only one truth left..."

  His voice coiled around me like a curse.

  "...the inevitable proof that there was never any other ending."

  A tremor ran through Sin-Joo’s body. His stance wavered.

  Another attack.

  I barely blocked in time.

  Steel shrieked against steel. Sparks flared as our blades clashed.

  "Sin-Joo, what the hell are you doing?!"

  His gaze was cold. No hesitation. No flicker of recognition.

  Just a blade, inches from my face, as he threw his full weight against me.

  "I’m going to kill you, Takuya."

  His voice was pure venom.

  The blades ground against each other, screeching, until the tip of his dagger nearly brushed my cheek.

  I could feel his breath. Feel the ice in his words.

  "Did you ever wonder," he whispered, "why I was always around you?"

  I clenched my teeth, trying to push him back, but he was stronger. Of course he was.

  I had always been the weakest.

  Always.

  His dagger flicked to the side. I dodged, barely, but he didn’t let up. Another strike, lightning-fast, aimed straight for my ribs. I parried just in time, but my balance wavered.

  "Because no one else ever wanted to be my damn friend."

  An elbow slammed into my ribs, knocking the air from my lungs. I stumbled back, but he was on me, like a predator refusing to let its prey escape.

  "I could’ve traded you for a better friend anytime. Someone cooler. Someone better looking. Someone popular."

  A sharp kick to my knee.

  I buckled—then came the blade.

  I barely raised my dagger in time, blocking the thrust by a fraction of an inch. Steel scraped against steel, shrieking as Sin-Joo pressed forward, closing the gap. His face was inches from mine.

  "But all I ever got was you, loser."

  His dagger forced mine downward. My arms trembled under the weight of his strength. Was this really Sin-Joo? Or the power of a demon?

  "The weakest, ugliest, most pathetic kid in school. That’s you, Takuya. A nobody."

  I tried to shove him away, but his boot slammed into my stomach. My breath hitched.

  And in that instant...

  "I’ve always despised you."

  ...the dagger struck.

  The blade pierced my stomach.

  The tip sliced through the cheap fabric of my hoodie, then deeper, splitting flesh, tearing through muscle, searing like molten steel as it carved into my gut.

  A choked gasp tore from my throat. Blood spattered onto the wooden stage.

  "Deep down, I wished you’d die here. So I could return to high school a hero. And everyone would forget you ever existed."

  The poison seeped into my veins. My vision blurred. Another cough, another violent splatter of blood against the floor.

  I couldn’t move.

  I could only watch as my hands twitched forward, desperate to grab onto something...

  But there was nothing.

  Nothing but the darkness closing in at the edges of my mind.

  I spat another mouthful of blood. "Sin-Joo..." I whispered.

  But the pain swallowed everything. No more thoughts. No more resistance. Just agony.

  Then, a shift in the shadows. A voice, soft yet triumphant, brushing against my ear.

  "You remember, don’t you? The boy who swore to avenge his father. Who thought his fate was in his own hands."

  Nihilith.

  His voice was so calm, so gentle, like he was reading me a bedtime story.

  "Oh, but it was my script. It was always my script."

  A chill crawled down my spine as his quiet chuckle cracked into something unhinged.

  "But at this point in the play, there’s been a slight revision."

  His fingers danced along the glowing threads.

  "Look now, the traitor has not yet won."

  His voice curled around me like a noose.

  "The prince lies bleeding on the stage. What a pathetic finale that would be."

  He raised his hands, drawing out the pause, savoring the moment. Letting me feel it—letting me know my life was his to play with.

  "Two hearts. One fate."

  With a grand motion, Nihilith snapped his fingers. And just like that, Hye-Rin's stun lifted.

  She staggered forward, head whipping around, her eyes found me.

  The blood. The dark red pooling beneath my body, seeping into the cracks of the wooden floorboards.

  "The queen shall decide," Nihilith purred.

  "Whether the worm lives… or dies."

  For a moment, silence. Then Hye-Rin switched. No hesitation, no delay. She sprinted. No one needed to tell her what to do. She bolted for the prop table, grabbed an Abyssal Healing Potion, the strongest ever made, and raced toward me.

  "The struggle for another’s life is a hollow ritual in a world without meaning," Nihilith mused, almost absently.

  She ran, her face twisted with raw determination.

  "You do not fight for love," his voice deepened, darkened. "You fight only for the illusion that your suffering has purpose."

  My body was shutting down.

  "In a stage play, no matter how hopeless, the truth always wins in the end."

  A snap of his fingers. The threads twitched in the air.

  "But in reality, only the lie survives."

  Then came a scream. A bloodcurdling, inhuman wail.

  One of Nihilith’s invisible threads had wrapped around Dae-Won’s thigh.

  And in one smooth motion...

  ...it sliced clean through.

  Muscle. Bone. Gone.

  Dae-Won collapsed, screaming. His severed leg landed beside him in a pool of blood, the crimson spreading wider and wider across the stage.

  "In less than thirty seconds, your beloved will have bled out," Nihilith said. "And so will the pathetic weakling at your feet. You only have time to save one."

  Hye-Rin froze.

  For a moment, there was only the cold, merciless weight of Nihilith’s words.

  Nothing but the raw horror of Dae-Won’s scream.

  Her eyes flicked between me and him.

  Her breath quickened.

  She hesitated.

  But it wasn’t really a dilemma, was it?

  She loved him.

  I, on the other hand,was a stranger.

  A pathetic mess bleeding out on the stage floor.

  She whispered something toward me.

  Her lips formed silent words. I’m sorry. Maybe.

  Or maybe that was just the guilt in her eyes.

  Then she spun around, lunged forward, sliding onto her knees through the blood pooling beneath Dae-Won’s severed leg.

  Of course, she saved him.

  But as my world sank into pain and darkness, as my heart kept beating, forcing more blood onto the stage, a strange clarity washed over me.

  I stared at the red pooling across the wooden floorboards, gasping for breath, fighting for a single rational thought.

  I was the weakest.

  Yes.

  But I didn’t want to be.

  I didn’t want to keep disappointing everyone.

  My grandmother.

  Sin-Joo.

  This party.

  I wanted to matter.

  And then it hit me.

  What had Nihilith said earlier?

  Only the lie survives reality?

  Hye-Rin’s fingers clenched around the vial, her knuckles turning white. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

  She tore the seal off, wrapped an arm around Dae-Won’s trembling body.

  And suddenly, as the darkness pulsed behind my eyes, I asked myself, for the first time: What story were we trapped in?

  The betrayal of a friend.

  The queen given a potion.

  The poisoned prince.

  My heart pounded, each beat stuttering.

  This wasn’t just Nihilith’s twisted game.

  This was Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

  A reel of memories flickered through my mind. The rough plot points. The scenes we performed last summer in Miss Park’s class.

  I remembered.

  How they had booed me. Not because of my performance.

  Just because I was me.

  Negative memories stick stronger than positive ones.

  Maybe, in this moment, that was my only advantage.

  Because if Hye-Rin was playing the Queen of Denmark…

  Then that potion...

  It was poison.

  Everything was a lie.

  Everything.

  If I could save just one life, then maybe my own wouldn’t have been wasted.

  I choked. Blood gurgled up my throat.

  "DON’T GIVE HIM THAT DAMN POTION!"

  I coughed. Vomited more blood. Croaked. Screamed.

  "THE POTION IS POISON!"

  But it was already too late.

  Hye-Rin pressed the vial to Dae-Won’s lips.

  "Drink," she whispered.

  And he swallowed the poison.

  As Nihilith’s laughter filled the stage, colder than the Abyss itself.