Chapter Text
Thud.
Thud.
A tree branch struck the window again, loud enough to cut through the room. It had been there for a while now. Elliot knew the sound too well, he's grown familiar with it. Each impact came with a pause, clicking together like the second hand of a clock. A countdown he’d memorized without ever meaning to.
He used to despise that sound. When it first started, it made his stomach twist every time it happened. Like some impending doom was slowly making its way towards him. Even now, his chest tightened when the branch hit the glass. Maybe it was how he associated that sound with the timer.
The timer that indicated when one of those god awful rounds would start.
“Alright, is everybody ready for the round?”
Speaking of—
Builderman closed the door behind him as he made his way over towards the small group. Elliot craned his neck and offered a tight smile. He has no idea why he feels so... Anxious. He's been through this, repeatedly. Everyday—for months. He's grown numb to a lot of things, made decisions that still haunts him, was forced to act in ways he never thought he'd ever act.
This place brought out the worse in everyone.
Builderman said, “We still have a few moments before the round starts. I checked with the others and they're good to go.”
Shedletsky whistled as he laid down the towel he was using to clean his sword, “Ever the leader, eh Builderman?” Builderman rolled his eyes.
“I'm gonna throw up,” said Noob—rather suddenly actually. Though it wasn't surprising coming from him. Elliot was glad he wasn't the only one feeling like this.
“Save it for the killers,” Shedletsky snorted. “It'd make a good distraction.” Noob shook his head. “I think they're already used to me throwing up on them. Specially Slasher.”
Elliot made a face. Right. That incident.
Builderman sighed going over to pat an anxious Noob at the back. Noob let out a wobbly smile at the comforting act. “It'll be fine, Noob.” Builderman made eye contact with Shedletsky and Elliot—before adding in, “We've done this countless of times... We know the killers well enough to evade them. So that's what we'll do this round and all the other rounds. Okay? Try to stick in pairs just like we planned. ”
Noob didn't seem too comforted at his optimistic words. He's heard it, just as countless of times as the times he's 'died'. Maybe 4 months ago, he'd believe it. But the gnawing feeling of something going wrong started to creep his mind. And he was tired. He knows everyone is as sick and tired as he is—and Noob didn't want to be a burden, so he smiled.
“Okay.”
The corridor was dark and bare—with the occasional strange portraits hanging around the walls. Every step he took earned him a squeaky reply from the scruffy, weak old floorboards. He returned the greetings with an occasional grunt of acknowledgement. Either that or a sigh.
Chance stretched his arms above his head—nearly knocking off his hat with his carelessness. He winced, feeling the lingering phantom pain on his left shoulder. 1x was a bitch last round. He had the misfortune of spawning too closely to 1x4 and was chased around for a good half an hour.
Chance grimaced when he felt his muscle pull against his will. While the survivors don't sustain actual injuries during rounds, meaning they're only temporary. They sure as hell feel everything. Every trip and fall, every slice of 1x4's sword, every spikes J.D ripped them apart with, every bone crushing punch from c00lkid—everything.
Which often left their bodies aching and weak after the end of each rounds. Phantom pain or whatever Guest1337 called it.
Chance just woke up from his 12 hour nap; after having a whole arm sliced off and chased by 1x4 while profusely bleeding...he feels he deserves a break. Even though he still felt ridiculously shitty. He woke up surprised that a round was about to start in just a few minutes. Knowing his turn had ended—he made quick work to walk around the cabin and offer the unfortunate souls that were about to play, affirmations and goodlucks. And a few sappy jokes too.
It wasn't much, but it was all he could do with his body feeling oddly weak.
He's already made his rounds of goodlucks to the majority of the players, now he's just about to go to the kitchen and fetch a glass of water. He mourns the loss of alcohol every single day, he's been forcefully sober for months now. Water didn’t help, but it was all that was available.
He was just about to step into the kitchen when something caught his eye.
It leaked from a door just off to the side, pale and flickering, bleeding into the hallway like some ominous horror lighting effect. He paused, lifted his shades, and squinted.
“What the hell…” he muttered.
His brow creased as he edged closer. “Did someone set something on fire again?”
It wasn't the first time this had happened. He and Taph once set the basement on fire when they were trying to find ways to escape this hell hole. He went around to peak and...
The room was dark and unforgivingly so. Chance couldn't see anything but the subtle outlines and silhouettes of certain objects. A chair there, an ominous lookin table on the left... And a figure sorrounded by dim candles muttering prayers.
Two Time kneeled inside, hunched slightly, muttering under their breath about bad spiritual energy. Candles were arranged in a careful circle on the floor, wax dripping in thick, uneven lines. The spawn symbol beneath them drawn in chalk, maybe salt—etched around them. Chance swore to god...or Spawn, that if Two Time used the kitchen salt for their stupid rituals again, he's actually gonna cry.
The food here was shitty enough. The only seasonings they had was salt and pepper. And their pantry won't be renewed for another 2 weeks. Chance really hoped that wasn't their salt.
“Something evil will happen... ” muttered Two Time, snapping Chance into reality. They clenched their teeth and looked frantic for a moment, “I can feel it... Something is approaching. O' mighty Spawn, please protect us!"
...
Yeah. No.
Chance slowly closed the door. Some problems were above his pay grade—and whatever that was, he wanted nothing to do with it. He's not religious at all anyway. The only deity he believes in is Lady Luck but unfortunately she's been MIA for weeks now so he wouldn't count his blessings.
Whatever's up with Two Time will eventually pass.
With that in mind, he slowly walked away from the ominous scene.
Meanwhile.
Somewhere far away. Somewhere similar but oh so different. Another world was preparing for the exact same thing.
There’s a single desk shoved too close to the wall, its surface covered with a crooked stack of papers and a lamp that’s been left on far too long. The light it gives off is dull and yellow, barely reaching the corners of the room. Everything past the desk fades into shadow. Faded wallpaper with an ornate pattern, peeling at the corners, though they were hardly noticable.
Bookshelves lined the walls, packed tight with thick volumes bound in cracked leather and faded cloth. Some were stamped with gold titles worn almost smooth, others hand-labeled, their spines bent from use. Nothing useful about them. Most of them were books about random insects, psychological bullshit or the occasional cheesy dramas. Between the paperwork sat things that didn’t belong in any normal office.
Small glass vials filled with cloudy liquids and deep-colored brews, some corked, some sealed with wax. A few bottles of what looked like something out of a Harry Potter film laid on the table. 1x had no idea what any of those do, really. He was concerned about the ones that were spilling on the table, but based on John Doe's lack of reaction—he assumed it was fine.
The table leaking unknown chemicals were not his primary concern, however. 1x frowned as he stared above. He listened to the ticking of the clock, watching the timer slowly count down to start the round. However, the timer was...
“That's never happened before.” He suddenly spoke.
John Doe paused his shuffling. He craned his neck over his shoulder—settling the last bits of potions onto his tool belt. The comforting weight of each vial was calming in an odd way. He stared at 1x as he wiped away the residue on the table. "What's never happened before?"
1x pointed up. “That.”
John Doe's eyes followed the direction where his finger was pointing. His eyes landed on the timer that was slowly counting down. Slowly—
One minute
Fifty-nine seconds
Fifty-eight..
Three minutes and twenty seconds.
John rubbed his eyes, “What—”
“The timer's glitching. That's never happened before.”
John frowned. He was right—that had never happened before.
Was this some kind of trick? Or just a mistake on the spectre’s end?
He didn’t want to jump straight to worst-case scenarios. The group had enough tension already; the last thing they needed was him dragging more bad energy into it. He chose to hope it was just a glitch, something that would smooth itself out once the round progressed.
He hoped they wont accidentally get stuck in a round. Not permanently.
The thought made him shudder.
“I'm sure it's nothing,” John Doe hummed thoughtfully. “I wonder if this will affect the round—”
*SLAM*
John Doe flinched at the sound—something heavy slamming down hard enough to rattle the room. He spun on his heel, eyes snapping toward the source just in time to see a blur of blue hit the floor.
“Ack—!”
1x staggered back with a grunt, wincing as the sudden weight slipped off him and thudded to the ground. He rubbed his shoulder, scowling. “Bluudud!?” He coughed out, the wind being knocked out from his lungs. “Where the hell did you come from!?”
John was already moving, boots scraping as he crossed the room, caught somewhere between panic and disbelief. Bluudud? And sure enough—there he was.
He was dressed head to toe in blue, a gamer-branded mess you’d expect to see plastered across a livestream thumbnail. A hoodie with pixelated designs, fingerless gloves, scuffed sneakers. A headset hung loose around his neck, one ear crooked like it had taken the fall. The impact hadn’t hurt him much, thankfully—but it had wrecked his hair. Blue strands stuck out at odd angles, tangled around a pair of short, curved blue horns that now peeked through messily, more visible than they probably should’ve been.
The kid blinked.
He looked up at them—at John, then 1x4—like they were the strange ones. His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the walls, the lighting, the distinct lack of… whatever he’d been expecting.
“Uh.” He shifted slightly, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “This isn’t the cellar…”
1x pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw tight. “You see any weird, creepy men selling Halloween skins?” he snapped. “Obviously this isn’t the cellar!”
“Are you gonna get off me now?” he added.
“So mean, I'm getting there!”
1x4 winced as he sat up. He rubbed his shoulder, circling it experimentally, a wince formed his face immediately. John Doe frowned—he'd have to check up on him before the round starts, he'll be at a disadvantage in the following rounds if he can't swing his sword at full strength.
“I swear,” Bluudud looked around with a frown. “Pr3ttyPrincess just pushed me to the cellar door on the side of the cabin just a minute ago! I have no idea how I got here!”
“What? Did the teleporter commands malfunction too?” 1x4 said, eyebrows creasing. 1x4 looked at direction where Bluudud fell through and sure enough—there was nothing there but a wall.
“You were outside and ended up all the way here...?” John questioned.
“Well, yeah?” The kid shrugged, glancing around like the answer should’ve been obvious. “I know I was. You can ask C00lkid, he was there too.”
John didn’t respond right away.
He met 1x4’s gaze instead. The same thought had landed between them at the same time, heavy and unwelcome. Shock bled into something colder. Dread, settling in slow.
“That's... ”
1x4 continued, “Really weird.”
John didn’t like where this was heading.
Unfortunately he didn't have enough time to think about it for long as the malfunctioning timer slowly dwindled into a zero.
And the round started.