Since that day, safe havens were erased. Players at dusk were gone by night—Husks chewing through their last hit points.
At night, Dusk Protocol sharpened its teeth—enemies hit harder and scaled past a player's level, setting the game apart from other RPGs.
So far, the game has been excellent at killing people. With Kazami's beta tester knowledge, how far can he protect this girl until they both meet the same fate?
The creaking sounds ceased completely as they reached the top of the dilapidated staircase.
Darkness thicken. Despite the fact that it was pitch black, both of them could see signs of a struggle thanks to their newly acquired night vision ability, which they developed as a result of spending so much time outside in the dark.
Peering into the dim hallway, her breathing staggered as she stepped out into the shadows. The air felt heavy and thick, with an unspoken sense of dread that hung in the atmosphere. He swiftly called forth his flaming sword once again, hoping to illuminate the darkness.
But instead of a bright, blazing flame that could melt through thick iron bars, the flame he had called was hardly visible, providing a weak glow from the edge of the sword.
Dim, flickering lights above his blade provided only a faint glimmer, casting long, eerie shadows that danced along the crack walls as Kazami walked onward. The reverberation of their footsteps stood out among the dead silence of the halls, which only served to emphasise their isolation in the mansion.
In a moment of overwhelming anxiety, Tang-Ji imagined that the hallway had extended, stretching to infinity, with a row of doors lining each parallel wall. She shook her head, breaking the fear-induced hallucination, and looked up, determined to continue.
After all, Kazami had been risking his life protecting her thus far, and she wanted to contribute something, even if it was something small like this.
For a heartbeat she remembered a sunny hallway—the soft rasp of a paper fan, a glass wind-bell chiming near an open door, tatami warmed by afternoon sun. The memory touched her and slipped away, replaced by clicking.
'Click.' Tang-Ji's head whipped toward the sound—then another click, skittering to her right. Her breath hitched as the taps multiplied, each one a drumbeat in her chest.
Darkness has its own rules, she reminded herself, pressing fingers to her temples. Still, something about that rhythm felt… deliberate. It almost had the same small insistence as wind-bells on a humid night—pretty, until you realised they never stopped. Heart, still pounding as she focused, tracing the clicks until they snapped into a single, steady source—and the world tumbled back into focus.
Two pale circles and a slit of dark found her in the hall. She could feel her limbs slowly becoming heavier, and she was unable to break her gaze from the horrifying thing before her.
The fact that it was now smiling made her stomach drop. It gave her a vile grin and stared back at her, flashing its gnashing fangs.
She attempted to tear her eyes away from the chilling figure, but was unable to do so. All she saw was its terrifying face; she had no idea whether it had a body or not.
Suddenly something brushed against her left shoulder, which activated her survival instincts. She clenched her teeth and whirled, preparing to deliver a basic combat skill to the face of whatever had just touched her.
"Heavy Shot," she whispered through gritted teeth, bending her legs slightly while rotating her torso vertically to fire off an uppercut. The light from her hand shot out like a bullet and landed dead centre on the hilt of the sword.
"What the hell was that? A striking ability? If I hadn't had my Leere ready, that would have blown off my whole arm." Kazami rasped, the blade wobbling in his grip.
After a brief pause, Tang-Ji gradually disengaged the skill. She spun around, hoping for the creature from before to have disappeared. Just as she expected, there was nothing there but dust particles hanging in the icy hall.
"Are you going to explain yourself or what?"
"Did you not see it?" She quickly turned back around, praying that he had at least caught a glimpse of the terrifying sight.
"No, I did not. And for the last time, could you stop acting so recklessly?" His voice was calm, but the frustration beneath it was palpable.
"It's all in your head," he retorted with a dismissive wave.
"I've told you that the entire time. There's nothing here. As for that clicking sound you keep obsessing over—nothing more than your imagination."
He paused, his tone softening a bit. "Ukiyo reassured us that the area is clear of mobs. Even if it's not, I told her to keep the door open in case this turns out to be a mini-boss chamber. No one is here right now, other than us three."
Tang-Ji's gaze lingered on Kazami for a moment, her eyes cold as stone, before she turned away in silence. The chill in the hallway seemed to deepen around them.
He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling over.
"I've had enough of this damn silence," he spat, his voice echoing off the old walls, the cold air biting at his words.
"Since we stepped into this hellhole, you've been a ghost—no emotion, no reaction. You only speak when it suits you. It's like talking to a wall. Your eyes, they're dead, and you always act impulsively. I just..."
His voice faltered, like the words were caught in his throat, unable to escape. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration tightening his jaw before continuing, "...I just don't understand you."
His words bounced off the doorways lining the hallway, the mansion's oppressive stillness amplifying his every syllable.
"I'm sorry," she replied, trying her best to avoid eye contact with him.
He glared at Tang-Ji for a while, frowning furiously.
"There you go again, apologising; is sorry all you can say?" He sighed, placing his hand over his forehead.
"Whatever, we can talk more about this later; let's just try to get this quest done." Kazami muttered before walking ahead of her, who was still in a dazed state.
Her mind was crowded.
Fear, regret, and uncertainty swirled as she stood in the haunted mansion with Kazami, whose presence did little to steady her. Danger pressed from every corner of the dead city; each heartbeat felt like it stood on an edge. The weight of the years she couldn't remember sat heavy on her chest. The longer she stayed in this twisted place, the sharper the ache.
And then a pull—old breaks from school, leaving hot classroom air and stepping off a plane into a world where her breath turned white.
Grandparents' courtyard, she remembered vaguely. It was strange that her mind wandered there now, of all places, with the mansion pressing cold against her skin.
Frost-slick tiles. She and her cousins batting a shuttle back and forth until fingers went stiff in their gloves, laughter fogging in the cold. Kitchen windows steamed; trays of dumplings lined the counter; someone kept a pot of sweet ginger broth just trembling on the stove.
Paper talismans were pinned above the lintel—characters she couldn't hold for more than a breath. In the courtyard a metal brazier ticked as paper coats and coin-notes curled to ash. Incense thinned the air; a plate of fruit and two bowls of rice waited on the altar.
She tried the phrases she'd been taught for those cold-season offerings; her tones slipped, and Grandpa corrected her gently, his smile soft as altar smoke. She wanted to ask what each line meant and didn't. Wanted to keep the words and let them skate away anyway.
She had never quite reached her parents' language, never fully stepped into the world that came with it. Now even the fragments had thinned. How much pain were they carrying, not knowing if she would ever walk back through any door—this one, or theirs? The thought tightened around her heart.
Her hands clenched at her sides, trembling, as the reality of the situation sank deeper into her bones. If this was her last moment, her last chance to think, she wanted to focus on them—her family, her fragile friendships.
She needed to hold onto those fragments to keep them alive in her mind, even if she couldn't hold them in her heart. The fear of losing them—of dying with nothing but regret and emptiness—gnawed at her. The stakes had never been higher.
"If you want to help me, then search through the other rooms for me." Kazami paused for a second before continuing ahead.
'Knock, knock,knock.'
The sound of knocking caught Tang-Ji off guard. It was soft but persistent, a steady, insistent rhythm that seemed to resonate through the dark hallway.
She replayed Kazami's words in her mind, each repetition colder than the last. 'No one is here right now... no one is here right now... no one is here right now...'
A slight twitch in her fingers betrayed her otherwise calm exterior, but she quickly steadied herself. The knocks faded into the background, easily dismissed as her mind's trickery.
She turned her back to the hallway before pacing herself toward the staircase with deliberate steps, as if nothing had shifted. Yet the faintest tightening in her chest—just a whisper of something—lingered in the silence.
Tang-Ji approached the first door on the left along the dusty stairwell, its timber weathered and creaking with each gentle draft that passed through the corridor. With trembling hands, she reached out and grabbed the handle, hesitating before slowly turning the rusted doorknob.
The door groaned softly as it opened, revealing an impenetrable blackness within. A cold gust of wind brushed against her face, carrying an icy breeze that chilled her to the bone. Heart pounding as she pressed on, her anxiety growing with every creak.
'There was no one.'
She hesitated, the weight of the unknown pressing against her like the stagnant air before a storm. Her fingers brushed the frame, cold and splintered, as her thoughts spiraled.
'What secrets curled in those shadows—something of me, or just teeth? If I step inside, will it trade me a memory for the little warmth I have left, leave a flower-bitter taste on my breath?' Her train of thought was interrupted as she caught sight of something interesting.
"Kazami! I found something."