Chapter 29: First Trial
"Damn it!"
Richard began to lose his composure as he stared at the message floating above the three of them.
That damned message… the same one that had appeared across the entire sky, announcing the beginning of the global chaos. The same one that had stolen the life he could have had, replacing it with endless suffering on Earth.
John tried to touch the message, but his hand passed right through it, as if through a ghost.
"Is this what I think it is?"
He rubbed his eyes, hoping it was just a bad visual effect caused by exhaustion.
Richard shook his head.
"This is real… unfortunately, it's damn real."
The sound of laughter pulled them out of their conversation.
The fireplace roared to life, spilling heat over what looked like a dining hall, as the guests began to appear.
"This is going to give me nightmares if we ever make it out of here…"
Damian regretted coming along.
The porcelain dolls began to move, slowly descending the staircase. Their movements were unnatural, stiff, as if each gesture was controlled by invisible strings unseen to the naked eye.
Richard studied them closely. They were not just toys—each one had a singular design, almost human, as though they were representations of real people instead of mass-produced figures.
A boy in an old sailor suit.
A girl in a pink lace-embroidered dress.
Others dressed in styles and eras that didn't match. Each doll seemed to have its own personality, as if carrying a miniature soul inside.
"What do we do now?" John asked, confused, his voice tight with nerves. "Do we have to get out of this place?"
No one answered right away. Everything was happening too fast; they were still trying to process what was going on. This was clearly designed to be an intellectual trial, so they couldn't afford to make a rash mistake.
[First Trial: Among the rubble, a porcelain doll appears. Nobody touches it, but its chest rises and falls as if inhaling air. Sometimes, a childish sigh escapes its lips.]
At that moment, the message on the ceiling blazed again, glowing with a blinding intensity. The incandescent letters bathed the dining hall in a ghastly light, forcing them to squint.
"There's your clue again," Richard pointed out.
At least they had one certainty: the message was warning them not to touch any of the dolls. If they did, something would happen… and none of them were willing to find out what punishment awaited for breaking that rule.
"They want to play with us… The matron said we could play house…"
"They gave me this ball for my birthday. Can we go play in the yard?"
The childish voices echoed through the room, freezing their blood. They came from the dolls, though none of them moved. The phrases repeated again and again, like recordings hidden inside their porcelain bodies. Giggles, whispers, broken phrases filled the air until it became unbearable.
"We have to find Elias and figure out how to get out of here," Richard finally said, his tone firm.
The others nodded without protest. It was a plan—something to hold on to amidst the nightmare.
They moved toward the entrance of the main dining hall, where a massive door stood, polished with layers of varnish that kept it in pristine condition despite its antique design.
Richard pressed his hands against it. The door was heavy as a thousand demons, and that was saying something after all the strength he had gained since awakening.
The creak of the wood tore through the silence like a scream.
But what they saw on the other side left them stunned.
It was the same dining hall.
The same table.
The same dolls.
As though the world had fallen into an endless loop, the only difference was that now they could see themselves—their own backs reflected in the duplicated space.
"This is going to get complicated…" Richard muttered, letting the door close on its own.
The weight of frustration crushed them. They couldn't leave the dining hall. They had no clear clues on how to overcome the first trial. This was far more difficult than fighting a horde of infected. Richard didn't know what to do.
He dropped onto a free chair, trying to gather his thoughts. But the dolls' laughter and voices gnawed at his concentration, splitting his skull with each giggle, each whisper.
"What if we just destroy all the dolls?" Damian suggested.
He was holding one of his marbles, ready to throw it at the porcelain figures and cause an explosion. The idea of absolute silence was tempting—even to Richard, who almost nodded in agreement.
"Wait!"
Richard jumped to his feet and approached the table. His eyes narrowed as he carefully avoided the dolls scattered across the floor, placed there, no doubt, to make his movements harder.
"They gave me this ball for my birthday. Can we go play in the yard?"
That phrase… That doll in particular was the only one that mentioned an exit. Maybe that was the key.
Richard knelt beside it and, for a moment, ignored how ridiculous he must have looked. He inhaled deeply, then spoke:
"Of course… let's go play in the yard."
The silence that followed was long, but not surprising. Nothing happened.
"Are you seriously going to start talking to dolls?"
The mockery didn't last.
The screech of gears spread through the walls, echoing like a mechanical roar. The door system came to life. The hinges groaned, and this time, the wooden door opened slowly, revealing what lay beyond.
Just as Richard had expected, the porcelain doll began to move again. The door of the dining hall opened bit by bit, and unlike before, it showed something new.
On the other side, they could see corridors leading straight into the vestibule. Everything was connected to the yard, with no possibility of exploring any other room.
* * * *
Just as Richard had imagined, the exterior did not match at all with what they expected. There was no rain of blood falling from the sky, no lush forest stretching toward the horizon, and much less the vehicle in which Noah was waiting for them.
The courtyard stretched before them like a stage that seemed to be half-designed: excessively perfect and, at the same time, very fake.
John, in a desperate attempt, ran toward the main gate that connected the courtyard with the supposed exterior. He hit, pulled, and pushed with all his strength, until his knuckles turned red and the skin split in small cracks. Behind the gate there was nothing but human voices, although none of them could be sure if they were real. It could have been fabricated sounds, a carefully inserted trick to give more atmosphere to that desolate stage.
"Why are you so calm?" asked John in frustration, turning toward Richard.
Sweat ran down his forehead and his breathing was labored. His arms trembled from the force exerted against the door, and yet Richard remained still with no intention of helping.
"There's no point in wasting our energy trying to open that gate," he replied, in a dry tone. "After all, it seems this place is an isolated space, just like the dining hall. Do you remember what happened when we tried to leave? If we managed to open the main door, most likely we would just end up in another loop, with no chance of escaping."
The words instantly extinguished what little energy John had left. With a muffled groan, he collapsed onto the damp grass of the courtyard. He closed his eyes and sank his fingers into the grass, tearing it violently as he tried to calm the desperation that was consuming him.
"The only option we have now is to see how to continue," Richard added, watching him from above. "It's possible that by completing all the trials we can get out of here. And maybe, obtain something as a reward."
John laughed bitterly, lowering his head.
"Of course… then we'll level up and save the princess from this castle."
His sarcasm hung in the air.
His fists clenched in anger. His claustrophobia was a little better upon stepping into the courtyard, but even so, the nervousness manifested in the small spasms his body generated unconsciously.
Richard noticed. His eyes caught every tremor that ran through John's body. The young man was trying too hard to stay calm since the operation began. He had probably not told anyone about his problem.
A fatal idea, in his opinion, because he was only putting the other team members at risk by hiding an issue that, in the future, could cost them casualties. If Richard had known from the start, he probably would have left him in the vehicle with Noah.
There was nothing more to do than lament the situation. The porcelain doll, the one that had opened the way, was no longer there. It had disappeared the moment they stepped into the courtyard, as if its existence had been tied only to fulfilling its function, so they were back at the beginning without any clue of how to continue.