Rest Stop or Battlefield?

XXV

The world shimmered around us, the chaotic rubble of the maze dissolving into a grand, ornate lobby. It was almost too much of a contrast—the heavy scent of roasted meats, pastries, and fresh fruits immediately replacing the stench of dust and sweat. Long tables stretched across the room, laden with food, while hunters milled about, their voices a low hum of excitement and fatigue.

I took a moment to scan the room, my gaze flitting between the faces of waiters and waitresses moving gracefully between tables. One of them caught my attention—a familiar face. It clicked: they'd been a clerk back at the registration area, before the elimination rounds.

Selena was the first to act, marching straight up to one of the waiters. Her tone carried a slight edge of suspicion. "Where are we?"

The waiter responded with a smile so practiced it might as well have been painted on. His voice was smooth, soothing. "Welcome. This is a rest stop, a temporary sanctuary, if you will, and a celebratory event for those who have passed the fourth stage." His delivery was polished, as if he'd repeated the line a hundred times before.

"Rest stop, huh?" Sarah muttered beside me, her arms crossed. Her expression mirrored my own unease.

I shrugged. "Better than a death maze, right? Let's eat while we can. No telling what's next."

Wolf didn't need further convincing. His eyes locked on a roasted pheasant leg, and he gave me an approving nod, already halfway to the table. I followed, grabbing a plate and scanning the buffet, but even as I filled it with food, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were still being watched.

The prickle at the back of my neck had become a constant companion since I'd awakened my connection attribute. It was faint but persistent, like an itch I couldn't quite scratch—a sixth sense warning me of danger. This "sanctuary" felt too convenient, too staged. I was certain the assassins from the Elsewhere Cult were here, hidden among the crowd of hunters as easily as anyone else.

Beside me, Sarah stepped forward, fixing the same waiter with a sharp look. "So, where's my license?" she asked, tapping her foot impatiently.

It was a valid question. Passing the first four stages was supposed to be enough to earn a license. The rest of the stages were optional—or, for those who still had the stomach for it, encouraged.

The waiter didn't miss a beat. "Ah, patience, miss. You'll receive your license when the fourth stage has been officially closed. For now, please feel free to enjoy the refreshments."

Sarah sipped her drink through the veil that obscured half her face. The maneuver was as graceful as it was absurd, a testament to her stubborn refusal to remove the accessory even in casual moments. Wolf, meanwhile, had no such reservations. He tore into the pheasant leg with reckless abandon, the grease dripping down his chin. Across from him, Selena sampled desserts with an elegance that made it look like she belonged at a royal banquet.

I wandered over to the drink dispenser and poured myself a glass of iced coffee. The coolness seeped into my fingers as I lifted it to my lips, letting the bitterness jolt my senses awake. Around us, more hunters began teleporting into the lobby, stumbling as they adjusted to the sudden shift in scenery.

We'd finished early, which gave us a bit of breathing room before the place got too crowded. My eyes flicked to the timer mounted on the wall, its glowing digits counting down the remaining time until the fourth stage officially closed—1 hour and 39 minutes.

"Still plenty of time," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Sarah caught my eye, raising her glass in a silent toast. "So, what's the plan, Reynard? Stay here until the next round, or…?" Her voice trailed off, but her expression didn't need words. The barely concealed anticipation in her gaze was a look I'd come to know all too well. Sarah of the Undead Troupe didn't do well with waiting, especially when there was a hint of danger in the air.

"Depends," I replied, casually scanning the room. My connection attribute buzzed faintly, warning me of eyes that lingered too long or auras that felt too sharp. "Sticking around seems easy enough."

But in truth, my guard was up.

Anticipation coiled tightly in my chest as I stayed close to Selena.

Selena's hand shot out, yanking me forward by the wrist. The whoosh of knives slicing through the air just behind me sent a chill down my spine. I barely had time to register the near miss before Selena's hands blurred. A moment later, a pair of Uzis materialized in her grip, summoned effortlessly from her storage attribute.

Gunfire erupted, the deafening sound cutting through the confusion. Hunters scattered in all directions as Selena's bullets tore into the attacker—a man clad in an orange vest and goggles. But instead of crumpling to the ground, the figure shredded apart, releasing sawdust and fabric instead of blood.

"A mannequin," I muttered under my breath.

Selena's gaze flicked to me briefly, but I could see it in her eyes—she'd already realized the truth. There were two attackers, not one. I could sense it too, the distinct hum of a second aura threading through the chaos.

Pulling from Selena's disguise attribute, I wove myself into the confusion of the fleeing crowd, my presence vanishing among the chaos. Skirting the edges of the room, I moved closer to Sarah, who stood with her arms crossed, her eyes scanning the room with cool disdain.

"Hand," I muttered, extending mine to her.

She shot me a frown but complied, slipping her hand into mine. The moment I gripped it, I siphoned her sound attribute, the hum of her aura threading into my own.

"You owe me one," she said, her voice dripping with irritation.

"Put it on my tab," I replied, my lips quirking into a grin.

Another volley of gunfire echoed from Selena's Uzis, shredding more mannequins on the left side of the room. Hunters ducked and scrambled for cover, the chaos intensifying by the second. Masked by Sarah's sound-dampening effect and Selena's distraction, I slipped through the crowd unnoticed.

I passed a table laden with desserts, snagging a fork stabbed into a brownie. Taking a casual bite, I moved toward a woman in a yellow dress dripping with ornate jewelry. She didn't even glance at me until the fork pierced her throat.

Her scream echoed, sharp and brief, before I drove the fork into her eye. Her face contorted in shock, frozen in a grimace, as hunters darted away from the scene in terror. Exactly what I needed.

The moment of contact was enough to sync with her aura. I felt her power rush into me—a Maker type, her puppetry attribute now flowing through me like a second set of senses. The connection snapped into place, and I could feel the forty-seven mannequins she controlled, each one bristling with concealed knives.

"Let's end this mess," I muttered, bringing my boot down on her skull with a sickening crunch. Her power dispersed in an instant, and the connection between her and the mannequins shattered.

The control was mine now. I flexed my aura, and the mannequins responded, their movements fluid and eerily lifelike. But before I could act, I felt it—a shift in the air, a ripple of intent. Knives jerked mid-air, honing in on me with unnerving precision.

A Seeker type. Someone else was guiding the blades with their aura.

I didn't panic. Wolf's Observation attribute, which I'd recharged earlier, combined with Sarah's sound-enhanced senses, made dodging almost too easy. Each knife felt sluggish as I sidestepped their paths, weaving through the assault with calculated precision.

With a flick of my will, I pulled the mannequins closer, using my puppetry attribute to intercept the blades. They clattered harmlessly against the mannequins' frames, the puppets shielding me like an impenetrable wall.

Through my Soul Link, I tagged the knives, suppressing the Seeker's control over them. One by one, they dropped, lifeless and inert, as if their strings had been cut.

"Not bad," Selena's voice cut through the chaos as she approached, her Uzis smoking. "But next time, try not to let them get the jump on you."

"Noted," I replied, smirking. "Now, let's find the Seeker."

Selena nodded, her gaze sharpening as she scanned the room. Without hesitation, she reached into her inventory, retrieving a sleek pair of night-vision goggles. Sliding them over her eyes, she aimed at the chandeliers overhead and fired.

Glass shattered, one shot after another plunging the room into deepening shadow. The remaining light flickered weakly before succumbing, leaving us cloaked in darkness. I crouched low, pulling the mannequins closer in a defensive arc around me.

In the silence that followed, my borrowed sound attribute took over, painting a vivid map of the room in my mind. Every hurried breath, every shifting footstep of the hunters scrambling in the dark resonated clearly. To anyone else, the chaos would've been disorienting; to me, it was precision.

Gunfire erupted again. Selena was still active, her shots deliberate as she targeted the Seeker who had guided the earlier attack. The crowd scattered further, their panic fueling the disorder. Stray bullets whizzed past me, but none came close. Selena was keeping the pressure up, giving me the space I needed.

The pandemonium didn't last long. Minutes passed before the room was overtaken by an unsettling silence. Then, with an abrupt flicker, light returned—not from the chandeliers Selena had destroyed but from a single, untouched one above the center of the lobby. Its glow was eerie, casting sharp shadows across the ruined room.

At the heart of it stood a figure dressed impeccably in a black suit and top hat. His face wasn't human—no flesh, no bone. Instead, it was a dark, shifting mass of aura, a shadow brought to life in three dimensions. The air around him felt heavy, his presence unnervingly commanding.

I spotted Selena to the left, bound in thick chains. Her eyes burned with defiance, but her body remained restrained. To the right stood a young man, likely in his early twenties, with sharp gray hair and a scowl that screamed hostility. Dressed in a white suit, he radiated animosity—no doubt the Seeker who had been targeting me.

The shadowy figure in the center tipped his hat with a flourish. His voice was smooth, laced with an edge that demanded attention.

"Oh, such ruckus!" he said, his tone both amused and reprimanding. "My apologies on behalf of the Association for allowing… this little disturbance to unfold."

I froze. That voice—it was unmistakable. This was Silhouette, the same voice that had guided us through each stage of the exam with humor and warnings.

"Such a travesty," Silhouette continued, flicking his wrist lazily. Shadowy tendrils slithered across the floor, lifting the lifeless body of the woman I'd killed. They deposited her gently at his feet. "What happened to the no-kill rule I so generously imposed?"

I stepped forward, forcing myself to meet the void where his eyes should've been. My voice was steady. "It was an act of self-defense."

Silhouette's shifting face betrayed no emotion, but his voice took on a sharper tone. "And your proof?"

I held my ground. "I can't give you proof," I said coolly. "Not now, anyway. The woman's dead."

"How convenient," a new voice sneered.

I turned toward the sound. The gray-haired man in the white suit—still restrained—was glaring at me, his expression a mix of anger and forced smugness.

"My name is Gerry Mansell, of House Mansell," he announced, his voice dripping with self-importance. "I swear on my House that this man killed her without provocation!"

Ah. So that was his game. Accuse me of wrongdoing while ignoring his own involvement.

Selena's eyes flicked to me, her silent message clear: Don't let him take control of the narrative.

I took another step forward, shifting my focus back to Silhouette. "Convenient? Hardly," I said, keeping my tone measured. "The woman and her accomplices staged an ambush. The mannequins, the knives—everything points to their intent to kill. I acted to protect myself and everyone else here."

Silhouette tilted his head slightly, his shadowy aura rippling as if considering my words. "A compelling argument," he said. "But you stand accused by a member of House Mansell, a name with… weight."

Gerry smirked, clearly emboldened.

"Weight doesn't equal truth," I countered. "Check the aura signatures in this room. You'll find traces of hers and his," I gestured toward Gerry, "all over the mannequins and the knives they controlled. Their intent is clear."

Silhouette raised a shadowy hand, and the room grew impossibly still. His tendrils snaked out again, weaving through the air as if searching for something. After a moment, they coiled back into him.

"Interesting," Silhouette murmured. His gaze—or what passed for it—shifted to Gerry. "Would you care to explain why your aura is entwined with the very weapons used in this attack?"

Gerry's smirk faltered. "I—this is a misunderstanding!" he sputtered. "The knives were meant to disarm, not kill!"

Silhouette's laughter was a low, unsettling sound. "Disarm, you say? Curious choice of words."

Selena, still bound but clearly enjoying Gerry's discomfort, shot me a quick grin.

Silhouette turned back to me. "You've made your case. But let's see how the crowd feels about this… situation."

I glanced around, noticing for the first time that the hunters had stopped fleeing.

~025