Chapter IV- Floor of Greed

As the prisoners stepped onto the third floor, the Floor of Greed, an eerie glow bathed the chamber in a sickly golden hue. The vast room stretched endlessly, divided by towering glass walls, each section displaying a different temptation: a banquet table overflowing with glistening roasted meats and fresh fruits, barrels of aged wine and crystal-clear water, mounds of gold and gemstones spilling from treasure chests, and an arsenal of gleaming, wickedly sharp weapons.

A hollow ache gnawed at Kyle de Guzman's gut as he staggered forward, his muscles weak, his body screaming for sustenance after enduring the torment of the Floor of Gluttony. Beside him, MJ Rosalbon clutched his ribs, his breathing ragged. Missy, trembling, wiped at her chapped lips, her eyes fixated on the wine behind the glass. Their hunger, their thirst, their exhaustion—it all threatened to drown them in despair.

Then, a slow, mocking clap echoed through the chamber.

From the shadows emerged Warden Satisfied, his fox-like mask gleaming under the dim lights. His ornate robes swayed as he spread his arms, a sinister smile lurking behind his disguise.

"Welcome, my dear prisoners, to the Floor of Greed!" His voice dripped with amusement. "Here, you are free to take whatever you desire. Food, drink, riches, weapons—everything your heart could ever want. A well-earned reward, right? Hahaha!"

Hope flickered in the prisoners' hollowed eyes, their broken bodies yearning for salvation. Was this truly a gift?

A gruff voice shattered the illusion.

Prisoner code 050 narrowed his bloodshot eyes. "What's the catch?"

The Warden cackled, a sound like shards of glass scraping against bone. "Ah, an excellent question! Hahaha! Everything here is yours—at a price. You must give something in exchange. An arm for a scoop of gold, an eye for a handful of food, a finger for a sip of water."

A click echoed through the room as he pressed a button on his remote.

The ceiling groaned, then panels slid open. A rain of metal crashed to the ground—knives, clippers, shears, saws, all stained with old rust and dried blood.

"Make an offering," the Warden cooed, "and the system will grant you access. Enjoy your new toys."

With a final, mocking laugh, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving the prisoners to their fate.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then the first scream ripped through the air.

A desperate prisoner lunged at his companion, hands clawing at the man's face. A sickening squelch—flesh tearing, veins snapping, bone grinding. An eyeball dangled from its socket, then was ripped free. The attacker sprinted toward the altar, slamming the dripping organ onto its cold surface.

"System access granted: One hour."

The glass door to the food chamber slid open.

Without hesitation, the prisoner rushed inside, shoving handfuls of food into his mouth, chewing frantically, tears streaming down his blood-smeared face.

The scent of food hit the others. Starvation outweighed morality.

Panic erupted. Prisoners turned on each other, snarling beasts with nothing left to lose. Blades flashed. Limbs were severed. Blood spurted in crimson arcs. A man sobbed as he hacked off his own fingers, his trembling hands pressing them onto the altar. Another prisoner, too weak to fight, gnawed at his own wrist, his muffled screams filling the chamber.

Kyle yanked MJ and Missy behind a pillar, shielding them from the slaughter. His pulse pounded in his skull. "We can't fight them. We're too weak. But we need to eat."

MJ panted, sweat dripping from his brow. "We don't have anything to offer."

Missy, pale as death, whispered, "What if… what if we offer something small? Like… our nails?"

Kyle clenched his jaw. It was gruesome, but it was their only option.

With shaking hands, they pried off their fingernails, the pain white-hot and nauseating. Kyle gathered the bloodied shards and placed them onto the altar.

"System access granted: 30 minutes."

A small opening creaked open. Kyle slipped inside, grabbing whatever he could. He rushed back, dividing the scraps between them. They ate in silence, their hands trembling as chaos raged around them.

As they ate, Kyle turned to MJ, his voice low. "MJ, we've been fighting to survive here, but I never asked… why are you here? What sin did you commit?"

MJ's jaw tightened, his gaze dark. He exhaled slowly, his fingers trembling as he wiped at his mouth. "Back in the real world, I was a gambler. A damn good one too. But greed got the better of me."

Kyle listened intently, the echoes of dying screams around them fading as MJ continued.

"I had a girlfriend who loved me so much. She supported me. But I kept gambling. The money was never enough. One night, I placed a bet I couldn't afford to lose. I borrowed from dangerous people. When they came to collect, I had nothing left to give."

Kyle's stomach twisted. "What happened?"

MJ swallowed hard. "They kidnapped her. They gave me a choice: pay up, or they'd kill her. I… I did what I had to do."

A memory flashed in MJ's mind—

A dark, abandoned storage room, the only light coming from a flickering fire in a rusted drum. MJ knelt on the cold, damp floor, his hands bound tightly behind him. Blood dripped from his busted lip, sweat soaking his hair. Two men in black coats held him down, their grips like iron.

Three more men stood before him, their faces shadowed. The leader, Sir Anton, held his girlfriend by her hair. She whimpered through the cloth gag covering her mouth, her body trembling. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with dirt and sweat.

"You have a cute girlfriend, boy. Hahaha," Anton sneered, gripping her chin and forcing her to face MJ.

"Don't you dare touch her! I'll kill you all!" MJ spat, struggling against his restraints.

Anton smirked. "Oh? And how exactly will you do that?" He drew a knife, letting the blade graze her throat. "I'll give you a choice. We kill you both, or you do what we ask."

MJ's breath hitched. "Please… let her go. I'll do anything."

Anton grinned. "Good. Then let's begin."

MJ robbed a bank that night. In the chaos, he shot a man. The group took the money, then turned on him, shooting him in the leg and leaving him behind. The police found him, bleeding out. He was sentenced, and the next thing he knew, he was in the Tower of Sins.

Kyle met MJ's gaze. "And your girlfriend?"

MJ's throat tightened. "I don't know." Here I am, paying for my greed in the worst way possible."

Silence stretched between them. Kyle clenched his fist. They all had their sins to bear, but survival was all that mattered now.

Days bled into each other, a nightmare of endless suffering. The altar demanded more. Those who had nothing left to give either starved or were butchered by the stronger prisoners. The floor was never clean again—only red, soaked in the desperation of the condemned.

On the fourteenth day, the altar went silent.

The remaining prisoners, now mere shadows of themselves, stiffened as the glass doors slammed shut.

Warden Satisfied reappeared, his voice oozing satisfaction. "Well, well, well… you've all done marvelously! So much greed, so much sacrifice. But don't get too comfortable."

The ground trembled. Walls shifted, revealing a dark passage ahead.

"Welcome," the Warden sneered, "to the Floor of Envy."

Kyle clenched his fists.

Greed had been a nightmare. But what awaited them next could be even worse.

And they had no choice but to face it.