Chapter 06: Roy: The Silent Executioner

The passage trembled as if alive with the footsteps of unseen predators. Feral roars echoed off the stone walls, and a reek of decay—thick and choking—filled every breath.

The moment Roy caught wind of that guttural sound, his whole body shuddered. In a rough, gravelly whisper that brooked no argument, he barked, 

"Get to the walls—keep silent, and cover your mouths!"

Though no one knew exactly what fate awaited them, the group obeyed without hesitation. 

They pressed their backs against the cold stone, sealing their lips and silently invoking every deity they could remember, hearts pounding in terror.

After an agonizing heartbeat of absolute silence, distant echoes of the irate man's panicked screams reached their ears. 

Dust swirled as countless footsteps pounded from the inky darkness beyond.

Riven pressed himself tightly against the wall, his gaze locked onto Roy, who stood mirroring him on the opposite side.

They both tilted their heads, unwavering, as unspeakable horror began to take shape before them.

From the murky gloom, more than twenty Helma creatures surged forward in a chaotic pack. 

Their furious eyes shone with predatory intent; long, glistening fangs and razor-sharp claws gleamed in the darkness as they charged.

Their shrill, guttural cries drowned out even the desperate wails of the irate man behind.

Inside the claustrophobic corridor, terror rippled like a tidal wave. 

Silent internal screams tore through the group—some even bit their own fingers in futile attempts to quell panic. 

Eyes widened in sheer horror, tears streamed down pallid faces, and bodies shivered as if gripped by an unyielding winter. The very vibrations of the wall deepened their dread, forcing many to close their eyes in desperate submission.

Yet Riven's gaze remained unflinching. 

He watched as the first creature, moving with uncanny speed, swept past him and Roy—a fleeting shadow that spared no glance at the petrified humans. 

The beasts barreled forward like relentless gusts of wind, their howls a dreadful promise of carnage.

In his frantic mind, Riven pieced together a grim theory from the game's logic: 

The Helma blood splattered on their clothing—and the raw meat they had consumed earlier—had masked their human scent. Their sweat, tinged with decay, made them nearly indistinguishable from the creatures stalking them.

Then, in a moment that froze his blood, a violent collision among the creatures sent one tumbling into a woman at the far edge of the group. 

The impact hurled both of them to the ground, even as the rest of the pack melted back into the shadows.

The creature, recovering swiftly, prepared to rejoin its kin when suddenly its tiny nose twitched.

Riven's heart lurched. 

'It can't get any worse than this!' he thought.

The creature pivoted toward the woman. 

Horror clutched Riven as he saw that her midsection slit open, blood pooling onto the cold stone. 

Though the creature's claws had merely grazed her, the wound was perilously deep. 

Still, the woman clamped her hands tightly over her mouth, stifling any cry of agony.

'What are you doing?! Press your wound, not your mouth!' 

Riven seethed silently, locked in terror against the wall.

The creature inched ever closer—now only two paces away—and Riven's inner plea rose to a fevered pitch, 

'Please, don't get any closer! Please! Please!'

Helma creatures, for all their monstrous attributes, were nearly blind in this oppressive darkness—relying instead on scent, sound, and the lure of soul cores to track their prey. 

And why did they haunt these narrow passages? 

Riven's answer was as bitter as it was simple: 

Stupid game developers had designed it that way.

Most players, however, clung to the belief that the creatures hid here to avoid even deadlier predators outside.

Every face in the group was fixed on the injured woman and the advancing creature, terror etched into every feature. 

Not one soul dared move; not even Riven, who could only offer silent, desperate prayers.

But the creature, lured by the metallic tang of blood, took another fateful step. 

One more step would unleash a bloodbath—the creature's scream would summon its brethren, triggering a torrent of shrieks, crushing blows, and a slaughter that would shatter any semblance of composure. Their inevitable movements, no matter how slight, would trigger an avalanche of death.

At that critical moment—as the creature's claw brushed against the woman's exposed skin—

A swift, decisive slash shattered the impending alarm. 

Not the creature, but Roy moved with lethal precision. 

Wielding a Helma bone knife as if it were an extension of his own will, he severed the creature's throat before it could cry out. 

Its inky, obsidian blood pooled onto the prone woman below.

Without pausing, Roy scooped up the creature's limp body and, in a grim, ritualistic manner, poured more of its blood onto the woman to mask her scent. 

The group stared in stunned silence—a cocktail of shock and reluctant relief at Roy's ruthless efficiency.

Barely affording them time to catch their breath, Roy shot a piercing glance toward Riven and the woman with the pendant chain.

He beckoned them over with urgent motions and leaned in, his voice a barely audible murmur, 

'Take her… Move as little as possible… Run silently… and do not look back…'

Riven nodded solemnly. 

Gently, he pressed his hand over the woman's trembling mouth as he hoisted her up. She moaned in pain, but another woman quickly pressed her hand against the wound, and together they began to edge away in the opposite direction—each step as light as a whisper.

Roy then signaled the others to follow. 

Retrieving the lifeless creature, he methodically slit its wrists and legs, allowing its dark blood to drip freely—a gruesome but necessary act to further disguise their human odor. 

As he left a scarlet trail behind him, his eyes constantly darted over his shoulder, alert for any approaching menace.

After the relentless horde passed, a fragile silence returned—only to be shattered by a piercing scream from behind.

It was the irate man.

"Help me!" 

He shrieked, his voice raw and frantic—a high-pitched wail from a man who had never known true terror until now. 

At the far end of the passage, chaos reigned as the creatures collided in a frenzied melee. They shoved and snarled, predatory eyes locked on him. Saliva dripped from their gaping maws, and the clatter of claws against stone reverberated ominously.

With his back pinned against the wall, his pants soaked with panic and tears streaming down his face, he cried out, 

"Don't come near me, you monsters… don't kill me! Attack the others!"

"Help me! I have mon—" 

He began, but his words were cut short as one of the victorious creatures lunged. It pounced on him, sinking its teeth cleanly into his neck and instantly silencing his desperate cries. 

He jerked violently as teeth sank into his shoulder. 

Then another. Then another.

They ripped into him, a blur of claws and gnashing fangs. Skin peeled, bone cracked. His gurgling scream barely lasted a second before he was reduced to nothing but meat.

'Still an asshole to the end.'

Riven listened, horror-stricken, as the last pitiful scream dissolved into the cacophony of growls and tearing flesh. A dark part of him almost found a perverse amusement in the spectacle—but not even he could smile.

With the gruesome sounds of the feast echoing in the dark, the group cautiously resumed their advance—each step measured and hushed, desperate not to invite further carnage.

*** 

After what felt like endless hours navigating the claustrophobic passage—dispatching stray creatures while using their own blood as a grim camouflage—Roy methodically eliminated every threat lurking behind. 

Finally, they reached an enormous stone door, faint light flickering from beyond its ancient surface. 

They had barely cleared the first level of the tutorial.

Exhausted beyond measure, Riven gently lowered the injured woman onto the cold floor and pressed firmly on her wounds to staunch the bleeding. 

She had already fainted, but clung desperately to life. 

The others, drained by terror and fatigue, collapsed in a heap on the unforgiving ground—their ragged breaths barely audible in the oppressive silence.

Breaking the stillness, Roy's unwavering voice cut through the despair, 

"Don't get too comfortable—we have two more levels to go."

At those words, the weight of their predicament deepened. 

"We can't move on like this," Riven protested, gesturing toward the battered woman. 

"With her condition, we won't make it."

Roy's distant, indifferent gaze said it all—he was already weighing his options, perhaps even considering abandoning some of them. 

'Finally, he's showing his true colors,' Riven thought bitterly.

Roy's expression remained impassive as he sighed and strode toward the group, a hint of irritation in his step. 

Riven's stomach churned as he caught sight of a knife clutched tightly in Roy's hand. 

Suddenly, Roy stumbled on the uneven ground and, distracted, crashed against the wall. 

For a split second, pain twisted his face before it melted away into a wide, unsettling grin.

He turned, his smile sharpening into something unreadable. With a light, almost playful lilt in his voice, he declared, 

"I have a plan."