Who Is He? [R18]

"Eight?" Lao Zhao's voice quavered, a whisper that jolted hearts like a misfired hex.

"Quit joking!" Monkey snapped, but the air thickened—dread coiling tight. The Murder by Midnight gloom clung like a shroud, faint light flickering over seven taut faces. They counted, frozen—each breath a silent tally.

"Where's the eighth?" Shi Ling's whisper trembled, a thread about to snap.

"Enough!" Brother Feng barked, fumbling for his phone—a lifeline in the murk. As his thumb grazed the screen, the corridor's far end erupted—chains clashing, a frantic staccato racing nearer.

"Something's coming!" Lao Song rasped.

Brother Feng's screen flared just as a blood-drenched figure lurched around the bend—timing uncanny, as if it knew. A doctor's coat, crimson-soaked, trailed chains that scraped the floor like a ghoul's lament. The figure's head hung low, hammer clutched—its head dripping red, needles glinting like a torturer's quills. Panic seized them, yet Brother Feng clung to steel. Defying Chen Ge's edict, he flicked on the flashlight—a beam slicing the dark like a lumos gone rogue.

Light stabbed the monster's form, rousing it. Through a tangle of matted hair, it glared—a face stitched from male scraps, seams jagged as a cursed tapestry. The medical students' spines iced; even at a distance, the mask's grotesque patchwork screamed madness.

Light was its trigger—rage ignited. With a guttural snarl, it charged, hammer flailing—a berserk wraith unleashed. Chains lashed walls, footsteps thundered, a cacophony swallowing the corridor. Someone bolted first—a spark igniting chaos—and the group shattered. Some dove into rooms, doors banging like coffin lids; others barreled down stairs to the second floor, or plummeted straight to the first—fleeing like first-years from a troll.

The monster's sudden wrath and the relentless clink of chains shredded their nerve. Fight or flight kicked in—flight won, primal and blind. Screams ricocheted, a chorus of terror.

Xiao Hui, nearest the stairs, faltered—mind blank as a confunded charm. The man beside her—Brother Feng?—spun and fled downward. Fear-fried, she tailed him, instinct screaming away, away! Lao Zhao's forsaken phone lay abandoned, its glow winking out in a shadowed nook.

Third-floor shrieks still pierced the air as Xiao Hui hit the first floor. The chains' rhythm stuttered—slowing, descending. It's coming down! She surged faster, clinging to the man's shadow—her anchor in this nightmare maze. Black Friday's dirge and endless wails fed her dread; the greater it grew, the tighter she latched to company.

His silhouette was her rock—a lifeline in the Haunted House's Stygian depths. Together, we'll manage—can't be left alone. The thought of isolation chilled her more than the monster's hammer. She lunged, fingers snagging his shirt as chains clattered nearer.

He veered into a room—a dead-end cell, bare save a looming cupboard. He dove inside, a desperate niffler burrowing. Xiao Hui froze at the threshold—run solo or hide with him? The chains' scrape swelled, a death knell nearing. She chose refuge, piling in beside him. The cupboard door slammed shut, sealing them in a void—darkness absolute, silence suffocating. Only his presence, a faint warmth, tethered her to sanity.

Sweat and ruined makeup streaked Xiao Hui's face, a mask of dread melting away. She pressed against the cupboard's crack, breath held tight as a silencing charm, peering into the gloom beyond. Chains glinted—a sinister shimmer—and the doctor loomed at the threshold. He rapped the hammer on the doorframe—a hollow thunk like a crypt's knell—then lumbered in.

Her heart thundered, a wild hippogriff trapped in her chest. Biting her finger, she shrank deeper into the cupboard's shadows, a silent mantra looping: Don't come closer, don't come closer. Miraculously, her plea held—the doctor scanned the room, then shuffled out, chains fading into the murk. Relief shuddered through her. She nudged the arm beside her, whispering, "Monster's gone. We'll wait a tick, then link up with the others."

Her voice bounced in the cramped void—lone, unanswered. Frowning, unease prickled. She turned, studying her companion's silhouette—average, neither gaunt nor stout. Not Monkey or Lao Zhao—too slim. Brother Feng's taller, He San's smaller. "Lao Song?" she ventured, tentative.

Silence. Her pulse spiked, a crack splintering her calm. Wait—Lao Zhao saw eight… Ice seeped into her veins, breath snagging like a caught spell. Fingers trembling, she eased her phone from her pocket, its cold light flaring—a feeble lumos in the dark. The beam caught a face—deathly pale, alien, staring back with hollow eyes.

Her phone clattered free, two heartbeats of stillness shattering into a scream—a banshee's wail tearing from the cupboard's depths. She scrambled back, but the space mocked her—too tight, a coffin's embrace. Her skull cracked against the wall—pain or terror felling her—and the stylish girl slumped, head lolling, a ragdoll teetering on oblivion.

"Didn't I warn you—no phones in my haunt?" Chen Ge's voice slithered out as he flung the cupboard door wide. He snatched her fallen device, tucking it into her pocket, then tapped his own. "Xiao Wan, keep 'em off the first floor for now."

After giving his instructions, Chen Ge carried Xiao Hui into the bathroom, chuckling darkly to himself: "Teaming up to mess with me, huh? Time for a little lesson."

Chen Ge's eyes roamed over the voluptuous body of this stunning female student—her mature, sensual figure, the full, perky breasts straining against her clothes, and the way her curled-up posture accentuated her plump, rounded hips. Beneath her thin attire, her curves traced an enticing arc that left his mouth dry with desire. Her long, elegant legs were sheathed in flesh-toned stockings—smooth as jade, plump and alluring. Delicate white ankles were adorned with red straps, and her perfect feet, clad in red high heels, radiated an irresistible temptation strong enough to wake the dead. Chen Ge marveled inwardly at Xiao Hui's breathtaking legs, his massive manhood stirring to life, rising hard and proud.

Suppressing the fire in his veins, he bent down, cradling her dainty foot. He pressed his nose to it, inhaling deeply—a faint, intoxicating blend of leather and floral scent washing over him, leaving him dizzy with bliss. Her petite toes, neatly tucked within the deeper layer of stockings, peeked through the seams—full yet tender, squeezed slightly apart. Her crimson-painted toenails gleamed hazily, a seductive sheen.

He pressed her soft foot to his cheek, breathing her in, exhilaration surging. Slowly rubbing it against his face, he thought, If time allowed, I could play with these all day. Reluctantly, he released her ankle, parting her silken legs gently. His tongue traced upward along her inner calf, hot breath spilling over her sensitive skin. Even in her unconscious state, Xiao Hui—Chen Xuewei in his mind—twitched faintly, her long lashes fluttering, brows knitting, soft whimpers escaping her throat.

"No… don't… ah… so embarrassing… ah…"

Her flushed, moaning face fueled his wicked grin and a surge of conquest. He licked faster along her snowy calves, hands sliding down her curves, deftly untying her skirt's sash and peeling it away. Her legs—sensual, stockinged—sprang into view: elegant yet soft, thighs tempting and lush, accentuating her pert rear. Beneath her white panties, a dark patch teased through, drawing him deeper into its magnetic pull.

Through the fragrant fabric, he sensed her dampness—crystal dew clinging to her hidden garden. His dark eyes burned, fixed on her core, as if piercing its secrets. The lewd sight sent his blood racing. Trembling hands gripped her slender waist, swiftly untying her panties' strings and tearing them free.

His bloodshot gaze locked on her glistening mound—pink lips parted, a trickle of love spilling forth. His manhood hardened to steel, unyielding. Unable to resist, his hands caressed her lush flesh, arousal peaking as he pressed himself against her firm, round rear.

In her dream, Xiao Hui was caught by the hammer-dragging devil-doctor, dragged to a shadowy operating table. Familiar corpse faces—her companions—shattered her fragile defenses. As despair gripped her, the doctor lifted his grimy robe, revealing a rotting, iron-hard black shaft. Its stench assaulted her, yet, under the gaze of bloodied hammer and dead eyes, she parted her lips, yielding as it filled her mouth.

Chen Ge gasped, startled yet thrilled—he'd only meant to toy with the unconscious coed while awaiting Xu Wan. But as he slipped inside her mouth, she began to suck, instinctively working him. Thinking he'd roused her, he checked—her eyes stayed shut, brows furrowed in distress, yet her tongue cleaned every inch. Her teeth grazed him, a faint sting that only stoked his fire. Gripping her hair, he thrust mercilessly, reveling in her unwitting service.

"Prim and proper outside, but sucking away in her dreams," he mused darkly.

After a while, glancing at the time, he smirked—too late to finish there. A twisted idea bloomed. In her nightmare, Xiao Hui wept, serving the devil's rod under her boyfriend's mutilated glare, skills honed by past lessons. As her jaw faltered, the fiend cackled, unleashing a strange flood—too much, too fast. Choking, she swallowed, coughing up the excess.

Chen Ge patted her head, muttering, "Too much water before work's a curse." Next, he slid his hand under her top, freeing her bra, kneading her breasts roughly—shaping them under his grip. Her breaths grew ragged, pleas slipping out: "Please… stop… let me go…"

He parted her legs with his left hand, right darting from her chest to her skirt, stroking her through stockings and panties—already soaked from heat and his touch. Her hips squirmed, igniting him further. Unable to hold back, he lifted the limp beauty, bending her over the toilet. Hiking her skirt, her snowy rear drove him wild. Spreading her legs, he yanked her panties to her knees and plunged into her tight, dry core.

She cried out, begging softly—her voice a siren's call, spurring his beastly lust. Halfway in, resistance met him—a virgin? He drew back, gripped her waist, and thrust hard, breaching her with a wet pop. The torn barrier teased his tip like a tongue, and he pounded harder, hands mauling her rear—each thrust a brutal claim, her moans rising, juices flowing.

The bathroom echoed with their rhythm—her bare back gleaming, breasts swaying like chimes. Hundreds of thrusts later, he erupted inside her, collapsing atop her to savor the aftermath. Pulling out, he turned her, shoving his dripping length into her mouth. Unconscious, she sucked it clean. Satisfied, he hardened again, plunging back in—her body tensing, legs and arms clinging as she trembled in unconsciousness, a mix of agony and bliss on her face.

Time pressed; he ravaged her, groping her chest fiercely. Her tight depths gripped him—lush, wet, a maze of tender mouths kissing his shaft. "So… good… harder…" she mumbled, lost in a dream.

"Spring dream, eh? I'll make it sweet—compensation for fainting in my haunt," he grinned lecherously, quickening his pace. Flesh slapped, her legs locked around him. Too fierce—she stirred, eyes fluttering open to the assault.

"Ah… who… no… help!" she gasped. Panicked, he clapped hands over her mouth, hammering her core—each thrust slamming her soft center. Her awakened beauty—flushed, disheveled—drove him wilder, wolfish eyes gleaming.

Her responsiveness—moans, shudders—fueled him. Her tight heat sucked him in, and he lost himself, pounding her senseless. She spasmed, climax crashing—a flood bathing his tip. He followed, blasting into her womb, their mingled fluids swelling her mound.

She fainted anew, a satisfied whimper escaping—legs quaking, toes curling. Chen Ge ravaged her thrice more, then dressed her, chuckling wryly. No sneaky groping this time—full-on conquest. Unsure if the haunt's "effect" still held, he tidied up, hauled her through the trapdoor, and left her outside the scenario.

He hoisted Xiao Hui—limp as a stunned flobberworm—and hauled her to the bathroom. The bathtub's trapdoor yawned; he carried her through the worker's passage, a shadowed vein beneath the haunt. Need more hands, he mused, laying her out and pressing a warm towel to her brow—a fleeting kindness—before slipping back into the scenario.

One down, six to go. The passage sealed, he buzzed Xu Wan. "Where you at?"

"Second floor—first room left of the stairs. Someone's holed up. I'll flush him out—hit him with a 'surprise' from the right exit," she replied, her voice a chilling lilt through the mask.

"Xiao Wan, you're turning wicked," Chen Ge chuckled, dark as a Slytherin's jest.