The Beast’s Head Devours, Players’ Despair and Resistance

With the tomb raiders' objectives fulfilled, their grip relaxed considerably. Seizing the opportunity, Eric secreted away copious amounts of gold within the supermarket. The other players did likewise, though at most claiming a few strands of beads or a single golden goblet.

"If only we could carry it all out…"

"I could buy a new house…"

"…pay off my mortgage…"

Despite the fleeting joy mingled with regret, the players' brief indulgence was soon eclipsed by the harsh reality confronting them once more.

"Come here!" Having reached the end, the tomb raiders summoned another.

The atmosphere among the players thickened uncomfortably. This time, the chosen was a portly player, who attempted a jocular air: "I'm so fat, one of my arms is worth three of yours. Should be enough, ha ha!"

His forced laughter earned no response. The smile faded, replaced by solemn resolve as he moved forward.

Soon, Eric was met with his agonized screams.

Only Heather and the auntie player had yet to be offered as sustenance to the beast's head. Their faces paled as they listened to the harrowing sounds ahead.

About ten minutes later, the portly player returned, his gait unsteady, a scent of blood clinging to him.

"They gnawed off two of my arms and a leg," he murmured weakly, pupils flickering nervously. Then, curling his lips into a weary smile, he turned to Gregory. "Actually, you're the luckiest—being the first—did they only bite off an arm?"

Gregory nodded.

Turning to Eric, he inquired, "You lost both arms?"

Eric nodded as well.

"Manager Zhou's left only with his torso," the portly player continued. "I'm broader built, so I only sacrificed two arms. So, it's down to just you two now. Heh."

Heather and the auntie player paled dramatically.

The beast's appetite grew voracious; each subsequent sacrifice more perilous than the last.

Heather recalled she had originally been second but dodged the fate by pushing Eric forward. She flitted a hurried glance at Eric's composed countenance, her heart unsettled with dawning remorse.

The door swung open, revealing the third golden chamber—also laden with treasures. The tomb raiders' spirits ignited anew. The blue headscarf declared, "Perhaps the next chamber is just as rich! Our fortune is made!"

Eager, they hastened toward the far end, yearning to unveil the next gateway.

This time, Heather was summoned. Trembling, she wept uncontrollably, yet knew escape was futile; the sentinel's circle remained unknown, nowhere to flee. Her hand slid into the beast's maw, only to be seized and bitten swiftly, her piercing scream echoing in anguish.

Her stature was similar to Eric's—perhaps even more slender.

The beast's hunger had intensified; even the portly player sacrificed two arms, his limbs stout as Heather's thighs. It was evident that even if Heather's limbs were all consumed, it would scarcely sate the beast.

Amidst her cries, Heather lost both arms, then was dragged aside and repositioned as her legs were gradually consumed.

"Ah!"

Overwhelmed by agony, she fainted. Awakening, she realized both legs were gone. The raiders pressed on relentlessly, her body restrained as the creature's jaws continued their ascent—consuming her further.

"Feed her while she's still alive," the blue scarf ordered.

Sacred beasts do not consume the dead; freshness is paramount.

Wracked with pain and terror, fearing she might perish, Heather tearfully deployed a healing pack.

Her limbs instantly regenerated. The blue headscarf's eyes flashed with grim intent: "Put your hand back in."

Four cycles ensued—Heather's limbs were consumed, reborn, and devoured anew. After the fourth, her spirit fractured utterly.

At last sated, the beast opened the door.

The tomb raiders, as usual, disregarded the laborers and strode ahead. From the jubilant cries echoing beyond, Eric inferred yet another treasure-laden golden hall awaited.

By now, Eric's doubts about the very authenticity of this "tomb" had grown.

Could this place truly be an ancient sepulcher?

A succession of golden chambers stretched endlessly—could any ancient tomb truly be constructed thus? Beyond the initial barrage of iron arrows, they encountered no further assaults. The beast's head, once sated with flesh and blood, would relent, allowing the intruders passage.

"Sister, wake up! Use the healing pack, quickly!" The portly player crouched, shaking Heather's motionless form.

Eric snapped out of her thoughts, glancing down. Heather lay sprawled on the ground, lifeless. The portly player nudged her several times before her eyes fluttered open, dazed.

"The healing pack—hurry! You're bleeding."

At last, Heather regained clarity, purchasing a healing pack. Her arms sprouted anew.

"I…" she began, her voice hoarse, but no further words came. Witnessing her state, Eric felt a pang of shared sorrow. This dungeon was ruthlessly brutal—its savagery unvarnished. Yet the players had no retreat; they could only watch, lucidly, as they offered their own flesh and blood.

How many more doors lay ahead? How many more beast's heads?

Recalling the two players who had fled, Eric surmised they might have corresponded to two doors. Their escape likely meant the burden now fell upon the five remaining players.

The thought weighed heavily on Eric's heart like never before.

Then, the worst came to pass. The last player was summoned to feed the beast's head, and the tomb raiders unlocked yet another door, entering yet another golden chamber.

Another beast's head emerged.

This endless cycle tormented the players.

They exchanged wary glances, each guarding against the other, none willing to be the first to offer themselves in the second round of sacrifice.

To the tomb raiders, it mattered little which laborer was fed to the beast's head; after all, these laborers served only that purpose. The painstaking task of recruiting the Undying Village's denizens was nothing but a ruse to supply their comrades with fresh victims, securing immense profits and a safe path forward.

The blue-scarfed leader declared, "Let's take that woman—she seems the frailest and most useless. Her death would be no great loss. Afterwards… she'll be easier to handle. And that other woman as well; let's use the two together. The remaining three men will suffice."

With such casual decrees, the fates of Eric and Heather were sealed.

Heather, ghostly pale, was utterly incapable of enduring another feeding.

"I won't! I refuse!" she broke down completely, screaming as she fled backward.

The raiders' fury ignited. "Don't run!" One pursued swiftly, soon capturing her, her battered face betraying blows from the raiders. Eric clenched her fists tightly, her resentment toward these marauders deepening, shared silently by Gregory, the portly player, and the others, who repressed a collective fury against their tormentors.

Had it not been for their dependence on these NPCs to guide them to the sentinel's circle, these players—weathered through trials and tribulations—would have long ago risen against these merciless beings who treated them as little more than beasts.

"Behave yourselves. Gather here."

Eric was commanded to extend her hand first.

Enduring a second round of shattered bones and flesh-rending agony, the suffering was multiplied manifold—both physical torment and psychological anguish. This time, Eric sacrificed both her hands and feet, followed by Heather.

"Let me go! I won't! I won't!" Heather struggled fiercely. As her arm was forcibly thrust into the beast's maw, she emitted a piercing, anguished scream. "Aaaah, let me go!"

Her resistance was futile; these raiders possessed no mercy, viewing their laborers as swine or beasts. Seeing her thrashing violently, they struck her hard, leaving her unconscious.

Helpless, the insensible Heather was at their mercy. Eric, having employed a healing pack nearby and having recovered, watched in growing exasperation as the raiders relentlessly pressed upon Heather, whose eyelids twitched in frantic warning. "You can't keep going; she'll die."

A savage grin curled on the raiders' faces as one sneered at Eric, "She's too noisy, disobedient—might as well discard her."

Eric's heart plummeted into an icy abyss.

Not only for Heather but for herself as well.

Heather's living presence was more valuable than death; at least the two of them could alternate feeding the beast's insatiable hunger.

Yet, she was powerless.

Turning her gaze aside, Eric could not bear witness to Heather's demise. Though out of sight, the cruel sounds reached her ears, as if immersed in frigid waters, freezing every fiber of her being.

"Your turn now." A raider shoved her forward. Eric opened her eyes to find Heather utterly vanished.

Overcome by nausea, her face drained of color, she silently extended her trembling hand.

This feeding required Eric to purchase three healing packs. Returning to the players, she barely sensed her legs, stumbling as if treading a cloud.

Inhuman agony shattered her body and spirit, fracturing her sanity to incipient hallucinations. The players' voices seemed muffled, distorted through layers of turbulent water.

The door opened to yet another gilded chamber.

For the tomb raiders, it promised riches beyond reckoning, fortunes to last generations.

For the players, it signified an unending source of torment.

This time, Gregory and another player were summoned. The portly player mockingly remarked, "I'm so big, I wonder which monstrous hole the raiders will leave for me at the end. Damn, I've never seen such a disgusting dungeon!"

Gregory and the other returned alive but with ashen, deathlike faces.

The remaining four followed silently, crossing the threshold into a void-like golden hall, within which sprawled countless shadowy passageways.

"Boss, which way's the exit?"

The blue-scarfed leader consulted his treasured map once more, then pointed decisively: "This one's passable." His great-grandfather had escaped through this passage, bringing out enough gold to sustain his family in chaotic times. Regrettably, the ancestor had been unaware of the Undying Village's existence, lacking living bait, and had no choice but to sacrifice their own; ultimately, only he survived.

"Let the fat one trail last, the three laborers in front, and we'll flank the middle," the blue scarf arranged.

Gregory and the auntie player unconsciously took positions behind Eric, silently suggesting she lead the way.

Eric offered no protest; the three were clearly designated as the vanguard—what difference did the first position make?

"Begin!" commanded the blue scarf.

The corridor was narrow, barely wide enough for a single person to pass, unable even to spread their hands. The raiders' flashlights pierced the gloom; Eric hastened inside, eager to avoid the lash of the whip.

The path was manageable, and Eric sharpened her senses beneath the torchlight, vigilantly surveying her surroundings.

Winding, twisting, the route felt like a labyrinth.

Walls and floor were clad in ebony bricks. Most bore no markings; a few were carved with chaotic and grotesque imagery—disjointed hands, solitary eyes, fragmented human limbs resembling the ornate sculptures at the entrance. Once, Eric had found these puzzling; now she sensed their purpose as bait for the beast's hunger.

The further she ventured, the denser the carvings became, until suddenly Eric realized their cumulative forms could piece together a human figure. That realization sent a shudder through her soul, halting her footsteps.

"What are you waiting for? Move forward!" the raiders snarled, detecting her hesitation.

Eric pressed onward. Gregory leaned in softly, whispering, "Did you notice something?"

Though subdued, Gregory's words carried enough weight to attract a whip crack. Positioned last among the vanguard trio and already chastised, he stifled further speech.

After several more steps, Eric glimpsed a shadow ahead, jolting her to attention. She was certain: a figure loomed ahead.

"Boss, there's a silhouette up front," Eric reported promptly.

"What nonsense! There's no one there!" The raiders' panic stirred, but the blue scarf calmed them and instructed Eric, "Ignore it and keep moving!"

Discreetly, Eric tightened her grip on the fruit knife's handle.

Stepping forward, the silhouette became clearer—tall, lean, seemingly wearing glasses.

Glasses?

A thought flickered in Eric's mind.

The flashlight's beam swept across the figure's face—only to reveal none other than Manager Zhou!