Gambler

Only the silhouettes of two people faded into the mist — quietly stepping toward the door.

But they didn't enter right away.

Dathweet paused, eyes scanning the area.

For the first time since arriving… he noticed the smell, the sound, and even the silence.

The air here… dry and heavy, as if the entire estate had been sealed off for years.

No birds. No wind.

And yet, something was moving.

A sharp stench crept into his nose — half like old dust, half like burned human hair.

Dathweet looked around quietly and muttered:

Dathweet:

"If this place was created inside my Noesis… then I guess it must be something tied to my inner self, right?"

Lyun (shrugging, smiling softly):

"I don't know. Why don't you explore and find out?"

The garden in front of the mansion was enclosed by an iron fence — black as oil, without spikes.

But instead… hundreds of fleshy thorns grew from it.

Each thorn was the size of a pinky finger, pale like raw skin, swaying gently in the wind as if still alive.

On either side of the path stood stone statues with animal heads —

Some were deer, some looked like cats, bears, or foxes.

All had broken noses or hollow eye sockets.

No gaze. No soul.

As if this place once had a concept of life — and it had all been drained out.

Dathweet (softly):

"Around here… I'm starting to get a sense of what my inner self might've created."

Lyun:

"So, what is it?"

Dathweet:

"It… calls me in. But it doesn't like me coming in."

Lyun (smiling with amusement, tilting her head):

"You're overthinking. But hey, maybe it's true? Either way… don't worry. It'll welcome you warmly."

Dathweet (squinting):

"'It'… what is it? The house? Or is there… someone else?"

Lyun (still smiling, but her eyes darkening):

"Go inside… and you'll find out."

Dathweet reached out and touched the large wooden door.

It wasn't locked.

It opened — without a sound.

No creaking. No rusty hinges.

As if… it had known he was coming.

Lyun stood behind him, saying nothing more.

She just stared into the dark space behind the door — where there was no mist, no light… but something was waiting.

And the two of them stepped inside — leaving behind the garden, which now breathed slowly like a creature waking up.

The door closed behind them, though no one touched it.

The sound of it closing didn't echo like in the real world.

The main hall appeared in a dim, gray light.

No lamps. No fire.

Only a sourceless, murky glow — as if the house itself glowed with a forgotten memory.

The space was wide. But not empty.

Wood – stone – and… something damp.

The stench from the garden still clung — dust, burnt hair, and now… a touch of rusty iron, like dried blood.

Ahead was a spiral wooden staircase leading to the upper floor.

The handrail was draped in white cloth, but parts of it looked torn — as if someone had pulled hard and ripped through it.

Dark brown stains marked the fabric — as if someone had tried to climb up… but never made it.

To either side of the hall were two pitch-black corridors —

No light. No windows.

Only silent fields within the house itself.

The walls were lined with old wallpaper — the floral patterns peeling away.

Strangely, in some places, the paper puffed out slightly and breathed —

as if something beneath was trying to crawl out.

Portraits hung along the walls, faded and indistinct.

Their faces were smudged. Or their eyes were torn out.

In a few… the eyes followed you, no matter where you stood.

At the center of the hall stood a small statue.

A woman, sitting, clutching her head and weeping.

But the tears weren't made of stone — they were red, slimy mucus, dripping one by one onto the pedestal.

Above, an old crystal chandelier —

but it was leaking water.

Droplets fell to the tiled floor below, ticking like a countdown clock —

but no one knew what it was counting toward.

The two of them were still observing the space —

the gray light in the hall glowing faintly, without any visible source.

The silence thickened.

Then it broke.

A sound like bones dragging across stone echoed from the left hallway.

Dathweet spun around — and saw it.

A strange being approaching.

Humanoid in shape, but the skin was stitched together with thick, black thread — the seams sagging like rotting meat.

The right half of its head was missing an eye — only a hollow socket, dried blood dripping down its neck.

Its mouth hung open… with no tongue.

Only the sound of shallow, hateful breathing.

Then it started running.

Its legs twisted — but terrifyingly fast.

Dathweet instinctively raised his hand — summoning his blade of air.

Nothing happened.

No light. No tremor. No wind. Nothing.

He froze. Then realized — he had lost all his powers.

The creature was heading straight for Lyun.

It didn't scream. It didn't howl.

It only wanted to eat.

Dathweet reacted — grabbing the first thing within reach on the ground:

A carpenter's hammer.

Heavy. Rusty. The handle soaking wet.

He lunged forward — and slammed it into the monster's head.

The sound was like a watermelon splitting open.

Black blood sprayed. Brains burst from the skull like cold porridge.

The monster collapsed on the spot — dying without a sound.

Dathweet gasped for breath.

But had no time to recover.

From deep within the two hallways — screeching sounds rang out.

Wet. Heavy.

Then shadows slithered into view — peeled flesh, stretched muscles, hollow eyes, twisted arms.

Lyun (terrified):

"Dathweet…"

Dathweet:

"Run."

No hesitation. He grabbed her hand and bolted up the stairs.

Behind them — dozens of uneven footsteps thundered.

The stench of raw flesh followed close behind.

And the lobby below… began to change color.

They ran up to the next floor — and soon realized… the footsteps were no longer chasing them.

Still, neither dared slow down.

They ascended to the top floor.

At the top — a grand hall, decorated as if for a lavish banquet.

A long dining table set in luxury, warm lights filling the space.

The walls were covered in paintings — but all of them were distorted, scribbled portraits of Dathweet.

In the background of every image — only darkness.

Dathweet turned to look behind.

The staircase they had climbed… was gone.

As if it had never existed.

Dathweet (growling):

"Is this place meant for rest… or a mockery wrapped in false comfort?"

Lyun (calmly looking around):

"I don't know. But we could sit… and think."

She pulled him into a chair.

Dathweet:

"So now what? Solve this game?"

??? (deep, echoing voice):

"Something more."

A voice rang out from the head of the table — and a strange being appeared.

Before they could react, Dathweet's and Lyun's chairs tightened.

Dathweet was completely bound.

Lyun — was teleported to the center of the room, facing a giant puppet holding a blade.

The creature that appeared had a humanoid puppet body — covered with eyes and mouths all over.

Three heads stacked on top of each other.

Family (soft laugh, echoing like in a hollow box):

"My name is Family. And I want to play a game with you, Dathweet."

Dathweet (angrily, through clenched teeth):

"What game? Let us go!"

Family:

"If you win — you live, and leave. If you lose — you die. And unfortunately… you don't get to say no."

He sat down opposite Dathweet.

Another faceless puppet stepped out — carrying a worn-out deck of cards.

Family (all three heads speaking at once):

"Let's begin."

He placed the deck on the table. Ran his fingers over each card, then said:

Family:

"The rules are simple. Each player has five blood. You die at zero. On your turn, you place a card face down and call a number — like 'four', 'six', 'ten'… That's your attack. You might be telling the truth — or lying. The other player has two choices: Call it — or stay silent. If they call it, the card is revealed. If you lied — you lose two blood. If you told the truth — they take a counterstrike and lose two blood. If no one calls… then it depends on the card. If your card equals or exceeds your number, the attack lands — they lose three blood. If you exaggerated — you take three blood damage. Simple as that. One wrong word… and your mouth starts bleeding."

Dathweet (narrowing his eyes):

"What about special cards?"

Family (nods):

"Ace: Call 'Ace' and get challenged — if true, deal three blood to the challenger. If false, take three damage. Face cards — J, Q, K: If challenged, no one loses blood. If left unchallenged, nothing happens."

Dathweet:

"…Fair rules. So, have you planned how you're going to die?"

Family (half smiling):

"The rules are fair. The players… are not."

A faceless puppet entered, dragging a tray of cards.

Each side received five cards.

Family (voice like a worn-out record):

"Each gets five cards. You can look at three. The last two… are for when trust runs dry."

Dathweet nodded. He glanced at his three cards.

A slight smirk touched his lips — too faint to tell if it was mockery or confidence.

Family (noticing):

"Oh? Must've drawn some rare ones to smile like that."

Dathweet (calmly):

"Maybe. Shall we begin?"

Family (pulls a card and places it face down):

"With pleasure. Value: Six."

He raised his eyes.

Not like a player — more like a surgeon inspecting a broken specimen.

Family:

"Does this room… feel familiar?"

Dathweet:

"…Familiar?"

Family (pointing to the white ceiling):

"Looks like your old house, doesn't it? The place you once called home — but that never once truly called your name."

Dathweet (narrowing eyes):

"That's irrelevant."

Family:

"No. Spaces speak. The cleaner the room, the dirtier you feel. The more you smile, the more I see you tremble."

Dathweet:

"This is just garbage you've constructed."

Family (smiling):

"Maybe… but even garbage has a scent. And scent… memory never lies."

He leaned in. Eyes never blinking.

Family:

"Ever felt tired… of pretending to be okay? Of saying 'I'm fine' while your soul bleeds dry?"

Dathweet (clenching his fists):

"You're trying to mislead me."

Family (tilting his head):

"No. I'm pulling you back… to the place you buried it."

Silence. One second. Two. The pulse in Dathweet's temple begins to throb.

Dathweet (thinking):

(He placed a card and said 'six'. Is it true or a bluff? That whole conversation was meant to shake my emotions. Digging into my pain… to provoke me. So he wants me to think it's a bluff. No—too simple. If he wants me to think it's a bluff, the card might actually be true. But if I flip that logic and call it true—it might be a trap against reverse thinking.)

He stared into Family's eyes. Empty like mirrors—only reflecting back his own doubts.

Dathweet (smirking slightly):

"I call you out. That card is real."

One heartbeat slows. The room stills—like someone just unplugged the oxygen.

Family (still smiling):

"…If only it were."

Dathweet jolts. Blood pours from his nose and mouth at once.

He leans on the table, hands trembling.

Family:

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

Dathweet (looking up, vision fading):

"You… you…"

Family (almost singing):

"I didn't make you believe a lie.

I made you think you escaped the lie."

Family:

"You thought you were in control. But you're just a puppet pulling its own strings out of reflex."

Dathweet (short breath):

"Then… it's my turn."

Family (eyes glinting):

"Yes. Now… it's your turn."

The sound of cards shuffling still lingered in the air, long after it stopped.

Three cards now faced down on the table.

The room—still an endless, sterile white.

No windows. No daylight. Only stares.

And will.

Dathweet placed a finger on one of the remaining cards.

Lifted the edge slightly.

Not an Ace. Not a face card. Just… a 2.

The briefest kind of despair.

Family watched. Not his hand, but his jaw—tightening ever so slightly.

Eyes steady, but pupils narrowing.

Dathweet placed the card face down again, feather-light.

"…Two."

One word.

Not shaky. Not hesitant.

Family blinked. Once. Then said nothing.

He pulled an invisible cigarette from thin air.

Lit it with his fingertip. Inhaled.

Family:

"Alright… If that card's real, then you're playing safe. Defensive. Afraid of losing blood. No bluffing. If it's a bluff… Then you're damn good."

He exhaled smoke, tendrils curling and vanishing.

Family (soft chuckle):

"You want me to think that, don't you?"

Dathweet (cold eyes):

"And you're talking like you're afraid."

Family:

"No. I'm just deciding… whether to kill you now — or let your fear do it for me."

He raised his hand.

Palm facing downward—like passing sentence.

"…I call."

No heartbeat echoed. But the air vanished like a vacuum.

The card turned.

Two.

It was real.

Dathweet's chest tightened—not from pain.

From pressure.

Every nerve stretched to the brink… and then—snapped.

He collapsed slightly, one hand on the table. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Not a stream. Just drops. Regular. Relentless.

Family laughed. Not triumphantly.

But like pity. Arrogance.

Family:

"That's the price when fear leads. Honestly… I only called because I knew you weren't brave enough to lie. One blood. One gasp. One popped vessel in the eye. That's enough."

Dathweet raised his head. Neck stiff. Blood still dripping.

No hatred.

Just a look of acceptance. But not surrender.

Dathweet (low voice):

"You're right. I am scared. One blood left. Didn't dare bluff. I was weak. I miscalculated. I let you read me."

He smiled.

Not confident—

But the smile of a man who's got nothing left to lose.

Dathweet (each word heavy):

"But you forgot something… When someone's got nothing to lose — That's when they're the most dangerous."

Family fell silent.

For the first time, his eyes dimmed slightly.

He ran a finger along the table's edge—like writing something into the air.

He didn't look at Dathweet.

Didn't bother.

He looked at his two cards—like blades, choosing which to stab with.

He placed one card down.

Face down. No sound.

Lifted his head. Lips pressed tight, like hiding a deadly truth.

Family (calm):

"…Five."

Dathweet didn't flinch.

His gaze frozen—as if that "five" was nothing more than wind.

No eyebrow twitched. No hesitation.

Family stared—not as an opponent.

But like looking at a victim.

A child.

A forgotten kid in a house that never cared for his breath.

Family (solemn, almost storytelling):

"…When your parents divorced, you were five. You didn't cry. Didn't speak. Just sat by the window all night. Because you thought if you stayed quiet long enough… Things would go back to how they were."

He glanced at the whiteness around them.

Family:

"…Your siblings? Same dad, not the same mom. They saw you like a shadow. You were at every meal — but no one asked what you wanted. So you started pretending. Pretending to be okay. Pretending to be strong. Cold. Perfect. Just to see if anyone cared enough to tear off the mask."

He gave a crooked smile—empty of joy.

Family:

"…But no one did. Because to them, you never had anything underneath."

Dathweet stayed silent.

Head bowed.

Like hearing an old lesson.

An old rain.

Family (whisper):

"So now what? One blood left. What will you do when I stab your memories right in the heart? Call me out. Go big. Don't be that quiet little weakling again."

Dathweet slowly looked up.

Eyes dark. Flat. No light.

Not from anger. Not resistance.

But like… the past Family mentioned — he had already lived it.

For too long.

Dathweet (raspy):

"…No need to call."

Family flinched slightly.

Dathweet:

"Because if you're using loneliness to provoke me…

I'm sorry.

That part of me — is already dead."

The card flipped.

A four.

Not five.

Family bluffed.

Dathweet didn't smile.

And Family — for the first time — tilted his head, in disbelief.

Family (whispering):

"…You knew all along?"

Dathweet (soft as air):

"No. I just knew…

if I stayed silent long enough—

you'd destroy yourself."

Family coughed.

Blood spilled from his throat. Not a spray.

Just a single red line dripping past his lips—like ink on his own case file.

Dathweet placed a hand on his next card.

Blood still at his lip —

But this time, he was the one watching Family waver.

— End of Chapter —