Chapter 016 - Moonlit Mirage 03

  The sudden song, grating and unnatural, cut through the air like nails raking across a chalkboard.

  A hush fell over the pavilion. The eerie melody slithered through the wooden halls, sending a shiver down my spine. I flexed my knuckles, fighting the chill creeping up my arms.

  “Did you catch the lyrics clearly?” I asked, my voice low.

  No. 137 hesitated. “Bits and pieces…”

  Elliot adjusted his glasses. “More or less. There were a few words I couldn’t quite place.”

  I exhaled slowly. “It’s repeating. Listen carefully—we’ll break it down after.”

  The song came in cycles, returning every thirty minutes like an omen.

  The singer’s voice was precise, yet there was an underlying lilt—an accent that hinted at deep, secluded places. Somewhere remote. Somewhere forgotten. Elliot, No. 137, and I spent what felt like ages puzzling over the verses, piecing them together word by word.

  When we finally assembled a full version, we exchanged uneasy glances.

  Elliot was the first to speak. “Have you ever heard of the Sister Drum?”

  I frowned. “The one from the urban legends?”

  Seeing No. 137’s blank expression, I elaborated, “It’s an old story—about two sisters. One day, the younger one wakes up to find her sister missing. She searches everywhere, but there’s no trace of her. Eventually, she meets a wandering monk and hears the sound of drums in the distance. That’s when she learns the truth—her sister was murdered and turned into a drum made from human skin. And every time that drum is struck, it sings with the voice of the girl it once was.”

  No. 137 paled.

  I smirked, teasing her. “Judging by the accent in the song, this place might be tied to some kind of folklore. Maybe even something like those ritual goblets carved from skulls…”

  No. 137 let out a sharp shriek. “Alright, big bro—stop going off the deep end!”

  Chuckling, I ruffled her hair before turning serious again. “There are… certain sects with dark histories. Ones that practiced human sacrifice. But we can’t jump to conclusions with just a song. I scouted a little when I got here—only the third floor, to stay safe. I didn’t find much, but there were some strange Thangka paintings on the walls. Come look.”

  I led them across the creaking wooden floor toward the farthest corner of the pavilion.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  By now, more and more people had begun arriving—some materializing from thin air, others tumbling in gracelessly. A few landed hard, groaning in pain.

  Some kept to themselves, surveying the space with wary eyes. Others wasted no time whispering among themselves, forming cautious alliances.

  Men and women, young and old. Different heights, builds, skin tones. A mismatched collection of strangers, all pulled into the same surreal nightmare.

  As we weaved through the growing crowd, Elliot murmured under his breath. When we reached the wall, he whispered, “One hundred twenty.”

  No. 137 blinked. “Huh?”

  “That’s our headcount,” I said evenly. “There are 120 people on this floor.”

  The number kept climbing. Moments later, someone hit the ground hard, letting out a sharp cry of pain.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, I guided Elliot and No. 137 toward the Thangkas.

  The artwork was ancient—richly detailed, drenched in deep indigos and muted golds. But there was something off about them. The figures were distorted, their painted eyes hollow and searching. The more I looked, the more I felt an unsettling sensation creeping over me.

  Before I could say anything, a sound split the silence.

  A voice.

  It was synthetic, mechanical—yet somehow dripping with malice.

  “All 128 contestants from the first round are now present. The second round begins immediately.”

  A pause.

  “First task: Help Yangjin find her skin.”

  The moment the words faded, another sound emerged.

  Footsteps.

  Slow. Measured. Heavy.

  The unmistakable clunk of wooden clogs striking the floor.

  Someone whispered, “What the hell? Why do those footsteps sound so… heavy? Must be some huge guy.”

  The clogs continued, echoing in a steady rhythm. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

  Then, at the stairway between the second and third floors, something appeared.

  First, a curtain of long, black hair, shifting with each step.

  Then, a face—partially obscured, features hidden beneath the tangled strands.

  Next, a crimson robe, dripping with something dark and wet.

  And finally—

  The legs.

  Or rather, **the leg**.

  Because there was only one.

  The figure—this **thing**—landed on the wooden floor with a soft, unnatural bounce.

  The players closest to the stairwell stumbled backward. Some gasped. One cursed under his breath.

  The entity lifted its head just enough for us to see a glimpse of its face. Pale. Sunken. Twisted into something that had once been human but no longer was.

  A name flickered through my mind, dredged from the announcement moments earlier.

  Yangjin.