The small boat rocked gently over the black, toxic water, an eerie silence stretching across the endless dark waves.
The island, drifted further and further away, as if it were alive, teasing them, refusing to let them reach it.
Nely knelt at the center of the boat, her hands pressed against the wooden planks. Thin wisps of her Neba flickered at her fingertips, glowing faintly as she worked to reinforce the structure, trying to make the vessel sturdier, more resistant.
The effort took a toll, though, her Neba reserves weren't limitless.
Just as she was about to push more of her Neba into the boat, a hand suddenly rested on her shoulder.
"Hold on."
She turned, startled, to find Ned crouching beside her. "What are you doing?" Nely asked, furrowing her brows.
"Saving you some energy."
Before she could protest, a soft, green glow radiated from his hands as he pressed them against the wooden surface. The planks beneath them shimmered, the cracks sealing themselves, the weakened parts of the boat strengthening as if they were alive.
Nely's eyes widened. "You—"
"My ability is healing," Ned explained, glancing at her with a smug grin. "And not just for people. Anything that was once whole, I can restore. Even something like this." He tapped the boat lightly, and the very air around them seemed to hum in response.
Dune who had been sitting at the edge of the boat with his arms crossed, let out a low whistle. "Damn. That's handy."
Nely sat back, watching as Ned's healing ability worked. The boat, though simple, looked more stable now, more solid, like it had never been damaged in the first place.
Atlas stretched and leaned back against the railing. "Well, looks like we won't be sinking anytime soon. Good work, Doc."
Dune kept his gaze fixed on the drifting island. His sharp eyes studied it carefully, the unnatural way it moved, as if it were avoiding them on purpose.
Nely followed his gaze and frowned. "We're still not getting any closer…"
"Are you guys seeing this?" Atlas suddenly asked.
The eerie silence of the black sea was shattered as Dune, Nely, Ned, and Atlas locked eyes on the figure standing far out in the water.
A lone silhouette, barely visible against the distant horizon.
They couldn't make out any features, only the unnerving stillness of the person. The figure did not sway with the waves. It did not move at all. It simply *stood there*, like an illusion, like a specter waiting for them to notice.
"He's standing on the water?" Ned asked, confused.
Nely felt a chill crawl up her spine. "Who the hell is that…?"
"Creepy," she mused. "Maybe it's friendly?"
"Doubt it," Dune said flatly.
Suddenly, without a warning, water exploded and five colossal white hands burst from the water.
The sea roared as the enormous, grotesque hands shot into the air, each one large enough to crush a house. They moved with impossible speed, closing in from all sides, fingers curling inward. The massive fingers folded into a tight grip, forming an enclosed chamber, trapping them inside.
"What the—"
The boat splintered beneath them as they were thrown onto a solid surface, the palm of one of the gigantic hands. The world outside vanished as the fingers clenched together, sealing them inside this prison of flesh.
The hands inhaled as if they were living lungs, the walls expanding and contracting in a slow, horrific rhythm.
Dune clenched his jaw, his mind racing. Nely stood rigid, sweat forming on her brow. Atlas's hands twitched, ready to fight, but the sheer wrongness of the situation had even him frozen.
Faces grew from the fingers.
Twisted, grotesque faces stretched out of the living walls, emerging like nightmares from the flesh. Five monstrous clown faces, each grinning, each malformed. Their expressions were grotesquely exaggerated, their eyes pitch black with tiny glowing irises that pierced into their trapped victims.
One of the faces split its mouth open and spoke, a voice like a broken music box, shrill and mocking.
[ Congratulations… you're all very, very lucky! ]
The voice echoed unnaturally, as if it came from every direction at once.
[ You've been chosen to play a game. ]
Then, as if materializing from the walls themselves, five figures stepped forward, each one more horrifying than the last.
The first clown had no mouth. A perfectly smooth face, except for two deep, black eye sockets that seemed to consume all light.
The second had a single, enormous eye taking up its entire face. A grotesque, unblinking orb that twitched erratically, watching them with an unnatural, predatory focus.
The third had grotesquely long legs, its upper body small in comparison. The way it moved was unnatural, its feet too large, its steps too silent.
The fourth bore a grin that stretched too far, curling over its cheeks, its razor-sharp teeth bared in a maddening, endless smile.
But it was the last one that made even Dune's breath catch in his throat.
This one was ornamented with cards, its entire body covered in intricate, layered designs. The eyes on its face were shaped like crosses, its mouth filled with serrated fangs. The air around it felt different, as if reality itself was bending slightly to its presence.
The five clowns stared at them, their grins wide, their intentions unreadable. And then, the last one, the one decorated with cards, took a step forward and tilted its head.
[ Let's begin, shall we? ]
Atlas clenched his fists, his muscles coiling with tension as he glared at the twisted jesters before him. "I'm not playing your damn game," he spat, his voice sharp with defiance. The walls of grotesque hands loomed around them, their twisted fingers forming a cage with no visible exit. The air was thick, suffocating, as if the space itself rejected their presence.
Without another word, Atlas moved. in a blur of speed, a rush of raw power aimed directly at the nearest wall of flesh. If he could just break through.
Atlas stopped mid-motion, his entire body freezing unnaturally. A sickening pressure built around his skull, an unseen force twisting into his bones. His eyes widened in shock, confusion flickering for a mere instant.
His head exploded.
Blood and fragments of bone splattered across the ground. His body dropped like a discarded puppet, lifeless, a headless corpse collapsing into a heap. The sound of dripping filled the sudden silence.
"Atlas!" Ned screamed. Dune stumbled back, horror twisting his face. Even Nely, who had steeled herself for the worst, felt his stomach tighten at the sheer brutality of it.
Then, the air shivered. Like a film rewinding, the blood rose from the floor, splintered bone reassembling in mid-air, flesh knitting together in an instant. Atlas's body lifted upright, his head reforming as if time itself had been reversed.
In the span of a single breath, he was whole again.
Atlas gasped, hands flying to his face in disbelief. His breathing was ragged, his body shaking as if every nerve in him still remembered the pain of dying. "What the… what the hell was that?!"
The clowns erupted into laughter.
A chorus of cackling, distorted and inhuman, filled the enclosed space. Their bodies twisted and twitched with unnatural glee as if his suffering was the best joke they had ever heard.
The card-covered jester spread his arms wide, his cross-shaped pupils gleaming with cruel amusement.
[ Ahhh, such a shame! You broke the rules before the game even started! ] His voice was a silken mockery, dripping with false sympathy. [ Poor little Zeten, already losing his head, literally! ]
The grinning jester leaned forward, his teeth stretching wider, splitting his face nearly in half. [ Oh, I do love the bold ones. They always go first. ]
The [ one-eyed jester ] simply rolled his massive iris lazily, watching them with detached amusement.
The card-covered jester chuckled again and tilted his head. [ Now, now… let's not waste more time. We wouldn't want to rewind this little tragedy again, would we? ] His voice was like a dealer flipping a card onto the table, final and absolute.
[ Let the game… begin. ]
Then, one of them, the faceless one, stepped forward, silent and eerie. He lifted a single pale finger to where his lips should have been and held it there for an uncomfortably long
moment. Then, without moving his nonexistent mouth, his voice slithered into their minds like a whisper in the dark.
[ Words are weight. Words are chains. Speak too much, and you will drown. Silence is safer, silence is wise. A tongue that wags too freely will soon find itself tied. ]
The others chuckled, their laughter overlapping in a distorted, unsettling harmony.
Dune's eyes narrowed. So talking itself could be dangerous here. But how much was 'too much'? And what did 'tied' mean? He didn't like unknown punishments, it meant he couldn't gauge the risk.
Then, the one eyed jester stepped forward, his single massive iris rolling lazily in its socket before settling on them.
[ I am the only eye that matters, ] he intoned, voice thick and slow, like it dragged through molasses.
[ All other eyes are blind. If you steal my sight, I will take yours in turn. So keep your gaze away… or lose what you treasure most. ]
Dune didn't need more explanation. Don't look at him. Simple. But was it just direct eye contact? Or did reflections count? The wording suggested looking at him was the issue, not simply seeing him.
The long-legged jester took a comically exaggerated step forward, his elongated limbs bending unnaturally as he swayed.
[ Feet that chase will trip. Feet that wander will stray. I run, you follow, and if you catch me, I fall. But if I run too long… the ground will swallow you whole. ]
His voice was playful, sing-song, yet filled with an ominous undercurrent.
The wide grinned jester was next, his impossibly stretched mouth splitting his face as he swayed like an overexcited child.
[ A joke is a gift, a laugh is a prize. Keep me smiling, and you stay wise. But fumble your words, bore me to death… and I'll return the favor with a grin and a breath. ]
He let out a delighted giggle, high and sharp, filled with something too eager.
Nely let out a slow breath beside Dune. "Tch"
Dune wasn't so sure. If it was just making him laugh, that would be too easy. There had to be something more. Maybe the joke had to be genuine? Or unexpected? And if laughter was the measure, who decided if it was enough?
Then, finally, the last jester, the one covered in intricate cards, stepped forward. Unlike the others, he didn't move with exaggerated motions or twisted delight. He moved like a dealer at a rigged table, a performer with all the control.
[ Games are fair, games are just. I am the hand that deals the trust. Follow the rules, and you may see the dawn. Cheat… and your luck is gone. ]
He let the words settle, then spread his arms wide, his cross-shaped pupils gleaming.
[ Now then… let us see who plays best. ]
Dune inhaled deeply, forcing his muscles to stay loose. This was a battlefield unlike any other he had fought on. Strength was meaningless here. And they had no way of knowing what breaking these rules actually meant, except that it led to death.
He needed to find the loopholes.