As the massive palace doors creaked open, the lights along the walls flickered to life one by one, casting an ethereal glow through the grand hallway. From the outside, the palace appeared ancient and abandoned, its crumbling exterior betraying its forgotten history. But inside, the scene was starkly different.
The hallway stretched ahead, a luxurious red carpet draped across the floor. On either side, exquisite paintings adorned the walls, each frame capturing a moment frozen in time. Tall, polished suits of armor stood in perfect alignment, as if they were mere decorations, their stillness adding to the surreal ambiance of the place.
Above, a magnificent chandelier, or jhumar, hung, its delicate crystals sparkling in the light. The walls were decorated with more paintings, each more beautiful than the last, while more suits of armor lined the edges. The palace, though old and decrepit on the outside, revealed its beauty and grandeur within, a perfect blend of history and elegance frozen in time.
As they entered the palace, the heavy doors suddenly slammed shut with a loud sound. Arya's heart skipped a beat. The door had closed, and the silence that followed felt unnerving. It was as if something had sealed them inside, and there was no turning back. The air in the palace grew heavy, and everyone fell silent, their footsteps echoing off the cold stone floors.
Arya could feel his pulse quicken as he glanced around. The others seemed tense too, some breaking out in a light sweat. They walked cautiously, eyes darting around, unsure of what to expect. Arya, however, kept hearing faint noises from behind, like whispers or footsteps—he couldn't tell. He ignored them, thinking it was just his mind playing tricks.
Then, as he walked slowly past a wall adorned with paintings, one particular painting caught his attention. It was a portrait of a king, regal and imposing. At first, Arya didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, but then he looked back at it, and his heart nearly stopped. The king's eyes—bloodshot, red—moved. A stream of blood began to drip from the corner of one eye, as if the king was alive and watching him.
Arya froze, his breath shallow. He couldn't keep his composure any longer. He shouted in shock, "The painting—its eyes moved! There's blood!"
The others quickly turned toward him, alarmed. "What happened, Arya?" 28 asked, stepping closer to him.
"I saw it! The painting—the king's eyes moved, and blood came out of them!" Arya's voice trembled, still unable to believe what he had just witnessed.
28 frowned and looked at the painting. It was perfectly normal. No blood, no movement—nothing. "Arya," 28 said slowly, "There's nothing there. You're just overthinking things. It's all in your head."
Arya looked back at the painting in disbelief. How could it be? He had seen it with his own eyes! "I swear, I saw it. I'm not making this up!"
28 shook his head, his tone firm. "You're letting your fear get the better of you. Don't let it cloud your judgment. We need to keep moving, okay? Stay with the group."
Reluctantly, Arya nodded, still shaken by the encounter. His mind was racing, but he couldn't shake the image of the painting. He looked back one last time, but the blood and movement were gone, leaving only an ordinary portrait.
"I know what I saw," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "I saw it with my own eyes."
28 glanced at him, his expression softening a little. "Alright, but don't let it distract you. We need to stay focused."
Despite his words, Arya couldn't escape the feeling that something was terribly wrong, but he followed 28 without another word, the unsettling image still haunting him.
After a few seconds, they reached a grand hall. The space was shrouded in darkness, but suddenly, torches lining the walls ignited one by one, casting flickering shadows. As the flames spread, they revealed the sheer size of the hall—massive and imposing, yet eerily empty.
At the far end of the hall stood four enormous doors, each distinct from the others. Above each door loomed a massive statue, each depicting a different expression—one smiling, one crying, one filled with rage, and the last twisted in fear. The doors were firmly shut, their purpose unknown.
The group cautiously approached. "It's time to split up," 89 announced.
"But if we split into two groups, there are still four doors," 45 countered. "We have no idea which one leads to the boss."
"We can't split up further," 89 said firmly. "Let's think this through."
A tense silence followed as they considered their options. Then, after a moment, 89 made a decision. "Team A will take the third door."
Before anyone could respond, 99 suddenly spoke up. "Then Team B will take the fourth door."
89 turned to him, hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Team A goes through the third door, Team B takes the fourth. Once we complete the mission, we meet back here."
Team A stepped forward, pushing open the third door. A deep darkness swallowed the space beyond, making it impossible to see what lay ahead. Without hesitation, they moved inside.
"Alright, follow me," 99 commanded as he led Team B toward the fourth door. He placed his hands against it and pushed. The massive door groaned, a low, eerie sound echoing through the hall as it slowly swung open.
"Let's go," 99 said.
"Move, 8. Hurry up, or we'll be left behind!" 28 called out.
Arya hesitated, his gaze drifting upward to the statue above the door. A chill ran down his spine—something felt wrong. It was as if unseen eyes were watching them, following their every move.
Still, he stepped forward with the others.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the door behind them slammed shut with a thunderous boom.
After the door slammed shut, everything was swallowed in complete darkness. They couldn't see anything—not even their own group.
"Don't worry," the team's mage said. "I'll use my magic."
He raised his hand, chanting softly, and a fireball ignited in his palm, casting a warm glow around them. The flickering light revealed the stone walls of the narrow hallway ahead.
"Let's move forward," 99 ordered.
They stepped cautiously down the corridor when suddenly, a sound echoed from up ahead—a slow, unsettling creak, like something creeping toward them. The noise grew louder, coming closer.
99's grip tightened around his sword. The tank raised his shield in defense.
"Be alert," 99 said firmly, his voice steady and controlled. "Something is coming."