Chapter 41: Savage Encounter

The oppressive silence of the dungeon was suffocating, broken only by the echo of Fumito’s voice as the group inched toward the open door. Each step felt like it carried the weight of their impending doom, the air thick with an overwhelming sense of dread. Niko, lingering at the back of the group, felt his chest tighten. Something terrible awaited them, something beyond what they had faced before.

As they passed through the door, the scene that greeted them was a nightmare made real. It was a macabre theater of cruelty—a dungeon-like prison that seemed plucked straight from the depths of hell. Cages, barely large enough for a person to crouch inside, hung from the ceiling like grotesque ornaments, while others sat in the shadowy corners of the room. Each one was occupied, and each one held the story of unimaginable suffering.

Zheng’s voice trembled as he whispered, “Oh my god…” The words barely escaped his lips, but the terror behind them was shared by everyone. They had seen death before, but this—this was something far worse.

The room reeked of decay, the stench so overpowering that it clawed at their throats and made their eyes water. The scent of rotting flesh mixed with the metallic tang of dried blood was enough to make even the strongest among them gag. The bodies inside the cages were twisted and broken, in varying stages of decomposition. Some were mere skeletons, their bones exposed and brittle, while others looked disturbingly fresh—flesh still clinging to the bone, blood seeping from ragged wounds. Limbs were missing, gouged out with a savagery that spoke of ritualistic torture, and the floor beneath them was slick with dark, congealed blood. The sight was a tapestry of agony, each corpse a silent testament to the cruelty inflicted upon them.

“What the hell happened here?” Niko muttered, his voice barely audible, filled with a mix of disbelief and disgust. His stomach twisted violently at the grotesque scene before him, bile rising in his throat. Death in this world was nothing new, but this... this was pure barbarism. A savage display of power and torture that turned his blood cold.

Ivanic’s eyes narrowed as they landed on a particular corpse, one in a hanging cage that swayed ever so slightly in the still air. “Bullet Hands,” he whispered, the name falling from his lips like a curse. The man in the cage, now reduced to a mutilated shell, had a distinctive tattoo of a gun covering the right side of his face. His expression was frozen in a grotesque mask of disbelief, a final grimace etched into his flesh.

“Bullet Hands?” Fumito echoed, stepping closer to the cage, the sick fascination in his voice betraying his unease.

“Yeah,” Ivanic continued, his voice low, tinged with bitterness. “He left with a group of ten, boasting that he alone could conquer this dungeon. He was infamous—his hands could detach and fly at deadly speeds. Killed a Boar King solo. But now…” Ivanic gestured to the pitiful remains. “This is what happens to the proud in this world.”

Niko’s gaze swept across the room. There were no signs of battle here, no scattered remains of a hard-fought struggle. These people hadn’t died fighting—they had been butchered, methodically, deliberately. “This place is all wrong,” Niko murmured, his voice hollow. “Where are the signs of a fight? Where’s the struggle? It’s like they were trapped here from the start, like they never stood a chance.”

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Kyle’s voice cut through the silence, his face pale as he surveyed the room. “Were we even supposed to come this way? Something doesn’t add up.”

Eitan, slumped against the wall, glanced up with a grimace. “What do you mean?”

Niko stepped forward, his eyes scanning the room with growing unease. “Look at this place. It’s not a battlefield—it’s a slaughterhouse. This dungeon doesn’t make sense. Multiple entrances, but why? Is this a backdoor? A trap?” His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of realization.

Veronica crossed her arms, her voice tight with anxiety. “So, what? Is this a good thing? Or are we walking into something much worse?”

Niko’s eyes darkened as he looked around. “I don’t know. But whatever this place is, it’s not what we were expecting. It’s like this dungeon doesn’t follow the same rules.”

As the group stood amidst the grim carnage, Priya’s gasp drew their attention. She had wandered toward a far wall, her eyes wide with horror as they fell upon a gruesome sight—severed heads, neatly arranged and hanging from iron hooks. Each face was frozen in a moment of pure terror or rage, their final expressions locked in time. The heads looked down on the group like grotesque trophies, a silent testament to the savagery that had unfolded in this room.

“This place is hell,” Andrea whispered, her face ghostly pale, her voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts. No one disagreed. The room felt alive with malice, the very air thick with the memory of pain and suffering.

Niko forced himself to look away, trying to suppress the rising nausea. “We need to stay focused,” he said, though his voice wavered. “There’s more waiting for us, and we can’t let our guard down.”

Singh tightened his grip on his axe, his face a mask of grim determination. “Agreed. Those who are injured or can’t fight, stay at the back. Niko, send your spirits ahead—we’ll need all the warning we can get.”

Just as the group steeled themselves to press on, Andrea’s voice cut through the tension. “Guys! I found something!” Her voice was tinged with excitement, a rare flicker of hope in the otherwise oppressive atmosphere.

In the far corner, half-hidden by shadows, a small wooden chest sat. Its metal edges glinted in the faint light, a strange beacon amidst the carnage.

Despite the overwhelming dread that had taken hold of them, curiosity stirred in the group. A chest could mean supplies—something they desperately needed. Andrea smirked as she approached, her fingers trailing over the chest’s surface. “I found it, so I get first pick,” she teased, though her voice carried a note of seriousness.

Kyle chuckled weakly. “Go for it. Just remember, we’ll share whatever’s inside.”

Andrea knelt beside the chest, feeling a strange unease as her fingers traced the edges of the lid. Something about it felt… wrong. She placed both hands on the top and pushed. The chest didn’t budge. Frowning, she searched for a latch or keyhole, but found nothing. “It’s not opening,” she muttered, glancing back at the group.

As she turned back, her blood ran cold. There, just behind the chest, something moved. Her breath caught in her throat as the realization hit her.

In an instant, the chest sprang to life.

Snap!