Outside.
"Are we really going to follow them?" a player whispered cautiously.
"We absolutely must; my only fear is that they'll seal the entrance behind us," came the hushed reply.
"This tomb wasn't built by them. Even if they close it off, we can just push it open again. Those iron bolts aren't much; if we evaded them once, we can do it again."
"True enough. Honestly, I didn't even exert myself fully last time."
Though they spoke so, neither rushed inside—what if the tomb raiders were lying in ambush just beyond?
After roughly half an hour, they returned to the stone wall. The two players combined their strength to push, yet it refused to budge.
"Give it more force!"
"I've already given all I have! It really is sealed shut!"
"Do you hear that? Sounds like sand is pouring in."
"I hear it too. There might be noise on the ground as well."
"Noise on the floor?" Before anyone could focus to listen, the ground beneath trembled violently. Simultaneously, the stone door at the entrance collapsed, unleashing a torrent of thick sand pouring inside.
Within the tunnel, Eric felt the earth quiver beneath her feet.
Yet the tomb raiders showed no concern; one even laughed, turning to the players with a sly grin. "The entrance is closed now. You'd better behave if you want to strike it rich with us, ha ha ha!"
Eric pressed her lips together, offering no reply.
The other players remained silent as well.
The tremors persisted several long minutes before fading into stillness. The man with the blue headscarf issued a curt reminder: "Almost there, stop fooling around!"
The passage began to fork repeatedly. Leading the way was the blue-scarfed man, with Eric and the others bearing their burdens in the middle. The labyrinthine corridor twisted and turned in myriad branching paths, and though Eric initially endeavored to memorize the route, she soon abandoned the effort—discreetly dropping grains of rice along the way, one by one, insignificant to the eye.
"We've arrived. Let's begin." The blue headscarf halted.
"Hey, you! Come here! No need for your crate—just you!" a tomb raider called out to a male player already drenched in sweat from carrying a heavy box. Reluctant to refuse under their watchful gaze, he hesitantly stepped forward.
"Put your hand inside," instructed the blue headscarf.
Gregory, the player, eyed the grotesque beast's head carved into the wall with mounting dread.
Eric, standing a respectable five feet five inches tall, was no diminutive figure, but with the raiders' towering statures and the confined tunnel width, she could barely see what transpired ahead even on tiptoes. To climb onto the crate for a better view was unthinkable — likely to earn a bludgeoning from the raiders.
Several tense minutes passed before a sudden scream echoed—Gregory's voice.
Exchanging anxious glances, Eric and the five other players felt a surge of apprehension.
"Could he be dead?" Heather whispered breathlessly, her eyes restless.
No one dared answer; all they could do was wait.
Gregory's agonized screams bore on, reverberating through the corridor with chilling intensity.
Intermingled was an indescribable, unsettling sound that defied Eric's comprehension despite prolonged listening.
Heather trembled uncontrollably; this was her fourth dungeon, yet she had never imagined encountering such severe trials.
The cries abruptly ceased. Then, a raider's exclamation of surprise and delight rang out: "The undead from that village really don't die! This time we've struck gold!"
"Look at that! It's growing right back! Amazing!"
"Alright, let him return."
The ensuing murmurs were muffled deliberately, preventing the players from overhearing.
Gregory staggered back under his own power, his pallor grim. Eric caught a sharp whiff of blood upon him, though his black garments betrayed no visible stains.
Clutching his right hand, he indicated his wound. "My hand was devoured alive."
A collective gasp arose.
"What were they making you do?"
"Why did you scream like that?"
"Give me a healing pack each, and I'll tell you everything," Gregory bargained.
"Are you serious?" Heather protested. With only four points earned so far in this dungeon, wasting two on healing packs and information was folly.
"I endured losses; I won't give away information freely," Gregory justified stubbornly.
Eric shook her head. "I'm not involved. Do as you please." Saying this, she turned away.
The others were no fools either, perceiving the raiders' methodology: players would likely be tasked as scouts repeatedly, so conserving healing items was prudent.
Moreover, Gregory had been through that area; perhaps they wouldn't require players for the same segment again.
Indifferent, Gregory shrugged—it was a casual offer, with success or failure left to chance.
After some minutes, the raiders resumed movement, snapping orders for the players to follow.
Crossing a doorway, Eric caught sight of a beast's head carved upon it—its gaping maw exuded a sanguine aura, as though ravenous for blood. She glanced sideways and saw Gregory recoil involuntarily as he passed beneath it.
It appeared the lost hand was ensnared within the beast's jaws.
Could it be that opening this gate demanded a living sacrifice fed to the beast?
Recalling the harrowing screams from moments before, a chill gripped her heart; she feared there were many more such monstrous heads yet to come.
The path ahead grew more navigable, flanked by walls adorned with torches that the tomb raiders methodically ignited, granting Eric the opportunity to scrutinize her surroundings more keenly.
She noticed that the walls were increasingly adorned with chaotic carvings—here, a grotesquely mutated serpent's head; there, human feet; alongside these, fragmented depictions of human body parts, disjointed and scattered without discernible pattern or meaning.
Nearly an hour had elapsed since entering the dungeon, yet she remained utterly bewildered.
Fortune, however, soon brought a turning point. Rounding a corner, the layout before them shifted dramatically.
"This is it! Prepare to detonate!"
"You two, bring the crate over!" a tomb raider commanded, pointing at Eric and Heather. Heather began to quiver; Eric cautioned her softly, "Be careful."
Together, they lifted the crate and carried it forward.
Heeding the blue-scarfed leader's instructions, the raiders sprang into action. After pushing Eric and Heather aside, they opened the crate—casting a glance, Eric realized it contained explosives.
The tomb raiders planted the charges as directed by the blue headscarf.
With the crate resealed, Eric and Heather were sternly ordered away.
"Step back! Move back! Move back!"
Once all had retreated, a series of detonations rocked the ground, sending tremors through the earth and clouds of smoke billowing forth.
"Just as expected, this again. Get a laborer over here!" a raider bellowed.
Before the words had fully faded, the players instinctively stepped back.
The raider casually pointed and snarled, "You—yes, you—come here!"
His finger fixed on Heather beside Eric. Heather instinctively sought refuge behind Eric, only to be met with the raider's impatience: "You're the one, hurry up!"
Silence fell. Gregory instinctively shielded his unscathed hand.
Eric stepped forward, covering her nose and mouth against lingering smoke. Through the haze, she vaguely discerned that the once-disguised wall behind the bomb site now revealed an entrance—no, a door.
Drawing nearer, Eric saw it bore a resemblance to the prior portal, complete with a strange beast's head carved upon it. She had a nascent understanding of the raiders' intent—and sure enough, one barked at her, "Put your hand inside!"
With a whip cracked against the ground as threat.
Steeling herself, she slid her hand into the beast's gaping maw.
Entering the unknown, enveloped in darkness, tested one's psychological resilience. Eric prided herself on her mental fortitude, honed through twenty ordinary dungeons and several supernatural trials.
Yet as her hand plunged inward, her heart pounded fiercely; an insuppressible terror surged through her veins as her left hand trembled subtly.
What lurked within the beast's mouth?
Would it consume her hand alive?
What, pray, was this dreadful thing?
Lost in these thoughts, Eric suddenly felt a slick, cold substance envelop her fingers. A sharp pain shot through them, causing an involuntary groan as icy sweat broke out upon her skin.
This was only the beginning—the entity gnawed at her like one peeling sugarcane, first biting off her fingers, then her palm, wrist, elbow...
"Don't move!" The raider pressed her firmly against the door, rendering her utterly immobilized.
Crunch, crunch.
Snap, snap.
Eric keenly perceived her left arm being devoured inch by inch, her entire body trembling uncontrollably until the ravenous thing reached her shoulder.
Her ears rang, her vision blurred with chaotic flashes of black and white. Near death, she yearned desperately for a healing pack, yet the last shred of reason urged her to endure—a little longer, just a bit more...
Suddenly, a powerful force yanked her back; the raider pulled her away and swiftly thrust her right hand into the beast's jaws.
A fresh wave of agony overwhelmed her. Eric could barely stand; it was only by the raider clutching her garment that she remained upright.
Fortunately, this time the creature ceased after devouring only one arm, sparing her shoulder, and finally released her.
The raider dropped her to the ground. For several seconds, her mind blanked; as clarity returned amid pangs of pain, she hurriedly applied a healing pack.
Miraculously, the severed limbs and her destroyed shoulder regrew as if by magic; the lacerated tongue mended, and her lost vitality restored.
Yet the memory of carnage seared deep within her soul, etched across her countenance—still pallid and ghastly as a corpse. Touching her newly formed hands, she felt as though she caressed two slabs of cold, lifeless meat. An icy chill coursed through her.
The tomb raiders witnessed this spectacle—though it was only their second time— and remained utterly amazed. One marveled, "Our leader was right—the people from the Undying Village truly cannot die!"
The blue-scarfed man commanded, "Stop wasting time. Quickly, push the door open." Casting a glance at Eric, he added, "Send her back."
"Go on, get up!" a raider prodded Eric's back with his foot.
Without a word, she rose from the ground, ignoring the blood still dripping from the beast's mouth, and slowly returned to the group of players.
"You alright?" Heather reached out to steady her, but Eric deftly evaded the gesture.
Though she vaguely understood their role as mere living tools within this dungeon and that her fate would be similar sooner or later, Eric was no one's pawn so easily.
Heather had just used her as a human shield; next time, she might be subjected to far worse. That small insight convinced Eric that Heather was no ally—neither fit for friendship nor cooperation, even if they were the only two young female players within the team.
Heather muttered remorsefully, "I—I'm sorry..."
Eric paid her no heed. Squatting down, she folded her arms protectively, striving to dispel the lingering shadows of trauma.