[Welcome to the World of Horrors.]
[This is a cursed world, and you will enter it as a player.]
[Remember—humans sit at the bottom of the food chain here. To monsters, we are the most delicious prey. If you wish to survive, complete your tasks. Earn their favor.]
[A warning: There is no true death in this world. Fail, and you will be cast into a far worse scenario, facing terrors beyond despair.]
[Initial Scenario Matched: Bloody Apartment]
The room was like ink bleeding into water—thick, lightless, suffocating.
Holmes opened his eyes.
For a moment, his mind went blank.
He'd bought plenty of scratch-off tickets before, but the most he'd ever won was twenty bucks. Yet here he was, hitting the jackpot on a one-in-ten-million chance.
Guess this makes me the chosen one, he thought, his smile bitter.
A translucent game panel flickered into view:
[Daybreak approaches. The monsters will soon awaken. Use this time to explore. Knowledge is your only weapon.]
[Apartment 404 contains 3 players and 3 monsters. Each interaction with a monster triggers a unique task. Failure means punishment—or worse.]
Hesitation meant death. Wailing in despair wouldn't save him. The only way out was forward.
Holmes patted his face, shook off the disorientation, and scanned the cramped room before stepping out.
The living room held two others—clearly, the remaining players.
They hunched over the dining table, shoveling down a slop-like meal. The food looked vile, but they ate with mechanical urgency—no chewing, just desperate swallowing. Pure survival. No pleasure, only necessity.
The female player noticed Holmes first, pausing mid-bite.
The male didn't even glance up. He kept eating like a man starved.
"Huh. Now that's a surprise." The girl—twin braids, sharp eyes—studied Holmes with wary curiosity. "How long's it been since we got a new player in this dump?"
The man ripped off a chunk of blackened meat and shot her a glare. "Why the hell d'you care? Newbies come and go." He jabbed a greasy finger at her plate. "Eat. Now. Once those things wake up, you won't get a damn crumb."
The girl flinched, then ducked her head back to eating.
Holmes approached, eyeing the pot of… whatever it was.
The man yanked it closer, his stare flinty. "Ours. Not yours." A fleck of spittle hit the table. "Want food? Earn it."
New players were dead weight. Clueless. Needy.
"I just want to understand the rules of this scenario."
Holmes had the self-awareness of a new player. These two had clearly survived here for a while—if anyone had useful intel, it was them.
The man scoffed but didn't bother answering.
The girl, however, figured helping a newbie might pay off later. Strength in numbers, after all.
"In this house," she said between gulps, "we play the 'children.' The three monsters take the roles of Father, Mother, and Grandmother. To stay here—to eat—you have to complete their daily tasks. No questions asked."
She wiped her mouth. "I'm Emily. That's Kevin."
Kevin suddenly remembered something and—surprisingly—spoke up first.
"Every player gets a [Trait Talent]. Check your stats—what's your rank?"
Trait Talents were a universal player perk, graded A to D. Higher ranks meant better abilities and in-game privileges. Kevin might despise newbies, but if this one had a decent talent? He could be useful. Maybe even outperform veterans.
So, he asked. Let's see if this rookie's worth keeping around.
Emily nodded. "Yeah, like mine's C-rank—[Natural Charm]. Passive skill." She smirked, flicking a braid over her shoulder. "Monsters like my face 5% more. Sounds small? but another player and I triggered a trap. The thing had to pick one to punish." A dark chuckle. "Guess who got spared?"
Kevin rolled his eyes. "Even hell runs on pretty privilege."
Holmes pulled up his stats.
Past the basic vitals, his gaze locked onto the [Trait Talent] line—and the glaring F beside it.
"F?!" He blinked. "I thought D was the lowest!"
Even the veterans froze.
D-rank talents were already useless. Like [Gale Dash]—"teleport 2cm". Or [Vanishing Act]—"invisibility that breaks if anyone breathes near you".
But F-rank? That was uncharted garbage.
Kevin's last shred of patience evaporated. An F-rank wasn't just dead weight—it was cursed. Best to ditch him now.
Emily offered pity. "Hey, it's better than nothing."
Bad luck magnet, huh? Holmes grimaced.
[Talent: Passive, F-rank]
[Effect: Eye contact reveals any monster/player's underwear.]
Holmes nearly choked.
Wow. That's… impressively useless.
Then—a chime in his skull.
"Ding! Talent error detected. This F-rank trait was scrapped due to a BUG."
"BUG activated. Talent modified."
[New Name: Omniscient Eye]
[New Effect: Touch a monster's belonging to reveal all hidden info.]
Holmes' breath hitched.
So that's why it's F-rank. A broken, discontinued power—and it somehow ended up in his hands.
No one needed to know.
A hidden ace was better than a flashing neon target.
The grandfather clock groaned—six strikes.
Dawn. The monsters were awake.
Kevin and Emily moved like soldiers under fire, sweeping trash off the table and bolting for the hallway.
The stench of rot flooded the air as a voice, shredded and wet, oozed from the shadows:
"A new child? Come to Father's room. Let's… inspect that frail little body."
Holmes' eye twitched.
At the sound of Father's voice, Kevin and Emily's hearts sank.
Then, they looked at Holmes like he was cursed.
An F-rank talent was bad enough.
But now, right at the start, he'd been singled out by Father—the deadliest, most unpredictable monster in the apartment?
Just how unlucky can one guy be?
Kevin wondered if the F-rank came with a hidden "disaster magnet" debuff.
Holmes' expression darkened.
According to Emily:
Mother was the safest—obsessively "loving," though her tasks could be… disturbing.
Grandmother favored Emily (thanks to her charm) but despised male players.
Father? A sadistic bastard. Volatile, cruel, and always looking for excuses to punish his "children."
Most players died because of him.
Under Kevin and Emily's funeral-worthy stares, Holmes stepped into the dark hallway.
The door creaked open, revealing a room bathed in sickly orange light.
The moment Holmes entered, it slammed shut behind him.
The stench of blood hit first.
Then, the floor—littered with gory chunks of flesh.
And there, in the center, stood Father—a grotesque mountain of swollen, tumor-riddled flesh, steel nails jutting from his skin like a derailed pincushion.
He grinned, holding up a half-rotted skull crawling with maggots.
"Know who this is?"
Holmes stared at the writhing larvae in its eye sockets.
"My older brother. Or sister."
Father's grin widened. "Clever." He tossed the skull into Holmes' arms. "Want to meet the rest of your siblings?"
He lumbered to a cabinet—swung it open—
Dozens of skulls stared back, stripped clean, buzzing with flies.
"Guess why they stayed."
Holmes kept his voice steady. "They disappointed you."
"So you do know me." Father loomed closer, his shadow swallowing Holmes whole. "I hate slow, stupid, disobedient children."
A meaty hand seized Holmes' collar. "Calling you for so long without coming over, as punishment, I'm going to take off one of your ears."
The hand reared back—
Holmes didn't flinch.
Father paused. Snarled. Then dropped him with a disappointed grunt.
"No fun. You're supposed to scream."
Holmes said nothing. His eyes locked onto the skull in his hands—
A red prompt flashed:
[Talent Activated: Omniscient Eye]
[Target: Nightmare Devourer]
[Ability: Feeds on fear. The more terror it harvests, the weaker the victim's mind/body becomes.]
[Critical Weakness: A dagger—the one that killed it in life.]
Holmes' pulse spiked.
This was the power of a BUG-tier talent?
One touch, and he'd ripped open Father's entire playbook.
Now—where was that dagger?
Holmes barely had time to process the skull's hidden clues when Father's voice cut through the thick, blood-scented air.
"My leg's rotting off."
The monster yanked up his pant leg, revealing a swollen, necrotic limb—flesh peeling away in yellowed sheets, fat globules plopping onto the floor like congealed wax. "Fetch me 'Crimson Lute.' before Sunset. Or I'll carve the pain out of you."
The door creaked open behind him. As Holmes stepped into the hallway, the system prompt flashed:
[TASK ACCEPTED: Retrieve "Crimson Lute" by 18:00]
[Reward: C-grade]
[Failure: 30-minute "punishment" (Non-lethal. )]
Non-lethal. In this world, some things were worse than death.
Emily and Kevin were waiting, their faces twin masks of disbelief.
"You're… whole?" Emily blurted.
Kevin's gaze dropped to Holmes' torso, as if expecting gaping holes where organs should be. "First-timers always lose something."
Holmes ignored the jab. "Where's 'Crimson Lute'?"
A beat of silence. Then—
"Room 101." Emily's voice dropped to a whisper. "Four players got that task. One came back—looked like a mummy. Died whispering 'monster'."
Kevin barked a laugh. "Father's favorite game. Sends new meat to the grinder."
Holmes exhaled. Of course. No easy paths here.
Holmes had guessed it wouldn't be so simple.
Yet, upon hearing Emily's words, his expression darkened slightly.
Just what kind of monster lived inside Room 101?
"Good luck, then."
"Hope to see you at dinner tonight."
Even Emily had never seen a newcomer this unlucky before.
With those hollow words of encouragement, she too left the house, hurrying off to complete her own task.
As fellow players, a kind reminder was already more than enough.
If he wanted to survive, he'd have to rely on himself.
Holmes fell silent for a moment before turning and leaving the house as well.
No matter what, he still had to investigate Room 101—he wasn't about to be scared off by a few words.
Following Emily's directions, Holmes swiftly made his way through the grimy hallway and soon reached the first
floor of the apartment.
Outside Room 101, two other players had been waiting for some time.
"Another newcomer?" The man in the tank top glanced at Holmes emerging from the hallway, looking surprised.
"Clean clothes, clear eyes—definitely a rookie," the other man, with a center-parted hairstyle, remarked lazily, arms crossed as he yawned.
Holmes said nothing.