The heavy double doors creaked open, revealing an opulent ballroom-sized dining chamber that seemed more suited for royalty. There were giant walls made from wood and gold and large windows that gently accented the walls. Though, nothing but darkness was outside of those windows as if this room floated in the void.
The only other door than the entrance was a large door in gold and velvet on top of a large stair up to what looks like a second floor. Railings of pearl partnered the stairs and the overhang above. Like a silk robe, a red rug was draped over the stairs up to that door.
At the center of this large room stood a massive dark oak table, its polished surface gleaming beneath the soft light of an elaborate gold and pearl chandelier above. Gold trim ran along the edges of the table like vines, curling into intricate filigree, and a rich red silk tablecloth flowed over it like a river of blood.
The table was set precisely for fifteen. Seven chairs on either side, evenly spaced, and a single, elevated throne-like seat at the far end—its frame carved from mahogany and cushioned with red velvet that matched the long carpet stretching beneath the table. The chandelier above sparkled with golden branches and pearl wax candles, casting warm pools of light across the room.
As they entered, the group slowed, caught between confusion and awe.
"Woah... What is this?" someone muttered.
The atmosphere pressed gently but noticeably on their shoulders—not heavy, not suffocating, but strange. Off. It smelt like roses, though with a taste of metallic in the air.
Boots tapped softly across the marble-like floor as the group spread out slightly, scanning the room. The chandelier didn't flicker, not even once, the light perfectly still. The red carpet looked untouched, and the place settings at the table were flawless—as if someone had just finished arranging them.
"This is so weird..." Said one of the others.
Kel tilted his head. "Is this... the boss room?"
Arnold narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath. "This doesn't look like any E-rank boss room I've ever seen." His voice was low and level.
A couple party members circled the elegant table. I didn't say anything. I was taking it all in—the strange perfection of the tablecloth, the pristine dishes, the thick silence that clung to every corner of the room. My gaze lingered on the windows again. No stars. No moon. No reflection.
Just... nothing.
The party continued looking, unsure of whether to be impressed, unsettled, or both. No one said it, but a shared unease settled between them like dust in the air.
Suddenly, the large doors upon the stairs swung open. It revealed what looked to be a person. They are tall, pale, and slender with a fancy black suit with a red tie. Their hair flew beside them like an inky black silk curtain. I could tell they were smiling even from this distance away.
They began to walk down the stairs, silence greeting them. As they got to halfway, they began to speak out to us, "Hello! My esteemed guests! Please- Please come and sit and enjoy your meal!"
As he got to the bottom of the stairs, I could see their eyes. They glistened and shined a deep crimson red, matching their tie. I'm also now able to see their ears are as tipped as an arrow.
No one moved.
The tension in the air thickened, quiet but unmistakable. I wasn't the only one feeling it. Even the more confident party members hesitated, their gazes flicking between each other, unsure.
The stranger's steps slowed as he reached the end of the rug, just a few feet from the table. That smile never left his face. He looked at each of us like a patient host awaiting compliments on his presentation.
One of the others whispered, "Is this... the boss?"
"I don't think so," someone else replied, equally quiet.
Arnold finally stepped forward, his tone firm. "This doesn't look like any E-rank boss room- or even a C rank I've ever seen."
The man tilted his head, as if amused by the comment. "Oh, I assure you, this room is exactly as it was meant to be." the host said with just a slight tinge of sarcasm or maybe annoyance, I couldn't quite tell.
He spread his arms out, gesturing to the table, the candles, the waiting seats. "Please. Don't let your food run cold."
With a deep breath, I was the first to sit in a chair. After all, if that is the boss, I'm so dead if I don't comply. Even though I'm an F rank, I am still aware that only an S rank Boss has high intelligence like this.
For a moment, no one followed.
I could feel their eyes on me—some wide with confusion, others tight with suspicion. But no one said a word.
The chair beneath me didn't creak. The cushion was soft, like it had never been touched before. My hands rested on the table, careful not to disturb the silverware, each piece more polished than anything I could afford to breathe on in the real world.
Slowly, Kel stepped forward. "Are you serious right now?" he hissed in a half-whisper.
"I'm not looking to die today," I said quietly, not taking my eyes off the host. "And I don't think we're in a place where rules make sense anymore."
That seemed to strike a chord.
One by one, the others started moving. Hesitant. Testing. Like animals sniffing the air before crossing into a predator's territory.
Arnold was next. He didn't sit, but he stood behind a chair, eyes locked on the host as if daring him to make a move. The rest of the group began to cautiously settle in, though no one touched the food or the goblets in front of them.
The host beamed like a proud parent at a dinner party. "Wonderful! It warms my heart to see guests with such... manners."
His words dripped with charm, but something about his smile irked me. Maybe it's the way he smiled or the fangs out of his mouth. Either way, I knew I couldn't even touch him.
I think most- if not everyone, thought the same. After all, everyone was silent as they sat in their chairs. However, one of the bolder fighters—Reika, a D-rank newbie with a fire Spark, was more bold. She glanced between the food and the Host and asked, "So... we just eat?"
The Host gave a genteel nod, as though humoring a child's question. "Why, of course. Everything has been prepared just for you. Think of it as a celebration! You've come so far, haven't you?"
Reika raised an eyebrow but shrugged. She picked up her fork and took a bite of the roasted meat in front of her. Everyone watched, tense, waiting for her to seize up or fall over.
Nothing happened.
She chewed, swallowed, and slowly set the fork down. "...Not bad."
That broke the tension. A few others cautiously began to eat—first nibbling, then more confidently. Laughter even bubbled from someone near the end of the table, a forced, nervous sound that tried to pass for normal.
But I didn't move. I watched them eat. Looking around at each corner of the table and in between, I surveyed the whole surface of the table. Every plate was about the same, a steak, mixed sauteed vegetables, and a slice of bread. All plates accompanied by glasses of crimson red wine. However, I did notice something off, only four plates had an addition of soup. I was not one of those four, but Reika was.
A while passed and I didn't touch my food, I just watched as the Host didn't eat. He merely stood at the head of the table, hands folded in front of him, crimson eyes gleaming, watching us.
Suddenly though, I quickly turned my head as I heard a gasp for breath, it was Reika.
Her hands shot to her throat as her eyes widened. She stumbled back from the table, knocking her chair over, but didn't make it two steps before she collapsed.
Another person then seized up, not even a second after. They Choked, as everyone cried out in panic and confusion. A horrible gurgling filled the chamber as another person flopped dead onto the table, silverware clattering to the floor.
Arnold swore, finally drawing his weapon, but the Host didn't move. He simply smiled.
Kel jumped up, knocking his chair over. "What the hell—!?"
The Host looked down the table, at me. "Still not hungry, Tristan?"
"how do-..." I started to mutter something but chose against it. After all, it doesn't matter how he knows my name, not now. I just stared at the dead people on both the table and ground. Everyone of them that fell had the soup...
The Host gave a light, musical chuckle. "Ah... well done," he said, voice smooth and theatrical. "It seems we have ten wise souls among us tonight. Such discretion! Such restraint! I applaud you."
He clapped slowly, deliberately, the sound bouncing along the walls as everyone couldn't do anything but stand still and silent- other than the panicked breathing. He's mocking us now! Even though there was nothing we could've done...
I hesitantly glanced around. Ten of us were still breathing, still seated—or in some cases, standing and trembling. The Host's crimson eyes shimmered, full of amusement. He stood up next to his chair, that damned smile across his face.
"Alas," he said with a small, exaggerated sigh, "While ten survivors is impressive... it's still too many."
That made everyone tense up again. Each person's spine has trembled with a cold chill.
Arnold bravely stepped slightly in front of Kel, blade raised. "What do you mean, 'too many'?"
The Host gave a polite, almost apologetic smile. "You came expecting a boss fight, did you not? This is a boss room, after all. And it would be terribly rude of me not to provide the experience you were promised."
He turned toward the windows—those massive, elegant panes of glass that framed nothing but void.
"And so," the Host said, voice rising, "if it is battle you came for... then battle you shall have."
The windows remained shut—but something stirred beyond them.
Shadows twitched in the dark.
Then, like smoke bleeding into the room, dozens of shapes began to phase through the glass—not breaking it, not cracking it. Just passing through. One after another.
Bats.
Horrible, unnatural bats.
Each one the size of a hawk, their wings like torn velvet, eyes glowing the same deep red as the Host's, fangs too long for their mouths.
They poured in silently at first—then with shrill, mind-piercing screeches that made the hair on my arms rise. Like vultures and their prey, the bats immediately swarmed the party. At any moment, they were ready to feast.
"Scatter!" Arnold shouted, swinging his blade as one bat dove at his face.
Screams erupted. Chairs clattered. The party quickly drew their weapons or readied their Spark.
Meanwhile, I ducked as a bat swooped at me, claws raking where my throat had just been. I rolled to the side, heart hammering.
The Host watched from his place at the head of the table, untouched by the chaos. He smirked, a delighted glimmer in his eyes.
"Let's see who's truly worthy of dessert."
The dining hall turned into a battlefield.
Sparks lit the room like fireworks—blades clashing against leathery wings, lightning cracking through the air, fists swinging wildly as the bats dove and screeched. The chandelier above groaned, trembling from the chaos, one of its crystal branches crashing down and shattering across the floor.
I'm definitely not strong enough to fight these monsters! The first bat that came for me nearly took my face off—I barely ducked in time!
I kicked off a broken chair leg and bolted toward the wall, activating Feather Dance. Time seemed to slow, just a little—enough for me to dodge the next one.
Another bat swooped in from the side. I twisted under its wings and stumbled away, panting. My body moved on instinct, driven by panic and muscle memory.
A third came in low.
Spark!
I dodged again. Just barely. It hissed and veered away.
But I could feel it, I was burning through my mana. Fast. Too fast. Feather Dance didn't take much, but I had so little to give. Plus, I've never used this much before, so it's taking a toll on my body. Each activation was like dipping into an already dry well.
My lungs burned. My legs ached. I stumbled back toward a toppled chair, sparks flickering weakly across my arms.
The same bat kept coming for me—red eyes locked, teeth bared. It had learned my rhythm. It dove again, screeching as it twisted through the air like a vulture that could smell the end.
I tried to dodge.
Nothing happened.
My Spark failed.
My body felt like lead. I tripped over a shattered edge of the table that had flown off during the fight and I landed hard on my back. My eyes widened as the bat descended, fangs aimed straight for my face.
I couldn't move.
It was over.
Goodbye, and good riddance cruel world!
Then—CRACK!
A bolt of lightning arced across the room, singing the air.
The bat froze midair, convulsing violently as a streak of white-hot electricity slammed through its chest. It dropped like a rock—thudding onto the floor beside me.
I scrambled away as the creature began to melt. Its body didn't bleed. It dissolved—like wax under a flame, like ink in water. Red goo bubbled up from its cracked skin, then hissed and steamed away into nothing.
"Tristan!" Kel's voice rang out. He stood a few meters away, arm outstretched, fingers still crackling with static. "You Good?!"
I gave a shaky nod. My heart was thundering. "Yeah—yeah, I'm good. Thanks."
Kel didn't smile. He was already turning, drawing another arrow of lightning from the air.
"Don't die," he said flatly, "I can't have my best friend become a corpse!"
He let the arrow fly. Another screech echoed as a second bat exploded into red mist.
I pushed myself up, legs wobbling, and scanned the room. The others were still fighting. The only healers are dead, one from the soup and other in the corner. One party member was bleeding on the floor, two others back-to-back near the wall, keeping the bats at bay with bursts of flame and ice. Arnold was dueling a cluster of three, his blade a blur of motion.
And the Host?
He was watching.
Still smiling.
Still untouched.
Like this was all just entertainment.
Like we were the show.
There was no time to rest.
Suddenly, the surviving bats shrieked as if they had their own battle cry, then plunged into the frenzy with renewed bloodlust. Kel stayed near me, shooting bolts of lightning with practiced rhythm. I kept to the edge, ducking and dodging what I could, lungs burning, vision tunneling. Though, even in this state I could tell Kel was losing mana pretty fast.
Arnold let out a loud war cry, carving a path through the chaos. A fire-wielding girl I didn't know was backing him up, hurling searing arcs of flame that scorched wings mid-flight. Another fighter—a swordsman I'd barely registered before—was moving like he'd trained for war, his blade dancing like it had a mind of its own.
But even with all of us fighting, the numbers didn't seem to dwindle.
Until—everything froze.
The bats stopped in midair, wings twitching but unmoving. It was as if time had been paused mid-frame.
Then their bodies began to melt. Not into goo like before—but into shadow. Black smoke curled off their wings and bled into the air, their red eyes dimming one by one.
The hall fell deathly silent.
And from the head of the table, the Host stood.
His smile remained serene, but his eyes burned with unnatural hunger. "Those who still stand..." he said, voice smooth and cunning, "are quite strong. Worthy of being here."
I looked around.
Only five of us remained.
Kel. Arnold. The fire-wielder. The swordsman. And me. Just five out of the fourteen who entered this cursed place.
We were all panting, bloodied, eyes wide. Each of us stood on trembling legs, barely holding it together. But we were alive.
Barely.
The Host stepped forward slowly, the echo of his shoes like a clock ticking in a quiet room. "Now," he said, folding his hands behind his back, "there is but one final thing you must do... before I choose."
Choose?
The word hung in the air like poison. No one spoke. No one moved. The Host didn't elaborate. He simply walked to the end of the table and gently brushed a speck of dust from a silver goblet.
As if this was all still part of some grand dinner party.
As if he hadn't just unleashed death in the form of fanged, flying shadows.
And still, we waited—because no one dared to ask what he meant by "choose." No one dared to speak.
The silence stretched—until the Host raised a single white-gloved hand and snapped.
...
The room went black.
I blinked, but there was nothing to see. No light. No floor beneath my feet. No sound. Just the cold, suffocating void. I couldn't even see my own palm.
Then, without warning, a flame flickered to life.
A small, lonely candle sat on a metal stand in the middle of what now looked like a stone chamber. One by one, the others appeared around me, each standing around from the candle.
The Host's voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere.
"This test is simple," he said, in a cold echo. "Before you is a dagger."
We each looked down. Sure enough, a black-handled dagger lay at our feet.
"Choose one person in this room. Only one. Stab them. If you do not act, I will."
My breath stuck in my throat for a moment, grabbing myself by the arms. He really just said if we don't murder one of our friends- he will murder one of us at random?
The Host spoke again, softly now. "This is not a test of strength. It is a test of will. Of trust. Of instinct."
Seconds- minutes passed. No one moved.
The air felt heavier with each heartbeat, pressing down like water in the deep ocean. No one wanted to be the one to break it. To reach for the dagger and damn themselves. But at the same time... no one wanted to die.
I stood frozen, heart pounding like war drums in my ears.
Then the Host's footsteps echoed, though I couldn't see him.
Tap... tap... tap.
He walked past each of us in turn, slow and deliberate, like a professor reviewing students before a final exam. Then, without warning, he stopped.
"You've made your choice," he said simply. "How brave."
He reached down—not for a dagger—but for the candle.
And with a breath, he blew it out.
Darkness swallowed the room again.
A sharp crack—like a bone breaking.
Then silence.
When the lights returned, the girl who had conjured flames earlier was gone. No blood. No remains. Just four of us standing in her place.
Arnold's fists clenched. Kel looked pale but grim. The tall stranger said nothing.
The Host smiled faintly, straightening his gloves.
"The dagger wasn't real," he said. "It was a test to see who would try."
He turned his crimson gaze slowly over us. "Only one of you did. I'm impressed."
No one reacted. Maybe none of them understood.
But I did.
Because it was me.
I had reached for the dagger.
Not fully, not boldly—just a twitch, a reflex, a desperate, terrified instinct. I hadn't even realized I moved until my fingers brushed the cold metal of the handle.
Then I stopped myself. Backed away. Pretended like nothing happened.
And no one had seen.
But he had.
He saw everything.
And the girl... had been chosen in my place.
My stomach turned.
It should've been me.
But the Host was already moving on, hands folded neatly behind his back.