It took Holmes some struggling to find the door, as the floor numbers on the 7th floor were haphazardly scrambled.
Just as he raised a hand to knock, the door creaked open of its own accord. Blinking, he stepped inside—then felt his expression freeze.
The living room was a wreck, as if abandoned for decades. That wasn't the shock. What made his blood crawl were the corpses hanging from the balcony: wrinkled, blackened, shriveled forms whose feet dripped thick corpse oil into metal basins.
Two cats, one black and one white, crouched there lapping the oily liquid like milk, their golden slitted pupils fixated on him."You reek of him."The voice slithered into his ear without warning. Holmes whipped around to face a head purpled with congestion, a woodcutter's axe buried deep in its skull.
In an instant, a hand clamped his throat, pinning him against the wall. The figure leaned in, sniffing aggressively, then bared rotted teeth: "You're that drunkard's whelp from 404!""Listen, I—" Holmes croaked, but the creature was beyond reason. At the scent of its mortal enemy, all it saw was blood.
A searing pain exploded in Holmes' chest; he looked down to see a hand protruding through his flesh, fingers curling around his beating heart."All bastards of that fiend have black hearts!" the thing snarled, yanking his heart free. In that split second, Holmes swung his claw hammer with all his might, slamming it into the axe embedded in the creature's skull.CLANG!!!The 702 resident howled, releasing Holmes to clutch its head.
Thick, tarry blood oozed from the wound, painting the floor. Gasping, Holmes pressed a hand to his chest—having your heart touched felt like a heart attack, a breath away from death."I know about your grudge—""DIE! All his spawn must DIE!""Fine," Holmes gritted, raising the hammer again.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Three blows landed on the axe, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the creature's skull. Its body trembled from the agony, the murderous glint in its eyes fading to incoherent pain."Like this better?" Holmes asked, voice sickly sweet as he twirled the bloody hammer.
The resident's gaze was a mix of rage and humiliation.Flicking the axe's rusted blade, Holmes smiled: "I'll be borrowing this.""Kills my father, I know. That's exactly what I plan to do."The creature blinked, confused. "You're not his offspring?"Holmes laid out the truth: the 404 nightmare, the player rules, the mission.
The resident eyed him skeptically—after all, the axe was a [Rare] spooky item, constantly targeted by players.
Holmes had noticed its [Damaged] state immediately; it could be repaired, its true power unlocked. And this being was a [Free NPC]—interactable, if you played your cards right.Forcing the item meant destroying its quality. The only way to claim it fully was through trust… or leverage.
"Here's my offer," Holmes said, ripping his own still-beating heart from his chest (an act that made the NPC's eyes widen). "You hold my heart. I take the axe. Bring you that bastard's head, and you get your revenge. Fair?"
The creature—later revealed as Liu Nianqing, a name tied to a murdered wife—stared at the heart, then at Holmes.
Finally, it snatched the heart, placing it in a black box. "Kill him," it rasped, yanking the axe from its own skull, heedless of the gushing blood.
"Stab him in the chest—nowhere else. One shot, or you're dead."Holmes took the rusted blade. It felt dead in his hands, only a promise of lethality against the Nightmare Feaster.
As he turned to leave, Liu Nianqing began babbling about his wife, but Holmes was already plotting.
Tonight, room 404 would know true horror.
The axe might be a broken tool now, but with one target in mind… it was the deadliest weapon in the building.
Holmes returned to Room 404 swiftly, but the moment he stepped inside, a chill crawled up his spine.
A pungent stench of decay hit him—unmistakably the reek of something undead.Then he saw Emily bustling around the dining table.
Before Holmes could speak, she pressed a finger to her lips, nodding toward the kitchen. Through the glass partition, a shadowy figure moved near the stove."The mother specter left her room?" Holmes frowned.
The resident ghosts rarely ventured out, and their appearance in the common area signaled only two possibilities:
[Blessing]: A rare benefit where the ghost initiated friendly interaction. Players could earn random rewards by participating, no penalty for failure—triggered by high favorability, exclusive to one player.
[Punishment]: The opposite—when a player violated rules or dropped favorability to rock bottom, the ghost emerged to exact retribution.
Judging by Emily's grin, this was clearly a Blessing. "She must have boosted the mother's favor again," Holmes thought. The event involved a 20-minute dinner; rewards depended on luck.
As a bystander, he grabbed leftover coarse grains from the coffee table, his mind fixed on one thing: killing the father specter.
Even the biscuit tasted like ash."How'd your mission go?" Emily called from the table, noticing his grimace."Not great." Holmes lifted the half-empty bottle of Blood Pipa wine.Her brows knit. "At least you have half.
Partial completion means milder punishment.
The father's missions are brutal—maybe you'll get the mother or grandma tomorrow.
Their favor's easy to gain. You can't draw the father three days in a row, right?" She clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing how tempting fate that sounded.Holmes mouthed "Mother's coming" as the kitchen door swung open.
The mother specter looked… normal. Pink apron, ponytail, even faint crow's-feet—shockingly domestic. Holmes knew better; the most mundane-looking ghosts hit hardest when enraged.Emily sat straighter, focusing on the dinner interaction.
Since Holmes had 0 favor with the mother, he stayed out of her line of sight.
Soon Kevin stormed in, gawking at the scene. "Dammit, why can't I get a Blessing?" The veteran player seethed, his own favorability with the family ghosts plummeting.Spotting Holmes and the wine, Kevin sneered: "Looks like your luck ran out.""Half a bottle's not terrible," Holmes shrugged.
"Half won't save you. That father ghost has no mercy—one mistake and you're done.
Did Emily feed you empty promises again? I'm honest: that wine won't keep you alive tonight."
Not even a full bottle would, he thought, knowing the mission was a setup.Surprisingly, Holmes nodded. "You're right. Why submit a failed mission? I'll hide and buy time." He grabbed the wine and locked himself in his room.Kevin crossed his arms. "Missing the deadline only makes it worse."
Inside, Holmes studied the Blood Pipa. The wine had spoiled—failure was inevitable. Why would the Nightmare Feaster team up with Kevin to kill me? he wondered.
A live player meant a steady supply of wine. What temptation outweighed that?He didn't dwell.
Sitting on the bed, he watched the fog thicken outside, waiting for nightfall—and the father's corruption. The trap was set, but who was the hunter?
"He didn't submit the mission?" Emily approached after the [Blessing] ended, her face stunned.
"Submitting would get him killed faster." Kevin crunched peanuts, smirking.
"But he doesn't know—failing to submit enrages the father specter. Hiding in his room? He'll learn what despair means tonight."
"But he has half the Blood Pipa. Punishment should halve—he won't die." Emily frowned.
Holmes didn't seem the type to make such a blunder. "Did you say something to him?"
"Me? Nothing." Kevin shrugged. "Just gave veteran advice. Normal, right?" He changed the topic: "How'd your Blessing go? Score any good drops?"
"Nope." Emily replied flatly, retreating to her room. Why pick on a newbie? she wondered.
In this ghost world, players should stick together.
Was it over Holmes' retort yesterday? She'd lost all patience for Kevin.
"The bitch is giving me attitude now? Thinks cozying up to the ghosts makes her better?" Kevin glared at Emily's door, then turned to Holmes'. The kid doesn't seem stupid. Is he really waiting to die?A creak echoed from Holmes' room. Kevin tensed, but no one emerged. The only sound was the fog howling outside, like distant laughter.
Idiot, Kevin thought, let the Nightmare Feaster deal with you.Inside Room 404, Holmes pressed an ear to the door, listening. His fingers traced the rusted axe hidden under the bed.
So Kevin and the father made a deal, he mused.
But why risk losing their wine supply?The answer came in a flash: They don't need me alive—they need the Blood Pipa. And if I'm dead…Holmes smiled.
The trap was set, but he wasn't the prey.
He checked the cracked window—night had fallen, painting the world in inky black.
Time to turn the tables.
Footsteps thudded in the hall—heavy, reeking of alcohol.
The father specter was coming.