The air inside the bunker was heavy, too heavy for the little room that barely held them all.
The lantern in the corner flickered, throwing long shadows across the walls. No one spoke for a while. Tom sat on the edge of the cot, clutching his arm, the infection already started to cure from his veins. His breath was steadier now, but his eyes kept flicking between Elior and Johan, searching for answers.
Elior broke the silence. His voice was calm, but there was a weight in it.
"Tom… you were lucky. If Johan hadn't carried the right ingredients, the infection would've eaten you inside out."
He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. "Remember, luck doesn't last forever."
Tom tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Elior's eyes lowered, shadows hiding most of his face. "One hour of night… is one day for us. That's the way this system works. Last time, when the hunt began, I gave myself up so the rest of you wouldn't be torn apart. That was only the trial night."
He paused, letting it settle.
"This time, I don't know if all of us will live until morning."
The words hit like stones.
Grace stiffened beside Tom, her teacup trembling in her hands. "What…? You mean… every single night.... like this? We…. we'll—"
"—fight," Elior cut in quietly. "Or vanish."
Tom glanced at Grace, her face pale. His own throat was dry.
They had seen blood. They had seen fights.
But the rules of the game. They hadn't thought of them like that.
A single hour swallowing a whole day. A night lasting an eternity of dying.
Tom scratched the back of his head, not out of humor this time, but out of nerves. "That's… insane."
"Insane's the right word."
It was Johan who spoke, his deep, rough voice steady. He leaned back on the wooden chair, boots on the floor, arms crossed.
He looked older than he was. His eyes carried weight, cracks of exhaustion even when he smiled.
"I know because I've walked through it more than once," he said. "I wasn't ready, either. First time I spawned here, I was nothing but a noob. Had no idea, just a fool wandering in the graveyard which looks like heaven in daylight."
Grace looked at him, confused but curious. Vera kept silent, sharp gaze fixed on Johan. Tom leaned forward.
"What did you do?" Tom asked.
Johan chuckled once, bitter. "What did I do? I ran. That's all I did at first. I thought if I can hide, maybe I'll survive but this place.…" He gestured to the stone walls around them. "It doesn't let you hide. Those things will find you, even in void. The monsters don't stop. You've learn quick that the game doesn't want cowards."
His eyes lowered, a shadow of memory flickering across them. "The first group I was with… twelve of us. Kids, adults, some smarter than me, some weaker. We stuck together. Tried to keep each other alive. First night came, and I told myself, don't look back. Just run."
The room went silent, the only sound the quiet rasp of Tom's breath.
"still I dared look back once." Johan's voice cracked slightly. "I saw them.... my group. The ones who trusted me. The things that tore them apart didn't even remain. Screaming… begging… I kept running."
He took his cigar out. "I survived. They didn't."
"Hated this world. Thought, maybe I could just… let it end. But you know what this system does? It doesn't let you quit. You can cry, break, curse the gods all you want—next night still comes."
Johan leaned forward, staring at Tom now. "So I learned, I fought. Every cut, every bone, every kill I saw, did.... it taught me. That survival isn't about being the strongest. It's about carrying all the screams you left behind, and still moving."
Grace's hand shook as she pressed it against her lips.
Tom didn't smile. Didn't joke. He just sat there, hands locked together, thinking about Elior's sacrifice, Johan's story, and the endless nights waiting ahead which people outside wasn't aware of.
Vera finally spoke, voice low, sharp as a knife. "You're saying we'll die. All of us. Sooner or later."
Johan didn't deny it. His lips curved into a faint, tragic grin. "We'll either break… or turn into monsters worse than what chases us."
The lantern flickered again, shadows crawling like silent claws across the room.
Above their heads, the familiar phantom hourglass appeared. Its grains didn't fall like sand.
they twisted like liquid shadow, crawling down slowly, one droplet at a time.
The glass didn't glow, it throbbed.
Each beat like a pulse in their skulls.
Then, across their vision, in cold white letters,
[ The Hunt begins in 01:00 ]
Another screen bled into the air, the words dragging across reality as though they were being written by some unseen claw.
[ Notification: An Abyssal Overseer has Evolved in the Night ]
The room broke into chaos.
Survivors outside the bunker muttered, whispers crawling like insects through the walls. Some voices cracked into sobs, some tried to laugh it off, some prayed to gods that weren't listening.
The word Overseer spread from mouth to mouth, stripped of its meaning but full of fear.
Inside, Vera narrowed his eyes. "Overseer? What the hell does that even mean? Another boss? A title?"
Johan's chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he stood. His face usually calm, with that reckless mischief was pale, sharp jawed. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white.
"….This isn't possible."
Elior raised his head, and for once, even he didn't mask his expression. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes dark.
"An Abyssal Overseer," Elior said quietly, his tone carrying the weight of something older than himself.
"These aren't monsters. They aren't demons. They are beyond concept of 'God'."
Tom looked between them, his voice felt curious to know. "Then what are they?"
Elior's eyes didn't leave the flickering hourglass. "They're… the things even gods don't name. Beings that watch, from beneath everything. Reality isn't safe from them. They aren't part of this system. This system is a toy to them."
The shadows in the room seemed to lean closer, listening.
"An Overseer's waking," Elior continued, "is enough to fold a realities into ash. Their dreams alone can warp the laws of existence. Their sigh can erase a history and.... one has evolved.... tonight."
Vera frowned, though his voice stayed cold and steady. "You make it sound like… it was watching us from every degree."
Johan finally spoke, low and bitter, like spitting poison. "It was. Overseers don't appear. They're always there, just beneath the canvas of Nothingness. Waiting for the right hour. That's why we have the countdown. That's why night is worse than death—it's not just beasts, not just curses. It's eyes staring from the dark, measuring us."
Tom shifted, heart heavy in his chest. For once, his usual dry wit didn't rise. He wanted to say we'll fight it, but the words stuck. His hand drifted unconsciously to his chest, as if steadying himself.
The survivors outside were still murmuring, louder now, more desperate. Some asked if they could hide, others asked if Elior could save them again. The voices bled through the cracks in the bunker walls, sounding like a hive of restless insects.
Grace pressed her hands together tightly. "Then… what do we do?"
Elior didn't answer immediately. He stared at the shifting hourglass above them, the shadow-sand inside that looked more like black blood than grains.
Finally, he whispered. "We survive. We always try to survive. But this night—"
He turned to Johan. Their eyes locked, unspoken knowledge passing between them.
Johan muttered it aloud. "This night isn't like the others. If an Overseer truly evolved… even breathing near it could shatter us."
The lantern flickered violently, then died. The only light left was the phantom hourglass, dripping its shadows down, one heartbeat at a time.
58:34—58:33
Elior stood a little apart from the others, his face was expressionless, but Tom noticed his hand lift slightly like pulling on an invisible thread.
A faint ripple shimmered in front of him. His profile.
Tom tilted his head, eyes narrowing. So that's what it looks like when he opens it up…
Vera and Johan didn't react. They couldn't see it. Non-bearers couldn't peek into that strange window. While Tom, with his own Face now awakened, caught a glimpse. His eyes darted over the faint words flickering in Elior's invisible screen.
He spotted it. [ Hunter Badge ] sitting under his Achievements.
Tom cleared his throat. "So… you've got a badge. Is that how you actually become a Hunter? Officially?"
Elior didn't look up, just tapped something only he could see. His voice was low, steady.
"Badges are earned. They're not given."
Tom frowned. "Earned how?"
For a moment Elior's gaze slid to him, sharp but quiet. "Find out by yourself."
That was all.
Tom leaned back, muttering under his breath. Typical Elior answer. Might as well have said, 'climb a mountain blindfolded and maybe you'll know.'
Grace crossed her arms gently. "Whatever the badge means, we need to focus on one thing first." Her tone was calm but firm. "This bunker won't last forever. Not against…. what's coming."
Vera nodded once, arms folded. "She's right. If the Overseer is real, this place is nothing more than a coffin. We need a stronger shelter. Somewhere layered, defensible. We can't wait until night falls deeper."
Johan smirked faintly but his eyes were serious. "Finally, someone else is thinking like me." He tapped his temple. "Planning ahead, or we're all dead before dinner."
A brief moment, silence settled again. The group's thoughts hung heavy, each one weighing the same question: Where do we go now?
Elior turned, his coat brushing against the wall as he walked toward the bunker's exit.
"We'll discuss shelter later. Right now… conserve your strength. We'll need it."
The phantom hourglass still dripped its shadow-sand above them.
The night crept closer.