The bat — the one covered in nails — swung through the air with a sharp whistle.

  This time, it didn’t hit the wall.

  It hit him directly in the side of the head.

  Pain exploded through his skull. A sickening, metallic crack echoed in his ears. For a split second, he felt nothing, then a wave of dizziness crashed over him, and his knees buckled.

  The hallway tilted sideways. His vision blurred; the world seemed to twist and stretch unnaturally.

  The last thing he saw was Victoria’s silhouette standing over him, her grip tight around the bat, pupils blown wide in the dim light, shadows stretching across her sharp features.

  Then everything went black.

  ATTENTION: A PLAYER HAS USED ALL PERMISSIBLE CARDS

  Zhayne opened his eyes quickly. He looked down at the floor and slowly touched the back of his head — thankfully, no blood. A sigh of relief escaped him, shaky and uneven. He looked up to find himself in the same castle, its glittering chandeliers reflecting off polished surfaces, throwing soft, dancing light across the room.

  He lowered his hand slowly, noticing the red-haired girl approaching again. But he already knew how that would end. When he tried to move, his body wouldn’t respond, as if stuck in invisible chains.

  The red-haired lady reached him and said, “You finally arrived.”

  Zhayne’s focus wasn’t on her. His eyes locked on a sign across the hall — the men’s bathroom. People passed by, and among them, the man with pink hair. She repeated the words, but Zhayne couldn’t hear her. His heart pounded in his chest; all he could think about was how to reach the bathroom.

  As she extended her flower, Zhayne’s body started moving toward it on its own. He looked at her and said, “I need to go to the bathroom,” then bolted through the crowd. People carried cups, each a different color, spilling light and movement around him. He weaved past them, moving faster and faster toward the bathroom, anxiety coiling in his stomach like a living thing

  He opened the door quickly. Inside, the bathroom was brightly lit, with three stalls. All had mirrors on the doors with green veins running across them, and one was closed. Two white tubs stood beneath a slate lady statue, masked and holding a tub, her eyes closed as if in silent judgement. A big mirror with green veins hung in the middle, and a large rectangular window beside the tub was surrounded with pink flowers, delicate and almost surreal.

  Zhayne glanced at the window, then noticed the man washing his hands. He recognized him , the one who had sat beside the rude blonde lady. Water splashed across the man’s black suit, dark droplets gleaming in the light. Zhayne looked at the closed stall and decided to wait for whoever was inside to emerge, nerves tightening in his chest.

  He tried washing his hands, but a strong, unpleasant smell lingered. Holding his breath, he turned on the tap. The man’s hands were covered in hot pink paint, clinging and glistening. When the man noticed Zhayne staring, he glanced back and smiled, eyes nearly closed, almost like a secret shared without words.

  “I’m sorry, it must have been because of the paint,” the man said.

  “No, no, it’s okay,” Zhayne replied, mask in hand, face wet, hair plastered to his forehead, his skin prickling from the cold water.

  Even with the mask and the angle of the face, Zhayne could swear he saw something black near the man’s right eye, partially hidden by the mask’s color. Adjusting his mask, Zhayne noticed the man opening the rectangular window to let out the stench.

  “The view here is unmatched,” the man said, gazing outside. Zhayne didn’t reply. The man stepped back and turned to leave, the soft creak of shoes on tile echoing faintly.

  Zhayne moved to the closed door beside the window, pretending to adjust his hair in the mirror while the man departed. Curiosity drew him to glance outside.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “It really is grea—” Zhayne started, but before he could finish, a black shadow flashed across the mirror. Someone shoved him, and he fell from the window. The last sound he heard was the crack of his bones.

  (Zhayne)

  Huff. Huff.

  I breathed heavily, sweat dripping down my spine as I slowly pushed myself up from the bed. In the motion, my head bumped lightly against the bedframe. Pain flared through my skull—sharp, throbbing—but it was nothing compared to the memory of my head exploding. I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers.

  I was still alive.

  My chest rose and fell too fast as the realization settled in. I could breathe. I could feel. I was here.

  The soft mattress beneath me felt wrong—too normal, too gentle for what I remembered. Carefully, I tested my body, moving my fingers, my arms, my legs. No bones jutted at odd angles. Nothing screamed broken. Relief washed over me, tangled tightly with disbelief.

  Jayson was sitting beside the bed, watching me closely.

  “You’re finally awake,” he said, looking straight at me.

  I glanced past him, toward the stove.

  Leon stood there, calmly cooking salmon. The smell filled the room. Rafael shot me a sharp, wary look from the table, while Vincent sat beside him, quiet as ever. Jayson was there too.

  My pulse spiked.

  No. This wasn’t possible.

  Leon glanced over his shoulder. “You finally awaken,” he said, then turned back to the pan like nothing had happened.

  A cold thought crept into my mind as I watched the oil sizzle.

  I turned back time.

  The idea hit me so hard I almost laughed. That was impossible. Ridiculous. And yet—everything was the same. Every detail lined up too perfectly.

  “Jayson—punch me,” I said.

  But Jayson was already talking, animatedly recounting something that had happened earlier, too absorbed to hear me. I slapped myself instead, hard. The sting burned across my cheek.

  Still here. Still not dead.

  “Hey, stop!” Jayson said suddenly, grabbing my wrist. “Rafael, he’s really kind—he’s not what you think he is.”

  Leon turned from the stove. “Food’s ready.”

  I lowered myself onto the blanket on the floor alone, my movements stiff, my mind racing. Leon handed out portions.

  Food. I stared at the fish in my hands.

  Food mattered. I remembered that much. I had thought—stupidly—that eating would help me heal, help my skull and bones knit themselves back together. I took a bite.

  It tasted like everything except fish.

  I chewed slowly, thoughts spiraling. What if I hadn’t ridden the elevator that day? What if I’d warned them properly—forced them to listen about the blood, the signs? Would any of this have changed?

  I swallowed.

  Then Jayson’s earlier words echoed in my head:

  *I remember tasting someone. Awful. It was so bad.*

  My stomach dropped.

  I shot to my feet.

  Jayson was staring off into space, still holding his portion. I rushed forward and slapped the fish from his hands. It hit the floor with a wet sound.

  Jayson straightened, eyes wide. “What is wrong with you?”

  If the fish was the reason, then everyone should’ve turned already , and they hadn’t.

  My fingers curled around the crushed fish, slick and cold. My shoulders tightened. I couldn’t look at any of them. “Sorry…” I whispered.

  Leon stepped closer to Jayson. “Here,” he said, offering his own portion. His eyes flicked to me, unreadable.

  I turned away, desperate for anything else to focus on, and then I saw it.

  The window.

  Wide open.

  My blood ran cold.

  Leon noticed at the same time. He rushed toward the desk and shouted, “Hurry! We need to close it!”

  We all moved at once. Jayson and Leon grabbed the desk, straining as they flipped it toward the window. Jayson peeked through the gap, his face draining of color.

  Fear crawled up my spine.

  Maybe—just maybe—if I changed something now, the ending would be different.

  I grabbed the chair they were about to use to block the door. “We can’t just wait here,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “We need to fight them.”

  Leon looked back at me, hesitating only a second before nodding. “He’s right.”

  Everyone armed themselves with whatever they could find. A pan. A table leg. Bare hands.

  I tightened my grip on the chair, knuckles white. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

  The door groaned.

  They burst in.

  I stepped forward, swinging the chair with everything I had. Wood cracked against flesh. One of them staggered back, screeching. I swung again, again—each strike clumsy, desperate, fueled by panic rather than skill.

  They kept coming.

  I backed up, breath ragged, forcing my arms to move even as they screamed in protest. I hit anything that came close, faces, shoulders, snapping jaws. The impact rattled my bones.

  Then it happened.

  The twisted-head tiger rushed in with terrifying speed.

  Before I could react, it slammed into me, knocking the air from my lungs. I hit the ground hard, vision flashing white. Pain exploded across my ribs.

  I rolled just in time as its claws tore into the floor where my head had been. I kicked, shoved, slammed the chair into its twisted skull. Steam hissed from its neck as it recoiled.

  I pushed myself up, and froze.

  Everyone else was already on the floor.

  Vincent struggled weakly, pinned beneath another creature. Jayson was gasping, clawing at something I couldn’t see.

  Leon screamed.

  The tiger had him by the shoulder, teeth sinking in deeper as Leon thrashed. Blood soaked into his sleeve as he cried out, the sound ripping straight through me.

  No.

  This was wrong.

  This was exactly how it ended.

  I lunged forward, heart pounding, mind screaming—but I was too slow.

  Then the room split open with motion.

  Saymon burst in, shield raised, slamming creatures aside with brutal force. Behind him, the man in black moved like death itself. His sword flashed once—clean, precise—and the twisted tiger’s head flew free.

  The body collapsed on top of me.

  And the world went cold.

  When I could move again, iron bars surrounded me.

  A cage.

  I clutched the cold floor, jaw trembling, rage and despair twisting together in my chest. Nothing had changed. I had almost lost everyone again. They trusted me—and I failed them.

  I forced myself to stand, looking around.

  Everything was the same.

  No matter what I did, the path stayed locked in place. Would they even believe me if I tried to warn them again? The tiger. The banana being a kid. The puzzle. The key.

  I had changed nothing.

  Until we reached the same day.

  The day I died.

  With the bat.