Soon, the metallic tang of iron filled the air. I'd breathed that stench so often these past few days that my senses had grown numb to it.

Ezra stood frozen with a black pistol in hand. A thin ribbon of smoke was curling from the barrel. The body at his feet lay still, emptied of life.

Murder.

He had ended a human life before my very eyes.

And then, all at once, a crushing wave of clarity washed over me. My suspicions had been dark enough, but the truth was far crueler.

"I see. I understand. It all makes sense now. Back then, when Grant suddenly fell while climbing, and Margaret ended up dead the next morning, that was your doing, wasn't it?"

My eyes flicked to the pistol in his hand. A crude suppressor made of rubber and cloth had been attached.

That explained Grant's sudden loss of balance.

Even in less than ideal condition, Grant had been able to scale the ridge just fine, likely due to prior experience. For him to slip like an amateur made no sense. Replaying the moment over and over, the image was clear: the ledge hadn't given way on its own. Something had struck it moving at high velocity.

And in Margaret's case, she didn't die from the mountain cold or dehydration. She was poisoned.

No. That doesn't explain everything. The group's condition began deteriorating way before that point.

A crude smile tugged at my lips.

"Oh, you sly bastard. You were poisoning the group the entire time, weren't you? Tell me, how did you do it? It must have been before the Knight attacked us, right? But how did you even know which plant was poisonous? Are you also a player of that game?"

Certain toxic plants grew in the Ashen Forest, especially on the Soulgrave, the very island we were stranded on. But that knowledge wasn't common. Only someone who had played Shatterverse Online could know it.

Which meant the person infront of me was another player.

"...."

As if to confirm my reasoning, the expressionless mask worn by Ezra crumbled. He lowered his head, as though in shame. After a minute or so passed, shrouded in heavy silence, he finally answered.

"Yes, you're right. You're absolutely right. Everything you said was correct. I was the one who killed them. And I'm also a player of that stupid game."

"Then..."

"There was no other choice. They had to die, unfortunately."

"No other choice my ass! What reason could you possibly have for killing them all?!"

"Don't tell me you're this damn oblivious? Don't you already understand the situation. If I did not kill them, they would have killed one of us. Isn't that point much obvious already?"

"Wow. How convenient. Is that what you tell yourself when you sleep at night? Because, right now, you sound awfully guilty."

Ezra's glare hardened, his fingers twitching against the pistol's grip.

"Guilty? Guilty?! What the hell do you know about guilt? Did you really think this could've ended any other way? What do you suppose would've happened once they realized there was no way off these cursed mountains? Even a saint turns into a devil when the mind rots long enough. I just made the choice first. I killed them before they had the chance to kill me."

Perhaps there was truth in his words. Grant, after all, was the kind of man who could kill an old man without blinking, though the old man would have died regardless. Even through Grant ended his suffering out of mercy, it didn't change the fact that he had committed murder.

That alone made him the most dangerous threat among us.

Then there was Margaret. Quiet, reserved, and seemingly powerless at first glance. But women like her often wore silence like a mask, waiting for the right moment to bare their fangs.

If she had turned, none of us would have seen it coming.

And lastly, Choi Minho, the recently deceased. A salaryman, a gentleman, a man who probably couldn't kill a cockroach back on Earth. Yet as Ezra had said, even a saint can become a devil once their mind erodes long enough. I remembered the fleeting moments when Minho's gaze had hardened, carrying a murderous glint before it quickly faded.

Would he had attacked us if food became absent? Probably.

So yes, Ezra wasn't entirely wrong on that front. In fact, it was possible I might have done the same.

Nonetheless, there was a glaring flaw in his reasoning: it rested completely on what ifs.

What if someone slit my throat while I slept?

What if they slipped poison into my food the moment I looked away?

What if they shoved me off the edge of the mountain?

The list could go on forever.

When my thoughts reached this point, I couldn't help but laugh. It was utterly ridiculous.

All those people were dead because of one man's paranoia.

"Very good. Good job. Your lie's so neat I might've believed it if I didn't know better. But deep down, you know that's not the real reason you killed them. You killed them because you felt threatened. Because it was the easiest, most selfish way out. Why don't you just admit it? You damn hypocrite. Piece of shit."

His eyes wavered with raw emotion, but only for a fleeting second. Then his cold, unflinching gaze returned.

"You know what? Fine. Believe whatever you want. I'm done trying to convince you."

He raised the gun and flicked it toward Minho's body.

"Go on. Carry it. Put it on the altar. And don't even think about getting clever. I've still got plenty of bullets for your skull."

'Yes, yes. Shitty bastard.'

Of course, I didn't say it out loud. His mentality was unstable enough as it was. In the end, if I wanted to stay alive, I had no choice but to obey.

'How heavy…'

Carrying Minho's lifeless body was no easy task. I was already exhausted, and despite his slim frame, he was far heavier than I'd expected. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ NoveI-Fire.ɴet

You would have thought he had eaten a bull before he died.

Nevermind that, Ezra was certainly a lazy son of a bitch. It wouldn't hurt if you gave me a helping hand you know.

Somehow, I managed to haul Minho's dead weight across the uneven slope. The stench of dried sweat and blood clung to him, and worse, to me. But there were no room for complaints.

Not with a lunatic pointing a gun at my head.

A Glock 20 wasn't just any pistol; it fired 10mm rounds strong enough to punch through a bear's hide. Getting hit by one would be anything but pleasant. If Minho could speak from the grave, he'd surely vouch for that.

The altar was dry, clean, and as wide as a bed. The very sight of it twisted my gut. How many bodies had been laid here already?

When I finally dropped Minho onto the slab, my lungs burned. My arms felt as though they might tear off at the shoulders.

Ezra gestured with the gun.

"Stand back."

I wiped sweat from my forehead, forcing my legs to move a step away. His gaze lingered on Minho's corpse for a moment too long, lips tightening in something that resembled regret or maybe disgust at himself. Hard to tell.

Silently, we watched the blood stream from the gaping hole in Minho's head, a river of crimson spilling across the floor. The black marble drank it greedily, as though it had been waiting for this very feast.

The crimson trail vanished into the stone until not a single drop remained, leaving the surface gleaming as though freshly polished.

However,

"..."

Nothing followed. One minute passed. Then two. By the fifth, the heavy silence became suffocating.

There was no flash of light or reaction whatsoever.

Nothing at all.

"W-What's this?"

Scowling, Ezra snatched up a rock and hurled it toward the passage we came from. Instead of sailing through normally, the stone froze midair, suspended as if gripped by an unseen hand, before rebounding violently.

The invisible wall held still. Which could only mean one thing.

"Damn it! The ritual failed? Why?!"

Ezra strode up to the stone slab. Scratching his head, he muttered impatiently.

"I don't get it. What went wrong? A sacrifice was made, wasn't it? Was the blood not enough? Do I need to spill more?"

He swung the gun back toward me, eyes blazing.

"You! You played Shatterverse like I did, right? Then you must know something!"

I tilted my head, feigning confusion.

"Buddy, how the hell would I know? I'm just as clueless as you."

He pulled back the safety.

"Then maybe I ought to put a bullet through your skull. You're nothing but dead weight anyway. Yeah, that's right… maybe I should paint these walls with your brains right this f**king second!"

This guy was becoming more desperate and unhinged by the second.

Gotta think of something quick.

'Ah.'

An idea sparked. Why hadn't I thought of this sooner?

"It's been nice knowing you. Time for you to meet Go—"

Ezra stopped short, squinting at me. My sudden silence must have been suspicious. My breathing was so shallow it looked as though I wasn't breathing at all.

"Why aren't you talking?"

I remained silent.

"Well?! Say something, damn it, or I'll really put a bullet between your eyes!"

My body trembled uncontrollably as I stared past him, at the terrible creature lurking in the shadows behind his back.

Soon, the blood drained from Ezra's face as he realized.