In the city of Peleria, night spread like a cloak of ashes.
The neon lights were dying one by one, and the streets seemed swallowed by the shadows.
A scream shattered the silence of a hotel room.
> "You'll pay for this!!"
Harvey thrashed on his bed, rage twisting his face.
His fists slammed against the mattress as if trying to crush his humiliation.
His ragged breathing filled the closed room with an animal growl.
A calm, icy voice seeped through the darkness.
> "Whoever did that to you didn't hold back, did they?"
Harvey jerked up, panting, his eyes burning with hatred.
> "Shut up! Who gave you permission to enter my room, Vassal?!"
The man stepped forward.
Under the flickering light of a lamp, his silhouette took shape—
a white mask, marked with a stylized eye surrounded by golden spikes.
His dark suit was flawlessly tailored, his shirt pure white,
and his crimson tie pulsed like an open vein.
Each of his steps seemed to bend the air around him.
> "They didn't vanish," he said softly.
"They went underground."
Harvey clenched his teeth.
> "What?! Then let's go after them right now!"
The Vassal calmly placed a hand on his shoulder—his tone gentle, almost fatherly.
> "No, Harvey. Not yet. Don't ruin the scene."
His unseen eyes seemed to smile beneath the mask.
> "Let them sleep tonight. Tomorrow, the game begins.
And by the end of the day... they'll all be dead."
Harvey felt his anger freeze into mute terror.
The air grew heavy. The room seemed to shrink around him.
The mask tilted slightly, as if listening to something only it could hear.
Then, in a voice barely human, it whispered—
> "The King opens his theater at midnight."
And with that, he melted into the shadows.
---
🕯️ The Underground
Meanwhile, deep beneath Peleria,
Hastur, Ban, Efa, and Arata had found shelter.
A metal door, hidden behind a collapsed wall, creaked open.
> "Finally!" Ban exclaimed. "Home sweet home!"
Efa raised an eyebrow.
> "You live here?"
Hastur puffed out his chest proudly.
> "Oh yeah! Four rooms, a TV, a decent table, a royal couch...
and even a bathroom down the left hall. Pure luxury!"
Arata, limping slightly, collapsed onto the couch.
> "My arm still hurts like hell... and who'd have thought there'd be a TV here?"
Efa shrugged.
> "Whatever. I'm taking a shower."
A few minutes later, a scream echoed from the bathroom.
> "What the hell is that?!"
> "Ah… the lizard-roaches," Hastur sighed.
"You'll get used to them. Promise."
Efa stormed out, wrapped in a towel, furious.
> "Stay in this monster pit? Not a chance! Sakuraï, we're leaving!"
But Hastur caught her hand—firm, serious.
> "No. You can't leave."
> "And why not?!"
Ban's tone dropped, heavy.
> "Because you attacked a Vice-Vassal.
And now, you're fugitives."
Silence fell.
Hastur spoke again, more gently.
> "Don't worry. In a week, everyone will forget.
We're in the Immutable Theater—nothing ever changes down here."
Efa sighed in defeat.
Arata closed his eyes, exhausted.
---
🕰️ 0:00
They spent the rest of the night in their own ways.
Hastur read an old book by lamplight.
Ban wrapped Arata's arm, cursing under his breath.
Efa, armed with a broom, fought her private war against the bugs.
Then came silence.
Their breathing merged with the low hum of the neon lights when—
DONG.
A bell.
Slow. Heavy.
One… two… three… all the way to twelve.
The television flickered to life with a hiss of static.
All four of them jumped.
The screen filled with white noise, then revealed the white mask.
The same one Harvey had seen.
Its voice spread through the room like a creeping mist:
> "0:00.
Let the game begin."
A shiver ran through the room.
The TV went dark.
But the echo of that voice lingered long after.