Creeps weren't supposed to have weapons, at least not normally. They could carry crowbars, steel pipes, and all other things they could use as makeshift weapons on the ground, but they could never have brought weapons into the Game unless they were made from special materials.
So why? — was everyone's question as they looked at the army marching toward them. Why were the enemy creeps that were approaching them now all armed? They had swords, spears, a shield… some of them even had armor on.
And while most of the creeps were frozen and confused, the veterans realized what was happening.
"Don't tell me…" Harvey took a step back, his words almost stammered as he looked at Jake, and Jake said the words he was dreading to continue.
"The Echo Smith. They have Ilyana in their team." The high-level veteran, Jake, groaned as he said that, shaking his head before looking at the other creeps.
"Why didn't you say so earlier!?" Harvey growled.
"They… didn't have them when we fought."
Being summoned to the Game was already a death sentence, but fighting against an army carrying all sorts of weapons?
That was suicide.
Unfortunately, everyone knew that.
And they all started running away in panic.
"Run… Run!"
"They have weapons! W… why!?"
"This is a massacre!"
"No… no!"
"Maybe… maybe if we don't move, they won't kill us!?"
The ground trembled beneath them, mirroring the rising panic in their voices. But soon, even that drumbeat of fear was drowned out—overpowered by the roars of the advancing enemy.
A clear mind would have noticed the truth. The ones charging toward them had tears streaking their faces. Their steps were hesitant. Their march, reluctant.
But for those already cowering in fear, all they heard was a battle cry.
"Everyone, please! There are more of us, and we—"
Jake tried to steady them, his sharp eyes recognizing the fear gripping the enemy just as much as their own. But his voice was swallowed by the chaos.
And then—everything shattered.
Harvey, the man who had stood firm just moments ago, the one barking orders and demanding silence, broke first.
He screamed.
Tears and snot streamed down his face as he turned and ran.
And at that moment, whatever courage remained in Adam's group unraveled. Those who had been ready to fight saw their leader flee—and with him, their last shred of resolve.
One by one, they turned.
And they ran.
And all it takes is one.
All it takes is one person to trip to cause a stampede.
And there it is—a man stumbling over his own foot.
He hit the ground hard, and before he could get up, someone else tripped over him. Then another. And another.
In an instant, bodies collapsed like dominoes, a tangled mess of limbs and panic.
People were being crushed beneath the burden of the weight of their own allies—literally. Their voices, once filled with terror, were now reduced to muffled groans, barely audible beneath the chaos.
There had never been a plan.
Their so-called Heroes had abandoned them, leaving them for dead. Maybe they had never intended to win in the first place.
After all, why fight when there was nothing to gain?
It wasn't like they'd be burned with the creeps if they lost. And even if they killed enemy Heroes or creeps, it wouldn't make them any stronger.
So what was the point?
The creeps. They truly were nothing but disposable pawns meant to die.
And soon, the screams started again as the enemy team finally reached them. They didn't hesitate at all. With tears on their faces, and endless mutterings of sorries from their lips, they stabbed, slashed, and crushed anyone with a Red Halo hovering above their heads.
There was no mercy at all. Those who pleaded for their lives, those who were running, those who were pinned down from the stampede—they kill them all.
And through all of this, Adam stood still. Frozen. Painfully pathetic. Whispering to himself,
"Why? Why are they hurting other people? Why are they causing so much pain and torment to another human being? Why?"
His lips moved without pause, his eyes straying uncontrollably as he witnessed the wave of massacre in front of him. He gripped the handle of his makeshift shield hard, but the sound it made as it trembled reflected the chaos in his mind.
A chaos ever greater than what he was witnessing. This chaos, however, was utterly silenced when he felt a warmth touching his hand.
"Nathan!"
Grace's voice cut through the chaos as she grabbed his hand, her other arm wrapped tightly around her daughter, Samantha. She shook Adam's arm, snapping him out of his stupor.
"We need to go! We need to run and hide!" she screamed.
And suddenly—visions of the woman from his dreams flashed before his eyes, her face overlapping with Grace's.
He remembered.
He finally remembered what kind of expression the woman in his dreams had worn.
Desperation, yes.
But also—like Grace—there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
A small tug on his shirt pulled him back to the present. Adam looked down to see Samantha clinging to his jacket, her tiny hands shaking.
"M-Mister…" she whimpered, her voice breaking. "Let's… let's go. Please! I'm… I'm scared. I… I don't want Mommy to get hurt!"
Like a spark igniting in his mind, Adam moved.
He pulled free from Grace's grip, crouched down, and scooped Samantha into his arms, positioning her behind his shield.
He met Grace's eyes for only a second—no words, no nods exchanged.
And then they ran.
Away from the onslaught. Away from the violence.
"Cover your ears and close your eyes," Adam whispered, holding Samantha closer. His breaths were heavy from carrying her, but his words were clear—so clear that even Grace could hear them through the screams around them.
"It won't help. Not really. But it'll take you someplace else. Imagine your favorite food, your favorite person, your favorite animal, your favorite place. Picture yourself there, sharing a meal with them."
Grace choked at his words. She bit her lip, swallowing the sob rising in her throat as she looked at her daughter. She nodded, urging her to do as Adam said. And Samantha did.
Grace wanted to do the same. To escape, even just for a moment.
But she couldn't.
She had to survive. That was the only way to keep her child safe.
Run.