George was hurriedly running down an baroque hallway, droplets of his blood marking the path that he took.

He came upon a circular stairwell, intricately carved and decorated, demanding attention. An attention which George couldn't care to give as he vaulted over the balustrade in an act of desperation, an act which would warrant him a six metre fall.

He had landed roughly, eliciting a sharp scream of pain from his throat.

His ankle was sprained.

It doesn't matter, keep going.

One step in front of the other.

*You have levelled up*

*Level 3 Knight*

You have gained a feat

Last Stand This is a common stance amongst many knights in which they sacrifice all mobility and hope for flight in return for increased defensive and offensive power.

This feat seemed slightly foreshadowing...

He kept limping through the dark hallways, the empty bedrooms flashing past his peripherals.

As George got closer and closer to the exit he felt a great weight being lifted from his heart, he turned the corner that would lead him to the front entrance of the baroque manor.

It was there, just as he remembered it.

For a moment it seemed like the most beautiful door he had ever seen, the peeling paint and etched claw-marks on the heavy set oak door seemed to be but superficial flaws in front of a wonderful concept called freedom.

He grasped the door knob with his left hand and hurriedly turned it.

George was ecstatic, he could finally leave this place. However, as soon as his hand made contact with the door knob a gnawing fear began to eat away at his heart.

The door knob seemed to be slightly loose, but George dismissed the fear as he turned the bronze door knob.

*Clank*

The door knob turned, then fell away from it's slot and thunderously crashed on the wooden floor.

As the door knob fell, so did every organ in George's body as the blood visibly drained from his face.

Standing in shock for a good moment, he picked up the fallen knob with a blank expression.

Then he tried putting it back inside the door, futilely trying to fox it.

The knob clanging against the bronze parts inside the door was the only sound to be heard in the manor, that and the heavy, almost sobbing, breathing that came out of George.

He failed putting it back once, he tried twice.

Thrice.

He kept trying.

It was on his thirteenth time that as he was about to insert the knob inside, a pale and rotting hand smashed through the small gap left behind by the door knob, knocking the door knob from George's hands.

The rotting hand was bleeding a viscous white substance inflicted upon it by the wooden splinters of the door, however, it trashed against the door in oblivion of it's pain.

George was startled aback and fell on his back, sparking another wave of pain from his sprained ankle.

It was then that Adam heard a strong tapping sound, a rhythmic beat upon the wooden staircase, produced by the heel in a woman's boots.

The blood from George's face seemed to drain further to the point that he was indistinguishable from a zombie, his heart wanted to break free from his ribcage with how much it was beating. In fact it was beating so much that his chest constricted in pain.

The sound of the heels smacking against the wooden panelling of the manor seemed to grow ever nearer.

George frantically overtook his shock and looked for something, anything.

He found the door to one of the many bedrooms slightly ajar, promising a sure delay from certain death.

He crawled towards it, ignoring the growing pain in his ankle.

For every centimetre he crawled forwards the sound of the heels seemed to grow ever nearer and the frantic thrashing of the rotting hand seemed to grow even more chaotic.

He was almost there, the sound of his beating heart seemed to drown out all the noises in the area. His eyesight was becoming purple, his peripherals were already blackened.

Blood started dropping from his nose, a testament to how his body was destroying itself in such panic.

Then, he heard a click. George realised he had stopped moving.

He looked around, expecting to have died, instead he saw the usual decor inside a guest's bedroom.

He was on the floor, leaning against a shut door.

He had made it.

When that thought passed through his head, it seemed to physically deflate him.

He almost fainted then and there, the only thing keeping him awake was the flaring pain from his ankle and chest.

It seemed to be an eternity in which he struggled to control his breathing.

Then, when he had finally settled down, he noticed something.

It was too quiet.

There was no trashing coming from the entrance door, no heels slapping down on wooden panelling.

Then, as a promise being kept, a knocking sound rang out from the locked wooden door of the guest room.

Each knock was perfectly timed and sounded the exact same, knocked in the same spot by a hollow glasslike object.

Accompanied with the knocking came a girlish giggle from behind the door, it was a pure laugh that someone would let out when they played a little prank on somebody.

It continued, every five seconds came three knocks upon the door.

Each time the three knocks carried more power, an amount of strength impossible to any hollow glasslike object.

The vibrations from the door carried into George's body, shaking his organs.

George was too tired to feel anymore, he wanted to put an end to this.

The wooden door began splintering, with numerous splinters breaking off and revealing a white wedding gown beneath the gaps left behind.

George unsheathed his sword, an unremarkable work of steel designed for slashing, parrying and stabbing.

Right now, he had no strength left to let alone swing it once, but perhaps he could use his new feat.

In his mind he thought 'Last Stand' and he felt the frail grip on his sword grow stronger, he felt the darkness around his eyesight recede to the peripherals ever so slightly.

The splintering door kept splintering, showing even more of the gown behind the door. Clearly it wouldn't allow for another three knocks before it gave way.

*CRASH!*

The splintered door thunderously gave way, disturbing the dust which had collected inside the room since the last time it had been used.

The dust covered the entire room, not allowing any visibility. However, it soon came to settle down on George.

He was leaning on the side of the bed, his head hung against the mattress. His two hands were extended in front of him and holding onto the pommel of his sword.

It was an interesting thing for a swordsman to hold a sword by the pommel, unless they were aiming for one direction and one direction only.

That direction seemed to be the case as the blade of the sword shimmered in the pale moonlight flooding in from the window, illuminating the pale crimson blood which ran along the blade as it entered George's heart.

...

Adam's eyes constricted as he saw their capsule opening up, showing the unconscious features of George.

George was the last one of the first eight people to leave the capsule, meaning that their team was already lacking behind the others.

After George was taken away by the medical staff to be woken up, Francis stepped forwards to go second just as he had agreed.

Or he would have, if Adam hadn't put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

Francis didn't take offence or gratitude at this gesture, expressing his neutrality on whoever went second or third.

Simply nodding his approval to Adam, Francis stepped back and allowed Adam to go next.

Adam mentally thanked him and entered the capsule without hesitation.

He rested himself upon the white cushioning inside the capsule and relaxed his body as he had been told before.

Then, the sliding door of the capsule closed in on itself, sealing shut. Ventilation shafts opened up in front of Adam's mouth and frosted over the window of the capsule.

The entire experience was slightly claustrophobic but it didn't kill him.

The next thing he knew, everything was white.

It was only him, and the white expanse.

Then everything darkened until it became black, it wasn't the type of darkness which signified lack of light but rather a black shade being inflicted on the scenery.

A green grid was laid down on the blackness, an irregular grid that allowed the topography of the area to become visible.

The hilly grid then started being populated by cubes, trillions upon trillions of miniscule coloured cubes which appeared in a completely chaotic order.

The shifted in-between each other for about fifteen seconds before they started settling down into shapes.

The cubes became smaller, more rounded, until everything suddenly fit together.

It became a false reality.

Adam was standing on a cobbled road which was falling into disrepair, as evident by the thriving moss and vines spattered on the cobbles. Present on either side of the road was a grand European broadleaf forest, appearing tall and forbidding when contrasted against the pale shimmer of the full moon.

Standing on the middle of the road, Adams moment of indecision was interrupted by a notification.

*New Quest*

*Go down the road*

*Reward: Going down the road *

Adam thought to himself that the acquisition of the quest didn't seem entirely in line with the military. Perhaps this was just some sort of medium by which the system could exercise itself in IVR but not in direct control of the military.

As soon as his thought process reached that point, Adam's caution against this trial was kicked up a notch.

The military was harsh, but predictable. Anything under the control of the system was beyond his knowledge and thus stepping into the unknown.

Gathering his wits about him, Adam stepped forwards and set down the cobbled road.

'This place, isn't normal.'

Adam stopped.

Rarely had 'Adam' spoken warnings, and if he did then Adam should probably caution against them.

'I sense a familiar calling to this place, some sort of abyssal corruption.'

Adam looked at the cobbles of the road in deep thought.

If this place was affected by abyssal corruption then it would be unprecedently dangerous. Adam didn't know much about abyssal corruption. Only that it was the residue left behind by the abyss, a banished plane in which all things chaotic and evil lurked.

If this place had the influence of the abyss upon it, then it would be wise to promptly leave.

However, the officers in charge of this 'simulation' seemed to have 'forgotten' to tell them a way to leave apart from completing the task or failing.

Seeing as there was no fail criteria in the quest, then it would be moderately safe to assume that death was required in order to fail this simulation.

Seeing as he had no choice, Adam resumed his trek through the cobbled pathway.

The looming trees on either side of him were foreign and alien to him, very different to the eucalyptus trees he was used to back home. The shadows they cast on the road were the only comforting factor.

Shortly after, a neat column of smoke rose in the distance, approximately five kilometres from his location.

Figuring that it must come from a chimney, Adam made his way in it's direction.

A thirty minute trek yielded results as, next to the cobbled road, a small hunting lodge was humbly located.

The entire place gave off a comely feeling. The tannery situated by the lodge, the loose chickens which wandered outside the door, the simple architecture behind the log structure.

*Quest Updated*

*Enter the Hunter's Lodge*

*Reward: Some shelter for the night*

Adam didn't need shelter for the night, or shouldn't have at least.

However, as soon as the quest updated, a sudden wave of drowsiness hit him. It seemed as if his internal clock was shuffled and rearranged by the whims of the system.

Seeing no use in hesitating, Adam stepped to the heavy oaken door and knocked heavily on it.

Shadows flashed across the torchlight visible from the windows and hushed whispers were aroused in alarm.

Adam could clearly make out what they were saying.

"Who is that? Pa?"

"Pa! I wanna see who it is!"

"No you don't Karl, let pa open the door for the visitor."

"But Pa!"

"No buts!"

Adam sensed a strange atmosphere behind this oaken door, an atmosphere unfamiliar to him.

He sensed some sort of strife between the family inside, but it was a different type of conflict to the one he was used to. It seemed...

Light hearted, for lack of a better term.

The heavy oaken door opened to an Adam who currently wore a complicated expression.

Inside the lodge stood a tall and heavy set man. The torchlight from inside flickered against his blonde beard and shimmered to his blue eyes. His facial structure was hardy and scarred, albeit gentle.

His attire was a simple white tunic and black greaves accompanied with hairy and barefoot feet so thoroughly calloused that it wouldn't have surprised Adam if those feet could block a sword.

However, none of that mattered to Adam. What mattered was the broad smile plastered on this man's face.

A smile which promised a firm and strong friendship, it was directed at Adam.

Adam found himself speechless, he couldn't talk. This man, it had been a long time since he had seen such a firm smile.

It was different from the smiles which he was used to seeing in everyone. The fake plaster which everyone smeared on their faces to appear civilised in modern society. Just like his mother, or Sera back in the school, they were all fake smiles practiced from birth.

This man showed none of that, it was hardy one. It promised that this man was someone you could count on.

Even seeing as the stranger to his house was rendered speechless, the man didn't shed his smile. Instead he invited him inside, without even a word.

Dumbfounded, Adam walked inside.

He saw a chaotic scene within, three children gathered around a rickety wooden table throwing rejected pieces of their dinner everywhere, keeping the selected one's in their plates for consumption.

The torch sconce by the wall illuminated the entirety of the room and the various doors leading to other parts of the lodge.

Beside the table was an empty chair. The man showed Adam to the chair and told him to sit down.

Adam just let himself get led along, before he knew it he was seated amongst the three little children with a plate of roasted venison in front of him.

Then, the children all quieted down as the man sat at the table and brought his two palms together.

All the other children mimicked him and put their hands together, squashing the pieces of food stuck between the webbing of the hands.

'What are they doing?' Adam asked himself, unknowingly clasping both of his hands together in the same fashion.

The man then began speaking with a strong German accent.

"We give our thanks to the lord for the food in front of us."

The little children repeated after him. Then, the man continued with a small smile hidden behind his clasped hands.

"We also thank him for our guest tonight."

The little children turned to look at him and repeated after their old man.

"We also thank him for our guest tonight." Sang out a chorus of immature voices.

"Amen." He softly proclaimed.

"Amen!" The children excitedly shouted.

'Amen.' Adam quietly mouthed.

As soon as those magic words were spoken it seemed to trigger a mental switch in the father and his children as the ravenously dug into their dish, almost to the point of throwing aside all etiquette, almost.

The plate sat in front of Adam, untouched.

"Why?" He softly asked the man.

The man quizzically looked at Adam through the mountain of food on his plate.

"Why would you allow a stranger to dine in your table, under your own roof?" Adam continued.

The man smiled, displaying the choice selection of meat hammered in-between his teeth.

"Let me tell you a story, young man. For the past month a hunter and his family had to survive on a subsistence diet, going through many hardships as a result of a long winter. One day, he finds an elderly white elk laying down upon a snowy prairie. The elderly white elk notices the hunter, it understands the killing intent the hunter holds for it. However, the white elk didn't prance away from its would be killer, it instead lowered it's head, showing the veins upon it's neck to the hunter."

The man stopped eating by this point, looking at Adam as he continued the story.

"The white elk was giving it's life to the hunter, willingly. In disbelief, the hunter quickly slashed the elks neck and covered the corpse in a cloth to drag it home. But, instead of heading home and avoiding predators that would have smelt the blood, he decided to fall on his knees beside the corpse of the elk and go into prayer."

"He thanked the lord and the soul of the dead elk for feeding himself and his children, he apologised for taking it's life and reassured the lord that he wouldn't sell corpse off but use it to strictly feed himself and his family. He was ending his prayer when he felt a solemn voice speak in his ear. 'Karl' it said, 'Your family has gone through much hardship, they should eat the entirety of the elk by today and let all strangers who knock upon your door partake in the feast as well.'

The man finished speaking and went back to eating without abandon, leaving Adam to his own devices.

After the dinner, Adam was making his way outside when the man stopped him.

"Young man, if it doesn't trouble you much you can stay here for the evening. However, we regretfully can't allow you to stay the night-"

The man was still speaking when one of his kids interrupted him.

"What about Ma's room, Pa?"

At the mention of his wife, the man seemed to stiffen up.

Adam didn't mind, he made his way out and thanked the family for letting him dine with them.

Closing the door behind him, Adam could hear sorrowful sobbing behind the oaken door.

Sobbing which would be easily explained by a carefully tended gravestone by the back of the lodge, a gravestone which simply stated.

'My wife, and mother to my three children.'

Adam made his way from the friendly hunting lodge and continued down the road with a full red moon shining overhead.

...

Karl was sobbing in the dining room, in front of his three children.

All of his life he had been a good man and devout Christian.

He visited the church in town every Sunday and never missed an opportunity to donate to the church what his measly earnings could afford.

His upright lifestyle eventually led him to marrying a beautiful and clever woman, and eventually starting his own family in the outskirts of the village.

However, for all that he wanted to be a good man, he was cursed since birth.

At first, the curse had taken away his parents and all of his sibling.

As things progressed, he was forced to live in the outskirts in the village for fear that the others would find out about his curse.

His whole life, he thought he could contain it, keep it under control.

All until that fateful night six months ago, the curse took his beloved.

Ever since then, he prayed to the lord every day to find out an answer to stop this curse.

Never had he given Karl a sign, not once.

Until this morning.

He told the stranger that knocked on their door the first part of his conversation with god, but he concealed the rest.

He asked him to leave after partaking in their own little feast because he didn't want him to get caught up with this.

He still remembered the exact words spoken to him.

'...partake in the feast until then, but do not let them dwell, lest they be caught up in the inevitable tragedy that shall take place after your last supper.'

The hollow and solemn words echoed out in his mind, clouding his thoughts.

His children behind him were finishing the last of the food on the table, the last of the food left within the household as he looked out of the window.

Outside the window, looking to the starts, lay suspended a grand red sphere. A crimson red moon. A peasant would call it witchery, an astrologer would proclaim it a foreboding omen and a learned man would dismiss it as mere superstition on natural phenomena. However, the red light which flooded through the window seemed to enter through his every pore, changing his rationality and building up in his core.

It formed, quickly manifesting into something which escaped through his windpipe.

And then, it was let loose.

*Aaaaoooooouuuuuuu!*