Chapter 29
twenty-nine
-Ares-
It’s the first time I’m not actively playing in the game. Well, I couldn’t help myself from slashing through a few of the staff at the hospital as I went after Ezekiel.
I always give everyone a five-minute head start, not that they ever use it to their advantage.
The fools are always too busy killing each other, instead of running from the real danger—me.
But now my target’s very clear, and Ezekiel has been informed by my men that, even though he wears white, he’s got a mark on his back.
That made him run, and crawl, and beg for this fucking life, like the pathetic loser he is.
And I fucking love that. I love hearing him beg, knowing his pleas are worthless.
I love sensing his fear because this is my greatest gift, my greatest turn on—hearing people's fears.
But his… I swear, hearing his fear, sensing it, drives my senses to a whole different height.
Sharp enough to catch it through all the noise in the asylum, even if I can hear them all cry, all hopelessly waiting for salvation.
Their victims never found salvation.
And neither will they.
As much as I’d love to hear my sword ripping through his flesh, I want to drag this moment out, forever. I want his suffering to reach new heights.
I take my time, checking every room and making sure the bastard knows I am on his trail.
I start from the ground floor and work my way up.
That’s where my guards released him, but he must’ve bolted, sensing the danger.
I can’t help but sink my blade into one of the male nurses—or whatever the fuck his job was.
All I know is that I almost split him in half and left him for dead in the middle of the hallway, with a few minutes left for him to struggle.
The wound caused enough damage for him not to live through it.
Just enough to make him live through the horror of his final moments.
I do the same as I reach the first floor, catching glimpses of one of the doctors crawling to hide in one of the patients’ rooms. I’m vibrating with the urge to go after him and make sure his pain reaches new heights, but just as I’m a few feet away from the door, a player bursts out from a room across the hall and charges straight for the doctor.
Sure, it robs me of the kill, but right now, nothing compares to the thrill of hunting Ezekiel.
Truth is, I haven’t been this eager to kill someone since the Greek wars.
The only difference—back then, I was facing the greatest warriors of all time.
Now I’m only hunting a coward who drugs women to abuse them.
I can’t even let myself go there. The hate bubbling within, the urge for revenge, the unstoppable lust to kill, would make me burn this place to the ground with everyone still here.
And that’d be too easy.
No. I want him to suffer, and the more I close in on him, the more I realize death would be a mercy.
That’s exactly why I have much darker plans for him.
I’ve got the devil's blood running through my veins; making people suffer is my second nature. But what I’m about to do to him could rival the grossest horror movie ever made.
My bloodlust is peaking, so I slash through a few contestants and the sanatorium staff members, hoping I can keep it at bay—at least until I catch him.
I don’t even know when I passed from the second floor to the third, and if I’d taken one second longer, I would’ve missed him.
But I just noticed him running to hide in one of the rooms.
It should be too easy. I follow, but when I step in, it looks like no one is in here.
There’s a built-in wardrobe and two stacked bunk beds—practically prison-issue. This room is meant only for patients with a low risk of suicide or self-harm.
There isn’t much space to hide, so I yank open the wardrobe door, and a few clothes flutter from the movement. But there’s no sign of Ezekiel.
Rage simmers through me as I tear the clothes down and throw them on the floor. The closet’s empty, but I know I saw him come into this room.
My eyes go to the beds—nothing unusual, no sign of anyone being here.
But then I realize... he’s found the perfect hiding spot.
Drawing my sword, I lie on the bottom bunk and stab it upward, right where the metal frame meets the wall.
A cry fills the space, and I swear, it’s the sound I’ve anticipated most in my entire life.
Hearing him cry, hearing him suffer as I strip him of everything he has.
His self-control, his pride, his very will to live.
The bastard was wedged in the small space between the mattress and the wall, thinking I wouldn’t see him.
Truth is, most contestants wouldn’t have found him here. The place looks too... in plain sight, for anyone to search there. But luck isn’t something he should gamble on when it comes to me.
I always hold all the cards.
He screams, and I leap out of the bed, drag the beds from the wall, and hear him crash to the floor.
The snap of at least one broken bone puts a grin on my face. But it only makes me want more, so I shove the bunk against him, crushing him between the metal frame and the wall. Then I pull it back and slam it again, barely stopping myself from ending him right there.
I don’t even know how I find the patience to let him recover, but the moment he does, I gesture for him to fucking run.
He stares at me, eyes wide with disbelief. He doesn’t understand why I’d do this. Why I don’t end him right now. I don’t either. But I do know that I want my revenge to be something epic.
It takes him a whole fucking minute to stand, and I’m this close to losing my patience. But he finally realizes this is the only chance he’s got.
Fear rushes through his veins, combined with adrenaline, and sends him sprinting past me, through the door, then down the hallway.
I smile, knowing the game has resumed, and seeing him take a route I would’ve loved to explore. The attic.
The whole space is completely different from the rest of the building.
The lower floors are somewhat organized, with rooms to the left and right of each corridor, and just a few storage closets or doctors' offices that don’t break the pattern.
The building is pretty predictable. Normally, I wouldn’t have chosen something this easy for Kharon.
I prefer buildings with more architectural challenge, but Elmbrook it’s not about the structure.
It’s about what happened here. And who it happened to.
At least the attic breaks the pattern. This section is a maze of rooms and hallways that make no sense.
You go from one room to another, then into a hallway, then a dozen other different storage spaces, or old staff quarters, maybe even old isolation rooms where the mentally unstable would be locked away.
It’s the perfect playground, and this particular Rat has come here to spice things up.
I advance slowly through the rooms, hearing the fears in a few bastards that are hiding behind piles of useless junk and old furniture.
Maybe I’ll come for them later, if they’re still breathing.
But right now, I’m enjoying the chase. Finally, something interesting happens.
I step on a few dead bodies. Not all rooms are lit.
The facility is over a hundred years old, so the wiring barely works.
That makes some of the rooms nearly pitch black.
But I know he’s close, I can feel him, even though I’m not in a hurry.
I want to prolong his agony. I want to feast on his fear. For him to know, I’m still hunting him.
I step into an old medical storage unit.
The piles of boxes are so high, it’s hard to even tell what the room was meant for.
But I pick up the endorphins. The strongest hormone in your body that helps you fight the pain, almost numbing it until the danger passes.
They are somehow nature’s painkillers, built to make you fight for your life, even if you’re already half-dead.
I focus, getting his exact location. The bastard’s hiding in a pile of old bedsheets. I should let him rot there for a little longer—because that’s the real punishment. Crawling between someone else’s old shit and dried-up blood.
But it’s time to get some new blood on them.
“Heads… or tails?” I ask, spearing the sheets and waiting to see where I strike.
Am I unlucky enough to hit his heart and finish the game too soon? Maybe I just snagged an eyeball. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve pulled one off my blade.
A long shriek rips through the room as soon as my sword hits flesh, and the sheets begin to writhe.
I take a step back before the urge to pierce him again overwhelms me.
I’m just waiting for the grand reveal—to see where I got him, and if he can still crawl out from the sheets.
It takes him a while to shake off the fabric, but as soon as he succeeds, he sprints to the opposite corner of the room, heading to the door.
Feet shaking, and blood curling on the tip of his fingers.
His left arm is barely hanging on his body, and luck is on my side again because I didn’t get his chest or his legs, and he can still run.
I give him a few minutes’ head start. Just to make things more interesting.
It’s easy enough as it is, and I feel there’s nothing left for me to do here, once I’m finished with him.
I slowly make my way through a few more bodies, the floor shrieking under my heavy steps, the old wood threatening to snap under my weight.
The place hasn’t been renovated in over a century, at least not the attic, judging by the decking walls and piles of junk sitting around here.
I walk, following the trail of Ezekiel’s blood, taking my time, enjoying each second. I can hear footsteps behind me. Someone is on my trail. No one important, but I do turn to check it out anyway.