Guess I better do sothing, he thought, heading toward the nearest wall.
He wiped away dust with a towel from his backpack, revealing nothing but more stone.
Minutes ticked by with no progress.
One of the hunters even attempted to push the doors open again, but they wouldn't budge.
Frustration began to spread like wildfire.
Are we trapped here... forever?
The pressure mounted on Dede as the group bombarded him with questions he had no answers to.
Tension snapped when a hunter, clad in iron armor stord up to him, sword drawn, and started shouting accusations.
Timothy could barely make out the Igbo curses being thrown around, enough to tell things were getting heated.
He tuned out, until he heard the sound.
SLASH.
Everyone fell silent.
Blood dripped to the ground.
Mr. Cyril stood with his sword still humming faintly with blue energy.
A clean cut marked the hot-headed knight's arm, just below his ear.
Cyril's voice was ice-cold.
"You were the first to jump at the chance to explore, and now you're blaming others? This is your second warning. There won't be a third."
Timothy shivered.
He had learned to trust his instincts over two years, but Cyril? Ten years in this job had turned him into sothing else
"I... I understand," the knight muttered, stepping back and sheathing his sword.
Dede, previously standing tall, now subtly hid behind Cyril.
Whispers spread, rumors of Cyril being close to C-rank.
If that were true, his sword wouldn't just shimr with mana but carry the force of his wind elent.
Right now, it was rely a Mana Blade, a lesser skill.
Cyril scanned the crowd, his gaze sharp.
"We have two options: keep searching for an exit or wait for the association to realize sothing's wrong and co for us. We don't know when that'll be, so ration what you have."
His tone left no room for argunt.
Hunters who had been panicking monts ago now nodded obediently.
"I've got so snacks," one offered hesitantly.
"I have water!" a girl piped up.
Slowly, they began pooling resources, distributing supplies to keep morale up.
anwhile, Miriam, the healer, was tending to the wounded knight.
Timothy overheard Cyril addressing her by na.
'Miriam, huh? Maybe I should try to befriend her when we get out of here.'
Suddenly, Miriam called for Cyril, her voice laced with concern.
The knight's wound... wasn't healing.
Instead, the bleeding intensified.
Confusion rippled through the group.
A shallow cut shouldn't be this serious.
Timothy, however, wasn't looking at the injury.
His eyes were locked on the shadows behind the wounded knight.
"Blood..." he murmured, then shouted
"Everyone, back away!"
Acting on instinct, he lunged forward, grabbing Miriam by the waist and dragging her backward.
And that's when they saw it.
Sothing was lurking behind the knight.
...
Timothy's attempt to pull Miriam back had been far less impressive than he imagined in his head.
She was a D-rank hunter, after all, and barely needed his help.
Still, she took the hint and instinctively leaped back, landing gracefully beside him.
The rest of the group stood frozen, their eyes locked on the trembling figure of the armored hunter sitting on the floor.
He was too terrified to turn around, but their gazes fixated on the growing pool of blood behind him, drawn unnaturally toward the center of the hall.
What had once been an empty, featureless space now seed to mold itself to accommodate the crimson liquid.
"Healers! Can't you stop the bleeding?" Cyril barked, his usual calm cracking under the pressure.
Four healers stepped forward cautiously, Miriam among them.
They stretched out their hands, channeling their mana from a safe distance while other hunters stood guard.
But the bleeding didn't stop.
In fact, it worsened.
The knight's skin paled rapidly.
"He's going to die if you don't do sothing!" Cyril snapped.
One of the male healers responded,
"We're only D-rank. This is beyond us."
"We have to conserve mana," another added.
"We don't know what else we'll face."
A tense silence followed.
"So, we just let him die?!" Miriam's voice cut through the air, filled with frustration.
No one answered.
Even Cyril, despite his commanding presence, had maintained a wary distance from the wounded man.
Timothy realized, with a sinking feeling, that deep down, self-preservation overruled all else.
The bleeding finally slowed, but the knight was a re shell of himself now, gaunt and muttering incoherently under his breath.
Suddenly, the pool of blood trembled.
Slush.
The ground shifted, and several hunters lost their balance as the blood drained into a growing network of channels that spread like veins across the floor.
"Is that it?" Magnificent asked in his deep voice.
Slush.
The blood snaked its way across the hall, forming a larger pattern that stretched toward one of the walls.
A collective breath was held as the ominous drawing took shape.
"You just had to jinx it!" soone muttered toward Magnificent.
The intricate pattern on the ground was detailed, too detailed.
Timothy squinted but could only make out fragnts.
The fine lines of an insect's wings, spindly legs...
"Anyone recognize this?" he muttered.
"It's a mosquito," a voice suddenly called out.
Everyone turned.
Two scouts stood stacked on top of each other for a better view.
Timothy now realized they were twins.
"A mosquito?" Dede asked, stepping closer.
"Yeah," the boy perched on his brother's shoulders confird.
"Look closely at the wings and legs. It's an oversized mosquito."
Despite their skepticism, the details were undeniable.
The grotesque image sprawled across the floor depicted a monstrous mosquito, standing unnervingly upright, almost human-like.
Its steel-cable-thin legs twisted into sharp angles, each ending in a hooked claw.
The wings, veined and translucent, seed to pulse unnaturally with the residual blood.
The compound eyes, carved with eerie precision, reflected distorted versions of the hunters standing around it.
The proboscis jutted forward, exuding an air of nace, while its swollen thorax and bloated abdon gave the illusion of pulsating hunger.
It looked too real.
The longer they stared, the more it seed to breathe... to watch them.
A faint glow radiated from the carving, hypnotizing them with its haunting presence.
No one noticed when, behind them, movent stirred.
It wasn't until the blood drawing faded into the stone that they snapped out of their daze.
And that's when they saw it.
Statues.
Looming figures stood along the periter of the hall, silent, unmoving, and far too close for comfort.
No one had seen them appear.
The fear was imdiate and suffocating.
...
Under one of the towering statues knelt the hunter who should have been bleeding to death.
He shouldn't have been able to walk, shouldn't even be alive yet there he was, motionless beneath the looming figure.
The statue above him was massive and intricately carved, drawing gasps of admiration.
But when they recognized the familiar mosquito shape from the blood drawing, admiration quickly turned to dread.
Timothy scanned the hall, and a chilling realization settled over him.
Every statue was an insect.
He hurried over to the twin scouts.
"Tell you know what these statues are?"
"They're insects... arranged in the order of taxonomy," one of them replied calmly.
"aning we might've hit a jackpot!" soone exclaid.
"Yeah, the clues are right here. We just need to solve them," another chid in.
Timothy couldn't believe their casual attitudes.
Were they blind to the ominous air in the room?
Mr. Dede took charge. "Let's check on the kid first."
Cyril and a few others followed, while the rest remained behind, admiring the statues.
Timothy, however, stood at the center of the hall, tense.
"My father used to say... anything taken by blood demands repaynt in blood."
"That's a smart man," Matthew's voice ca from behind, along with his ever-present companion.
Timothy ignored him, his eyes never leaving the statues.
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"Everyone's acting like this is just another dungeon hazard, but sothing's wrong."
Matthew nodded.
"I feel the sa way. That's why until we get out, we should form a team."
Timothy hesitated but eventually agreed.
"Fine." They shook hands, and Timothy noticed how the others had already grouped up instinctively.
Suddenly—
"Ahhhh!!"
Cyril's scream shattered the tense atmosphere.
All eyes turned to see his severed left arm lying on the ground, along with the heads of two healers.
And standing over one of the headless bodies was Edward, the hunter who was supposed to be dead, smirking with a bloodied sword in hand.
Before anyone could react, flas ignited above the twelve statues, casting eerie shadows across the hall.
"Run!" Cyril roared, swinging his sword at Edward.
But before it could land, a massive stone hand blocked the strike.
The mosquito statue had moved.
Everyone paled.
Cyril and Miriam, who had been desperately trying to heal him, took cautious steps back.
Dede and the others ran, regrouping with the rest of the team.
They all stood frozen, watching as the giant mosquito statue lood over Cyril.
Its cold, lifeless eyes were locked onto him.
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