SCREAM!!!

4. Round two

The acrid stench of burnt flesh lingered in Cedric’s nostrils, thick and suffocating, clinging to every breath. It was metallic and sweet at the same time, curling up his throat and making him gag. Every blink brought it back: the flare of light from the doll’s eyes, the screams, the bodies shattering into shards that rained like broken glass over the crimson soil.

Red Light, Dead Light. The first game. The first massacre.

The survivors were scattered across the field like broken toys, their faces pale, their bodies trembling. Some were sobbing, pressing hands to their faces; others stared blankly at the scorched ground, as if the horror behind them hadn’t happened but might return any second. Kevin stood beside Cedric, white-knuckled, every muscle in his body taut with terror.

“Cedric…” Kevin’s voice was a whisper, hoarse, barely audible over the ringing silence in Cedric’s ears. “We… we survived…”

Cedric didn’t respond. Words felt meaningless. He could still see Daniel, the boy from their grade, frozen mid-stride, shards of him scattering into the red dirt like fragments of a shattered mirror. The smell of ozone and burnt metal burned in his nostrils, making his eyes water.

Other survivors wailed for friends who weren’t there, some dropping to their knees, clutching shoes, backpacks, anything to make the emptiness tangible. Panic had seeped into every corner, making the air thick with despair.

Cedric pressed his back against a charred stump of one of the blackened skeletal trees, his hands shaking violently. His mind refused to process what he had just witnessed. He had drawn it. Every detail, every horrific scenario in Red Light, Dead Light, had come from his sketchbook — his imagination made flesh, alive and cruel.

And now everyone around him was paying the price.

---

A ripple ran through the air. The soil beneath their feet shimmered faintly, glowing like veins of molten glass. Cedric’s stomach dropped as masked men appeared from the shifting horizon, moving like living shadows. Tall, impossibly thin, dressed in black suits, their faces hidden behind featureless white masks. They didn’t speak, didn’t blink. They simply moved in perfect, eerie unison, herding the survivors forward with silent authority.

Baran stepped through them, his presence commanding, untouchable. He surveyed the field like a painter inspecting a canvas, dark eyes scanning the terrified students. His coat fluttered in the wind that seemed to obey only him. Cedric could barely breathe. Every instinct screamed at him to attack, to run, to tear through the faceless men—but he couldn’t. Baran’s gaze pinned him, soft yet terrifyingly authoritative, as if his will alone could bend reality.

“Survivors,” Baran said, his voice calm, smooth, and hypnotic. “You have done well for your first trial. You are still breathing. That counts for something.”

A senior boy, face pale and streaked with tears, stepped forward. “You… you killed them! You killed everyone!” he shouted, voice cracking with rage and despair.

Baran’s expression didn’t change. “The game killed them. I merely set the stage.”

The boy lunged. A masked man stepped forward, gloved hand brushing the boy’s chest. In an instant, his body went rigid, then shattered into glowing shards, scattering across the crimson soil. Screams erupted from the crowd.

Cedric’s stomach churned violently. He felt bile rise as his hands trembled, and his chest tightened. He wanted to look away, to disappear, but his eyes were fixed on the horror.

Baran’s voice floated over them again. “Violence outside the rules will not be tolerated. Please, return to your quarters. You will need rest before the next game.”

---

The masked men moved silently, herding the survivors toward what had once been the school. But it wasn’t a school anymore. The walls had shifted into smooth white panels, glowing faintly as though light itself pulsed beneath their skin. The familiar structure had been replaced with something alien—futuristic, clinical, wrong. Doorways stretched unnaturally into glowing arches. The windows had vanished. Everything looked unreal, like a distorted memory of what the school had once been.

Cedric stumbled through the halls, Kevin close behind, both of them trembling. Long corridors stretched endlessly, with silver partitions sliding open to reveal rooms. Each one was identical: empty, metallic, cold, with no windows, no doors, no phones. No escape.

They were ushered into one such room. The door sealed behind them with a hiss, leaving them isolated. Cedric pressed his forehead to the wall, hands trembling. The muffled cries from other rooms seeped through the partitions — pounding, screaming, sobbing.

Kevin sank to the floor, shaking. “I… I can’t believe this. This can’t be real.”

Cedric’s chest ached. Every nerve in his body was on fire. “It’s real,” he said quietly, voice breaking. “It’s… my fault.”

Kevin stared at him. “Your… fault? What do you mean?”

Cedric’s fingers dug into his own arms. “This is… everything I drew. My comic, my notebook… It’s real now. I—I threw the book away, and… and this is what happened.”

Kevin’s eyes widened. “Wait… you mean… you made this?”

Cedric nodded, silent tears burning his eyes. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, suffocating. Hundreds of lives had already ended because of his imagination, because his thoughts had crossed into this world. His chest twisted with guilt and horror.

A metallic hum ran through the walls, vibrating into their bones. The light dimmed, pulsing like a heartbeat. Cedric felt nauseous. His own panic and fear were reflected in the environment itself — shadows dancing along the walls, surfaces rippling slightly as if aware of his thoughts.

He realized then that the world reacted to him. Every fear, every hesitation, every flicker of guilt or despair — it was alive.

“Cedric…” Kevin whispered. “What do we do? How do we survive?”

Cedric swallowed, dry and hoarse. “We… we keep moving. We obey. We… play their game.”

But even as he said it, his stomach twisted with anger and fear. This shouldn’t be happening. This isn’t real. But it is.

The room shivered again, and the walls pulsed brighter. A doorway opened at the far end, glowing faintly, inviting — or taunting. A distorted echo of Baran’s voice filled the space.

“Rest while you can, survivors. The next challenge awaits. Only the clever, the ruthless, and the lucky will survive. Failure… is death.”

The words wrapped around Cedric’s mind like steel bands. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. “I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered. “I didn’t ask for any of this…”

Kevin gripped his shoulder. “You’re going to get us through this, Cedric. You have to.”

Cedric didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was already imagining the horrors of the next game, the traps, the fear, the screams. He could feel it building, the adrenaline coiling in his gut like a living thing.

Outside, the air shifted again. The red sky burned brighter, and from the windows that weren’t windows, he could see new structures rising — towering steel spires, twisting like serpents, each one glowing ominously. Somewhere deep in the distance, faint screams carried across the horizon.

Cedric wrapped his arms around himself, trying to hold back the fear, the guilt, the growing realization: they had survived Round One, but the game was far from over. And it was just getting started.

He looked at Kevin, saw the raw terror etched on his friend’s face, and felt a chill stab his heart. Hundreds of people trapped in impossible rooms, the walls breathing, the world alive, and above it all, Baran, watching, waiting, amused.

Cedric’s lips pressed together in a thin line. He wasn’t just a player. He was the creator. And every choice he made now could mean life… or death.

The air trembled. A low hum, like the heartbeat of the world itself. Cedric swallowed hard.

“Round Two,” he whispered to himself. “It’s coming.”

And somewhere, deep in the crimson horizon, he could feel it — the thrill, the terror, the blood-soaked promise of what was yet to come.