Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ ♰ ་༘࿐

Why?
Why did Taph starve?

The question looped endlessly, gnawing louder than the emptiness in her stomach. What sin had she committed that was so great it demanded her body rot alive?

The protestors outside never let her forget. Their fists rattled the doors, their voices pierced her walls like knives: murderer, traitor, monster. They shouted her name with venom. She pressed her palms to her ears, but still the words seeped in.

They didn’t know. They couldn’t.

Everything she did — the tripmines, the detonations, the collapsing houses — it had all been for recognition. For her place. For the work she believed mattered. She had erased “corrupted” games herself, swinging the ban hammer like a sword. She told herself it was duty. She told herself it was right.

But the screams outside drowned that out.

She became a prisoner in her own home. Curtains nailed shut, doors barricaded with broken furniture. The fridge was long empty. The cupboards held nothing but crumbs clinging to corners. Each day she withered smaller, her once-strong arms reduced to shaking sticks.

And in the end, desperation devoured her.

First it was her arms. She dug nails into her flesh, ripping away strips of skin with an almost ritualistic rhythm. The pain blurred into satisfaction — a sick, sharp relief. The only thing that felt like feeding.

Then it was her fingers. She bit down, hard enough to tear skin. Metallic tang filled her mouth as she chewed until her teeth ground against bone. She spat out chunks, then swallowed some, hating it, loving it, hating it. Blood slicked her skin, ran down to the floorboards in a sticky puddle. The house stank of iron, heavy and sour, making her lightheaded.

Some part of her enjoyed it. That horrified her most.

And yet her body betrayed her. The wounds didn’t clot. The blood poured and poured. Each heartbeat was weaker than the last. Her legs gave out and she collapsed on the red-soaked wood.

Her vision tunneled to black. The protestors’ voices outside faded. For the first time in years, her mind was silent.

She almost welcomed it.

When Taph opened her eyes again, it wasn’t to her blood-soaked floor.

The silence was gone. In its place came the muffled crackle of a fireplace, the faint murmur of voices, and the smell of smoke and wood. Her body was still cold — stiff like death — yet somehow she felt alive.

Slowly, she blinked. Her vision adjusted to the sudden change in light. She was no longer trapped in her house but in what looked like a rustic cabin. Wooden walls, narrow windows letting in pale light, and rough-hewn furniture scattered about.

Nine other people were here.

Their gazes turned to her the moment she stirred. Concern marked their faces, though she wasn’t bleeding anymore. Why did they look at her like she was broken? Like they already knew what she’d been through?

Her stomach tightened, gnawing at itself. Her whole body shook with the familiar hunger.

A man with striking blue hair was the first to step forward, cautious but kind. Two others followed close behind: a gray-skinned figure and a curly-haired man whose expression was more surprised than anything — brows raised, but not unkind.

“Another one?” the gray-skinned person muttered, as if Taph was just a package dropped on their doorstep.

“Hey, uh… are you ok?” the blue-haired man asked, crouching slightly so he wasn’t towering over her. His voice was softer than she expected.

Her hands lifted weakly. She tried to sign — Where am I? — but the tremors made her gestures sloppy and broken.

The three exchanged confused looks.

Except the curly-haired man. His eyes lit with recognition, and he quickly translated, his voice gentler than she expected: “She’s asking where she is.”

Taph let out a shaky breath of relief. At least one person understood. But the tremor in her arms was too much. She hated how frail she looked.

A faint glow sparked above her head — text bubbles forming on their own. Words written in symbols, flickering like light. She tensed at their appearance, loathing this other way of speaking.

“❓👉🫵” (Who are you?)

The gray-skinned man grinned wide. “This one’s the fatass,” he said, pointing at the curly-haired man.

“This one is Mr. Soldier Boy.” He jabbed a thumb toward the blue-haired man.

“And I’M the cool one!” He smirked, thumb pointing to his own chest like a self-proclaimed champion.

“CHANCE!” the curly-haired man snapped, punching him in the arm.

“Chill, dude! It was just a joke!”

The blue-haired man exhaled, weary. “Don’t mind Chance. I’m Guest 1337, and that’s Shedletsky.” He gestured to the curly-haired man, who gave a small wave, still watching Taph with a mix of surprise and concern.

Taph blinked, her thoughts flickering. A Guest? It had been so long since she’d seen one. For a moment, a strange nostalgia surfaced.

Guest crouched closer, his hand extended. “Now, we only have about an hour until the next round, but I think we can help you get sorted out.”

Hesitantly, Taph reached for him. Her grip was weak; she barely managed to keep herself upright as he pulled her to her feet. Her tail — sharp, drill-like — instinctively coiled around her leg, as if to shield itself from strangers.

Guest led her through the cabin, showing her the common room, the doors to other cabins, the meager supplies stacked in corners. Introductions came in fragments. Some faces looked familiar — too familiar. She realized with a sick twist in her stomach that she knew some of them.

She remembered the rubble of their homes. She had destroyed what they built, reduced their worlds to dust. Was this where they’d ended up?

And among them were figures everyone knew: Shedletsky, Builderman, Dusekkar. Admins. Names spoken with awe.

Her skin prickled under their gazes.

When Guest finished, only two minutes remained. He started to leave when a new bubble flickered into being above Taph’s head:

“❓👉🏁” (What are ‘rounds’?)

Guest froze. His face fell. “Oh. Did I never tell you?”

“❌” (No.)

He looked ashamed, eyes averted. “Well… we’re taken to a ‘map.’ One of the five killers is sent after us. And… they kill us.” His voice cracked with the weight of repetition. The horror was no longer shocking to him — it was routine.

The words lodged in her chest like ice. Killers? Why was she brought here? She could barely walk, let alone run.

Another bubble formed, trembling as if it shared her fear:

“🤲🕛💀❓” (What happens after we die?)

Guest hesitated. His shoulders slumped. “…We get sent back here. Then it repeats.”

The thought hollowed her out. Punishment. Endless.

Before she could form another bubble, her body jolted. The cabin blurred. Everyone around her shimmered with sudden light.

She was being pulled away.

The round had begun.

The cabin dissolved around Taph in a flash of static. For a moment there was only a weightless silence, then her body slammed back into existence.

When her eyes adjusted, she realized she wasn’t in her house, nor the cabin.

It was a hotel—but not like any she had ever seen.

The walls flickered between clean plaster and glitching code, textures tearing into each other like stitched skin. Every hallway felt wrong, as though they had been rearranged by someone who had never seen a building before. She turned a corner and found herself in a bedroom, turned another and stepped into a play area, plastic ball pit and all. Farther down, a hallway stretched into the grotesque grin of a clown face painted across an arched doorway.

The air reeked faintly of mold and something sweet, like spoiled candy.

And she was alone.

No Shedletsky, no Guest, no Chance. Survivors split up when the rounds began—sometimes a Sentinel like Two Time or Guest might stun the killer, or a Support like Elliot or Builderman might heal with their strange relics. But there was no one at her side now. Just her, thin legs trembling, stomach clenching with hunger so violent she could hear her heartbeat echo in her ears.

Her gaze darted ahead. Something slumped against the floor.

A body.

It was 007n7. His torso twisted unnaturally, head lolling to the side. His avatar glitched faintly at the edges, a corpse rendered half-corrupted.

Taph’s breath hitched—yet instead of fear, hunger clenched sharper. She wanted to fall upon him, rip his flesh from his bones, chew until warmth filled her stomach again. Her mouth watered as saliva pooled behind her teeth. She staggered forward one step—

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the warped halls.

Taph froze. Her eyes dragged upward as a shadow stretched across the wall.

The killer.

He was enormous, his frame stretched beyond human shape, with one arm twisted into a grotesque spear of corrupted code. His face was blank, no emotion besides a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His movements weren’t his own. They were too stiff, too unnatural, like a puppet dragged on invisible strings.

John Doe.

Her body screamed to run. Her legs did not obey.

By the time she turned a corner, the killer was already upon her. The corrupted arm lashed forward, piercing straight through her thin torso. She gagged as hot blood spilled from her mouth. Pain swallowed her whole. The timer burned in her skull—57:28… 57:27… 57:26. Then it jumped upward—+10 minutes.

A gift of torment.

Her vision went black.

And then—

She was back in the cabin.

The others were alive again. 007n7 sat slumped on the couch with his head in his hands, shame etched into every line of his face. His body was whole again, as though his death hadn’t happened.

But Taph couldn’t look at him for long. Hunger tore through her like knives. She nearly lunged, nearly imagined his guts spilling across the cabin floor again. Instead she staggered toward the door and slipped out, slamming her own cabin door shut behind her.

She collapsed into the blanket on the bed, curling tight as if she could squeeze her hunger out of existence. Her chest still ached where John Doe’s corrupted arm had speared her.

This was hell.
This was punishment.
But still she thought to herself—I only wanted help.

Hours blurred together. Hunger gnawed at her insides until her hands trembled constantly, and her jaw ached from grinding her teeth.

But she was learning.

Every round revealed new pieces of the nightmare. Survivors rarely clung together—splitting up was safer, even if it left them vulnerable. Sometimes a Sentinel like Guest 1337 or Two Time could buy seconds of life by stunning the killer with relics of power. Other times, a Support like Elliot would slip a greasy slice of conjured pizza into your hand, or Builderman would set up turret-like machines, or Dusekkar would cast his strange protective rites. But more often than not… you were alone.

Alone with them.

The killers.

She heard their names whispered like curses around the fire in the cabin:

• Slasher, a mute brute who relied on raw strength.
  
  
• C00lkidd, warped and stretched into a monstrous child, his laughter always about tag.
  
  
• John Doe, voiceless, his body dragged like a marionette by The Spectre.
  
  
• Noli, the jester god with a glitched laugh and a body half-rotting, half-void.
  
  
• And the last—one the survivors spoke of with a mix of hatred and fear—1x1x1x1.
  
  

The description alone sent shivers down her spine. A torso glowing neon green, bones black as obsidian. Hair pale and long, eyes glowing red, a silhouette of wrath. Some swore she despised everyone, especially Shedletsky.

When the round began again, Taph found herself dropped into a place the others called Glass Houses. The air shimmered strangely, structures of transparent panes reflecting the pale sky. It was awful for hiding—open spaces broken only by a few pillars and the gleaming glass towers.

Taph moved carefully, every step weighed down by her fragile body. She had found a generator tucked into one corner and worked it with fumbling hands. Sparks flicked across her fingers. When the machine groaned to life, the timer in her head ticked down—58:14 → 57:14. Only one minute shaved off for all that effort.

Her shoulders sagged. One minute. That’s all?

Then she saw her.

At first, it was just a flicker of shadow across glass. Then the killer stepped into view.

1x1x1x1.

The others had spoken of a monster. But to Taph’s starving eyes, she was something else entirely.

Her long white hair was pulled into a rough ponytail, strands catching the sterile light. Bandages clung to her arms and torso, not just covering wounds but holding something darker beneath—secrets wrapped in cloth. Her ears were fin-like, her tail sleek and strange, as though carved from the code of the void. And her eyes…

Her eyes were perfect. Piercing, furious, red as blood under neon light.

Taph’s chest tightened. She couldn’t move. Her own drill-like tail swished behind her, wagging like an eager dog’s.

A hiss cut through the silence. A projectile of glowing poison shot from 1x’s swords and smashed into Taph’s ribs, throwing her against a glass wall. Pain tore through her chest, the poison searing into her veins.

But she barely felt it.

Because 1x was looking at her.

Taph stayed on the ground, trembling but refusing to crawl away. She didn’t even try. Her tail wagged harder, absurd joy flooding her at the sight of 1x’s attention.

1x’s face was unreadable. Hidden in shadows. Untouchable.

Taph wanted to say something—anything—but her chest erupted with pain as a sword tore through her. Blood spread across her scarf, hot and sticky.

Her tail wagged slower now. But it still wagged.

And then she was gone.

Back in the cabin.

The others didn’t look at her. Or maybe they did, with their silent judgments. But she didn’t care. For the first time since her starvation death, she felt a flicker of joy.

Maybe this hell wasn’t hell after all.

Time warped in Forsaken. What felt like hours stretched into days, then weeks. There was no sun, no seasons, only the ticking timer and the burning hunger that never left Taph’s stomach.

Three weeks. Three weeks of being torn apart and stitched back together. Three weeks of suffocating silence broken only by screams during rounds. Three weeks of trying—and failing—to ignore the pull in her chest whenever 1x appeared.

Each time 1x was chosen as killer, Taph let herself be caught. She didn’t fight, didn’t run, didn’t scream. She stood still, tail wagging faintly, drinking in every second of red-eyed attention before the blade sank into her chest.

The others noticed.

Chance whispered to Elliot, Noob shook her head when Taph staggered back from yet another round smiling faintly through her blood-soaked scarf. Even Shedletsky—who usually cracked jokes through anything—fell quiet when he watched her. But none of them said it aloud. They had their own sins. Their own ways of coping.

Still, their stares followed her.

She tried distracting herself with her tools. Somehow, the subspace tripmines and tripwires she had used in life had followed her here. The others wielded their relics selflessly—Elliot offering food, Shedletsky stunning killers with his sword, Builderman building sentries and dispensers. Taph used hers differently.

She would corner herself in some out-of-the-way spot and lay her traps like a cocoon, a protective cage of purple sparks. If killers came near, the mines exploded, a futile attempt at protection. Sometimes it worked. More often, it didn’t. C00lkidd had once walked straight through the detonations, his wide grin glowing as if fire were nothing.

But still she tried.

And still she waited.

Another round began. Static swallowed the cabin and spat them out into a new map.

Taph’s head rang with the timer. 59:59.

This time, she knew it was 1x. She could feel it. Her chest tightened, her tail swayed with restless anticipation.

She found her almost immediately. The killer’s tall form cut through the chaos, long ponytail swinging as her blades carved survivors apart. One by one, they fell—Elliot, Chance, 007n7, Shedletsky, Builderman. Each time, Taph stayed in the shadows, watching, her breaths shallow and fast.

Until she was the last.

The timer in her head screamed: 15:00.

1x turned slowly toward her. Their piercing red eyes locked with hers.

Her tail wagged. She could barely breathe.

“You,” 1x said, voice sharp as glass, “you’re the bomber, correct?”

Taph nodded quickly, almost eagerly.

1x stared at her, silent for a beat too long. Her heart thundered. Look at me. Please, just look at me.

“Why do you enjoy death?”

The words sliced through the air like another blade.

For a moment, Taph froze. Normally she would summon a text bubble—little glowing symbols above her head—but something in her resisted. This was different. She was different.

Her shaking hands lifted. Slowly, carefully, she signed:

because it is you who kills me.

For a long, crushing silence, 1x just looked at her. The fire in her eyes didn’t soften—it blazed harsher.

“Disgusting.”

The word hit harder than the poison blade that followed. Taph’s body jolted, pain exploding as steel pierced her chest. Blood poured down, soaking her scarf. Her tail wagged weakly, betraying her even as her body failed.

1x grabbed her head, tilting it so their eyes met. Red bore into shadowed purple.

For a heartbeat, it felt like eternity.

And then it ended.

Darkness claimed her.

The cabin welcomed her back again.

But the word lingered.

Disgusting.

ــــــــــــﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ♡ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1x couldn’t remember how long she had been in this realm.
Months? Years? Time meant nothing here.

The only thing that mattered was the killing.

She had been reshaped by this place, her body bent into something unnatural, her mind twisted sharper than the blades she carried. The child who once wept under false accusations was gone. In her place stood something that made the lies look tame.

The dock had become her haunt, her ritual place between hunts. She sat there now, legs hanging just above the black water, sharpening her Daemonshanks until sparks flickered faintly off the steel.

The steady scrape of metal on stone was broken by a voice.

“AUNTY 1X!!!”

A blur slammed into her back. She barely flinched, though the hug was sudden.

“Hello, C00lkidd.” Her tone was flat, but not unkind. She kept sharpening.

“Guess what!!” He bounded into the empty space beside her, grinning like a child showing off a secret toy.

“What?”

“There’s a new playmate!!!” His giggle rang too loud against the lake’s silence.

She finally glanced his way, one brow twitching upward. “Oh, really?”

It had been a while since a new survivor stumbled into Forsaken. Her interest piqued despite herself.

“Yeah! They had like these robes on, and some really cool horns and a tail! Their tail was like a drill, it was really cool!” His hands spun wildly in the air, reenacting what he’d seen.

“Did they have any abilities?” she asked, trying to mask her curiosity with practicality.

“I think? They didn’t use any, and I got them pretty quick!! They were soooo slow.” He laughed again, bouncing where he sat.

Her jaw tightened. Slowness wasn’t a weakness forever. It meant patience, waiting, learning. This one needed watching.

C00lkidd rambled on, story after story of his “tag” games, half gory and half ridiculous. She listened in fragments, the rest of her mind wandering back to that description: robes, horns, a tail.

Hours later, it was her turn.

The static shuddered, dragging her into the map. The timer began. 59:59.

She moved through the halls like a storm. Her gaze immediately caught Two Time, dagger gleaming. She lunged—only to be struck in the back. Pain flared. By the time she rose, Two Time had vanished. She hissed in frustration, scanning.

And then she saw it.

The new one.

Just as C00lkidd had described: black and gold robes, edges frayed; a scarf tied too neatly, concealing everything but shadow; small horns peeking under the hood; a drill-tail wagging faintly behind them. Their whole body was cloaked, but the strangest part wasn’t the covering—
It was the expression.

They looked… happy.

In a place like this, where screams echoed and blood painted the floors, they were happy.

Her steps faltered. She stared longer than she meant to. Their tail wagged harder under her gaze.

Discomfort crawled over her skin.

Enough.

She snapped her wrist, sending a line of venom slicing through the air. It slammed them into the wall with a satisfying crack. They staggered, breath ragged, but made no attempt to flee.

Weird.

She approached slowly, blades ready, and without ceremony drove one through their chest.

They didn’t fight. They didn’t scream. Their eyes lit up with something disturbingly close to joy.

Her lip curled in unease.

Still, she pressed on, finishing the round. One by one, the others fell—Elliot, Chance, Builderman. The usual rhythm of the hunt returned. But something lingered. The memory of that strange, eager stare clung to her. Even dead, it felt like their eyes were following her.

Noob was Last Man Standing. Predictable. They ran. They squealed. They fell.

Done.

The static tore her back to the cabin.

C00lkidd was already there, babbling to Noli from a chair he half-hung out of.

“HI AUNTY 1X!!!” he yelled, grinning wide.

She lifted a hand in a small wave and walked past, out of the killer’s cabin.

The lake stretched between killers and survivors. One side cold, gray, and sharp; the other warm with firelight flickering through the windows. The barrier kept them apart. Kept her from satisfying the itch in her hands to keep killing even here.

She sat on the dock again, her blades resting across her lap. Across the water, the survivor’s cabin glowed faintly. She could almost imagine laughter drifting from it, but it was silent. Always silent.

She tried to let her mind drift. Instead, the memory of those eyes returned.

What a strange being.

Weeks passed.

Every time it was her turn to hunt, she found them again. And every time, they surrendered. No fight. No strategy. They only stared, tail wagging, as if her blade was some gift.

It should’ve been convenient. An easy kill. A guaranteed advantage.
But it wasn’t. It was wrong.

Each time, her skin prickled. Each time, she left the round unsettled, their gaze burned into her long after their body fell.

Once, she ignored them altogether, focusing on the others. Elliot’s careful support. Shedletsky’s stunning blade. Chance’s evasive maneuvers. She killed them methodically, one by one, leaving the strange one for last.

The timer ticked down. She turned to face them.

They were waiting. Tail wagging faster now.

“You,” she said sharply. “You’re the bomber, correct?”

They nodded, quick and eager.

Mute. That fit.

She studied them longer, discomfort scraping at her chest. “Why do you enjoy death?” The question burst out before she could stop it.

Their hands rose. For the first time, they didn’t conjure a text bubble. They signed, slow and deliberate.

Because it is you who kills me.

Her eyes widened faintly. A memory stirred—Slasher had once taught her sign language. Enough to understand. Enough to make these words land harder.

They looked almost pleading. Their tail wagged harder.

Something twisted deep in her gut.

“Disgusting.”

The word cut harsher than her blade.

She didn’t wait for their reaction. One quick thrust, and steel pierced their chest. They collapsed, blood blooming across the scarf.

Yet even in death, their gaze clung to her.

Her unease spiked. She grabbed their head, tugging at the scarf—catching only a glimpse of shadow, a faint glimmer of gray skin—before the static tore them both away.

Back to the cabins.

She stood on her dock, eyes still burning with memory.

What a menace.

ㅤ ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄 ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

Chapter Text

. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ ♰ ་༘࿐

“Disgusting… disgusting… disgusting…”
The word echoed through her skull like a heartbeat.

Was that truly what 1x thought of her?

She had heard that word before. She had seen it whispered, screamed, carved into her life like a brand. People despised her existence long before this realm. She knew that. She had worn their hatred like a coat. But hearing it from her—from the one person she wanted so desperately to notice her—
Why her?

Her body trembled as she stood in the cabin after the round. The static had spat her back out, but it hadn’t taken the sting with it. She stared at the floorboards, hands rising shakily to hold her elbows, hugging herself tight.

Then she ran.

She slammed the door to her cabin and fell onto her bed, curling in on herself like a wounded animal. The word repeated in her head, cutting deeper than she ever thought words could.

Silent sobs shook her body.

It was stupid to be this upset. 1x hated everyone. 1x hated the whole system, the whole realm. Why would she be special? She wasn’t anything but another starving new victim in 1x’s eyes.

But the ache in her chest wouldn’t stop.

An hour passed. Then another. Then another.
This had been the last round. They were given eight hours of silence—time to sleep, to talk, to heal. Taph used it to collect her thoughts, sitting in the dark, clutching herself.

Finally, she stood.

One by one she stripped away her layers until only a sleeveless turtleneck and baggy pants remained. The fabric clung to her thin frame. She caught her reflection in the window—peeking through the curtain she refused to open—and immediately looked away. There was no point in lingering on what she couldn’t change.

Her heart was numb from tears.

Let’s try again, shall we?

She woke sometime later, the timer already ticking faintly in her skull.
Twenty minutes until the next round.

She dressed quickly.

Boots.
Gloves.
Robe.
Belt.
Shawl.
Scarf.

She tied the scarf into a bow at the back. Simple robes, yes—but they covered. That was all that mattered to her.

She sat back on the bed, waiting for the world to shatter again. She counted in her head, the numbers quieter than the round clock but still unnatural.

0:03…
0:02…
0:01…

Static swallowed her.

She ran.
She cried.
She died.

Back to the cabin.

Repeat.

Her hunger grew with each cycle, gnawing at her like a beast caged under her skin. The hunger wasn’t just for food. It was for the rush. The taste.

It terrified her more than any killer chasing her.

She could feel herself fraying at the edges. Any moment she might jump, carve, disembowel, feast.

She didn’t even notice this round’s killer was 1x.
All she could think about was the burn in her stomach.

She walked shakily through the map, one arm clutching her middle as if to muffle its screams. Her eyes darted, searching—maybe for the killer, maybe for something darker.

And then she saw it.

Shedletsky.

Not standing. Not protecting.

Dead. Chest pierced like a skewer, blood pooling around him.

Her breath hitched. The hunger roared.

Maybe… it’s ok this one time…

Taph staggered, knees digging into the grass already drenched in blood. Shedletsky’s body lay sprawled across the dirt, chest torn open from the blade that ended him. His shirt was shredded and clung wet to his skin, fabric dark with crimson. Blood seeped into the soil, spreading beneath him in thick, uneven patches, the air heavy with its metallic stench.

Her breath came in short, broken gasps. Her hands hovered, shaking, then pressed down against the wound. The warmth bled into her gloves instantly, soaking them until they stuck to her skin.

Then instinct took her.

She ripped at the fabric with shaking claws, tearing it away. The wound widened, red and raw, slick under her touch. Flesh parted as she pulled, her nails carving through muscle, her hands vanishing into the cavity with a wet crack as she forced her way between ribs. Bones splintered with sharp snaps. The sound tore through the quiet air, and for a moment she flinched—then hunger drowned everything else.

Her glove slipped, so she tore it off and plunged her bare hand into the chest. Hot organs pressed against her palm, slick and yielding. She dug until her claws caught, slicing, pulling. Flesh gave way. The taste filled her mouth—copper, salt, the sickly warmth of life itself. She chewed, swallowed, devoured. Each bite was frantic, wet, desperate. Her breath rasped between gulps.

For a moment, she was free. The gnawing in her belly silenced. The haze lifted.

Then her stomach turned.

Her body buckled forward, retching hard. She vomited onto the ground, a slurry of blood, bile, and half-chewed flesh splattering across the grass. The smell turned unbearable. Her throat 

burned. She gagged again, trembling as strings of red clung to her lips and chin. Her eye blurred with tears.

She stared down at the ruin of him, the ruin of herself. Her hands dripped gore, her robes soaked in stains that would never come out. The grass around her was black with filth.

14:34… 14:33… 14:32…

The timer boomed inside her head, cruel and loud. Her chest rose and fell in ragged bursts as panic set in. She tried to crawl back, hands slipping in blood, but her limbs shook too hard.

And then—

“なんてこった...”

The voice froze her in place.

She turned slowly.

1x stood behind her. The faint shimmer of static light from the sky cast her in shadow, her own hood making her face unreadable. Her stance was sharp, her presence heavier than the air itself.

Taph’s body broke. Her hands flew upward, wild and desperate, cutting words into the air:

‘I’m sorry!
I’m sorry!
I’m sorry!
I’m sorry!
I’m sorry!
I didn’t mean to!
Please forgive me!
Don’t run, please!’

Her signs stuttered, clumsy, broken by sobs. Her fingers shook too violently to form them cleanly. Blood smeared across her skin as she moved, each gesture frantic. Tears burned her eye, spilled freely down her stained cheek.

She tried once more, slower, almost pleading:

‘…please?’

SLAP!

The crack of palm to cheek echoed over the field. Her head snapped to the side, face burning where the strike landed. She fell onto her side, gasping.

When she looked back up, 1x towered over her, fury etched in every syllable.

“君はモンスターだ!”

The words were a blade sharper than any she carried.

“一体どうしたんだ！？正気か！？！？”

Her voice tore through the air, sharp as thunder.

“君が変なのは知ってたけど、これは非人間的だ！”

Taph curled in on herself, shaking, hiding her head in her bloody hands. She still forced herself to sign weakly, brokenly:

‘I’m sorry!’

Her sobs choked the silence.

1x stood rigid, breathing harshly. Then, at last, her voice dropped to cold steel.

“You don’t get forgiveness.”

The world stopped.

Taph’s eye widened, wet and pleading, but no answer came.

1x turned, walking away with a final cut of words:

“You win this round.”

Her figure disappeared into the static haze.

Taph’s trembling hand reached out, blood dripping down her sleeve, fingers clawing at empty air.

I’m sorry…

The field gave her no answer. Only the sound of her own sobs remained.

ــــــــــــﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ♡ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1x stared across the cabin, her mind far from where she was standing. The walls hummed with the static of silence, a reminder that in this realm, quiet was never peace — only pause.
That thing shouldn’t have taken over her thoughts so easily.

Why—no—how could someone refuse to suffer under her hands? Any sane person would beg, scream, fear. But they… they looked at her with awe, with devotion twisted beyond sense.

She clenched her jaw, anger simmering beneath her ribs. Her gaze swept the empty killer’s cabin. Around this hour, Slasher usually dragged a whining C00lkidd toward his bunk while Noli grumbled about needing quiet, but now the whole place was silent — like even they could tell she was one spark away from burning.

“Care to explain to me what the hell just happened?” she snapped, looking up to the dark rafters.

D0 y0u n0t 3nJ0y sVch @ [LOYAL FAN!!]?

That warped voice from above made her stomach twist.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Spectre,” 1x hissed. “You’re telling me you made them like that?”

Sh3 !s l1Ke tH@t 0n h3R 0wN, qViT3 [FUNNY!!], !s iT n0t?

“It’s hell. You don’t understand how annoying it is,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can you at least tell me their name?”

T4PH, 3x-D3m0l!ti0nIsT, tVrN3d v1gil@nTe Wh0 d3sTr0y3d m4ny g@m3S! Sh3 h@d pR0teSt3rS 0Vts!d3 h3r d0OR 4 [WEEKS!!!] VntiL Sh3 st@rV3d!

1x glared up. “I only wanted her name, not a damn obituary. Thanks, I guess.”

She shoved open the cabin door, stepped out, and slammed it behind her.

Her own cabin was smaller than the main killers’ quarters but immaculate. She kept it that way deliberately. Cleanliness was control — the one thing this realm hadn’t taken from her. She pulled off her boots, placing them neatly on the rack, and hung her tattered scarf on the hook above.

She sat on the edge of her bed, unwrapping the bandages on her arms. The skin underneath was a map of her history — faint scars, burns, punctures, all healed yet still throbbing in memory. The room’s dim light traced each mark, making them glimmer faintly like dull silver.

Scars from bad nights. Scars from childhood. Scars from herself.

She sighed and put on a loose, oversized shirt, letting her head fall back against the wall. Something about tonight felt wrong. The air itself was heavier, like it carried words she didn’t want to hear.

Sleep was shallow when it came.

The next morning came with the sound of pounding on her door.

“Aunty 1x!!! Are you awake???” C00lkidd’s voice cut through the quiet.

1x groaned, half-burying her face in the pillow. “Yeah, yeah, what is it?”

“Can you make me something? I’m hungry! But Slasher can’t cook and Noli said he doesn’t wanna!”

She rubbed her eyes. “Fine. What do you want?”

There was a pause. “Uhhh… surprise me?”

She sighed, stood up, and started pulling on her normal layers while he listed off increasingly absurd foods — half of which didn’t even exist anymore. When she opened the door, he stood there grinning like a child who didn’t realize what kind of monsters they all were.

“Come on,” she muttered, taking his hand firmly. “Let’s go.”

They walked to the main killers’ cabin, which doubled as a mess hall. The air was faintly metallic, always smelling of static and iron. C00lkidd trailed behind, still chatting. Despite his sheer size and monstrous build, he acted like a kid—bounding after her like she was his older sister.

“What if we made a big cake!! Like, a REALLY big cake!!” he shouted with uncontainable enthusiasm.

“Yeah, no,” she replied flatly. “How about pancakes?”

He gasped. “PANCAKES!!!”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward just a little. “Yeah, sure. Pancakes.”

The routine was almost comforting. The sound of the pan sizzling. The smell of cheap batter and powdered syrup. C00lkidd sat cross-legged in a chair that looked far too small for him, watching every movement like it was some kind of magic trick.

“Can I flip one?” he asked eagerly.

“Absolutely not,” she deadpanned, flipping it herself with perfect timing.

“Aw…”

When the first plate was ready, she set it in front of him. “What do you want on your pancakes?”

“Syrup! Lots of syrup!”

1x poured a small river of syrup across the plate. “There. Don’t spill it.”

C00lkidd giggled as he devoured his food. 1x quietly worked on another batch. Despite everything—the endless killing, the horror—moments like this almost felt human.

Then his voice broke the calm. “I miss my dad…”

Her motion stilled mid-stir.

C00lkidd’s voice was small, fragile in a way that didn’t belong to a creature like him. He hugged his knees to his chest. “He used to make pancakes too…”

1x exhaled softly. She thought of her own father—Shedletsky. His voice, his shadow, his ruin. A man she swore she’d never forgive. But still, somewhere deep, she understood the ache in the boy’s words.

Without saying much, she placed another pancake on his plate, patting his shoulder once before walking away to wash the dishes.

She didn’t need to say anything. The silence said enough.

When he left, humming to himself, she stood there in the dim cabin light, staring at the knife she used to cut butter. It gleamed faintly. She hated how easily she could imagine turning it toward someone else.

“Oh, the things I’d do to that damn Spectre,” she whispered under her breath.

Hours passed before her next round came. Time bent strangely here — slow and fast all at once. By the time static overtook her vision again, she was standing on Planet Voss, its horizon cracked and hollow.

The landscape stretched endlessly in muted greens and blacks, fractured with floating stone and faintly glowing veins of code. Ash drifted through the air, falling like broken snow.

She moved quickly, her steps sure.

One by one, she cut through the survivors:
Builderman.
Noob.
Chance.
Dusekkar.
Elliot.
Two Time.
Guest 1337.

No Taph.

Her grip on her weapons tightened. That absence was unnatural.

When the timer dropped to 15:00, she made her way toward the valley’s edge — the place where Shedletsky had fallen earlier in the round. Her boots scuffed over cracked stone. The wind whispered static.

Then she saw it.

Shedletsky’s body, chest torn wide open. The smell of iron and rot. And beside him, kneeling in the dirt, Taph.

The survivor’s gloves were gone. Her hands were red to the elbows. Blood smeared across her scarf, staining the gold trim into rust.

“なんてこった…” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Taph jerked around, eyes wide, trembling. Her hands began to move wildly, her signs almost blurring with speed.

‘I’m sorry!
I’m sorry!
I didn’t mean to!
Please forgive me!
Don’t run, please!’

The frantic rhythm of it made something inside 1x snap.

‘…please?’ taph signed, slower this time.

Her stomach twisted. Horror. Rage. Disgust. All at once.

SLAP!

The sound cut through the valley. Taph’s head whipped to the side, a smear of blood now mixing with dirt on her cheek. She stared up, terrified.

1x’s breathing came fast, uneven, like each breath fed her fury.

“君はモンスターだ!” she shouted, the words trembling with fury.

Taph flinched and signed again, her movements smaller, broken.

“一体どうしたんだ！？正気か！？！？” The scream echoed through the dead air. Her voice cracked near the end.

“君が変なのは知ってたけど、これは非人間的だ！” she spat, shaking. Her hands were clenched so hard her nails bit into her palms.

Taph folded in on herself, sobbing, trying to make herself small. She signed one last word, barely legible—

‘I’m sorry!’

1x froze. Her body trembled—not from fear, but from how much of her anger came from somewhere deeper.

“You don’t get forgiveness,” she said finally, her voice low and shaking.

The silence after was unbearable.

For one small, fleeting moment, pity flickered in her chest — unwanted and cruel. Then it was gone.

She turned away.

Her fish tail dragged through the blood-stained dirt, the edges flicking drops of red into the voided air.

“You win this round,” she muttered, her voice hollow, cracking under its own weight.

As she walked into the static fog, Taph’s soft sobs echoed behind her — faint, but inescapable.

“モンスター…” 1x whispered under her breath.

The word lingered like ash on her tongue.
And this time, she wasn’t sure who she meant.

𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄 ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.