CHAPTER 92: LET’S PLAY A GAME

Faced with such a situation, forced to lie on the ground with their own arms twisted and broken into grotesque shackles behind their backs, three of the blessed fell silent.

They gritted their teeth, chests heaving, eyes flicking toward each other in panic. They didn’t know what move to make.

One wrong word, one wrong twitch, and they knew they could end up far worse than they already were. So they bit down on their pain, sweat dripping down their foreheads, forcing themselves into silence.

But the man with glasses, the "techie" of the group, couldn’t.

The agony was too much, the humiliation too sharp.

"Y-You bastard!" He screamed through gritted teeth, his voice cracking with rage and fear. "How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?! I’m from the Federation, the Federation, damn you! Of all places!"

His voice grew louder, more frantic, spit flying with every word.

"You’ve just signed your own death sentence! If the Federation gets their hands on you, they’ll rip you into a million pieces! Do you hear me? A million pieces!"

"I’m a highly valued asset, you worthless nobody! I work directly under High Order! I swear, when I get out of this, when I get out—!" His voice twisted into a growl, his face red and twisted. "I’ll tear you apart with my own hands! Let me go! Let me go, damn you!"

Mika didn’t respond at first.

He didn’t need to.

He merely turned his head, just slightly, so that his eyes landed on the man.

That single glance was enough.

The bespectacled man’s eyes bulged. His breath caught in his throat. And then—

"AAAAAARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

His scream tore through the night like a knife.

His already mangled arms, shackled behind him, tightened. The twisted knots of flesh and bone pulled even harder, grinding into his own body.

His shoulders cracked audibly as the binding yanked them backward. Muscles tore. Skin split open at the seams.

"STOP! STOP, MY HANDS, MY SHOULDERS, IT’S TEARING, IT’S TEARING ME APART!"

He howled, the words tumbling over themselves. His voice was ragged, his face drenched in sweat and tears.

"PLEASE! STOP IT! PLEASE, I’LL, I’LL SHUT UP! I WON’T SAY ANYTHING! PLEASE, PLEASE, STOP!"

The skin around his shoulders began to peel, the flesh ripping like wet cloth as the arms bound themselves even tighter, pulling his limbs toward the point of dislocation. His face was a mask of raw horror, tears dripping down onto the dirt as he thrashed helplessly.

Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

The pressure eased.

He collapsed forward, his chest heaving, sucking in air like a drowning man who had finally broken the surface.

His whole body shook. His glasses had fallen off, cracked against the ground. His lips trembled as he whispered in between ragged gasps,

"N-no more...please...I-I won’t...I won’t..."

The others stared at him in horror.

They had seen him suffer, and seen how quickly Mika had silenced him without even moving a finger.

The lesson was clear...Speak out, and you’d be next.

And none of them dared to move now.

Mika, on the other hand, only gave the faintest of smiles, as though a small annoyance had been brushed aside.

"Well then..." He said smoothly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "Now that the interruption has been dealt with...let’s get back to what I was saying earlier."

His gaze swept lazily across them, like a teacher addressing children.

"I want to play a game with you. A very simple game, in fact. And at the end of it..." His smile widened ever so slightly..."...there’s a reward. A reward I think you’ll really appreciate."

The word reward made all four of them flinch.

Hope sparked in their chests despite the pain. A reward...could it be escape? Freedom?

They couldn’t help it. They all thought the same thing: that if they played along, maybe, just maybe, this nightmare would end.

Before any of them could speak, however, the glasses man, broken, sobbing, desperate to escape his torment, blurted out first.

"M-Me!!! I’ll play! I’ll play your damn game! I’ll participate, just, just let me!" His voice cracked in panic, trembling but eager. "I’ll do it first!"

The others clicked their tongues in irritation, their teeth grinding. He had stolen their chance, shoved himself into the spotlight to save his own skin.

Mika looked at him for a long moment. Then he chuckled lightly, almost kindly.

"You really do have courage." Mika said softly. "To be the first to step up, even after all that. I admire that."

The man swallowed hard, nodding desperately.

"But don’t worry." Mika continued. "It’s quite a simple game. So simple...even a baby could play it."

He leaned back casually, the boat beneath him creaking softly in the night air.

"All you have to do is choose a number. Any number...between 37.5 and 250."

The bespectacled man blinked in confusion. "W-What?"

"A number." Mika repeated patiently. "Between 37.5 and 250. Out of all those numbers, more than two hundred of them will allow you to win. Which means..."

He spread his hands, as if offering a gift.

"The odds are in your favor. Much higher chance to win than to lose. Isn’t that nice?"

The man’s breathing quickened. His mind raced. ’This is it. This is my way out.’

"Yes..." He muttered to himself. "Yes...the odds are good. Over two hundred safe choices...yes..."

He convinced himself further, hope swelling in his chest. His lips curled into a weak smile.

"I-I’ve got it. The number is..202. It has to be safe. 202. That’s my serial code, the number assigned to me when I first entered Federation service."

"...It-It’s safe. It has to be safe!"

He shouted the words with desperate conviction, clinging to them as though speaking them aloud would make them true.

Mika tilted his head.

"202, hmm?" He repeated slowly. "Let’s see if that number will grant you your reward."

He didn’t move.

He only looked at him.

The others held their breath, waiting. For a moment, it seemed like nothing was happening.

And then...the man screamed.

"AHHHH!!!! AUGHHHH! AHHHHHH!"

His whole body jerked violently, his eyes going wide with absolute horror.

"W-WHAT, WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME, AAAGHHHHHHHHH!"

His body convulsed violently, skin swelling and darkening as if something inside were about to burst. Blisters split open with wet pops, steam hissing from his pores.

"NOOOO! STOP! PLEASE, IT HURTS, AAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHHH!"

The scream broke into a shrill, ragged wail, then cut off all at once.

Burst!

Before the others could even react, his body ruptured in a violent spray, exploding into a thick mist of blood that drenched their faces and clothes.

Splash!

Bits of flesh and shattered bone rained down, the air filling with the stench of iron and steam.

When the haze cleared, nothing remained but a steaming heap of red-stained bone fragments clattering to the ground.

The three survivors stared at the remains, their faces pale, eyes wide with uncomprehending horror.

They could still feel his blood, hot and sticky, running down their skin.

And in that moment, they understood that the "game" Mika wanted to play...was nothing like what they had imagined.

Mika on the other hand didn’t even flinch. His expression carried no excitement, no disgust, just a quiet, almost detached pity, as though what had just happened was nothing more than an unfortunate inevitability.

His eyes then slid past the bubbling pool of blood where the glasses-wearing man had died and locked on to the next one, the youngest-looking of the group, the one who loved to force himself on other people’s wives.

The man’s breath stopped the moment Mika’s gaze touched him. His face went ghostly pale, lips trembling as if words were slipping away before he could even form them.

Then, with a sudden burst of desperation, he fell to his knees and stammered,

"P-Please! Please, I’ll do anything! Just let me go! There’s no need, there’s no need to do something like this!"

His voice cracked with desperation as his words tumbled out in a frantic rush.

"I-I have money, so much money, more than you can imagine! My daddy is rich! Artifacts too, rare ones! Powerful ones! They’re all yours, all of it, just, just don’t do this!"

Mika tilted his head, watching him like one might watch a bug trying to crawl out of a puddle. Then, very quietly, he spoke.

"...You’re misunderstanding me."

The man froze, his rambling cut short.

"I don’t want your money. Or your treasures. Or anything you have."

Mika said simply, his calm smile only making the words colder.

"I just want to play with you...Play a game."

Hearing this, the man’s face twisted with outrage, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"A game?! This, this is insane! You call this a game?! You said there’d be a reward! You didn’t say we’d die if we got it wrong!" He spat blood as his voice rose into a furious scream. "This is madness, this is absolutely crazy!"

But Mika cut him off, his smile sharpening.

"Well, if you dislike the game so much, then don’t play."

For a heartbeat, relief flooded the man’s face, his mouth parting as if to thank him. But then Mika added, lightly,

"I can always kill you right here. End it instantly, without the chance of any reward."

The relief drained away in an instant, leaving him white as bone. His lips quivered. His chest heaved.

And in that moment, he understood, there was no choice. Not for him...Not for any of them.

Mika then leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but carrying a threat that sent shivers through all three of them.

"So...what number will you choose? Between 37.5...and 250. Choose wisely."

The man stammered, his mind racing, his breath ragged. He thought of his life, his wealth, his artifacts, his power, his empty comforts, all slipping away in the shadow of this man who looked so harmless and yet sat upon their deaths like a king on a throne.

Finally, his eyes lit with frantic desperation.

"...228. I’ll choose 228."

His voice grew louder, frantic.

"That’s the same amount I have in my account, 228 million! It’s yours! It can all be yours if you just let me go!"

Mika let out a small chuckle, shaking his head almost playfully, completely ignoring his bribe.

"128, hm?" His eyes gleamed as he leaned forward again. "Let’s see if that number is correct...and whether you’ll be rewarded, or punished instead."

The man’s lips trembled, another plea rising in his throat, but he never had the chance to say it.

His scream tore through the night.

"NO! NO, WHAT IS THIS!? IT, IT FEELS SO HOT! OH GOD, NO, STOP, AAAAAAARGHHHHHHH!"

His body convulsed violently, skin turning deep red as steam hissed from his pores. Veins bulged across his arms and neck, writhing like they were about to burst.

His hands clawed at his back, his eyes bulging in sheer horror, until, with a sickening rip, his body split apart, flesh bursting into steaming chunks.

Boom!

Splash!

Blood sprayed in hot sheets, splattering across the others faces. Bits of meat slapped wetly onto the ground.

What was left behind was no man, no victim, only a pile of bubbling gore, steaming flesh and bone scattered across the earth like discarded scraps from a butcher’s block.

Silence crashed down on the group.

And now, only two were left.

Both stood utterly pale, trembling, their clothes plastered with the blood and meat of their companions.

It dripped from their hair, slid down their cheeks, soaked their skin, their teammates flesh, sticking to them like a grotesque reminder that they were next on the chopping block...