Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Another round is approaching quickly. Chance just managed to get out of bed, rushing to prepare as the timer steadily counted down.

According to 1x1x1x1, there’s a mention of a "new lad in the killer cabins", indicating that there’s a new killer that has entered the realm. However, no one has any idea who it might be; all they know is that this is the inaugural round featuring the aforementioned newcomer.

This is bound to be troublesome, a newcomer typically introduces fresh chaos.

However… Chance can't shake the feeling that something is off or about to go wrong. This feeling weighs heavily on him. It feels as if something has returned to torment him once more, or perhaps, it's someone.

Chance doesn’t even want to know, he merely wishes that the round won't turn out to be as horrific and brutal as his more cynical thoughts anticipate.

Naturally, the Spectre just had to stab him right in the chest. Again.

And eventually, the timer reached zero. Chance was enveloped by that familiar darkness, only to suddenly land on a familiar terrain with a gentle thud.

The crimson ambiance, ash-covered concrete, and the scent of nearby flames.

Ah, Builder Brothers Pizzeria.

Chance was not accustomed to seeing this map, it was rarely selected.

But at least he knew his way around.

Well, hopefully.

On second thought, Chance comes to the realization that they are unable to locate anyone. This situation is even more troubling than being unaware of the identity of the killer—actually, not knowing who the killer is far worse. Unfortunately, they failed to consider this carefully. Oh the misery.

So, what are his options now? He finds himself at the register of the pizzeria ruins, or at least he believes he does. The generator in the area seems to have been completed, someone has been present here then.

Yet... There are subtle ice markings in the crevices of the opened walls, along with a faint black corrupted aura that lingers among the frost particles.

There was another entity— or individual— here, but who could it possibly be…?

As far as he knows, no one here possesses ice sparkly powers, unless someone has been hiding something... which seems rather unlikely, at least in his opinion.

Chance doesn't want to assume the worst, unfortunately he arrives at the conclusion that this must be the work of the new killer.

But honestly, ice combined with some dark forces? That's quite an interesting combo, to say the least. The spectre certainly has a distinctive preference when selecting a new set of tormentors…

He reviews the survivor list through an interface that 007n7 specifically created at his disposal for the survivors to see who still remains alive.

‘It's pretty useful’, Chance muses.

He accesses the interface, choosing the survivor list. Only to discover... oh.

Half of the survivors are... already dead? But, it’s only been a minute... Now, he’s feeling quite anxious.

Thank goodness, elliot, guest, dusekkar, and taph are still alive. The others...? Not looking so good…

"Jeez, this killer's a fast brute." Chance thinks, feeling a surge of concern for the safety of others.

He shifts from his position, and resolved to seek out the others.

As he flips his coin, it seems to resonate with him. After several flips resulting in tails, he finally gets heads three times. That's sufficient energy for a sure-fire attempt, one that he hopes won't explode in his face.

He wandered through the barren place, looking for his friends. Staying alert in case something might ambush him from behind. The ambiance felt... strange, as if it hadn't always been this way, but... it felt significantly more peculiar this time.

Chance experienced a heightened sense of anxiety accompanied by a twinge of nervousness this time; he was aware that something was destined to go wrong, regardless of his preferences.

Oh, he just wants to find someone quickly, anyone will do at this point. This dreadful silence is truly driving him to the brink mentally. He would lose his mind if he has to endure another moment of solitude.

Eventually, it seems that Lady Luck finally smiled upon him. He just happened to have bumped into a familiar pizza delivery boy while strolling carelessly around the block.

Chance nearly toppled over from the impact, and Elliot stumbled backwards, coughing as the ashen dust dispersed. Chance paused for a moment to comprehend what had just occurred before instinctively helping Elliot to his feet.

Elliot obliged, reaching for Chance's hand while grimacing in pain.

Elliot was injured, how had he not noticed? He was gripping his left arm tightly.

Chance observed fresh wounds and faint traces of ice covering the cuts. 

Jeez—that must be painful. Frostbite combined with a sharp sting? What a dreadful mix.

Chance hesitated briefly, searching for the right words to say. Elliot merely groaned in discomfort, casting an irritated glance at his own injury.

Finally, Chance broke the silence, asking, “Elliot? What happened—where are the others?” His voice was tinged with panic, concern, and a hint of curiosity.

Elliot simply scoffed, resting against a brick wall to alleviate some of the discomfort in his body.

“I was caught off guard by— you know... they were quick— I couldn't escape in time, so I just ran as fast as I could.” Elliot said, wincing in pain with every attempt to move his injured arm.

Chance found himself speechless. Elliot was hurt, and he hadn't been there to defend him—he allowed him to get injured. Why does he feel this overwhelming guilt? Why now? There’s no justification for it. It’s not like he knew this was going to happen anyway…

With a heavy sigh, Chance looked around before speaking with a determined focus, “Perhaps we can locate a med kit around here somewhere...”.

As Chance surveyed the surroundings, he also stole quick glances at Elliot to ensure he was alright—at least that’s what he believed his intention to be. “Damn it—where are the med kits when you really need them?” he mentally cursed himself.

Elliot sat quietly in a secluded corner, gripping his arm tightly, drenched in sweat from the oppressive heat of the place. God, he despises being here. He has no desire to relive the memories of his past right now. All he can do is hope that Chance returns soon.

His body feels as if it's on fire with pain, followed by a chilling numbness that is brutally cold. He continues to shiver uncontrollably. It’s pure misery, to the extent that he would prefer to be struck by one of Coolkid's pizza minions than endure this again.

With trembling hands, he accesses the survivor list interface and—what?

It’s just him and Chance left—but he could have sworn he saw the other three survivors alive only two minutes ago. Did time really pass that quickly—or—oh god.

Elliot tensed, sensing an unfamiliar presence behind him as a white-gloved hand rested on his shoulder. He didn’t dare to look up. He would rather fixate on 007n7's ridiculous, ugly grin from his exploiting days. He would prefer to be chased by Jason for another three minutes, no—he would just rather vanish at this point!

“Oh? Where's your friend?” the presence inquired, its tone curious and gentle, yet it sent a chilling shiver down his spine that felt as if it had turned to stone. It was both manipulative and sweet. “I was really looking forward to meeting him, you know? What a disappointment...”

Elliot turned his head slightly, avoiding the man's eyes, only to spot a weapon that looked eerily familiar. Was it called Dark Heart...?

God- he just wants a chance to return.

“I never thought he would be the kind to abandon his friends.” The individual chuckled, which only heightened Elliot's anxiety. The hand on his shoulder wasn't forceful—nothing like that, it felt innocuous, yet he felt so vulnerable. The person behind him let out a sigh.

“But unfortunately, time changes a person. Maybe he’s not the same as the one I once knew.” They always spoke in such a gentle and soft manner, like a comfort that could pierce you a thousand times. Elliot desperately wished to escape from this place.

The figure behind him shifted to stand in front of him, moving with such grace that it felt like a transient dream, yet Elliot refused to lift his gaze. He simply tightened his grip on his wound and felt himself shrink in place.

The hand that had rested on his shoulder was finally lifted, only for him to feel a finger lightly brushing against his jawline like a feather. “Oh, but it's my first time here. Why give me the cold shoulder?”

“You know it's impolite to treat newcomers with such contempt, especially when your role is to ensure their happiness and satisfaction... am I right?” The figure chuckled once more.

“We still have plenty of time!” the figure insisted, clearly enjoying the moment, much to Elliot's frustration. “Maybe we should wait for your friend to return? Could you say hello for me? Please introduce me to him, will you?”

The figure glided with such grace and elegance that it truly irritated Elliot. How could someone embody such a perfected demeanor that felt so toxic? Their white cape, embellished with elaborate gold designs, flowed as if the wind itself was guiding it gently. A grace that felt utterly deceptive, indeed.

“Oh, how rude of me not to offer a proper introduction!” They chuckled to themselves, their sword held in hand like a symbol of power.

“I go by Itrapped, and while you might not know me yet, that's perfectly okay,” they articulated with grace. “You'll become familiar with me shortly. After all, I'm here to establish my reputation.”

“However...” Itrapped paused, lost in contemplation for a brief moment. “Had he mentioned me to you earlier, maybe you would have been aware...” He spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“It's a pity he could overlook my presence so quickly...” Itrapped mused to himself with a wry smile, gazing up at the crimson skies.

Elliot stood completely still, uncertain of how to respond, feeling nothing but the weight of vulnerability.

Itrapped instantly sensed a presence and shot a glare from behind the wall that Elliot was leaning against. “Oh?” he said, unexpectedly taken aback. 

He backed away just in time to evade a bullet that was fired with great force. The scent of gunpowder lingered in the air after the shot. Itrapped raised an eyebrow, recognizing a familiar presence, “Ah, what a way to kick off a reunion. But don't you think it's a bit disrespectful to shoot at an old friend you haven't seen in ages?” Itrapped smirked, the same smirk Chance had seen in his final moments.

“Enough of your nonsense, I’m not falling for your stupid tricks anymore.” Chance said sharply, his resentment intensifying.

Elliot attempted to seize this chance to escape the situation, but was once more seized by the shoulder, this time with a firm grip. He froze and instantly felt a surge of tension. What was he getting himself into?

“Oh my dear friend, Chance. You've changed so greatly...” He spoke softly, as if lost in thought. “What became of the unfortunate gambler who required urgent care and support to fulfill his obligations?” he continued, composed and serene, yet with a piercing look hidden beneath a facade of friendliness and pitifulness.

“You never truly wanted to be my friend, so why are you being hypocritical with your words? I'm not shocked, anyway,” Chance responded, cutting and critical.

“However, if you've chosen to purify your sense of ethics and decency, maybe you could return my friend to me." Chance continued, skeptical and cynical.

Itrapped's demeanor shifted, revealing a shadow of foreboding behind the cracks in his facade. “Oh, what a daring request after the disrespectful irreverence you've just uttered to me.”

He tightened his grip on Elliot's shoulder, while Elliot remained motionless, appearing to be in pain and discomfort.

“This adorable boy is your friend? How amusing. I take it you're his protector? And he's your damsel in distress?” He let out a low chuckle.

Chance furrowed his eyebrows, visibly annoyed by Itrapped's obstinacy and arrogance.

“However, he is truly captivating. Sparked my curiosity, y’know?” He whispers as he leans towards Elliot's ear, softly brushing it with his smooth, white-gloved hands. Elliot felt a slight blush rise, subtle yet evident to anyone who was observant.

“May I keep him? I could offer something in exchange...” He proposed, clearly earnest about his request. “The most exquisite treasures cannot simply be given away for nothing, naturally, I fully understand that.” He presented Chance with a persistent smile, laced with a touch of mischief.

Chance felt somewhat uncomfortable with his unexpected request, “Wha-what... He's not- he's not something you can just- keep?!” He stumbled over his words, filled with irritation and jealousy... wait, jealousy? Why on robloxia’s name was he feeling jealous?

Chance's blood surged with anger, and he was ready to pull the trigger again without a second thought, but he halted as Itrapped gradually raised his sword, the blade brushing against Elliot's neck in a menacing manner. And he spoke, it was calm, composed, and threatening. “Go on, if you have the courage, if you truly dare.” He grinned maliciously, fully aware of how to strike where it would hurt the most—who better than that bastard?

Chance remained still, gun firmly in hand, aimed at itrapped's head. Yet, he lacked the courage to pull the trigger... Fear gripped him once more, fear of him... once again.

Why is he so pathetic? Why can't he save Elliot? Why can't he think clearly, and most importantly, why can't he shake off this feeling?

This moment felt like reliving the day of his death, but this time, he wasn't the one facing death.

Itrapped simply smirked, the darkheart's blade glinting softly beneath the light of the crimson moon. He stood there—calm, commanding, as if he were invincible.

Tch, he had always been like this. Perhaps he was always destined to be this way.

Like a corrupted foxglove, masquerading as a flourishing penstemon. Chance wanted to scoff at the dreadful analogy he conjured in his mind, but there was truly no time for that.

He gripped the gun tightly, his breath filled with desperation and loathing. "Let him go, Itrapped. He won't be your plaything, and I won't allow it. Not again." He uttered, not really expecting Itrapped to heed his words. Yet, he still found the bravery to voice his thoughts regardless.

“Plaything? Oh, Chance, and here I believed you understood me after all those shared memories of our friendship...” Itrapped pouted in a mocking manner, his disappointment feeling feigned. “You know I'm not that arrogant.” He added, as if he were correcting Chance's understanding of something he was unaware of.

“But still, I can't help myself but notice how much you care for this pretty boy, it's quite evident.” he remarked, scrutinizing Chance's every gesture and expression.

Abruptly, he raised his free hand, gently guiding Elliot's chin to meet his gaze, yet Elliot refused to look at him, trapped in his own turmoil. He was reluctant, unsure if he even wanted to. His mind was a whirlwind of despair, making him feel as if he could short-circuit and lose consciousness right there, like a malfunctioning android.

“Look at me, darling. I promise I won't bite, at least... not yet,” Itrapped said once more, his voice dripping with that nauseatingly sweet tone, the same one he used to soothe Chance during his difficult moments. Ugh, Chance didn't even want to recall that.

“How adorable, being rebellious. Yet, it's pointless to even attempt.” The blade edged nearer to Elliot's neck, close enough to create a slight cut that drew blood, causing Elliot to wince in agony.

He was already hurt and suffering, and although it was just a minor scar, it still stung. The blade was sharp, venomous, and dangerous.

Most crucially, Chance observed ice marks blossoming around the tiny wound. Like snowflakes drifting across skin, it was horrifyingly mesmerising.

Elliot shuddered as the icy chill coursed through his veins once again, yet he felt a sense of relief that the frost could dull the excruciating pain somewhat, allowing him to feel a bit more relaxed.

However, Itrapped was determined to deny him any comfort or feeling of security whatsoever.

Itrapped leaned over and lifted Elliot by the collar to bring him to eye level, doing so gently. “What a sweet little thing you are, don't you think your inferiority is... unwarranted?” Elliot winced in pain, yet he still avoided meeting Itrapped's gaze.

“You could have achieved so much more... than just being a simple pizzeria worker, you know?” Itrapped murmurs gently.

“You possess the potential for remarkable opportunities,” Itrapped asserts, his confidence almost convincing Elliot, “Oh, don't be so skeptical. I can recognize a promising future when I see one.” He grinned before shifting his focus back to Chance, releasing Elliot's collar, causing him to tumble to the ground with a soft thud as he groaned.

“And you...” He said, his tone icy and cutting, “are now merely an obstacle in my way.” He added, his voice tinged with a sense of impending danger and disdain.

He shifted the glinting blade from Elliot's neck to Chance, now aiming it directly at his heart. “How unfortunate for you that your defiance has led us here,” he sneered, his voice dripping with mock pity and irritation. “We could have been on good terms once more, you know, but it seems you just can't grasp the concept of what is best for you.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me anymore,” Chance shot back, irritation bubbling to the surface. His grip tightened around the gun, knuckles whitening as the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air. “I’m perfectly capable of handling my own business, y’know?” The tension crackled between them, a silent stand-off where every heartbeat felt amplified, brimming with the potential to explode at a moment’s notice.

The timer ticked softly in the silence, a steady reminder that gave an unsettling feeling. Itrapped must have moved with precisely swift speed to eliminate the other survivors—how else could he have gained such an advantage in so short a span? The thought sent a chill down Chance’s spine, igniting a sense of urgency, and yet he hesitated.

“Aww, you poor thing. Do you really think you can go against me? How adorable, really.” Itrapped chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips. The sound of his voice sent Chance’s mind racing, his gears turning with aggression and frustration. “But, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. After all, I am a generous man.”

Itrapped lowered the darkheart’s blade, the sharp tip lightly scratching the concrete pavement, causing an overwhelming screeching sound, followed by a bloom of snowflakes on the scarred concrete.

He took a step closer—just one—but instinctively, Chance recoiled, a flicker of wariness crossing their face. Itrapped couldn’t help but smirk at the reaction. “You and I,” he said, his voice dripping with intrigue, “are destined for an endless clash of frost and gunpowder in this world.”

With another deliberate step forward, Itrapped approached closer. Chance instinctively backed away, maintaining that precious distance, just as Itrapped anticipated.

“Our bond was forged in lies and deception—my own doing, I won’t deny it. And you? A fragile soul, starved for voice.” His tone was calm and composed, yet there was an underlying edge, sharp enough to cut. “What blossomed between us became a hollow, tragically beautiful flower, fated to rot and wither away far too quickly.”

Chance was drenched in sweat, frustration clawing at him as he glanced over at Elliot, who lay helplessly on the ground, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. A tremor ran through Chance's body—what was fueling this overwhelming mix of fear, rage, and an unsettling sense of vulnerability?

He wanted to protect Elliot, he felt an urgent need to save him. No, it was more than that—he absolutely had to help him. Yet, as the shadows of Itrapped closed in, a paralyzing dread gripped him. Why was he frozen in place? Why couldn’t he fight back?

Desperation clawed at Chance, wanting to do something—anything—to rescue Elliot, to escape this relentless nightmare, to finally rid himself of Itrapped for good. His heart raced, blood pounding in his veins, bubbling with a fierce urgency that threatened to explode.

Itrapped's words weren’t just empty nonsense. They dripped with a chilling authenticity, undeniable truths. This was the true face of the man Chance had once known as his best friend. Beneath a veneer of elegance and a perfect façade hides a greedy sociopath—a monster who cared only for his own gains. Itrapped was a master at manipulation, hiding his true self behind a polished and dignified exterior, revealing a darkness that thrived on selfishness and deception.

Suddenly, Itrapped turned his attention to Elliot, who was in an immense state of dormant misery right now. He walked towards the blonde boy, leaning down by the knee to observe him. Chance adjusted his aim, following Itrapped’s head as he moved. He still didn’t dare to fire, not yet, not now, and probably not ever.

Chance’s gaze flicked to the timer above—50 seconds remaining. But what was Itrapped up to?

Leaning in closer, Itrapped hovered over Elliot, whose eyes fluttered, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. With a swift motion, Itrapped released the Darkheart from his grasp, watching as the sword momentarily shimmered before dispersing into the air. A strange question nagged at Chance, was the sword a part of him, or something more? He hesitated to explore that thought further. Elliot seemed equally lost, a haze of confusion clouding his mind, trapped in a web of numbness. 

Itrapped suddenly slipped off one of his gloves, revealing his bare hand, and gently caressed Elliot’s cheek. The touch felt cold, almost a hollow tenderness, as if he were lulling him into a deep, peaceful slumber. Yet, something was wrong. Elliot sensed it, and Chance, instinctively alert, noticed it—but it was already too late.

Like a predator’s kiss, frost began to creep across Elliot's cheek, freezing his skin as if it were tainted by some malevolent poison. The chill spread rapidly, wrapping around him, and his body quaked from the icy grip. Desperate to survive, he fought against the encroaching numbness, but it consumed him, leaving him feeling an unbearable burn beneath the surface.

Chance moved in closer, his heart racing. He lowered his gun, yet kept it poised, ready to fire a shot that could shatter the tension. “W-what are you doing? Stop it!” His voice shook with frustration and fear, echoing the urgency of the moment as panic set in.

The survivor list interface emitted a piercing beep, slicing through the tension that hung in the air. Chance's heart raced as he saw the warning flashing before him. Warning that his last teammate was on the brink of death, leaving him as the sole survivor. Elliot’s HP plummeted rapidly, each second ticking away like a countdown, and his heart rate was dropping dangerously low. Panic surged through Chance. He had to act now. Time was running out, and every decision could mean the difference between life and death. What would he do?

As Itrapped turned toward him, a tiny maniacal grin spread across his face, radiating a chilling uneasiness that sent a shiver racing down Chance’s spine.

Chance sensed his anger rising once more, just before Elliot's HP could reach zero-

In that electrifying moment, driven by a surge of reckless impulse, Chance raised his gun and fired.

The instant the gun fired, darkness enveloped him in a flash, swallowing everything whole.

Uncertainty gnawed at his insides—had he hit Itrapped? The chilling echo of Itrapped’s laughter was the last sound that pierced the ominous quiet, mingling with the faint crackle of frost as it fell and shattered like glass around him.

The killer has won.

Wha—how could this be? Chance was convinced there were only 10 seconds left on the clock. How had he managed to take his life in such an impossibly brief moment? Was it really possible he hadn’t even felt it happen?

But at least… it’s finally over though.

Chance felt the familiar ground beneath his feet as he landed at the survivor’s cabin, a wave of relief washing over him. 

He took a moment to survey his surroundings, letting out a sigh of gratitude. After all the chaos they had endured, he knew they would be okay, but that didn’t lessen the weight of his relief.

As he stepped inside, he spotted Elliot sprawled out on the couch, his expression a mix of distress and irritation, clearly still grappling with the events that had unfolded. Taph was perched nearby, engrossed in every word of Elliot’s messy ranting, hanging on to his every complaint with great interest.

Chance adjusted his hat with a small smile and settled onto the couch beside Taph, who greeted him with a quick wave before returning their focus to Elliot. For now, Elliot was too wrapped up in his grievances to even notice Chance’s presence, but that was just fine. 

Chance leaned back, listening to Elliot’s bantering, he just wants to distract himself from the events earlier.

Itrapped lingered on the periphery of the scene, a blend of satisfaction and disappointment swirling within him. Before him was the aftermath of chaos, Chance, entangled by three ice-carved replicas of Darkheart, was nearly encased in frost, a chilling testament to the brutal confrontation. Meanwhile, Elliot’s lifeless form bore the cruel marks of frostbite and blood loss, a hauntingly morbid sight.

It was a grisly tableau, yet the horror no longer unsettled him as it once did. A twisted sense of acceptance had settled in. He felt proud of his work.

But then, an unsettling lightheadedness washed over him, familiar shadows creeping into his consciousness. Just like that, the world around him faded, and he was pulled back into the killers' cabins.

The scene unfolded with Coolkid and Bluudude locked in a serious bickering, each trying to outdo the other in a debate about maturity. Off to the side, Prettyprincess sipped her tea—though it looked suspiciously like chocolate milk—as she quietly observed the antics unfolding before her.

Itrapped watched in mild irritation, dismissing their childlike exchanges as trivial. He had no time for such nonsense. With a quick flick of his wrist, he adjusted his clothes, brushing off imaginary dust, and meticulously straightened his gloves.

Just as he settled into a moment of calm, a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. A surge of dread washed over him—please, not him.

“So, what’s the verdict, new guy? How did your first hunt feel to you?” The man leaned in with an inquisitive grin, completely unfazed by Itrapped's clenched jaw and annoyed expression. Itrapped barely contained his irritation, the last thing he wanted was to engage in small talk. “You’ve got that look on your face—like you had fun. Don’t hide it.” The man persisted, his enthusiasm almost infectious despite the cold shoulder he received.

Itrapped scoffed dismissively, crossing his arms and deliberately turning his head away. That was until the man stepped in front of him, prompting Itrapped to finally open his eyes and shoot him a glare that could cut through steel. 

“If you've got something to say, spill it, Mr. Sonnellino,” Itrapped said, his voice icy and unwavering. The Mafioso merely smirked, his curiosity piqued.

“You're quite the character, I’ll give you that.” Mafioso chuckled, his mockery dripping from every word. “So haughty and rude… Whatever happened to your manners?” He raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across his face. “You were so charming and gracious to that pizza boy earlier. What’s with the sudden switch?”

Itrapped sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes as he moved closer to Mafioso. Leaning in, he whispered with a sharp edge, “If you think you can cozy up to me to get to him, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Mafioso simply grinned, fingers stroking his chin in amusement. He let Itrapped’s irritation hang in the air like a thick fog, watching him storm out of the main cabin in a huff, presumably heading back to his own quarters.

As soon as Itrapped stormed into his cabin, he slammed the door with a force that echoed his fury. How dare that Mafioso even think he could use him as a pawn against Chance?

The mere idea of being someone's advantage sent a wave of rage coursing through him, especially being compared to that gambler! Why did he even care about Chance? It was infuriating.

If Itrapped ruminated on this any longer, he just might unleash chaos upon this entire forsaken realm—literally turning it upside down. He needed to cool off before he did something he’d regret.

He flung his coat onto the hanger and fell onto his bed, kicking off his shoes with a swift move before placing his icy crown on the bedside table. 

Why does he unravel the moment he’s left alone with his thoughts? He wondered, frustration bubbling up inside him. “This isn’t the real you, Itrapped.”

As he lay there, a scowl etched on his face and arms tightly crossed, he muttered to himself, “Get it together, Itrapped. Don’t let trivial annoyances get to you.” The silence enveloped the room, a heavy blanket that seemed to press down on him, gnawing at his nerves in a way that was all too familiar.

With a swirl of thoughts racing through his mind, Itrapped finally made the decision to just try to sleep it out, even if the hour felt a bit premature. The weight of his thoughts had become too burdensome, and he just wanted a break from the relentless cycle of contemplation. 

As he settled into bed, surrendering to the quiet of the night, the gentle pull of sleep began to weave its way into his restless thoughts, wrapping him in a much-needed cocoon of rest.

Honestly, he’s filled with anticipation, just hoping that tomorrow unfolds exactly as he envisions it.

Chapter Text

“What do memories really signify when, in the end, they only become abstractions?”

Itrapped recognized this question from somewhere in his past. However, he found himself unable to answer, as he believed he had nothing to offer. At least, that's his perception.

He is uncertain if there is a correct answer, even though there shouldn't be one. This question lingers in his thoughts to this day, he simply wishes to erase it. The past should remain in the past.

However, this deity, or god, whatever entity is in charge of this miserable place, refuses to grant him a moment's peace.

Itrapped rose from his bed, unsure of how long he had been asleep, the clocks here obviously do not adhere to real time, he only knows it wasn't for long. A headache throbs in his head, and he places a hand on it while squinting his eyes open.

He didn't even notice that he had forgotten to change into his nightwear, but that hardly matters now. If only his belongings had also been abandoned in this realm alongside him, that would actually be a blessing.

He gradually got out of bed, slipping on the shoes he had carelessly discarded earlier, and made his way to the antique vanity that sat in the cold room.

He cast a quick look at the vanity and let out a sigh. Dust was everywhere, but he could handle it. He planned to clean it up later.

As he moved in closer, he caught sight of his reflection in the grimy mirror. Studying his features, he muttered, “You're here now, welcome to your damnation,” his voice a mix of annoyance and resignation.

His eyes were devoid of light at that moment, as if the soul within him had decayed and died tragically. For a moment, he failed to recognize himself, and just for that fleeting moment, he experienced an unusual thrill.

He smiled, it was subtle but it was a smile meant for himself, hollow yet filled with emotions that were difficult to put into words. For the first time, he smiled for something that required no justification. Something that needed no definition, as it did not demand one.

Was this the visage that Chance perceived in him? Why hadn't they told him back then? It felt, disturbingly amusing. He was uncertain of his feelings, no, not at all. Yet it was exhilarating.

But just as he was savoring the moment, the sensation gradually faded as thoughts invaded his mind. Itrapped felt a wave of disappointment wash over him, rendering his smile pointless. The thoughts swirling in his head defined aspects he wished to remain undefined, attributing significance to things he preferred to dismiss as trivial.

However, as the laws of the universe dictate, everything carries meaning, everything must have a purpose. Itrapped is no different, after all, what was the source of his distress? Why was he even feeling this way? There seemed to be no justification, yet there was—an endless contradiction.

He wasn't merely trapped in hell in a literal sense, his mind could very well be hell itself. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror once more, but this time, there was no emotion behind it. His eye twitched slightly before the smile gradually disappeared. He then carefully removed his gloves.

His fingers glided over the wood, creating cracks of ice beneath his touch. He peered into the mirror again, then traced the outline of his face, watching as delicate snowflakes blossomed softly until his reflection vanished completely. Itrapped let out a soft sigh, slipped his glove back on, and turned away from the mirror.

The ice crystals crackled gently as they spread, leaving no trace of a reflection behind that glass, which could no longer be seen.

Hours and days stretch endlessly in this realm. Only for the same monotonous cycle to unfold again and again. Killers relentlessly pursue survivors one by one until the ground is drenched in blood. Survivors cling to a deceptive sense of hope that propels them forward in their fight for survival, only to confront a multitude of horrific deaths again and be resurrected to suffer once more.

Itrapped has mastered his rounds, this time, he allowed no distractions. He swiftly eliminates survivors with his honed swordsmanship, never flinching at the sight of blood or the sounds of flesh tearing and bones shattering. It’s a tedious cycle, yet he feels he has no choice but to continue playing the game.

At times, he finds it hard to resist, but only occasionally, he steals fleeting glances at Elliot and Chance. Why is he still so infatuated with that pizza boy? And hasn’t he moved on from Chance? He’s uncertain of the answer.

Itrapped consistently reminded himself to avoid forming attachments too easily, Chance wasn't his first error. But it was an error he neither regrets nor can help but resent deeply. Of course, he could have mourned Chance's passing, grieved for him or something similar—but Itrapped found it pointless. 

Why waste time mourning for the dead who do not wish to hear your lamentations? Why shed tears for those who would not want their graves tainted with your grief? It was a cynical perspective, and Itrapped did not deny it, as it is the truth. Yet, this mindset allowed him to move past distractions as he continues to outlive the lives he encounters.

“Oh, Itrapped, do these memories merely feel like a fleeting moment to you?”  

A voice murmured, a voice that remains in his mind that lingers endlessly.

Before Itrapped could process his thoughts correctly and mutter a curse under his breath, he sensed that same familiar hand resting on his shoulder. He didn't stiffen, but a distinct look of dread took over whatever expression he had worn moments before.

He moved and understood it was just a false alarm when he detected another presence nearby, drawing his blade and slicing at the face of the illusion as he turned. The mirage disappeared, accompanied by a glitchy, distorted laugh.

“0h d-d-d34r, 1t se3m$ s0m30n3 1s n0t 1n th3 b-b3$t 0f sp1r1t$.” ( Oh dear, it seems someone is not in the best of spirits. ) The presence chuckled. Itrapped instantly recognized them. It was that half-decayed jester—cult leader, Noli.

Itrapped simply tilted his head in curiosity, appearing somewhat detached. “What is it that you want?” he inquired, getting straight to the matter. “You seem to have a tendency to interrupt others when they seek solitude.”

“0h, w-w-wh4t'$ th3 1ssu3 w-w1th th4t?” (Oh, what's the issue with that? ) Noli replied, releasing a twisted laugh. “4r3n't y0u 4w4r3 th4t l0n3l1n3ss 1s wh4t k1lls p30pl3 from w1th1n?” ( Aren't you aware that loneliness is what kills people from within? ) He claims, he's not mistaken, after all.

“Loneliness can also provide people with a moment of quiet, especially when they need it the most.” Itrapped retorted, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Noli simply chuckled, his laughter as distorted and glitchy as ever.

“Y0u'r3 q-qu1t3 th3 1ntr1gu1ng c-ch4r4ct3r, 1 mu$t s4y.” ( You're quite the intriguing character, i must say. ) Noli remarked, leaning against the log wall with a sense of assurance. “F0r $0m30n3 n3w to k-k1ll1ng, y0u 4pp34r t-t0 b3 a q-q-qu1ck $tudy. 1-1'm g3nu1n3ly 1mpr3ss3d th4t y-y-y0u'v3 4d4pt3d s0 w3ll 1n ju$t 4b0ut a m-m-m0nth.” ( For someone new to killing, you appear to be a quick study. I'm genuinely impressed that you adapted so well in just about a month. ) Noli confessed. itrapped remained silent, unsure if it was meant as a compliment or not.

After a brief period of uncomfortable silence, iTrapped felt as if he might actually fall asleep while gazing at the ocean. Eventually, Noli gave him a gentle nudge on the shoulder. iTrapped thought he would walk away, but instead, the jester moved in closer.

"H3y—d0n’t st4rt d-d1st4nc1ng y-y-y0urs3lf from m3 n0w! 1t’$ qu1t3 d-d-d1sr3sp3ctful t0 0v3rl00k s-s-such a d1$t1ngu1$h3d pr3$3nc3 4t y0ur s3rv1c3, y-y0u kn0w?" ( Hey—don't start distancing yourself from me now! It's quite disrespect to overlook such a distinguished presence at your sevice, you know? ) Noli chuckled, while itrapped rolled his eyes, choosing to disregard him.

Noli, noticing itrapped’s indifference, let out a sigh. He ultimately fell into silence, gazing at the still waters shimmering beneath the soft moonlight and the starry sky alongside him.

Even though both of them understood that the sky was just a facade and a hoax, it wasn’t so bad to simply... pretend it wasn’t, right?

The atmosphere was still, the silence felt as frigid as a dormant winter. Noli recognized that iTrapped was cold to the touch, but he was surprised to figure that he could also chill the air around him. According to Noli, this was essentially… a free sample of winter itself, at least he thinks so..?

Meanwhile, iTrapped was lost in his thoughts. He finally made a decision and walked over to a nearby deserted campsite along the path that led back to the cabins. Noli took mental note of this and quietly followed him. iTrapped stared at the campfire, where the wood was partially burned and covered in ashes.

His breath formed a visible mist, reminiscent of winter's chill, even though it wasn't snowing. Noli found it strange. To be honest, he was almost convinced this mortal was the embodiment of winter itself.

iTrapped looked at the campfire for a few moments, as if deep in contemplation. Then, he bent down and picked up a piece of wood. Turning to Noli, who was watching him with a puzzled expression. iTrapped, still holding the piece of wood, asked in a cold tone with an unreadable visage, "Do you have anything to start a fire?"

"Huh?" Noli stood dumbfounded, struggling to comprehend what iTrapped had just said. Lacking a lighter or any conventional means to ignite a fire, he stepped closer, conjured the void star in his hand, and allowed it to slightly graze the wood's tip. To his surprise, the unusual heat energy produced a small spark that quickly erupted into a massive flame, engulfing half the wood.

Noli swiftly tucked the void star away, unaware of the intense heat it possessed. iTrapped appeared unfazed, a satisfied look on his face as he held the burning wood, the flames dangerously close to his silken gloves. He turned away and walked towards the campfire, without a second, he dropped the flaming wood onto it without hesitation. The fire erupted into fierce, angry flames.

iTrapped's expression remained unchanged, devoid of spirit. The fire's light failed to illuminate the emptiness in his eyes, which reflected a tainted and corrupted soul. Only the abyss behind those eyes was visible, yet they conveyed deep emotions that words could not capture.

Standing perilously close to the flames, iTrapped remained still. Noli, driven by curiosity and a hint of concern, found himself inching closer. The fire roared and crackled, reminiscent of rage awakened after years of neglect.

"You know... I don't often reflect on the past, especially not with someone I don't know…" iTrapped said, his tone cold yet warm enough for Noli to stay composed and attentive. "However, you appear to understand the world just enough to persuade the “me” that hesitates to connect." He offered a subtle smile, remaining in his spot while gazing at the flames.

Noli tilted his head in curiosity and chuckled softly, moving closer to listen. iTrapped briefly tilted his head to glance at him before returning his focus to the fire.

This time, iTrapped's smile was genuine and not subtle, it was clear. He then spoke in a calm and gentle manner. "Regardless of how frigid winter has become, or how fierce the winds may blow... As long as the flames continue to shine brightly, it cuts through the frost and snow." He gestured toward the flame, almost reaching out to it. "Yet, even if it desperately seeks warmth beyond its own, even if it clings to hope," iTrapped continued, his smile gradually fading as if he were recalling a flame that was slowly extinguishing. "Winter will ultimately consume it entirely, as it was destined to do." His smile finally vanished, and his voice turned icy cold.

He reached out toward the flame, and upon contact, the flame reacted. It pulled away from his touch, releasing tiny frost particles as it did.

Then iTrapped continued to reach forward, as if piercing a sword with no compassion. The flame responded, erupting into an unusual blue shade as if ice and fire had combined. The fire crackled in fury and twisted its form violently before suddenly dissipating, leaving only delicate snowflakes drifting down.

iTrapped slowly lowered his hand and let out a heavy sigh. Noli applauded as if he were witnessing the conclusion of a theatrical performance. "W4s t-t-th4t a m3-m3t4ph0r f0r s0m3th1ng? 1t w4s 4n 4m4z1ng p-p3rf0rm4nc3, th0ugh." ( Was that a metaphor for something? It was an amazing performance, though. ) he remarked sarcastically.

iTrapped chose to ignore him, feeling a bit irritated. Then Noli positioned himself next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, which iTrapped silently reacted to.

"J3$t$ 4s1d3, 1 u-und3r$t4nd y0ur p3r$p3ct1v3.” ( Jests aside, i understand your perspective. ) Noli said, somewhat having a more formal and serious tone. "M0rt4l$ $tr1v3 f0r th3 b-br1ght3$t, y3t 1n th1s v4st $ea 0f l1f3, th3y 4r3 m3r3ly a t1ny $p3ck 4m0ng b1ll10ns." ( Mortals strive for the brightest, yet in this vast sea of life, they are merely a tiny speck among billions. )

He turned to face iTrapped, who avoided his gaze and simply stared ahead, with only the cold, dark forest in view. He chuckled and continued, "$ur3, s0m3 m4y sh1n3 br1ght3r th4n 0th3r$, b-but wh0’s t0 s4y th4t 4ll th4t gl1mm3r$ w0n’t f4d3 4w4y 3v3ntually?" ( Sure, some may shine brighter than others, but who's to say all that glimmers won't fade away eventually? ) He added, "4nd 3v3n 1f th3y c-c-ch00s3 t0 r3m3mb3r, th4t m3m0ry b-b3c0m3$ d1$t0rt3d 4s t1m3 p4ss3s 0n unt1l th3 l1ght 0nc3 kn0wn 1$ unr3c0gn1z34bl3." ( And even if they choose to remember, that memory becomes distorted as time passes on until the light once known is unrecognizable. )

He scratched the back of his neck and walked toward the path leading back to the cabins, leaving iTrapped standing still. "1’m n0t r34lly su1t3d f0r c0mpl3x m-m3t4ph0rs l1k3 y0ur$, but 1’ll b3 h34d1ng b4ck 1f y0u d0n’t m1nd. 1t w4s n1c3 t4lk1ng t0 y-y0u, 1Tr4pp3d." ( I'm not really suited for complex metaphors like yours, but I'll be heading back if you don't mind. It was nice talking to you, iTrapped. )

As Noli walked away, iTrapped didn’t even turn to look at him. He remained there, wearing a blank expression and a subtle, forced smile. "Of course..." he whispered under his breath, barely audible.

He looked up at the artificial sky once more before turning to leave without saying a word. The remnants of his actions at the campfire were left behind, with frost blooms on the pieces of wood and an unfamiliar, barely visible dark aura that slipped past iTrapped's notice.

iTrapped wandered through the hallways of the Horror Hotel, feeling somewhat under the weather and more irritable than usual. Yet, he managed to conceal it beneath a facade of strict composure. Every sound, every movement, and everything that brushed against him seemed to irritate him for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. He wished this trivial feeling wouldn't plague him, but it lingered stubbornly.

The timer ticked softly, marking each passing second almost in sync with his footsteps. Sensing a presence nearby, he hurried towards the ballpit with quickened pace.

He approached silently, ensuring his presence remained undetected, and soon spotted a familiar face—Elliot.

Elliot was frantically repairing a generator, appearing paranoid as he frequently checked each survivors' HP on that small interface.

He nearly let out a laugh but refrained, not wanting to reveal his presence. Instead, he moved in a calm and measured manner.

By the time Elliot completed the generator, he exhaled in relief, grateful for both the successful repair and the fact that no one had been harmed thus far. However, at that moment, iTrapped stood behind him, patiently waiting for Elliot to acknowledge his presence.

Elliot immediately froze when a snowflake drifted down in front of him. He finally noticed the presence lurking behind him, yet he was too afraid to turn around. iTrapped was a notorious killer known for leaving behind traces of frost and snowflakes, much like John Doe and his path of corruption, but unlike John, iTrapped didn't leave a complete trail of ice with each step he took. It was more of vague but visible traces  that showed signs he was there.

Elliot felt an overwhelming urge to scream, to panic, to flee. He wanted to escape. Yet, he understood it was pointless since the killer was right behind him, observing his every move with lethal precision.

Finally, iTrapped shattered the silence with a soft chuckle, and spoke, "Don't be so afraid of me now." His voice was gentle and soothing. However, it no longer provided the comfort it once did. Instead, it filled Elliot with fear.

iTrapped maneuvered the Darkheart's blade forward, lightly brushing against Elliot's neck before slowly moving up to his face. "You may no longer be a fool to indulge in my falsehood of warmth. But I don't intend to harm you this time... At least, not yet."

"Chance isn't in this round this time, how unfortunate. Yet, I must admit, I don't want him to throw a fit because of his own jealousy." iTrapped remarked with a hint of sarcasm. Elliot simply stiffened, making an effort to remain still as the blade hovered dangerously close to his face.

"I often find myself... perplexed by you at times," iTrapped observed, appearing to drift into his own thoughts. "What is it that draws me to look at you?" His voice was soft and unexpectedly captivating as he leaned closer to Elliot. iTrapped leaned to his ear and whispered gently, "Is it... your vulnerability? Your cowardice? Your fear? Your hesitance? What is it really?"

For the moment, he sheathed the blade, using his other hand to tenderly stroke Elliot's face. Elliot felt uncertain, yes, but he was powerless in this predicament. So, he silently acquiesced to the caress.

iTrapped's touch was gentle, almost too soothingly gentle. It felt as if he were a nurturing figure admiring Elliot's features. He cradled Elliot's face with utmost tenderness, tilting it slightly upward to align with his own. Their noses were nearly touching. Elliot felt his stomach drop and was inexplicably filled with butterflies. Oh God, he just wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear by that point.

iTrapped couldn't help but smirk in amusement at Elliot's flustered face. He could have kissed him right then and there, but it was evident that the boy wasn't thinking clearly. Being a man of integrity, iTrapped chose not to kiss someone without their consent. So, he gently and slowly pulled back.

Elliot felt a wave of relief wash over him, yet there was also a hint of disappointment that he chose to ignore and not confront.

Elliot let out a sigh of relief, a smile creeping onto his face, just before iTrapped continued, "Don't confuse this for a gesture of goodwill or... a deepening connection." His tone turned icy and measured.

Elliot felt a wave of tension wash over him, his cheeks warming as he stammered, "N-no, I wouldn't... I wouldn't see you like that- I promise!" He hurriedly tried to clarify his stance.

iTrapped took a brief glance and nodded. He wasn't entirely sure why, but a part of him felt okay with the idea of kissing Elliot. He wasn't ready to face that part of himself just yet.

Elliot should have run while he had the chance, but his curiosity got the better of him, prompting him to ask, "A-are you going to k-kill me...?" He whispered, his words coming out in a stutter. After saying that, he felt an urge to slap himself.

iTrapped tilted his head in slight confusion before stepping closer again. Elliot gradually stood up and moved backward.

"If I did, then so do the others. They will endure the same fate you experienced, time and time again." iTrapped stated, his tone cold and calculated. He looked at Elliot with eyes so frigid they seemed capable of piercing souls, or so Elliot believed.

Elliot retreated as iTrapped advanced, until he found himself halted by the generator he had previously completed behind him.

Finally, iTrapped closed the gap, his coat and yellow hair flowing behind him elegantly, sword in hand. "I-I know that..." Elliot stammered, "I always knew that..." he added, his voice barely a whisper, yet iTrapped caught every word.

A subtle smile crept across iTrapped's face, while Elliot quaked with fear and anticipation. "This fate, a punishment for your very damnation. Does it seem unjust to you?"

Elliot stood frozen, unable to come up with a response.

iTrapped fell silent for a brief moment. Then, he extended his hand, a frost blue light radiating as it formed a hellebore flower crafted from frost.

Elliot was momentarily captivated until iTrapped gently took a strand of his hair, setting it aside before carefully placing the Hellebore flower in his hair, adjusting the strands until it looked just right.

Elliot felt a sense of confusion wash over him, and also felt a little flustered, yet he started to feel a wave of drowsiness. Then, iTrapped spoke in a calm and soothing voice, "This is the most mercy I can offer you, Elliot." Elliot struggled to comprehend iTrapped's words before he gradually drifted off to sleep.

iTrapped caught Elliot just before he could hit his head and fall. Then he motioned him into a more comfortable position. It shouldn't have mattered, as Elliot wasn't going to wake up anyways. Yet, iTrapped felt an overwhelming urge to do it anyway.

Before iTrapped left, he took a moment to look back at Elliot one last time. Elliot appeared to be sleeping soundly, and the flower in his hair made him seem even more enchanting than usual.

Elliot's heartbeat was gradually slowing as the Frost Hellebore was freezing him from the inside. iTrapped felt a mix of pity and envy at the sight of Elliot dying so beautifully, even though it was caused by his own hands.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss those thoughts. He couldn't allow himself to fall for someone, he just couldn't. Not again, not anymore, not ever. He shouldn't, after everything he had done—he didn't have the right to feel that way.

Finally, he turned away, walking away from the ball pit and leaving Elliot to drift asleep into his death.

The thoughts continued to nag at him, despite his desperate attempts to push them aside. 

The Killer has won.

When the round concluded, he took longer than usual to eliminate the remaining survivors.

iTrapped recognized the shortcomings in his performance. He understood the reason behind it. With every move, every second, every swing, and every slice of the blade, he was fixated on that moment.

It was merely a single moment, yet it gnawed on iTrapped like a thorn he had inadvertently swallowed. Still, he couldn't comprehend why he was thinking about it, about Elliot. Why? No answer.

He couldn't shake off the disappointment he felt in himself, but for what reason? "Elliot, elliot, elliot..." That name echoed in his mind incessantly. The emotion he experienced was reminiscent... reminiscent of how he felt after Chance's passing.

Was it resentment? Intrigue? Love? Hatred? No, it was guilt. Guilt for what, precisely? iTrapped had no right to feel guilty, not anymore, no—never again. Everything he had done, he did without looking back upon it, not once glancing back, yet his transgressions continued to haunt him from the shadows. Like a thorny rope entangled around his foot. It was bothersome, annoying, and frustrating. It won’t go away.

iTrapped was on the verge of spiraling down into his own thoughts when suddenly something sharp and cold pricked at his fingertips. He halted, feeling its icy and solid presence.

He glanced down at the hand gripping the darkheart sword. Frost was seeping through the gloves, a faint black hue visible at his fingertips. It was spreading at an incredibly slow pace, yet iTrapped could sense it.

He fixated on it for a moment, moving his hand to examine it closely. A mix of fascination, intrigue, curiosity, and horror washed over him.

He fell silent, lingering in that moment longer than he should have.

Suddenly, he burst into laughter. Laughing to himself within the quiet confines of his room. What was the reason for his laughter? Was it his own suffering? His own anguish? Not that he truly understands it anyway.

And gradually, he chuckles, which then transforms into hollow and subtle tears that eventually fade into quiet. Contemplating his futile sorrow.

The atmosphere seemed colder than normal, iTrapped sensed it, yet it didn't seem to impact him at all.

He turned to look at the vanity mirror again, the one he had covered in frost. Staring at the hazy reflection that no longer showed a face. The ice softly crackles under a dim light filtering through the window.

And perhaps, just perhaps this time... even if only once.

iTrapped might finally confront the guilt he has buried for so long.