Longs squinted. "Is that… a button?"
Cydal examined it. "Yeah. But it doesn't look like it came off a school uniform—boy or girl."
"Still, it feels… familiar."
He asked longs whether any of his teachers wore any clothes with buttons like this? But longs responded in negative
Cydal slipped the button into his pocket. "I'll hold onto it."
"Whoever did this was sloppy," he muttered. "Leaving something like this behind."
Longs stared at him, both impressed and a little spooked. "Man… All this time i thought you were just pretending to be a genius but you're actually smart huh?"
Cydal didn't respond anything to that.
They stepped into the center of the basement, unexpectedly it was spacious and silent.
An eerie, colossal statue loomed at the heart of the chamber, its presence suffocating in divine silence. Its eyes, bound in ancient bandages, were denied the sight of the mortal realm—condemned, or perhaps sanctified, to blindness. In its vast, stone-carved hands, it cradled a sphere—smooth and glimmering with ghostly light. A closer gaze would unveil etched continents, winding rivers, and delicate ridges of mountain ranges—the planet itself was resting in the uncertain mercy of its grasp.
Around it, five lesser statues stood at the far corners of the chamber, their shadows long and twisted like pilgrims caught mid-penance. Though bowed low in reverence, their forms betrayed something more primal—spines arched like beasts, claws curled around ancient offerings, horns and wings frozen in stone. They resembled demons more than disciples, yet their gaze remained fixed, unblinking, upon the blind god at the center—as if entrusting the last fragments of a damned world to the very hands that once forsook it.
Behind each smaller statue, on the wall, were what looked like gates — but they weren't real. They were paintings of gates, old and faded, more symbolic than functional.
Above each painted gate was a word.
Emit.
Htead.
Soahc.
Diov.
Efil.
Another painting lingered on far above the wall, it was a staircase that disappeared into darkness, giving no clear hint if it led anywhere real.
Above the central statue, almost blending into the ceiling's shadow, a sentence was carved — "stcaf eht ot ton ,dnim eht ot sdneb tsap ehT"
A weak shaft of light leaked through a crack in the ceiling, softly illuminating the center.
"This is it? Just creepy art and some rock monsters?" Longs scoffed, stepping toward the central statue.
"Weird text, weird room. I feel ripped off. There is no catacombs here at all. I guess shari did lie to us about it."
He tried to lean on the giant statue —
And it moved.
Grinding stone echoed through the basement as the statue shifted toward the painted stairs, connecting to it, almost like forming a bridge.
"Eeeeh! I swear I didn't do anything!" Longs yelped, scrambling back.
But nothing else happened.
Within minutes, the statue slowly returned to its original position.
"Okay... what the hell was that?" Longs muttered, eyes wide. "Did you know we had a basement room in our school this crazy?"
"This place is insane and it makes no sense."
Cydal didn't answer right away. His eyes lingered on the inscriptions, tracing every symbol with quiet intent—like a child poring over the tutorial manual, not out of duty, but out of the strange comfort it gave before stepping into the real game.
"We're leaving," he finally said.
"What?? But we just got here!"
"The girl from the clubroom mentioned other inscriptions hidden around the school, she mentioned three locations but I think there are at least five other places having something to do with the gates." Cydal said. "I think we need to activate those first… if we want this stage to open."
"And you're sure that will work?"
"Not yet. Just a hunch. But I will find out."
They left the basement and went to the boy's restroom next:
Their voices echoed through the emptiness.
"Geez, the smell's worse than Shari explained!" Longs immediately clamped his hand over his nose, struggling to breathe through the overpowering stench.
Cydal blinked in surprise, his gaze scanning the grimy restroom. "Isn't this a boys' room? So, where exactly do you go when you need to take a leak?"
Longs shrugged casually, entirely unfazed.
"Oh, I just go outside. In the bushes," he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Cydal stared at him, eyes narrowing with quiet judgment.
Did he even wash his hands afterward?
The thought alone made his skin crawl—especially considering how much Longs had been clinging to him since morning.
He took a quick glance around, ignoring the mess beneath their feet. There were indeed scribbles everywhere—some weird, some crude, but all of them equally inappropriate. The place looked like it had been abandoned by any semblance of hygiene long ago.
Suddenly a series of unsettling sounds erupted from behind the closed toilet door—grunts, thuds, and way too much effort.
"Ah… ugh… just fit inside already!!"
A tense pause.
Then, louder:
"Ow! Ow, it hurts!"
Longs froze, then gasped dramatically, immediately slapping his hands over Cydal's face.
"Oh my god—nope! I forgot this school has dirty students doing weird things around here! We should leave. Now! We aren't allowed to see things like that. It's wrong!!"
Cydal, unbothered, shoved Longs' hands away and stepped forward. With his usual blank expression, he opened the door without hesitation.
Longs turned away, shielding his eyes like he'd just walked in on his parents.
A scream erupted—high-pitched, cracking like a terrified anime girl.
But it wasn't from what he expected.
It was just a guy inside, red-faced, trying to zip his pants.
"D-Damn thing's stuck! It's not what it looks like, I swear!"
Then, without waiting for judgment, the guy bolted—still fumbling with his zipper.
He ran down the hall dramatically, pants halfway up, yelping,
"Ow—ow—OW!" with every few steps, echoing behind him like a wounded cat fleeing shame.
Moments later the awkward moment:
Longs, clearly unimpressed and a bit frustrated, crossed his arms. "Are you sure Shari didn't lie to us? I'm convinced she hates me. Sending me to a smelly toilet and weird students —this is part of her revenge!"
He scowled, his voice dripping with annoyance. "There's nothing unusual here. Those inscriptions are just from some dumb guys messing around with graffiti."
Cydal didn't hear him; he was too busy scanning the room for anything out of place.
He stood against the wall, his gaze fixated on some strangely written text.
Longs laughed, a dismissive sound. "Shari's been had. These are just some poorly written words from the guys here. Not everyone's a genius at studies, you know? Definitely not some secret code."
Cydal narrowed his eyes, studying the wall more closely. Every word was scrawled in marker or chalk—except for one. This one wasn't from a bad writing. The letters seemed deliberate, too precise to be from a careless hand, plus they somewhat resembled the words from basement.
The words read like "eerht-yttriht nevele evif"
The screen flickered suddenly, cutting through the silence like a whisper in the dark.
[Congratulations. You have found your first clue.]
[Uncover all the clues to unlock the main stage]
[Hidden Clue 1/4]
A faint electric hum buzzed in the air.
Cydal tilted his head, eyes narrowing at the cryptic message. "I see... so it's a clue," he murmured under his breath.
Longs, standing awkwardly nearby, caught the words. "Clue? What are you talking about? Like, some kind of riddle clue?" He stepped closer and frowned harder. "Wait—is this even in English?"
He stared at the text like it had just slapped him in the face with a thesaurus.
"Hey, I know!" Longs perked up. "We could ask Lal and Isaac. They study weird languages spoken in outside world, Maybe they can—"
But Cydal wasn't listening.
His eyes were glued to the screen, deep in thought.
"It is English," he finally said. "Just... backwards." His fingers traced the air as he mentally rearranged the letters. "Five, eleven, thirty-three."
Longs blinked. "So like… the clue is numbers? You know what it means?"
Cydal's voice was calm, but distant. "Could be a code. A date, coordinates, or something symbolic. Any festival on that date? Local event that goes in this village?"
Longs frowned hard, genuinely trying. "Uhh…i think i know this." Then, like a sad balloon deflating, he sagged.
"I got nothing."
Cydal sighed. "Let's keep looking. If there's one clue, there might be more. Maybe we'll figure it out if we find them all."
They searched the room, scraping every surface with their eyes. Walls, floors, even the revolting toilets—but no sign of anything.
Longs, giving up on detective work, wandered over to the sink. "Man, I'm thirsty. Maybe I'll just drink—wait." He leaned in. His gaze locked on the soap.
"Uh, Cydal? You might wanna see this."
Cydal approached. There, etched faintly into the half-melted bar of soap, were the same numbers: 5, 11, 33.
Longs exploded. "HA! I FOUND THE NEXT CLUE! It was me! Not you, Cydal! I'm the clue master!"
Before his victory dance could begin, Cydal snatched the soap from his hand.
"Hey!!"
But Cydal wasn't listening again.
He turned the soap over—and there it was. Another message, this one scrawled in tiny print:
"32 m'I litnu ,em llor"
But if spelled correctly, it read:
"Roll me, until I'm 23"
As the words registered, the screen buzzed again.
[Congratulations. You have found another clue.]
[Clue 2/4]
[Find all the clues to unlock the next stage.]
"Am I overthinking this?" Cydal wondered. "Are the clues really just simple steps, one leading to the next?"
Longs snatched the soap back into his hands and rolled it across the tiled floor. "Hey, wait—I know how this works," he said, a spark of confidence lighting up his face. "The soap says, 'Roll me until I'm 23.' Maybe we have to roll it like a dice or something. Maybe it'll reveal something!"
He stood there, arms crossed after the soap came to a stop. The look on his face screamed that he thought he had cracked the code—like some kind of genius puzzle master.
But nothing happened.
Cydal, watching from the corner, wasn't impressed. The rolling here could mean anything, he thought to himself. It's not necessarily about rolling an object. Still, he let Longs have his moment. If that meant peace for a few minutes, so be it.
"If I can't roll the soap… maybe I have to roll something else?" Longs muttered, then suddenly gasped, eyes wide. "Wait—it's the toilet plunger!"
He launched it across the floor with wild hope and dashed after it like a dog chasing a stick, praying it would trigger some hidden mechanism.
But once again… nothing happened.
From Cydal's perspective, it was getting comical. Longs had rolled so many things that day, it was starting to look ridiculous.
"Check the trash bin," Cydal finally suggested, arms folded. "I've looked everywhere else. That's the only thing we haven't touched."
Longs recoiled. "Ew. Dude, the restrooms are already disgusting—God knows what's festering in that thing."
He hesitated but approached it anyway, pinching his nose. His hand dove in, and then—"Odd… there's actually a balloon in here," he said.
Cydal coughed in the background. "Just check for something useful" he said.
"Even odder, there's some kind of liquid in it," Longs continued, holding it up like a biologist with a questionable specimen.
"It smells, though," Longs muttered.
Still, he rummaged through the trash thoroughly, and then lit up. "Hey—does this count as useful?"
He pulled out a toilet paper roll and held it up proudly.
Cydal didn't even glance at it. "I told you, not everything that rolls is the answer- Wait…" His eyes narrowed. "Hold it up a bit."
They both stared.
There were numbers. Tiny ones, printed along the roll.
Longs began unrolling it, slowly at first, and then faster as the numbers began to increase.
15... 17... 20... 22...
Until finally—they hit 23.
"So it was indeed something that simple," Cydal thought to himself. "Maybe I should stop overthinking things."
He turned the roll over, examining the back. There was another clue spelled backwards. He squinted and read it out loud: "Look at me and you'll find yourself."
The words echoed in the small restroom.
Suddenly, the screen against cydal lit up.
[Congratulations you have found another clue.]
[3/4 clues found.]
Cydal and Longs were nearly there now.
"Just one last clue and we'll finally know what this is all about. Oooh, I'm gonna scream!!" Longs shouted, practically bouncing on his heels.
Then suddenly, he froze. "Wait—hold on a minute... stay still," he said, eyes narrowing as he stared at Cydal. He widened his eyes dramatically, like he was trying to see through him.
Cydal blinked. "What are you doing?"
Longs furrowed his brow. "It's what you said earlier—'look at me and you'll find yourself.' But I don't see me."
"Don't be ridiculous," Cydal muttered to himself, stepping toward the sink. "I was just reading the clue... but the real answer is—"
"Mirror!" Longs suddenly shouted, eyes lighting up.
Right behind Cydal stood the mirror. They both stepped closer, their reflections still and silent beside them.
"Yeah… it's the mirror alright," Longs said, voice quieter now. "But… do you feel anything? We're supposed to be getting something, but nothing's happening."
Then, his eyes caught something strange.
"Wait," he breathed, staring into the mirror.
Behind them, in the reflection—but not in real space—words began to appear on the wall. Not spelled backward like typical the texts, but forward. Yet when they turned to look, the wall was blank. Only the reflection held the message.
The text in the mirror read:
"Let light reflect upon the demon's sight,
To awaken his gaze, long lost to the night."
[Congratulations! All clues have been uncovered.]
[You've completed the first stage in 1 hour 17 minutes. Time remaining: 43 minutes. Clear the next stage before time expires.]
[Failure to succeed will result in severe penalties.]
The screen buzzed once more, flashing a final message before fading into black:
[Find your way back to the basement, a new stage has been unlocked.]
Cydal didn't hesitate. "We're done here!" he said sharply, already heading for the door.
"Wait—just like that?! I was expecting something here!" Longs shouted, scrambling after him. His voice echoed behind them as they rushed out, urgency tightening the air around them.
Back at the base again—but was it really the same place?
The air was thicker now, heavy like fog laced with dread, clinging to their lungs with each breath. It felt wrong. Foreign. Unwelcoming.
One of the painted gates had shifted. A strange door now stood in the center of it, a real door, almost breathing—etched above it, in ancient script, the word "Emit" pulsed faintly, as if alive.
Longs noticed the faintly glowing word above the gate..
"Is that… backward?" he muttered, squinting at it. He tilted his head, then scratched it, trying to unscramble the odd text.
Before he could piece it together, Cydal spoke, almost absentmindedly—like he was reading it to himself rather than answering.
"Time."
"If everything else was spelled backwards, it's safe to assume this is too, but why time?"
And there, in front of the door, was a statue. No, not just a statue—it stood, as if it had always been standing. But neither of them remembered it like that, it's position had changed. It was stone carved in demonic form, fangs bared, wings coiled like serpents behind its back, muscles taut like it had just moved... or was about to.
Longs froze.
"Woah… I don't understand what's going on," he whispered to Cydal, eyes wide, pulse racing. "But that door… it wasn't here before, right? And that thing—that statue—I swear, it wasn't standing here either."
As he stepped closer, the demon's hands rose, lifting his sword.
Without warning, it moved—smooth as wind, swift as death. The statue slashed the air with a sudden arc of its stone blade, so clean it sang. Longs barely escaped. He leapt back with raw instinct, the blade grazing past where his neck had just been. He tumbled beside Cydal, heart thundering in his ears. Behind them, the statue calmly returned to its stance—silent, still, as if it hadn't moved at all.
Longs collapsed to his knees. His breath came ragged. Sweat soaked him.
"What the hell…" he murmured, his voice trembling, eyes unfocused.
But then—he laughed. A wild, startled laugh. Not from joy, but from the thrill of surviving something incomprehensible.
"I can't believe this," he said between breaths. "I'm still confused as hell, but… Shari's old stories—the ones she used to whisper to scare us—they're true? This is insane!"
Then, quieter:
"But what now? I don't think I can fight that thing…"
He turned to Cydal, desperate for an answer.
Cydal's gaze was far away—searching the room, seeking some meaning in this madness. Then he remembered the clue…
"Let light reflect upon the demon's sight,
To awaken his gaze, long lost to the night."
He noticed something—the demon statue's eyes were shut. Yet nearby, the small creek of shimmering light that once danced quietly around the Central statue had now begun to stretch—creeping closer, inching toward this new demonic sentinel. It hadn't reached it yet, though. Something was missing.
Then—Cydal saw it. Among the broken remnants stored in the basement, half-covered in dust and webs, lay an old, fractured mirror. Its edges were jagged, but the glass still caught the light.
He grabbed it gently, like it might shatter in his hands.
Holding it up, he angled the mirror toward the stream of light. With care, he redirected its glow—guiding the silver gleam toward the statue's face.
The moment the light struck its closed eyes, they flared open—burning a violent crimson.
To be continued