Shane and Himura tore down the dimly lit hallway, their lungs burning with every desperate breath. The rhythmic thudding of their footsteps echoed through the narrow space, mingling with the heavy, rapid thumping of their hearts. They knew one thing—stopping now would mean certain death. But even as they surged forward, Shane felt an irresistible pull to glance behind him. A quick look over his shoulder sent a shiver slicing down his spine: Rester, Alvia, Jetto, Subaru, and Ray were running just behind, their faces pale and drawn with terror. Behind them, the frenzied mob chased relentlessly, their hands clutching makeshift weapons—splintered wooden sticks, jagged planks, and rusted metal rods glinting ominously under the flickering light.

Subaru, his eyes wild with adrenaline, tugged Ray’s hand in a vise-like grip as they hurtled forward. His mind raced as fast as his feet. We need to get out and lock the door. We have to end this chase. Their collective sprint felt like an eternity, an agonizing flight through a house that groaned with age and malice.

The door loomed ahead, swollen and warped from years of damp, but to Subaru, it was salvation. He and Ray broke through the threshold, the last to cross. Shane slammed the door shut, the resounding crack like a gunshot, and fumbled to lock it with shaking fingers. The deadbolt clicked into place just as the mob slammed against the other side, a cacophony of fists, screams, and scraping weapons battering against the brittle wood.

"Move! We need to move now!" Rester shouted, his voice strained with urgency. They didn't waste another moment, dashing to the tall, wrought iron gates at the end of the narrow yard. The moon’s pale glow offered their only light as each friend scrambled up the cold, rusted bars. The iron groaned beneath their weight as if sharing their fatigue.

“It won’t hold!” Rester barked as he dropped to the other side, glancing back at the bulging wooden door that threatened to splinter at any second. One by one, they vaulted over, hands slick with sweat and blood from scraped palms. Alvia was the last to climb, her fingers trembling as she struggled for a grip.

The door behind them exploded with a sickening crack, shards flying like shrapnel. Emo was the first through, her eyes wide and wild, a glinting knife in her hand. She charged, grabbing Alvia’s leg with a cold, claw-like grip and slicing through skin and muscle with practiced precision. Blood gushed hot and wet down Alvia’s calf, and a scream burst from her throat, raw and guttural.

Alvia's face contorted in agony, but instinct took over. She lashed out with her free leg, her heel connecting with Emo’s jaw. The sound of bone cracking was sharp and satisfying as Emo crumpled backward, knife clattering to the ground. But Alvia’s strength failed her, and she teetered off balance, slipping into a fall that promised broken bones.

Subaru’s instincts were faster than thought. He surged forward and caught Alvia mid-fall, his arms cradling her in a desperate grip as the momentum spun them both in a tight circle. The impact jarred his knees, but he held on. Jetto rushed to their side, eyes darting to the crimson stain spreading down Alvia’s leg.

“Alvia! God, she cut you,” Jetto muttered, hands fumbling uselessly around the wound, his face pale beneath the grime and sweat.

Alvia’s breathing was ragged, her voice thin and defiant. “I’m fine. We have to run,” she gasped, casting a fearful glance at the gate where Emo, blood trickling from her mouth, was already pushing through the iron bars. The others had begun climbing after her, their eyes empty, their movements a grotesque mimicry of life.

Subaru didn’t hesitate. With Alvia still in his arms, he turned and ran, legs pounding against the cracked pavement. The others followed, their shadows stretching long under the flickering streetlights. The night was thick with an oppressive silence, broken only by their ragged breathing and the distant shouts behind them.

The road opened up to the cityscape, where the glow of neon signs promised some semblance of safety. It was late, but a few cabs idled on the curb, their yellow paint chipped and dulled by years of wear. Alvia’s voice was strained but insistent. “We need to get into a cab. My house…we’ll go to my house.”

Ray lunged forward, waving his arms wildly at the nearest driver, a wiry man with a weathered face and wary eyes. He hesitated, taking in the disheveled, bloodied group squeezing into his cab like cornered animals. “Six people? This isn’t—”

“Please!” Alvia cut him off, her voice cracking. “We’re students, and we’re scared. Help us. Please.” The desperation in her voice was palpable, and something shifted in the driver’s expression. He nodded, his own fatherly instincts flaring as he pressed his foot on the gas.

As the cab pulled away, the faces of the pursuers grew smaller in the rearview mirror, their shouts drowned out by the roar of the engine. The city lights streaked past in a blur, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Ray exhaled, his chest heaving with a mix of relief and exhaustion.

The car rolled to a stop outside Highrise Apartments, a tall, looming structure that stood in stark contrast to the chaos they had fled. The group stumbled out, their legs weak and rubbery. And there, standing in the pool of warm light spilling from the lobby, was a woman in a pink yukata with a deep red hakama draped over her shoulders. Her hair was an elegant cascade of silver-grey, pinned up with delicate jade ornaments. Her eyes, dark and kind, were lined with the creases of age and compassion.

Alvia’s eyes widened with recognition. “Miss Satoshi,” she panted, nearly collapsing into the older woman’s arms. “Please, we need your help. Money for the fare.”

The woman’s brows knitted with worry as she took in their ragged forms. Without hesitation, she reached into her sash and paid the driver, who nodded and drove off without another word. Miss Satoshi's gaze softened as she herded the group inside, where Alvia shut the heavy iron gate behind them with a resounding clang. The lock clicked into place, a thin barrier between them and the madness outside.

With exhaustion weighing on them, they slumped onto the cold marble floor of the reception, their bodies trembling as they caught their breath. The silence that followed was not peaceful; it was the silence of survivors who knew that the nightmare was far from over.

The room was thick with the scent of fear, sweat mingling with the staleness of old, damp air. Shane's voice broke through the silence like a desperate whisper, trembling as he spoke. “Oh god...what do we do now? Are we safe from the spirits now?” His eyes darted wildly from one friend to another, seeking answers they didn’t have.

Rester leaned against the cold, tiled wall, his face etched with exhaustion and dread. He shook his head slowly, dark shadows pooling beneath his eyes. “They’re blinded by their belief that this is the only way. But I just know this is not it,” he muttered, voice low and cracking. “And I also know that they only want to kill us because we came to school later.”

Subaru’s face contorted with anger, a raw, primal thing that twisted his youthful features. He spat on the floor, his voice raised in a strangled shout. “Why didn’t they just kill us when they first heard of this then?” The frustration in his voice cut through the room like a blade, echoing in their bones.

Jetto, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, his eyes hollow and unblinking. “Because they weren’t sure if it would work,” he said. His tone was flat, mechanical, as if any hint of emotion had been leached from him. “Now that they’re sure, we’re their only focus. Rester is right.”

A tremor passed through the group, a shared understanding of the doom that was creeping ever closer. Himura, always practical, gripped his knuckles until they turned white. “So what exactly do we do now? We’re not safe until we stop this. How do we get out of this nightmare?”

Ray, who had been staring at the cracked linoleum floor as if it might offer salvation, raised his head. His voice was thin, nearly lost in the air. “What is the other way? How do we stop the spirits from hunting us down?”

Suddenly, a shiver ran through the room as a shadow detached itself from the corner. A man, gaunt and brittle as dry paper, stepped forward with the quiet rustle of cloth against bone. His presence was suffocating, pressing against their lungs. Alvia’s eyes widened in recognition, tears trembling on the edge of her lashes. “Uncle Makoto,” she whispered, voice cracking like shattered glass.

Makoto’s eyes, dark as coal and cold as death, shifted toward her. His face, which had once been kind under the sun’s warmth, now held an unnatural pallor, lips pulled back in a grin too wide, exposing blackened, rotting teeth. His voice slithered through the room, ghostly and hollow. “I linger here because I loved this place so much. There is no other reason, children. But now I want more friends with me. I need your bodies. That is all.”

The smile stretched further, splitting his cheeks. A horrified gasp choked the air as the group instinctively crawled backward, limbs scrabbling against the cold floor. Miss Satoshi, who had stood silent in disbelief, fumbled inside her robe and produced a small, iron cross. She held it out, her hand trembling as she began to murmur ancient words, her voice a low, melodic chant that seemed to fray the edges of Makoto’s grin.

The spirit's smirk faltered, confusion washing over his gaunt face. He stared at them with eyes that had now belonged to a man, that lost in the abyss for a while. Alvia lunged forward, her arms clasping the hem of Miss Satoshi’s hakama as sobs wracked her chest. “Miss Satoshi!” she cried, the words tearing at her throat. “Please, help us. I can’t live like this. I don’t want to live like this!”

Miss Satoshi’s expression softened, her old eyes brimming with an emotion too deep for words. She knelt, running her hand over Alvia’s hair with a touch that was both maternal and weary. “My dear child,” she whispered, the lines on her face deepening with sorrow. “The spirit is vengeful. It seeks only to amuse itself in its torment.”

Makoto’s eyes glistened, a flicker of sympathy trapped beneath layers of confusion. His mouth twitched, as if struggling with memories of kindness. But before anything could shift, Subaru’s voice sliced through the moment like a whip. Desperate, shaky, he recounted everything: the days leading to their admission, the eerie corridors of the school, the laughter that echoed too long, the sudden changes in the people around them.

Miss Satoshi listened, her brows furrowing deeper with each word. When Subaru fell silent, she sighed, a sound weighted with understanding and an impossible burden. “Children,” she said, voice echoing in the quiet that followed, “the school doesn’t exist. There is no record of this place in the living world. The only way to stop the spirits from pursuing you is to break free of that hallucination, to bring the living away from a place that never was.”

The realization hit like an avalanche, numbing limbs and sucking the breath from their chests. Their eyes met, pupils wide with terror and disbelief. This whole time, they hadn’t been clinging to life—they had been trapped in a liminal space, a school built on shifting sands that was neither of this world nor the next.

Makoto’s confusion finally vanished, leaving only the eyes of the man who now understood what was going on. And as the reality set in, silence enveloped them, suffocating and absolute.