I crossed the stone gate, leaving behind the valley, the old man, and the frozen flow of time. The world went dark for a moment, then the blackness dissipated.
"Finally..." I exhaled sharply. "The Sixth Door... the last stop before the true hell, or perhaps, the exit." I was ready for anything. I braced my body for combat, immediately activating (The Sin Eyes) at the Red Level to scout for any threat. I expected to find a collapsing space or a monster that defied logic, just as the old man had warned.
But... what I found made me freeze in my tracks. A white room. Not a battlefield, not a desert, and not a forest. A perfectly white, square, sterile room—much like the room where my journey began in the First Door. The only difference was that it was smaller and more suffocating.
In the center of the room was a small wooden chair, sized for a toddler. And on that chair sat a child. Not a monster, not a ghost, but an ordinary human child, no older than seven. He had soft black hair and wore a clean white shirt and shorts. Beside his chair sat a rusted metal bucket, filled to the brim with a thick red liquid. The smell was not blood—it was the pungent, sharp scent of chemical paint.
Above the child's head, on the pristine white wall, was a massive, inactive digital clock. The zeros were a dark, ominous red: [00:00].
I entered cautiously, claws extended, my crimson eyes scanning the space. "A trap..." I whispered to myself. "It has to be a trap."
The child raised his head slowly. His eyes... were not red like mine, nor black like the void. They were green. A bright, radiant green, filled with an "innocence" that did not belong in this cursed place. His gaze examined me with curiosity, as if I were a new toy just pulled out of a box.
The child smiled, a wide grin revealing white milk teeth. "Oh... hello..." His voice was soft, childish, and innocent. "A new game has arrived."
I lowered my hands slightly, but my muscles remained coiled. "Who are you?" I asked in a gruff voice filled with suspicion. "And what am I supposed to do in this stage? Where is the monster?"
The child laughed lightly, swinging his small legs as he sat on the chair. "Monster? There are no monsters here." He pointed a small hand toward the red bucket beside him. "It's very simple. To pass this stage... and to open the door behind me..." He pointed to a white door merged into the wall behind him. "You have to play with me."
"Play?"
"Yes." The child hopped off his chair. "The timer above us is set for one hour—60 minutes." He pushed the bucket toward me with his foot. The red liquid rippled, nearly spilling, but it held. "Your task is easy. Hold this bucket... stand in your place... and do not move for one hour. That's it."
I looked at the bucket, then at the child, then at the clock. "This is the challenge?" I asked sarcastically. "To hold a bucket for an hour? I, who have carried boulders and crushed giants?"
The child nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, you just have to hold the bucket."
I narrowed my eyes. "And what if..." I pointed to the red paint. "What if a single drop of this paint falls on the floor?"
The atmosphere changed instantly. The room didn't alter, and the light didn't dim, but the child's smile... changed. It widened slightly more than it should, the corners of his mouth nearly reaching his ears. His green eyes gleamed with a terrifying, sadistic spark. He spoke in a calm, playful voice, as if telling a joke: "I'll tear you to pieces. Piece by piece... and I'll use you to paint the room."
A cold shiver ran down my spine. This child... was not a child. The tone of his confidence was chilling. He wasn't threatening; he was stating a universal truth. "I see..." I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "One last question... will you attack me? Will you touch me or push me to make me drop the bucket?"
His features immediately returned to their innocent, childish state. "No! That's cheating. I'm not allowed to touch you, and you aren't allowed to touch me. It's just you, gravity, and the bucket... against time."
I stepped toward the bucket, staring at the red liquid. It was filled exactly to the brim; any slight vibration would spill it. I leaned down and gripped the cold metal handle. I lifted it with extreme slowness. It was heavy, but not so heavy as to incapacitate me. I stood straight, the bucket in my right hand, my body as still as a statue.
"Start," I said coldly.
"DONG!" The sound of an old school bell echoed through the room. The red digits on the clock began to count down: [59:59].
Total silence fell. There was no sound but my breathing and the silent ticking of the digital clock in my head. I stared at the timer with intense focus, my hand as steady as steel. One hour? I could do this in my sleep.
But the child... did not sit back on his chair. He walked toward me slowly, hands behind his back. He stood directly in front of me, so short his head barely reached my waist. He tilted his face up and looked at me. Those green eyes... they stared at my face with an uncomfortable intensity. He didn't blink.
A minute passed. The child was still staring, wearing that mysterious smile. I began to feel tense; his gaze was piercing. "Are you trying to scare me with your eyes?" I asked, barely moving my lips.
He laughed softly and shook his head. "No... no..." He took a step closer until his nose almost touched my stomach. "It's just..." he whispered in an incredibly soft voice, "your eyes are beautiful. Red... like the paint."
...I felt a slight tremor in my hand. I composed myself immediately, forcing a tight smile. "Thanks..." Then I went back to watching the timer: [59:50].
The child backed away two steps. His innocent features vanished, replaced by an expression of extreme boredom. He yawned and said, "...This is boring. You're standing in an air-conditioned room on a flat floor... this isn't steadfastness. This is just standing."
I looked at him warily out of the corner of my eye. "These are your rules."
The child smirked and raised a small hand in the air. "The rules say 'no touching'... but I didn't say I couldn't 'change the decor'." He brought his thumb to his middle finger.
"SNAP!" He clicked his fingers.
In a fraction of a second... the world vanished. The white wall disappeared. The solid floor, the ceiling, and the stagnant air—all gone.
"WHOOOOOOSH!" A fierce wind slapped me with the force of a hurricane—wind as cold as a blade, freezing my bones. I opened my eyes in shock. I was no longer in the room. I was standing on top of a jagged stone spire, no larger than the soles of my feet. And beneath me? A void... a bottomless abyss covered by dark clouds and thunder. I was suspended in the sky, thousands of meters up, standing on a stone "needle" that shook with the wind.
"Oooooh!" I cried out, losing my balance for a split second. The wind slammed into my back and pushed me forward toward the abyss. The bucket in my hand swung violently, the red liquid rising until it reached the very edge.
"Steady yourself!" my mind screamed in terror. I dug my claws into the narrow rock until my nails cracked. I tightened my back and leg muscles to resist the hurricane-speed winds. I looked at the bucket... one drop... a single drop almost fell, but it clung to the rim.
I raised my head with difficulty amidst the storm. The child... was floating in the air in front of me, sitting cross-legged in the void as if on an invisible chair. His hair didn't move in the wind; his clothes remained still. He was the only stable thing in this hurricane.
He pointed to the digital clock floating in the air beside him: [59:30].
The child smiled, his voice reaching my ears clearly despite the roar of the wind and thunder: "The view is better from here, right?" Then he pointed downward into the dark abyss. "Try not to fall... the way down is very, very long."
I looked at the bucket shaking in my hand with every gust of wind. My muscles were screaming, my balance was on the line, and this... was only the beginning.