( My q screen glowed in the dark.
He placed his second phone in his pocket before turniOUND rang.
¥300 DONATED
[User: LoopKing]: RUN IN CIRCLES AGAIN 😂
The theater shook.
The aisles twisted.
The walls stretched.
Daryl stumbled.
"…What the hell?" he gasped.
He ran instinctively.
Left.
Right.
Down the aisle.
He burst through a door.
The theater.
Again.
Daryl froze.
"…No," he whispered.
The chat went silent.
Then—
[WAIT]: DID THAT JUST—
Daryl's heart pounded.
"…That can't be coincidence," he said.
Another donation sound.
¥500 DONATED
[User: LightShow]: TURN ON THE LIGHTS
The stage lights exploded on.
Spotlights slammed down.
Blinding white beams.
Ghosts cheered.
Applause filled the hall.
Daryl screamed.
"STOP!" he yelled.
The lights shut off.
Silence.
The chat erupted.
[BRO]: NO WAY
[PaidComment - ¥100]: TRY AGAIN
Daryl's hands shook.
"…I think," he said slowly,
"I think the chat is influencing the domain."
No one replied at first.
Then—
[CAP]: THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE
[LOL]: HE'S PANICKING
Daryl swallowed.
"Spirit domains respond to intent," he said.
"They're shaped by belief."
"And money," he added quietly.
Another donation.
¥1,000 DONATED
[User: TestDummy]: MAKE A CHAIR MOVE
A chair slid forward.
Scraping.
Slow.
Every ghost turned to look at it.
Daryl's face went pale.
"…Okay," he whispered.
"That confirms it."
The chat lost its mind.
[WHAT THE—]
[THIS IS REAL]
[PaidComment - ¥200]: TRY SOMETHING BIGGER
"NO," Daryl shouted.
"Don't—"
¥1,500 DONATED
[User: BigDirector]: START THE SHOW
The curtains slammed shut.
Music played.
Old.
Crackling.
A spotlight snapped onto Daryl.
The ghosts stood.
They clapped.
Louder.
Faster.
Daryl staggered.
"Stop doing that!" he yelled.
The chat didn't stop.
They doubled down.
¥2,000 DONATED
[User: Rewrite]: CHANGE THE STAGE
The stage warped.
Wood twisted.
Props appeared.
Ropes.
Chains.
Daryl backed away.
His breathing broke.
"Listen to me!" he shouted.
"This isn't a game!"
Someone typed:
[PaidComment - ¥2,500]: IT IS FOR US
The applause roared.
The ghosts laughed.
Daryl felt sick.
Then it happened.
¥3,000 DONATED
[User: Override]: CANCEL ALL PREVIOUS REQUESTS
Everything froze.
Lights.
Music.
Ghosts.
Then—
[User: Override]: MAKE HIM RUN
The domain obeyed.
The floor tilted.
Daryl fell forward.
He ran.
The chat exploded.
[HOLY—]
[YOU CAN OVERRIDE OTHERS??]
A war began.
Donations stacked.
¥3,500
¥4,000
¥5,000
Commands collided.
Lights on.
Lights off.
Walls close.
Walls open.
The domain twisted violently.
Daryl screamed as gravity flipped.
He slammed into a wall.
Blood ran down his face.
"STOP DONATING!" he begged.
They didn't hear him.
They were laughing.
Typing.
Paying.
New users poured in.
300 viewers.
500.
501.
[NEW]: WHAT IS THIS STREAM
[NEW]: WHY IS HE BLEEDING
[PaidComment - ¥6,000]: MAKE IT HARDER
The ghosts cheered louder.
Daryl coughed.
He looked at the donation total.
His eyes widened.
"…I'm rich," he whispered.
Then another command hit.
¥7,500 DONATED
[User: FinalSay]: PIN HIM
Iron rods burst from the floor.
Daryl dove.
One grazed his side.
Another crushed a seat.
He screamed.
"THIS WILL KILL ME!" he shouted.
The chat paused.
For half a second.
Then—
¥8,000 DONATED
[User: Counter]: CANCEL. LET HIM RUN.
The rods stopped.
Daryl collapsed.
Panting.
Bleeding.
The ghosts hissed in disappointment.
The chat was no longer human.
It was a crowd.
A mob.
A live god.
Viewers climbed.
900.
901.
1,012.
MoonPetal typed.
MoonPetal ⭐: Please stop. He's going to die.
No one listened.
Daryl looked into the camera.
Tears mixed with blood.
"You're not watching anymore," he said hoarsely.
"You're deciding."
The ghosts bowed.
The domain pulsed.
And the donation alert rang again.
---
"Okay."
Daryl raised his voice.
Not shouting.
Not panicking.
But there was strain in it now, the kind you couldn't fake.
"This is getting ridiculous."
The theater lights flickered weakly above him, responding to his agitation. The ghosts in the seats were restless again, their attention split—not fully on him anymore, but on something else. Something outside the script.
The chat scrolled faster than he could read.
[PaidComment - ¥1,200]: ADD MORE TRAPS
[???]: DROP THE CEILING
[PaidComment - ¥1,800]: MAKE THE FLOOR COLLAPSE
Anonymous names.
Default avatars.
Fresh accounts.
Daryl swallowed.
"Some of you weren't here at the beginning," he said.
"And it shows."
The older usernames—familiar ones—were still there.
MoonPetal ⭐: This is too far.
[OldViewer77]: This was supposed to be fun.
[GraveLaugh]: Are you people trying to kill him??
Another donation sound rang.
The domain trembled.
A row of seats cracked down the middle, splitting open like a mouth.
Daryl flinched.
"That's it," he said sharply.
"I'm turning off donations."
The chat froze.
Then—
It exploded.
[NO WAIT]
[DON'T]
[ARE YOU SERIOUS??]
[PaidComment - ¥2,500]: ONE LAST ONE
"Stop," Daryl said.
"I'm serious."
His finger hovered near the screen menu.
"I gave you enough warnings."
The theater groaned.
Dust drifted from the ceiling.
The ghosts began whispering again—excited now, hungry.
Then the donations started coming in fast.
Too fast.
¥3,000
¥5,000
¥7,000
Commands overlapping.
Contradicting.
Violent.
[PaidComment - ¥4,500]: LOCK ALL EXITS
[PaidComment - ¥6,000]: MAKE HIM BLEED
Daryl's eyes widened.
"What is wrong with you people?" he shouted.
Even the original viewers were panicking now.
[STOP THIS]
[THIS IS REAL LIFE]
[YOU'RE GOING TO GET HIM KILLED]
The ghosts stood.
All of them.
As if waiting for a curtain call.
Daryl's breathing became uneven.
"There's no getting through to them," he muttered.
He opened the stream settings.
Donation toggle.
One tap away.
Then—
A new alert cut through everything.
Louder.
Deeper.
Different.
¥20,000 DONATION
The chat stuttered.
The message appeared.
From an anonymous account.
No avatar.
No history.
Just a string of characters.
> 愿废楼魇猿降临,猎杀他.
May the 废楼魇猿 descend and hunt him.
The theater went dead silent.
No whispers.
No breathing.
No ambient noise.
Even the stream chat slowed.
Daryl stared at the message.
"…What?" he said.
He immediately blocked the donation.
The alert vanished.
The money was rejected.
But the name—
The name lingered in his mind.
"废楼魇猿…?" he murmured.
"What the hell is that?"
The ghosts did not move.
Some of them slowly turned their heads.
Not toward Daryl.
But toward the darkness behind the seats.
The chat erupted again—but this time, the tone was different.
[WAIT]
[NO NO NO]
[WHO THE HELL DONATED THAT]
[PaidComment - ¥100]: TURN OFF THE STREAM NOW
Daryl's heart skipped.
"Somebody explain," he said quickly.
"What is that thing?"
No one answered at first.
Then—
[User: OldNightWatch]: …That's not something you joke about.
[User: DemolitionGuy]: Why would someone type that name??
Daryl's throat went dry.
"Guys," he said.
"Talk to me."
Messages flooded in.
[SEARCH IT]
[GOOGLE IT NOW]
[DON'T SAY IT OUT LOUD]
"…Google?" Daryl repeated.
His hands shook as he pulled the streaming app into a side window and opened a browser.
"Okay," he muttered.
"Okay."
He typed.
废楼魇猿
The search results loaded.
And Daryl's expression changed.
His pupils constricted.
His brow furrowed.
He scrolled.
Read.
Once.
Twice.
His breathing slowed—not from calm, but from shock.
"…This is real," he whispered.
He read aloud without realizing it.
> The Abandoned-Building Nightmare Ape.
His voice sounded small in the vast space.
Descriptions followed.
Each paragraph worse than the last.
Three meters tall.
Claws that bite into concrete.
A creature mistaken for debris until it moves.
A predator that doesn't chase.
A thing that waits.
Daryl's mouth went dry.
"…It's tied to abandoned buildings," he murmured.
"…It doesn't leave them."
The chat was in full panic now.
[THIS IS BAD]
[THIS IS VERY BAD]
[IT SHOULDN'T BE ABLE TO ENTER A DOMAIN]
Daryl frowned.
"…What do you mean enter?" he asked.
No one answered.
He kept reading.
Rules.
Warnings.
Survivor accounts.
Then he reached the last line.
> Once acknowledged, the building itself becomes its trap.
The lights flickered.
Hard.
Violent.
Something deep in the structure shifted.
A sound rolled through the theater.
Low.
Vibrating.
Not an echo.
Daryl froze.
"…You hear that?" he whispered.
The chat exploded.
[YES]
[THAT'S IT]
[DON'T LOOK UP]
A growl reverberated through the walls.
Concrete cracked.
Somewhere above him—
No.
Behind him.
Something heavy moved.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Each step made the floor tremble.
Thump.
Thump.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
The ghosts recoiled.
They pressed themselves into the corners, faces twisted in terror.
That alone made Daryl's blood run cold.
"…The ghosts are scared," he breathed.
The footsteps grew closer.
Not rushing.
Not chasing.
Waiting.
Hunting.
Daryl's heart dropped into his stomach.
He slowly turned his head toward the darkness behind the seats.
The growl came again.
Closer this time.
And Daryl realized—
This was no longer part of the show.bbb