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Clutching the glowing flashlight in his hand, locked within the pitch-black bathroom, Childe felt a surge of genuine panic. In a horror game crawling with spirits, being trapped in a small, confined space that had already been flagged as haunted was enough to make anyone's skin crawl. If he only had something in his hand to strike back at the ghosts, Childe wouldn't have felt so helpless, but here, he was stripped of his martial pride.
Forced to investigate his prison, Childe swept the flashlight beam across the room. The sink, toilet, and bathtub were encrusted with grime, looking as though they hadn't been touched by a living soul in years. A small hole gaped in the wall near the tub, and a stray cockroach scurried into the darkness within. The mirror above the sink was coated in filth, only reflecting a blurred, distorted outline of his character's jacket.
Then, the light hit the sink, and Childe's stomach did a slow roll. A writhing mass of flesh lay there, making him feel profoundly uneasy. It looked like a human embryo, but its head was strangely shaped, almost like a shark. The sound it made was unmistakable: the high-pitched, fragile wail of a newborn infant.
In an instant, Childe and the crowd of onlookers remembered the radio broadcast. When the husband had murdered his wife, she had been pregnant.
"Wait, no way... could that be the child from the ghost's belly?"
"A ghost baby? Or a ghost that was never even born? This is terrifying!"
"Archons, why is it so... underdeveloped?"
"It's a tragedy, really. A poor child who died before it could even breathe."
"This bathroom is haunted by a mother and her child. It's too much!"
As the flashlight beam lingered on the sink, the embryo began to cry more intensely, its small body shuddering under the light. At the exact same time, the bathroom door creaked. The doorknob rattled violently, as if someone—or something—on the other side was desperate to get in.
Had the baby's crying summoned the mother?
Startled by the sudden commotion, Childe pressed his back against the cold wall, his flashlight trembling as he pointed it at the door. The air in the small room seemed to warp, accompanied by a sharp, static hissing sound like a broken radio. The oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on Childe's heart, sending his pulse into overdrive.
He felt a wave of regret. I just wanted to see what it was! I didn't think it would start crying for its mother! However, the violent intrusion he expected never came. After several agonizing seconds, the embryo in the sink fell silent, and the bathroom door slowly clicked open, leaving just a narrow crack of darkness. The static hiss faded away, leaving the room in a heavy, ringing silence.
"Wait... that's it?"
Childe blinked in confusion. He didn't understand the logic. Was it really over? He suspected the female ghost was lying in wait just outside the door, ready to snap his neck the moment he stepped out. But there was no other way forward. To continue the loop, he had to leave his sanctuary.
He carefully nudged the door open and peered to the right. Nothing. The broken chandelier above swayed with a rhythmic creak, and the door at the end of the hall stood open, inviting him into the next cycle. He walked to the corner and glanced back over his shoulder, but the hallway remained empty.
"This is weird. What is she playing at?"
Childe scratched his head, unable to find the rhythm of the haunting. If he couldn't figure it out, he might as well keep moving. He stepped through the door into the seventh cycle.
This time, the lights were even dimmer. Only the very first lamp in the corridor was lit; the rest of the hallway was swallowed by a thick, velvety darkness. Fortunately, he still had the flashlight. He checked the clock as he passed. 23:59. The time remained frozen, as if the house itself were trapped in a single moment of tragedy.
As he rounded the corner, the radio began to blare again. The light on the far side of the gate flickered on, and both the bathroom and the exit door were open. Childe had become incredibly cautious. He knew that the further he went into the loop, the more dangerous it would become. He didn't think he could just walk through this one.
Maybe the radio had new information? Or was there something else in the bathroom? His thoughts were a mess. He was a warrior who preferred solving problems with his blades; solving puzzles under the threat of a heart attack was not his strong suit. His rationality was nearing its limit.
Unsure of what to do, he decided to head for the end of the corridor. But after only a few steps, he froze.
The sound of his footsteps was wrong.
Beyond the heavy thud of his own boots, there was another sound—light, sharp, and rhythmic. It was the distinct click of high heels on the floorboards, coming from directly behind him.
Childe felt a wave of icy terror wash over him. High heels? The ghost!
"Sister, please, give me a break!" he whispered through grit teeth. He stopped dead in his tracks, not daring to move another inch. There was a ghost hanging right over his shoulder, and for the first time in his life, the Eleventh Harbinger felt like he was about to burst into tears.