Chapter 1 How Would You Like to Die?
I used to be the heroine of a smut novel.
My biggest problem was deciding which ridiculously handsome man I wanted in my bed.
Then I got dragged into a horror survival game.
On my first day, the final boss appeared before eight terrified players and asked us one simple question:
"How would you like to die?"
One guy wished to die peacefully of old age.
The others quickly copied him.
Me?
Well, after taking one look at the six-foot-something nightmare standing in front of me, I had a much better idea.
"I want to die breathless, weak in the knees, and seeing stars. Preferably in your bed. With you doing all the work."
...
I was born to be screwed.
Literally.
I was the heroine of a smut novel. My entire existence revolved around ridiculously handsome men, questionable decisions, and bedroom activities that would make a priest burst into flames.
I had never held a weapon.
I had never fought a monster.
Hell, the most dangerous thing I'd ever dealt with was a jealous billionaire with a very creative definition of sharing.
So naturally, the universe decided I belonged in a horror survival game.
Fantastic.
Absolutely fucking fantastic.
[WELCOME TO THE SSS-RANK DUNGEON: THE WISH.]
[PLEASE CHOOSE HOW YOU WOULD LIKE TO DIE.]
I stared at the glowing red letters floating in midair.
Then I looked at the seven strangers standing beside me.
Then at the enormous, shadow-covered man blocking our path.
Well. That was one hell of a welcome party.
The man was tall. Very tall.
Thick black mist curled around his head, hiding his face completely. The air around him felt wrong, like the whole world had forgotten how to breathe.
His long black coat hung perfectly over broad shoulders, and his voice, when he finally spoke, was deep enough to make my stomach do something deeply inappropriate.
"Welcome to The Wish."
He tilted his head.
"Choose your death."
Nobody moved.
For several seconds, the only sound was someone's nervous breathing.
Then a guy with blond hair burst out laughing.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
He looked around at the rest of us.
"What is this? Some kind of reality show?"
Nobody answered.
"Seriously? You people expect me to believe this crap?"
An older player grabbed his arm.
"Don't touch him. That's the dungeon boss."
The blond guy snorted.
"Yeah? And I'm the fucking president."
He marched straight toward the shadowy figure.
"Listen here, asshole. I don't know who's paying you for this stupid prank, but you'd better let me out before I—"
He shoved the man.
Or tried to.
His hand passed straight through the black coat.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Then he looked down.
His fingers were disappearing.
Not bleeding.
Not breaking.
Disappearing.
His skin dissolved into a fine red mist, followed by the bones underneath.
"What...?"
His voice cracked.
"What the fuck is happening?"
He stumbled backward.
"Help me! Somebody, please!"
Nobody moved.
His arm vanished up to the elbow.
Then his shoulder.
Then—
POP.
The sound was almost comically small.
The mess wasn't.
Something warm splashed across the floor.
A woman screamed.
I stared at the spot where the blond guy had been standing five seconds earlier.
Okay.
So this probably wasn't a reality show.
[PLAYER ELIMINATED.]
[DEATH COUNT: 1.]
[SURVIVING PLAYERS: 7.]
[PLEASE KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK!]
Keep up the good work?
I looked at the bloody floor.
What kind of psychopathic customer service was this?
The shadowy man didn't even glance at the remains.
"Choose your death," he repeated.
His voice was perfectly calm.
As if he hadn't just turned a grown man into human confetti.
And that was when I knew.
I was completely, spectacularly screwed.
Unfortunately, being screwed was usually the one thing I was good at.
A strange shimmer appeared above our heads.
Words began scrolling through the air.
[LIVE CHAT: OH MY GOD. THEY GOT THE WISH.]
[LIVE CHAT: Isn't that the dungeon with a zero percent survival rate?]
[LIVE CHAT: Yep. Nobody's ever cleared it.]
[LIVE CHAT: Every wish comes true. Just never the way you want.]
[LIVE CHAT: Calling it now. They're all dead.]
Wonderful.
Apparently, our deaths came with a live audience.
The players around me looked ready to faint.
A middle-aged man wiped sweat from his forehead.
The boss lifted one hand.
A massive black scythe emerged from the mist behind him.
"If you cannot choose," he said, "I will choose for you."
"WAIT!"
The middle-aged man nearly tripped over his own feet, swallowing hard before speaking with extreme caution.
"I want to die peacefully of old age, with no illness and no pain."
The moment those words fell, everyone's eyes lit up.
Someone gave him a thumbs-up. "Brilliant move, man."
The boss lowered his scythe.
"As you wish."
The middle-aged man let out a long breath, a look of profound relief washing over his face.
One by one, the others quickly chimed in:
"Me too! I want to die peacefully of old age as well!"
"Count me in for that!"
The boss's voice remained ice-cold and utterly flat.
"As you wish."
A wave of relaxed, buoyant energy instantly swept through the crowd. People even started laughing and chatting among themselves.
"Thank God he thought of it! Total lifesaver."
"Right? The boss can't touch us now. Looks like we actually beat it!"
