The Perfect Path To Insanity Chapter 66: Right, Helena?

Back in the chamber, right when sothing fell from above...

The ceiling cracked. Concrete rained down, and sothing massive dropped straight into the center of the chamber.

Players threw themselves backward, they collided into each other as the whole floor fractured outward from the impact.

The nearest players recoiled from it, eyes streaming, still not sure what they were seeing.

One woman doubled forward with her collar yanked over her nose.

What hit the floor was a compressed tangle of bone fragnts threaded through with dried moss, shaped like a large rock. The sll of rot rolled outward in a slow expanding wave.

The rock pressed into the black residue it had shed on impact, wet against the concrete.

Then it shuddered, vibrating through the floor, travelling up through the soles of every shoe in the room at once.

And then it rolled, charging straight at Fateless.

[Challenge 1: Stop the rock.]

Rather than avoiding, Fateless launched Ivan forward.

"Mrrghhh!" A muffled sound tore from Ivan’s throat as his arms snapped wide.

As the rock closed the distance between them, a thick weave of thread whipped across the room and cinched around Ivan’s waist, wrenching him clear.

It flung him up and threw the horrified man straight into Olive’s grasp.

"What the hell are you doing, Fateless?" The thread pulled taut between Olive’s fingers. "Using a player as a human shield?! Are you insane?!"

"What would you rather do, Olive?" Fei Ming blinked at him. "Die?"

"You declared him our prophesied player." Grinding his teeth, Olive raised his voice higher. "If he dies, we all follow. Why would you even do that?"

"I was confirming he’s real and not a decoy." Fei Ming tilted his chin toward the rock, which had ground to a stop a few ters away from him, vibrating against the floor.

"It ca straight for him. That confird it." His gaze cut back. "You work with facts and evidence, don’t you, Olive?"

Olive’s mouth opened and shut.

Twisting against the threads binding his waist, poor Ivan strained his wrists trying to wrench himself free.

When his gaze caught a particular man grinning at him, he twitched.

Noticing this, Olive let him go. ’Sothing still is wrong. It’s really wrong. Fateless never risked himself. If what he did was to really prove if Ivan is the true prophesied, then why...?’

"VRRRRRRR!" The rock-like creature stirred again. Tumbling around, it charged at other groups.

There must be a pattern it followed. The rock was no object after all.

It vibrated, and threatened to attack the second it stopped.

’Ah! That’s it!’ A sudden idea ca up in Olive’s mind.

This mini ga challenge targets high stakes players too. That must an if Ivan had high stakes, he may be targeted.

But if he doesn’t, it removes the option of being targeted. And instead would suggest he was actually the prophesied player.

Since he knew Fateless’ stakes were below 40. If the rock charged at him without Ivan being anywhere near him, then it ant he was the true prophesied.

Olive ran a hand through his thin hair.

But why would Fateless hide this from his own team?

So that the others may fall into his set trap?

For a quick ga?

Or sothing entirely different.

A mory flashed through him, reminding him about the murders back in their zone.

What if Fateless was actually after sothing else? But what? What would it be? Olive wanted to know. ’Curious. I’m curious.’

Shaking his head, he whipped himself back to the current reality. Still, he needed to check his probabilities.

The grey threading of Ivan’s temples, the jacket pulled crooked across his shoulders, the sheen of sweat across his forehead — Olive studied all of it and leaned closer, dropping his voice. "How many stakes do you own?"

Ivan’s face strained. The tendons along his neck pulled beneath the skin.

When his lips parted, a strained breathless exhale collapsed before it ford.

Against the thread at his sides, his hands clenched until the knuckles blanched, like he forgot how to talk.

Weird.

Then his gaze cut sideways fast, and Keres was already there. "Mmph!!!"

Unhurried, the white cardigan he wore shifting across his fra, Keres angled in close and dropped his head beside Ivan’s ear, whispering, "you can talk now..."

"Get away from ! Get away!" Ivan shoved Keres back, the colour draining from his face as he stumbled in the thread.

Keres rolled his shoulders in a loose shrug, pressed his eyes shut as he announced: "Don’t worry guys, he’s just... tripping. Heh."

Right there, Xia caught Olive’s arm from behind. "What’s wrong?"

He pulled her half a step aside, voice barely audible between them. "Sothing’s off. I don’t think Ivan’s actually the prophesied player."

"Why would you—"

Ivan’s scream tore across the chamber.

All because Fei Ming stood directly behind him again.

As Ivan lurched sideways, he scrambled away, breathing fractured into ragged uneven pulls.

Fateless didn’t chase after him. He scanned the other groups. Flatly, he spoke without any particular effort behind it.

"Isn’t it strange." He gestured at Group B’s scattered formation. "We’re the only group that revealed our prophesied player. The rest are still hiding theirs."

Looking at Group A’s cluster, he found Helena around the corner. "What exactly is the point? The ga targets anyone with high stakes regardless."

"Right, Helena?"

Turning her head slowly toward him, she dragged her hand across the black dust streaking her cheekbone, and spat a thin line of dark blood against the floor beside her shoes. "Why ask ." She cracked her knuckles. "Fine. Since you picked , I’ll bite..."

A bluish gloop pooled in her palm, solidifying fast, morphing into a bow in one hand, an arrow drawing itself between her fingers.

She raised it and pointed it at him.

But not at Fei Ming.

At Keres.

A wide grin spread across the white haired guy. Raising his hands, he took a step back. "Whoa, whoa. What’s my offense here, pretty lady?" His chin nudged toward the rock grinding against the floor behind them. "That’s your actual problem right there. Point the shiny arrow at it, yeah?"

"You’re a problem too." Helena kept the draw steady. "You’ve been sinking needles into people. Hidden under the hem of your shirt."

"Needles? I don’t quite know what you an, reddie," Keres pushed back.

"I’m not stupid." The arrowhead aligned at the center of Keres’ chest, and her voice crossed the chamber flat. "And I’ll bet thirty stakes that man is not the prophesied player. You are, Fateless."