The Perfect Path To Insanity

Chapter 78: Pure, Molten Hatred

As the obsidian throne finally crumbled to ashes beneath Lady Misfortune, black dust spilled over, coating the stone floor around her boots as she stood up slowly.

Keres watched the collapse, his mouth twisting with a familiar, bitter distaste. Rolling his eyes, he spat. "Did half the work and stole all the credits. Again."

Turning to him, Misfortune’s posture stayed relaxed. "Did I bruise your ego, Pinboy?"

"What the—?" Keres hissed a breath through clenched teeth, a sharp, jagged sound.

He wrenched himself away, the skin of his neck flushing a hot red as he stalked toward the exit.

The Runic board lit up above them with bright glowing lines.

Ding!

[Winner Of The Game, The Fool’s Euphoria: Misfortune!]

[Congratulations! You have received the ’Jackpot’! A special material needed for the plague will be given to you.]

[Other prizes will be distributed shortly!]

[Current Players: 10]

[We really enjoyed this week’s game! We hope to see you next week to win more fabulous prizes!]

[Please exit the game arena within five minutes.]

Misfortune stepped down from the crumbling platform. Dust still fell from her clothes as she walked straight toward Jaren’s group.

Still grumbling profanities about Misfortune, Keres crashed into Fei Ming’s side.

He cinched an arm tight around the other man’s shoulders, his physical irritation giving way to a restless, buzzing excitement as he leaned in. "I’ll see you later, yeah? By the way..."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "One of my cousins works for the Krats in a Red zone. I’m going there for a visit. If you wanna see me, I’m there, okay? And I’m not mad you broke my finger. See ya!

He released him and headed for the exit.

At the last second, Keres tried to snag Misfortune’s ankle with a sharp, petty kick on his way out.

With a ghostly intuition, the blind woman side-stepped out of the path.

"Ack!!" Overextending into the void, his whole body into a staggered lurch.

Later on, he recovered with a jagged hitch in his stride, continuing toward the exit as if nothing happened.

[Please exit the game arena in 2 minutes]

Fei Ming turned toward the remaining pair, Xia and Olive.

There were a lot of questions he needed answers to. How did they know he was rejected by these cosmic entities?

Why were they also rejected?

Was it also the same reason as his? That he was discarded at birth and found unworthy? Or was it just something done out of boredom of these slugs?

So he walked closer, closing the distance between them.

As he parted his lips to speak, Olive’s voice cut the silence. "Stop. Do not take another step."

However, Fateless ignored him. He stared at Xia, wanting to ask his questions.

At the continued approach, Olive’s jaw locked and the skin across his cheekbones pulled taut.

His fingers curled into his palms, the tendons in his forearms strained against his skin.

His breathing shortened into sharp, visible hitches. "Can’t you see?!" he yelled. "We don’t want you here!"

Across the arena, Jaren’s team snapped their heads around. They braced their feet and leaned in, their eyes tracking the sudden shift in the air.

"I don’t wanna have anything to do with you right now." Olive’s voice cracked higher. His whole body trembled.

"You murdered the whole team... Helena, Eli, everyone we came with— they’re all dead!"

A loud sob ripped out. "And that you—" He jabbed a shaking finger forward. "—you killed them! In cold blood!"

Fateless pinned Olive with his gaze, watching the frantic jerk of the young man’s shoulders and the high-frequency vibration in his outstretched arm, his stare as hollow as a cadaver’s.

No heat touched his eyes; he felt only an absolute distance from the panic radiating off the other man. "Helena wanted to vote me out during the fourth round," he stated, his voice low. "Tell me, Olive. Would you stay quiet and watch while someone reached for your throat?"

Olive gulped. His throat muscles knotted as he struggled to swallow and the tremors in his limbs intensified.

Fei Ming closed the remaining distance in one gliding step, stepping fully into Olive’s shadow.

He leaned in, staring into the watery brown eyes until he could trace the map of ruptured red veins and the wet sheen of his terror. "Then why shouldn’t I have killed them? In a way, I saved your life too. What if I had let them live, and Helena did what she intended? You might have been among the ones randomly chosen to die."

A thin, erratic rattle broke from Olive’s throat as his breathing hardened.

His gaze flitted in desperate, jagged circles, searching for an exit that wasn’t there.

When he finally forced his eyes back to meet Fei Ming’s, his jaw was trembling so violently his teeth clicked. "The murders near our faction..." the words spilled out, fractured and high. "That was you. You did it, didn’t you?

Fei Ming’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak.

He felt a sudden, oppressive weight, prickling the skin of his neck.

Looking past Olive, his gaze snagged on Jaren, who stood across the chamber with his frame locked in a stare of pure, molten hatred.

The intensity of that look seemed to bruise the air between them.

He snapped his mouth shut. Not offering a denial nor a confession.

"Think whatever you want," he said, his voice dropping into a flat, discarded tone.

He pivoted on his heel and moved toward the game’s exit, and left.

The second Fei Ming disappeared through the portal, a wave of heat surged into Jaren’s face, turning his skin an angry red.

His jaw clamped shut with enough force to make his molars ache, the muscles bunching into hard knots along his jawline.

Pressure built behind his eyes, a rhythmic, violent thudding that seemed to sync with the way his nails carved bloody crescents into his palms.

He had been so close. So close to ending the man responsible.

Now, that proximity left nothing but a searing, hollow void in his gut.

Memories of Grace lanced through the darkness—the ghost of her smile among the blossoms and the terrifyingly real weight of her body as it cooled beneath his grip.

The sweetness of the flower scent still clung to the back of his throat, now curdling in his stomach until he felt physically ill.

If his desire was to live happily ever after with his lover, then he would make it his sole goal and ambition — his only purpose in this world — to give that fateless man a fate worse than death.

Suddenly, a hand tapped him.

He turned to find Seven hovering close, her face a mask of anxiety as she scanned his trembling frame.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice hushed. "You don’t look right, Officer Cyrus. Anything wrong?"

Jaren hauled his mask of composure back into place, forcing a smile, his eyes crinkling into polite, crescent arcs. "I’m fine," he insisted.

Then he took the remaining time to check on his teammates well-being, and help the remaining players.