The chatroom fell silent for a moment—then exploded.
"WTF? What just happened?"
"Damn, they just walked into a farmhouse! Why is this happening?"
"Did they run into demons the moment they entered?"
"But there wasn't even a sound—"
"Could it be... spatial anomalies?"
Just as the audience was gripped by uncertainty—
The scene abruptly changed.
Before anyone could react—
Rat-tat-tat!
Muzzle flashes erupted, followed by the deafening roar of gunfire and agonized screams that echoed across the multiverse.
The sudden turn of events left everyone stunned.
More timid viewers clutched their chests in dread.
What was happening?!
Rat-tat-tat!
Another burst of gunfire briefly illuminated the darkness before it was swallowed again.
That fleeting light was enough for the audience to see the situation clearly.
Three figures were desperately running.
Only one D-Class remained. Of the two agents aside from Dante and Jinx, none had survived.
Seven had entered SCP-1983.
After just one encounter, only three were left...
Witnessing this, countless questions flooded the viewers' minds.
What happened?
They entered a farmhouse, didn't they?
What the hell is this kaleidoscope-like, twisted space?
Marvel Universe
"I knew nothing from these cultist nutjobs would ever be normal!"
Tony Stark stared at the warped, pretzel-like space on-screen, feeling dizzy.
In an environment like this, forget fighting—just standing steady would be an achievement.
Nick Fury, meanwhile, reviewed the footage frame by frame.
When he reached the moment Dante and Jinx opened fire, he sucked in a sharp breath.
Because on the screen—
Dozens of black humanoid figures were hot on their heels.
Undoubtedly, these were the SCP-1983-2 entities mentioned earlier.
But no one had expected...
There would be so many.
"Practically... endless."
Resident Evil Universe
Leon Kennedy's scalp prickled as he watched the tide of demons on-screen.
These weren't slow-moving zombies.
They were heart-stealing demons.
If it were him, forget wiping them out—escaping would be a miracle.
"What the hell did these guys walk into?"
Inside SCP-1983
The survivors seemed to have temporarily taken shelter in a side room.
Dante panted heavily, his earlier arrogance completely gone.
He did possess demonic power, and he had slaughtered countless demons.
But even he couldn't keep fighting indefinitely against these endless, fearless black humanoids.
Especially since these monsters only died when struck by prayer-enhanced silver bullets.
He had tried using his own abilities.
But even in his Devil Trigger form, his attacks couldn't permanently kill them...
Jinx, meanwhile, sat slumped with her head bowed, hands on her knees, gasping for air.
She didn't even have the strength to speak.
This brief battle had nearly shattered her worldview.
This time,
her opponents weren't the high-and-mighty enforcers and councilors of Piltover.
They weren't any kind of natural creature.
They were cursed demons—the stuff of legends!
Even now, her heart still raced with lingering fear.
Thinking of the two agents and D-Class personnel she hadn't been able to save, she felt a pang of guilt.
Then—
She instinctively glanced behind her. "Hey, you okay?"
Dante snapped back, "What do you think?"
Jinx frowned. "I meant the D-Class kid— Huh?"
The moment she said it, both of them realized something was wrong.
Dante immediately stood up, scanning the room—but no matter how hard he looked, the kid was nowhere to be found.
"Damn it!" Dante's expression darkened instantly.
Jinx's eyes trembled slightly.
Clearly, they'd lost him.
And for a D-Class—a regular human—getting separated here meant only one outcome:
Death.
The chatroom viewers realized this too.
For a moment,
the chat fell silent.
No one would sympathize with a D-Class convict who might've been on death row.
But seeing someone who'd fought so hard to survive die so quietly...
It was hard not to feel something.
However—
That sentiment lasted less than three seconds before vanishing completely.
Because the figure now appearing on-screen was none other than the missing D-Class.
He was running.
Running with everything he had, as if hell itself were chasing him—as if his lifespan depended entirely on his speed.
And that was exactly the case.
Not only that, but he had to keep his breathing and footsteps as quiet as possible—slow breaths, tiptoeing, suppressing every protest from his oxygen-starved, exhausted body.
This was the only way to avoid drawing their attention.
At the same time, he had to watch for obstacles in his path—anything that might trip him or slow him down.
The pitch-black environment made this ten times harder.
But this wasn't his first time. He wouldn't call himself an expert, but he was definitely better than when he'd started.
This time, nothing went wrong. He smoothly found his way to the hiding spot he'd prepared.
He quickly opened the door, slipped inside, and shut it behind him.
His first action?
Hold his breath. Listen carefully for any movement outside.
Only when he confirmed nothing was approaching did he finally exhale.
His body slowly collapsed to the floor, feeling like Schrödinger's cat—once again cheating death inside its poison-filled box.
Watching this, even the chatroom audience held their breath.
But more than tension, they were stunned.
"This guy's still alive?!"
"Holy shit, that smooth series of moves—this guy's a pro!"
"Surviving bare-handed? He's outclassing the actual agents, lol~"
"Too bad it's just buying time."
No one believed a regular human could survive here without the agents.
As for completing the mission?
That was even more hopeless.
After all—
He's just a D-Class. Who'd expect anything from him?