In this melancholic situation, Sunny inhaled a long, slow breath of cold air.
In his real world, there was simply no way to experience an environment like this.
Humanity had thoroughly ruined the planet; skyrocketing temperatures, unchecked industrial expansion, and suffocating smog had devoured every trace of greenery.
Pure, oxygen-rich air was an unattainable luxury in Sector 25, traded only in pressurized canisters among the ruling elite.
Here, however, the air was sharp, clear, and untouched by industrial soot.
It carried a strange, unpolluted purity.
Ironically, the absence of human pollution in the Nightmare Realm was not born of peace, but of apex terror.
The realm belonged to monstrous apex predators—ancient Nightmare Tyrants and legendary beasts like Nexus—creatures that treated humanity not as masters of the earth, but as helpless prey.
In Sunny’s world, humans sat atop the food chain.
Here, they were merely cattle waiting for the slaughter.
I suppose this is one of the very few perks of being dragged into a Nightmare, Sunny thought bitterly, taking another drag of the freezing wind into his aching lungs.
At least the air doesn’t taste like burning plastic before you die.
While Sunny leaned against his rock in silent contemplation, the mood among the other captives began to shift.
The shifty blonde man, unable to stomach his moldy crust, crept over to a burly, broad-shouldered slave who looked like an off-duty wrestler.
The heavily built man had wandered away from the main cluster of captives, his eyes locked onto something growing near the edge of a narrow, perilous cliff path.
Hanging off the rocky outcroppings were several wild vines bearing clusters of plump, vibrant red berries.
Unlike normal foliage, the stems of these plants were not green; they dripped with a thick, crimson sap that matched the vivid color of the fruit.
Compared to the gray, rot-speckled bread given by the guards, the berries looked incredibly tempting and full of sweet juice.
The broad-shouldered slave picked at his iron chains, staring greedily at the fruit.
He had no intention of choking down rotten bread when real, fresh fruit was growing right within arm’s reach.
He reached out his broad hand to pluck a cluster.
“Stop, brother. Don’t touch those. It’s dangerous.”
The priest-like slave stepped forward, his dirty, aristocratic robes swaying slightly in the cold breeze.
His voice was calm, measured, and authority-driven.
The muscular man halted, his head snapping around with a scowl.
“What do you mean, dangerous? It’s just fruit!”
“They are called Bloodbane berries,” the priest explained softly, his hollow eyes fixed on the crimson sap.
“They only grow in soil soaked by the blood of slaughtered slaves. They nourish themselves on dying agony.”
The wrestler-built slave snorted, scoffing loudly.
“So what? Blood or no blood, it’s better than eating rock-hard, rotten bread!”
“They are lethal,” the priest warned again, taking a step back.
“Only a tiny drop of their juice is enough to kill a grown man in seconds.”
“Bah! You’re lying!” the muscular man barked, his eyes flashing with greed.
“You’re just telling stories so you can hoard them all for yourself because there aren’t many growing! You think I’m stupid?!”
The priest sighed, shaking his head.
“I have no desire to eat them.”
“Who’s with me?!” the muscular man shouted, turning back toward the shivering crowd of slaves.
“Who wants real food?!”
The shifty blonde man immediately stepped up, his greed overriding his common sense.
“I’m with you, brother! Save a handful for me!”
Seeing two men step forward without dropped dead on the spot, several other starving captives lost their composure.
The sight of fresh fruit broke their fragile willpower.
Ignoring the priest’s warnings completely, a dozen slaves rushed toward the narrow cliff path like a pack of starved wolves swarming a carcass.
They shoved and clawed at one another to reach the vines.
The shifty blonde man tried to push his way to the front, but the sheer momentum of the desperate crowd shoved him backward, leaving him empty-handed at the edge of the stampede.
The broad-shouldered man grabbed the first massive cluster of berries, raised them high, and shoved them greedily into his mouth, swallowing them whole without even chewing.
The rest of the crowd descended upon the remaining vines, tearing the red berries from the stems and gorging themselves with wild, desperate gulps.
Sunny watched the spectacle from his shaded rock, his dark blue eyes completely devoid of pity.
He didn’t move an inch to join them.
In the slums of Sector 25, he had learned early on that when something appeared too good to be true, it usually came with a blade attached.
The broad-shouldered man finished swallowing, flexed his heavy arms, and turned back to the priest with a victorious smirk.
“See? Nothing happened!” he mocked, beating his bare chest.
“What were you saying about poison, you old fraud—”
Suddenly, the proud, arrogant look on his face melted away.
His skin turned an ash-gray color.
His eyes widened in absolute terror as his pupils dilated into tiny black dots.
“Gggh… GAAAH!”
A wet, gurgling gasp tore from the man’s throat.
He dropped to his knees, his heavy arms flying up to grip his own neck so tightly his fingernails dug into his flesh.
His body twitched violently before he crashed face-first into the freezing snow.
Before anyone could react, the horror spread through the crowd like wildfire.
One by one, every single slave who had eaten the red berries dropped to the ground.
They tore at their throats, their limbs thrashing in violent, arrhythmic spasms.
Thick, white foam mixed with streaks of milky, curdled blood erupted from their mouths, spraying across the white snow.
Within seconds, their thrashing slowed.
Their skin hardened, turning pale, cold, and rigid—like solid gray stone.
Then, total silence returned to the cliff edge.
A dozen slaves lay completely motionless, turned into rigid, lifeless husks in less than a minute.
The shifty blonde man fell back onto his rear, his face pale as a sheet.
His entire body trembled violently as he stared at the calcified corpses of the men he had just been standing beside.
Panicking, he scrambled backward on all fours, desperately dragging himself away from the dead bodies and kicking the stray berries near his feet far over the edge of the cliff.
The priest watched the gruesome scene unfold, his posture remaining unbothered and distant.
He let out a quiet, tired breath, folding his arms into his dirty sleeves.
“Hmph… I warned them,” the priest muttered softly, his calm persona returning instantly as if nothing extraordinary had just occurred.