You walk a little ahead — quiet, deliberate. Behind you, your teammate keeps pace. Two left.

Then, something changes.

A metallic thwack. Followed by a sickening, wet crunch. You spin.

They're already collapsing — a gleaming diamond axe lodged deep in the side of their head. Their eyes still open, blinking once as blood spatters across the floor. Their knees hit first, then the rest of them folds like paper.

You barely get the breath to react before a sharp kick sends their body crashing into the wall. It leaves a red smear.

Standing there in the dim light — axe in hand, breathing low — is her.

White Pumpkin.

The mask reflects the flickering torchlight, carved grin unchanging. Yellow eyes stare through you.

She steps forward. Slowly. Calm. No theatrics this time. Her voice filters through the mask, low and crackling.

“Guess that makes you the last one.”

She lifts the axe. Blood drips from the edge.

“Fought better than the rest. I’ll give you that.”

A pause.

“But I didn’t come this far to leave empty-handed.”

The silence in the hall presses in on you. One foot scrapes forward — she's not running. She's hunting.

The axe spins once in her grip. Controlled. Confident.

“Let’s end this, shall we?”

No more tricks. No more traps. Just you and her now.

(What do you do?)