"Red robes — is he the master of this building?"
In this blood-red city, the towering buildings were the most dangerous places, because no one knew what truly lurked inside them.
Every building was an unknown. The man wearing the crimson doctor's uniform was formidable in strength.
Yet even one as powerful as he did not dare casually step into those structures.
The pinnacle of red was merely a Red Robe.
That man knew full well that somewhere in this city, an existence far above the Red Robe tier had to be hiding.
He had no idea how to describe those beings. He had never laid eyes on them, but once, from a great distance, he had sensed an aura radiating from one.
It was beyond resistance. Every blood vessel in his body felt as though it would rupture, every hair standing on end. In that moment he even forgot he had already become a vengeful ghost.
In the presence of such beings, humans, vicious ghosts, and Red Robes all seemed to hold roughly the same standing.
"Turn back. This is no place for you." The Red Robe man on the rooftop spoke, his lips barely moving as his voice carried directly into the doctor's ears.
Behind him, countless chains dragged even more creatures pulled from the shadows.
The doctor paid the man's words no heed whatsoever. He stared silently at the building. What he feared was not the Red Robe man on the rooftop, but the unknown that might exist within.
In this city, every structure was a sealed world — a self-contained nightmare.
Getting in was easy. Getting back out, however, was another matter entirely.
"I know I shouldn't enter any building I come across, but I'm so terribly hungry. I caught that familiar scent — I felt my soul trembling. The owner of that fragrance is someone I ought to know. Perhaps if I devour him, I'll remember why I became like this."
His mad tone gradually subsiding, the doctor widened his scarlet eyes and fixed his gaze on the man atop the building.
Without the slightest warning, more chains erupted behind him.
Each chain, composed of countless tiny threads of blood, drove savagely into the building.
The doctor scrambled upward with frenzied purpose, his goal crystal clear.
He wanted to reach the thirteenth floor, open that particular door, and devour whoever on the other side emanated that familiar scent.
This charred building belonged to the Red Robe man on the rooftop. That strange door on the thirteenth floor was almost certainly connected to him — most likely the one he had pushed open.
The Red Robe man could very well be a Door-Opener, and a Door-Opener could wield double the power within the nightmare he himself had opened. That was why, upon seeing the crimson doctor charging toward him, he had not fled at first.
The world behind a door was shaped from the Door-Opener's own memories. To surrender one's nightmare willingly meant betraying one's own past — handing one's memories to a stranger.
Under anything short of the most desperate circumstances, no Door-Opener would abandon the world behind their door and flee alone.
The doctor headed straight for the door on the thirteenth floor. The Red Robe man naturally could not let him succeed.
He stood at the edge of the rooftop, spread his arms wide, and leaped forward with a gentle push. His body rocketed downward like a cannonball aimed straight at the doctor.
As he fell, the edges of his crimson outer robe turned impossibly sharp — barb after barb, resembling both blades and feathers.
Beneath the robe, faint traces of horrific, grotesque scarring were visible. The man's entire body had been severely burned.
From the scars alone, one could imagine how agonizing his death must have been.
This Red Robe man's resentment ran extraordinarily deep. His eyes were vicious, brimming with destruction.