The channel erupted.
[CHAT]
Player: “What the hell? Blood Sacrifice?”
Player: “Wait—the Player ID is 2121-0776. That means they’re an old batch, almost a year ahead of us?”
Player: “Achievements usually mean rewards, right? Like when Player 0067 leveled and stopped a disaster.”
Player: “So maybe it’s not bad?”
Player: “Maybe.”
Player: “Still… ‘Blood Sacrifice’ is not exactly comforting.”
Player: “Can an official Player explain what this event even is?”
Ethan stood by his window, phone in hand, listening to rain whisper against the glass.
On the screen, the pig heart twitched in its basin, rainwater mixing with diluted blood in the corners of the frame.
The System had said the event had begun.
Only one percent.
Was one percent enough to twist a living creature into something that didn’t know how to die?
He stayed in the channel, waiting.
It didn’t take long.
[CHAT]
Player 0097 (Official): “Sorry, everyone. We’re still investigating.”
Player 0097 (Official): “Quick question—are you seeing rain where you are?”
Messages flooded in.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
Cities across the map, all reporting the same thing:
Rain that wasn’t forecast.
Rain that didn’t feel right.
Some people panicked about flooding.
Others, sharper, focused on the real point.
“Rain is a medium,” someone typed. “If something is changing, rain spreads it.”
Another message followed: “The pig video got deleted. Fast.”
Player 0097 responded a moment later.
[CHAT]
Player 0097 (Official): “We’re not spreading the video. Not outside the channel.”
Player 0097 (Official): “Public safety statement is going out under a cover story—’acid rain.’”
Player 0097 (Official): “Until we know more: stay indoors. Close windows. Keep pets inside. Don’t touch rainwater.”
Ethan’s gaze drifted to the glass.
A single drop hit the window and clung there.
In the streetlight’s weak glow, it wasn’t clear water.
It had a dark-red tint—so faint it could’ve been imagination…
…until it smeared, leaving a rusty stain.
Ethan’s chest tightened.
So it wasn’t just the pig.
It was the rain.
*
Somewhere else, in an office that smelled like disinfectant and panic, the pig’s owner signed form after form.
Quarantine notices.
Consent to testing.
A statement promising they hadn’t tampered with anything.
Police and medical staff moved like they were afraid the air itself might bite.
At the slaughterhouse, the pig lay on its side, chest cavity open.
No heart.
No blood pumping.
Still breathing.
Still twitching.
Its heart sat in a basin nearby, beating steadily like a metronome set to the wrong song.
Everyone who looked too long went pale.
Someone gagged.
Someone whispered a prayer without meaning to.
And outside, rain kept falling.
*
Before dawn, the rain stopped.
On Ethan’s windowsill, the dried streak looked like old rust.
In the channel, people argued. Some claimed they saw red in the rain. Others said theirs looked normal.
The next wave of news hit—scrubbed fast, but not fast enough.
Dogs turning on owners.
Farm animals stampeding.
A swarm of reports about “sudden aggression” and “unexplained behavior” across multiple regions.
Too many to be coincidence.
Too many to be a hoax.
Player 0097 posted again.
[CHAT]
Player 0097 (Official): “Update: event descent progress is still low, but effects appear to be spreading through water exposure.”
Player 0097 (Official): “If you have to go out, cover up. Avoid contact with rainwater.”
Player 0097 (Official): “If you feel mental pressure, obsessive thoughts, or ‘pulls’ toward certain actions—log out of the channel and rest.”
Ethan read the words twice.
The System flashed again, brighter this time—like something had just taken a huge step closer.
[SYSTEM]
Blood Sacrifice Event descent progress +9%
Current descent progress: 10%