Previously On Captivity...

The water keeps rising. The corridor is chaos.
Hoses malfunction. Beasts thrash. Players scream.
And Lumin - bloodied, exhausted - keeps slamming his bike into the sealed door, refusing to let anyone die here.

Aadam, carrying Jackson, feels helpless... until he checks his Player's Screen.

"TEAM X - LEVEL CLEARED
Objective: Survive until level ends."

Shocked, he yells for Aya and Hikari.
Their screens say the same.

Around them, other players begin checking -
Team A. Team AB. Team E. All cleared.

But not everyone.
Florida, glancing at the Book of the Level, demands answers.
"I KNOW HOW TO WIN THIS LEVEL! WHY DOESN'T MINE SAY CLEARED?!"

Lumin doesn't stop.

Through the flood, he shouts the truth:
"If the water kills the beasts, it doesn't count!"

And suddenly it all makes sense.
Those who cleared the level had one thing in common:
They killed beasts themselves.

But clearing it isn't enough.
The only reward now?
Survive. Until it ends.

The water reaches their knees.
Children tremble.
Beasts drown - and take the level with them.

Lumin roars one final command:

"Corner the beasts - before we all lose!!"

ESCAPE THE HALL LV.5
SURGE

"Corner them?? And what will you do???" Awandea shouted, her voice cutting sharp through the chaos.

She was soaked from head to toe, her clothes clinging to her skin as she struggled to keep balance in the rising water. Her breath came in gasps, the cold creeping in, stealing the warmth from her limbs. Her eyes locked onto Lumin—part disbelief, part fury, part fear.

Lumin didn’t answer her. His face was tense, jaw clenched, eyes fixed forward with unnerving determination. He didn’t look back, didn’t justify, didn’t flinch.

Instead, he repeated, louder this time—authoritative, unshakable:
"Corner them! Now!!"

There was a moment of hesitation that rippled through the players. A pause. A crack in the panic. Some of them blinked in confusion. Others stayed frozen, hoses limply gripped in their trembling hands, eyes darting between Lumin and the monstrous beasts that clawed and shrieked before them.

But Asahi moved.

His trust in Lumin wasn’t born out of logic or even survival—it was instinct. Pure gut. He didn’t need to know how Lumin was going to pull this off. All he knew was that if they kept floundering like this, they were all going to drown. Especially the little ones.

Asahi stepped forward with purpose, his teeth clenched hard as the freezing water surged against his thighs, splashing with every movement. His boots made squelching sounds as he trudged through, his knuckles white around the hose handle. He lifted the nozzle high and directed the spray with laser focus at the closest beast.

A direct hit to the beast’s eyes.

The monster let out a screeching roar, its grotesque body recoiling, claws flailing wildly as it stumbled back. The water didn’t just burn—it blinded.

Asahi didn’t stop. He pressed on, spraying in wide arcs, backing multiple beasts into the edges of the room. Around him, his movements had sparked something.

From the corner of his eye, a second stream of water sliced the air beside him.

Akio.

Without a word, without needing to speak, Akio had stepped up beside him, the determined set of his brows mirroring Asahi’s. His hose joined in, twin jets forcing another beast back into the shadows.

And then came Lei. Then Jessica. They fell into line like pieces locking into place, a rhythm forming in the chaos. Shoulder to shoulder, they advanced, the water cannons now a wall of force pushing the beasts back.

Behind them, Shuhuang was seen crouched beside Haru, one hand shielding her teammate's little body, the other firmly gripping the hose. She wasn't moving forward, but she was holding the line.

"If we don't do something, we'll either drown or fail the level and die. I trust you, Asahi," Akio said, shouting over the crashing water and snarls. “And since you trust Lumin… so will I.”

That was the shift.

The reluctant players around them finally stirred from their frozen panic. One by one, hoses lifted, water began to fly—not in chaotic bursts but in a growing, unified front. They began moving forward instead of staying rooted in fear.

The beasts snarled louder now, clearly agitated, but also disoriented. They were flailing against the surging water pressure. It was working.

But not everyone agreed.

Demnin, standing off to the side, observed with narrowed eyes. His voice was barely a mutter, swallowed by the noise, but it was laced with unease.

"I'm afraid, the beasts are already half-dead..." he said under his breath.

To him, this was dangerous. If they killed the beasts, they might fail the level. He couldn’t risk that. Survival, in any form, was the only goal. He gritted his teeth and slowly made his way to the far-left wall, keeping low, moving with purpose but stealth.

“Let’s just attack them now that they’re weak,” Demnin muttered to his team, his words laced with desperate calculation. His group followed silently, peeling away from the others unnoticed. The water was up to their waists now, and most players were distracted enough not to catch the betrayal.

Back in the thick of it, Lumin tapped rapidly on his player screen, ignoring the chill biting into his arms and legs. He selected an item and confirmed the purchase—a round dark green object, patterned with black checkers in an endless loop. It shimmered for a brief moment in his hand.

No beginning. No end.

He waded forward, the water threatening to unbalance him with every step, and placed the item carefully at the base of the massive sealed door.

Then, gripping his motorbike tightly, he dragged it backward through the water with all his might. His shoes slipped on the slick surface. The bike’s weight resisted him. The splashes around him echoed louder as the water continued to rise.

His legs trembled under the pressure. Water sloshed past his knees, colder than ever, and the sound of struggling players and angry beasts filled the air like a discordant orchestra.

Before Lumin could even process his next move, his peripheral vision caught something—a twitch, a shift. His gaze snapped to the left. Demnin. And the entirety of Team B. They were inching along the edge of the room, wading through ankle-deep water like ghosts in a battlefield.

Lumin’s breath hitched in his throat. His eyes narrowed as he followed their slow, silent movement. And then it clicked.

They were positioning themselves.

Lumin’s head tilted slightly. His mind raced. They’re going to attack. The nearest beast—wounded, twitching, eyes glassy but still feral—stood not far from them. It had collapsed halfway into the murky water, its breaths ragged, its body slumped, but its instincts alive.

Lumin clicked his teeth in frustration, letting out a sharp exhale. His fingers tightened on the handles of his bike before he abruptly parked it to the side, letting it fall with a muted splash into the water. He turned away, his jaw clenched.

A glint caught his attention—a gun, floating nearby, half-submerged in the surface. He waded quickly through the water, grabbed it, and checked the chamber. Empty. This was the gun he had purchased after all.

"Figures," he muttered. Still, he clutched it. An empty gun was better than nothing. A threat. A bluff. A blunt object if needed.

And just as he turned, it happened.

Demnin and Team B had silently coordinated. The beast’s ragged body was exactly opposite their position now. Demnin nodded subtly to his teammates, a silent signal shared through tense eye contact. Then—with a yell that broke through the heavy tension like a lightning strike—he launched himself forward, a broken length of plastic chair in his hand like a crude spear.

But Demnin didn’t know.

He didn’t know that wounded beasts were the most dangerous.

The beast let out a low, guttural growl. One that sounded more like desperation than dominance. Its paw flew through the air in a savage arc. The slash barely missed Demnin’s throat but raked across his cheek—deep, red, raw.

Blood spurted into the air, trailing behind him.

And just as the beast lunged with a feral snarl, its jaws gaping, about to snap onto Demnin mid-air—

A blur.

A crack of motion.

Something—someone—cut through the space between.

Lumin.

His form smashed into Demnin, dragging him downward into the water, away from the beast’s snapping teeth. At the same instant, Lumin thrust the empty gun forward—jamming it straight into the beast’s open maw.

The weapon slid in with a sickening crunch. The beast gagged, flailed, its jaw slackening.

Lumin and Demnin sank for a moment in the chaos. Water bubbled and churned. And then, slowly, the two figures rose again—buoyed upward by the water’s force. They broke the surface together, coughing, gasping.

Lumin sputtered as droplets flew from his mouth. His eyes were half-lidded from the cold sting. His breath came in ragged bursts from all the wounds he has sustained. He blinked rapidly and looked over at Demnin.

Demnin, bleeding and soaked, wiped water from his eyes with the back of his arm. His face was pale, stunned. But he didn’t hesitate. He reached out and grabbed Lumin’s hand, tugging him upward. Lumin stumbled slightly as he was pulled, his shoes squelching against the submerged floor. He stood, shoulders rising and falling with each exhausted breath.

“Hah...” Lumin coughed, his voice cracking. “Animals... they tend to act up more when they’re wounded... how do you not know that...”

His chest heaved between his words, and he bent slightly, a hand braced against his thigh.

Demnin opened his mouth to respond, guilt and confusion pooling in his expression, but—

Lumin yanked his hand free.

With one quick motion, he pushed his wet hair back, his fingers trembling slightly. His lips were tight. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and began walking toward the half-sunken motorbike.

Each step splashed, slow and heavy, like he was trying to walk away not just from the scene but from the adrenaline, the fear, the brush with death.

Around them, other players had gone still. Some of Team B watched in silence, the realization sinking in. That they could’ve lost someone. That Lumin—despite his sharp tongue and stubbornness—had jumped in.

And saved him.

And not with words.

But with instinct.

With fury.

With grit.

Lumin grabbed the handlebars of his bike with determination flaring in his eyes. The veins on his arms stood taut, his knuckles pale against the metal. He turned slightly to shout over the din of rushing water and the beasts’ snarls.

"You all better not provoke the creatures! Just back them into a corner and stay there!"

His voice was hoarse but commanding, cutting through the panic and smoke like a blade.

Qiang, still holding her ground near Demnin, patted his back — a quick, wordless show of solidarity as they both caught their breath.

“At least people didn’t take advantage of the fact that we were being foolish and tried to make us bait,” she muttered with a rueful chuckle, though her eyes darted warily toward the creatures now corralled across the wet concrete.

Demnin’s head dropped slightly, the weight of regret dragging his gaze down. His drenched bangs clung to his forehead, and water dripped from his jaw. “Unbelievable…” he muttered bitterly. “How could I have been so stupid…”

His fists clenched at his sides, barely managing to keep hold of the hose that was trembling in his grip. He didn’t look at Qiang, didn’t want to see disappointment, even if her tone hadn’t been accusatory.

Meanwhile, the group was slowly succeeding in what moments ago seemed impossible — backing the monstrous beasts into one corner of the expansive room. Every second was a risk. One slip, one misstep, and it would have all been over. The floor was slick, scattered with fallen players and remnants of earlier fights. But inch by inch, the group forced the creatures back, their combined streams of high-pressure water driving them away like fire would vermin.

“You all stay there,” Lumin ordered sharply again, locking eyes briefly with the teams. His tone left no room for questions.

By now, the ten-minute cooldown had passed. His bike — their only way out — was finally ready. Without wasting another second, he twisted the handlebar. The engine snarled to life like an angry beast answering a call, and with one sharp motion, Lumin leapt back onto the seat, a blur of motion cutting through smoke and water.

The bike screeched forward, spraying water as it accelerated. He aimed straight for the sealed door. Adrenaline thundered through his veins, the edges of his vision blurring from the speed.

The front wheel struck the spherical mechanism at the base of the door.

A sudden, violent blast erupted.

A shockwave surged through the space like a ripple from a cannon shot. Black smoke billowed, filling the chamber in an instant, followed by the deep crackling sound of fire as it licked against metal and stone.

Players screamed.

Everyone instinctively stumbled back — but in the confined space, there was only one direction left: toward the beasts.

Beasts that had been clawing and snarling in agitation at being trapped.

Chaos reigned for a split second.

But the hoses saved them.

The water — gushing relentlessly across the floor and splashing against the beasts’ faces — kept them back just enough. The pressure from the fire hoses was their only buffer, their only salvation in the storm of smoke and fear. If not for that, the cornered monsters would have leapt forward and torn through flesh like paper.

Some players fell to their knees, coughing violently, eyes watering, trying to fan away the black smog with trembling hands.

Others shielded each other, forming a protective wall even amidst the confusion.

“What… what was that?” someone choked out from the haze.

“Did the door… break? Was that Lumin’s plan?” another gasped, blinking rapidly.

Awandea stood frozen. Her face pale beneath soot and sweat. Her arms hung stiffly by her side, her hose forgotten. Her mouth was slightly open, but no words came out. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even flinch. The sheer force of the explosion had paralyzed her nerves, and now all she could do was stare into the smoke, trembling.

Waiting.

Waiting for Lumin to come out alive.