The Beloved Granny of the Death Game
8.9 / 10.0
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When a terrifying horror game invades reality, eighty-eight-year-old Granny is sacrificed by her own son to ensure his survival. Trapped in a lethal dungeon, she faces frost-bitten spirits and starving ghosts with grandmotherly compassion rather than fear. While viewers expect her demise, she instead nurtures the monsters with warm coats and home-cooked meals. When treacherous players finally corner her to steal her escape ticket, the dungeon's vengeful inhabitants rise up to protect their favorite elder.
The Beloved Granny of the Death Game Chapter 1
The Horror Game invaded the world. Real players entered the game, and their every move would be broadcast live.
My adopted son shoved me—an eighty-eight-year-old woman—straight into a deadly dungeon to save his own skin.
One of the comments in the live stream predicted:
[What? They’re tossing in such an elderly woman? No way she’s gonna survive the first night!]
On the first night, a frost-bitten ghost exhaled icy breath in my face.
I shrugged off my thick floral coat, feeling sorry for her. “You poor thing! You must be freezing. Listen to me and bundle up quickly!”
The second night, a starving ghost lunged at me with blood dripping down his chin.
I sniffed the air, then found a jar of pickled cabbage. “Look at how skinny you are! Come on, let me get you something hot to eat.”
On the final day, the last surviving players tied me up, desperate to steal the one ticket to escape.
However, before they could touch me, every ghost in the dungeon came storming out, cleavers and rolling pins in hand.
“Touch her, and you’re dead meat!”
“Mom, you’re still as tough as nails. Take one for the team!”
My adopted son kicked me straight into the pitch black hellhole.
My lower back slammed against a jutting rock.
Pain shot through me.
It hurt so bad I drew in a cold, hissing breath.
This old spine of mine had rusted stiff years ago. A fall like that nearly shattered me into pieces.
I pushed myself off the ground, slow and steady, and brushed the dust off my worn cotton pants.
Before me stood a gloomy, abandoned apartment block. Its windows were dark and barren, with no hint of life inside.
Then, out of nowhere, a voice rang out from above.
[Welcome to the dungeon Whitmore Private Academy Dormitory. Your challenge is to survive for one week.]
The voice stuttered halfway through, carrying a strange and unnerving energy.
[The player count is now eight.]
[Good luck and have fun. Death may be an early release.]
I did not really understand what that was supposed to mean.
All I could see were a few blurred silhouettes drifting in the distance. The cold wind carried their muttering toward me.
“Ugh, just my luck! Why’d they throw in such an old hag?”
“Look at her age. No way she’s gonna survive till dawn.”
“Who cares? She’ll make a fine scapegoat for us…”
I let their buzzing wash past my ears and squinted through my failing eyes at the dormitory building ahead.
The windows on the first floor hung crooked, their glass shattered all over the floor. The icy wind howled straight inside, unbarred.
A half-broken sign dangled at the entrance: [4101.]
That should be the one!
I lifted my foot and headed right for the busted door.
The moment I got close, an icy chill seeped up from the ground, boring straight into my bones. I shivered all over.
The live chat is on fire.
[Holy crap! The old lady’s walking straight into 4101! That’s the frost wraith’s lair!]
[She's done for! That frost wraith was killed and shoved in a morgue freezer, so now she loves freezing people into ice statues. That’s the nastiest death ever!]
[Place your bets. How many minutes do you think she will last?]
I ignored the chatter, raised my hand, and knocked on the nearly splintered wooden door.
The hinges groaned with a long, creaking wail, and the door cracked open on its own.
In the gap of the door stood a figure that only barely resembled a person.
A faded, patched-up blue school uniform hung off her shriveled body.
Her hair glittered with shards of ice. Her face was drained of all color like a corpse, and her lips were frozen purple.
She stared at me. There was not a single wisp of warmth left in her.
“Cold… cold…”
The moment she spoke, a stream of deathly white frost spewed from her mouth straight into my face.
The cold made me tremble, but suddenly, it all made sense.
Without a word, I started unbuttoning my heavy, padded red cotton coat. I had kept this coat tucked away in a drawer for years.
It was the last gift from my husband, who had been gone for more than a decade now. He had it stuffed thick with cotton, and it was warm enough to block out the harshest winters.
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The Beloved Granny of the Death Game of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5
Chapter 6 Ch. 6
Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
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