SAO: Strawberry Bunny

As the soft glow of lantern light filled the cozy inn room, Strawberry, Muffin, and Quinella settled in, letting the warmth of the fire soothe their weary bones. The battle against Gaindogrig and the rescue of Orsyn had been grueling, and now, in the quiet comfort of the town's finest inn, they could finally catch their breath. The inn was quaint, nestled near the bustling market district, and just far enough from the second-floor labyrinth to offer safety while still housing adventurers eager to tackle the next big challenge.

Strawberry stretched her legs, sighing as she leaned back against the soft pillows on the bench by the fire. Muffin had nestled himself comfortably on her lap, his little nose twitching as he inspected a shiny coin Strawberry had picked up. Quinella sat across from her, spreading out their loot from Ormi's quest on the wooden table between them, her violet eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"You know," Quinella mused, her slender fingers brushing over the gemstones and scrolls they'd gathered, "it's strange how I even came across this gemstone to begin with."

Strawberry glanced up, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "Oh? You never mentioned how you found it."

Quinella smiled, her violet eyes reflecting the warm glow of the inn's firelight as she continued. "I found it by chance, really. I was exploring one of the older ruins on the second floor—there was this eerie, abandoned shrine hidden in the mountains, covered in vines and ancient carvings. I was drawn to it, something about the place felt… significant." She paused, as if replaying the scene in her mind.

"When I went inside, I found this gemstone resting in the hands of a statue. It looked just like the one you have, only it was this deep amethyst. The moment I picked it up, I felt this odd surge of energy run through me, almost like a pulse. It was strange, to say the least."

Strawberry raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And that led you to Kaelin?"

Quinella nodded. "I was curious if it held any unique properties, so I started asking around. No one seemed to know much, but Kaelin's name came up in passing—she was mentioned as one of the few blacksmiths with a knack for rare items and strange materials. I figured it was worth a shot, so I decided to pay her a visit."

Her gaze drifted down to the gemstone, her fingers tracing its smooth surface. "I didn't expect her to know anything right away, but as you know, when she saw it, she knew more than I thought."

Strawberry leaned back, the mystery deepening in her mind. "And here we are, both of us with gemstones that react to each other. Do you think these stones are connected somehow?"

Quinella looked thoughtful, her expression contemplative. "That's what I suspect. There has to be something more to them… something we're supposed to discover."

Strawberry nodded slowly, glancing down at the two stones resting side by side, their glimmering surfaces catching the firelight. "Whatever it is, I feel like we're just scratching the surface."

The two shared a silent look, the weight of the mystery hanging between them.

Then they smiled. Who didn't like a good mystery every here and there?

XXXXX

Far below the innocent villages and busy marketplaces of Aincrad's second floor, hidden from the prying eyes of players and authorities alike, lay a network of tunnels—a dark, hidden underworld known only to a select few. These tunnels were more than just passageways; they were the lair of Laughing Coffin, a guild notorious for its cruelty and violence. Here, darkness reigned, and its members thrived on the fear they inflicted upon others.

The entrance to these tunnels was as foul as the guild itself: the only way in was through the winding, rank sewers of each floor. To keep these hidden lairs clean, Globlin—a peculiar and grimy member of Laughing Coffin—cleared out the muck and waste, ensuring that his guildmates could move about the tunnels without trudging through filth. Though the stench of the sewers still lingered on him like an unpleasant aura, Globlin's commitment to his role kept the guild's hideouts discreet and accessible only to those with knowledge of its hidden doors.

Once inside, the tunnels gave way to a labyrinthine maze of stone corridors, dimly lit by flickering, torch-lit sconces. Shadows danced along the walls, their dark shapes twisting and shifting, lending the place an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere. Each step echoed through the hollow passages, and the air was thick with the scent of damp stone and the lingering odor from the sewers.

At the heart of this twisted underworld was a chamber both grand and sinister—a thronelike meeting room where the guild's members convened. The room was vast, its high ceiling casting an imposing presence over the dark figures who gathered within. Along the walls hung torn banners marked with Laughing Coffin's emblem: a grinning skull painted in a deep, almost blood-red hue. The sight of it alone was enough to unnerve even the most hardened players.

In the center of the room stood a massive circular stone table, its surface intricately carved with symbols of chaos and death. It was a table that had witnessed countless schemes, a place where Laughing Coffin's darkest plans were born. Each seat around the table was more throne than chair, their high backs and ornate, twisted designs evoking a sense of twisted royalty—a stark contrast to the squalor of the tunnels outside.

Two figures sat near the head of the table, lounging as if they owned the world. Cloaked in black, their hoods casting deep shadows over their faces, Blackwolf and Sylvana sat back in their seats with a casual ease, exuding an air of authority and malice.

Blackwolf stretched his legs out, his heavy boots resting on the edge of the table as he leaned back, his hands folded behind his head. The dim light caught a glint of satisfaction in his cold eyes, barely visible beneath the hood. His voice was low and mocking, each word dripping with disdain. "Another meeting in the sewers. How fitting."

Beside him, Sylvana, her slender form draped in dark robes, leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she tapped a long, manicured finger against her cheek. "You should be used to it by now, Blackwolf," she replied, her tone lilting with a hint of sarcasm. "This is the underworld, after all. We're hardly heroes basking in the sun." Her eyes sparkled with a cruel amusement as she glanced over at him, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Besides, I rather enjoy the atmosphere. It's... suitable."

Blackwolf snorted, his smirk widening. "Suitable? That's one way to put it. Though I'd rather be up there terrorizing players instead of sitting around in the dark."

Sylvana shrugged, her fingers tracing a pattern on the stone table. "All in due time. The more we wait, the more complacent they become. And when the time comes…" Her smile widened, a glint of malice lighting her eyes. "They won't know what hit them."

Blackwolf chuckled, a low, sinister sound that echoed through the chamber. "You've always had a flair for the dramatic, Sylvana."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor. They turned their heads in unison, watching as several more cloaked figures entered the chamber, each one taking a seat around the stone table. These were Laughing Coffin's most dedicated members, those who reveled in the guild's reputation for fear and chaos. They wore their cloaks like armor, each one bearing the insignia of the grinning skull somewhere on their person—a symbol of allegiance to a guild that existed solely to instill terror.

As the room filled with the key members of Laughing Coffin, the atmosphere grew darker, more charged, with an ominous tension that was almost tangible. The figures who gathered were more than just faceless shadows—they were feared names, each with a sinister reputation that resonated throughout Aincrad. The guild's inner circle was composed of players who embraced the guild's twisted purpose, taking pride in their bloody work. These weren't players looking for adventure or camaraderie; they were individuals who thrived on chaos, each motivated by their own ruthless desires.

PoH, the guild's enigmatic founder, was the first to enter after Blackwolf and Sylvana. He moved with a chilling calmness, his jet-black hair hanging in thick strands around his face, his slender build deceptively hiding a dangerous strength. PoH wore a cold, calculating expression, his eyes sharp as blades, as he took his seat at the head of the table. His presence alone silenced the murmurs around the room, a testament to the power he held over the guild.

Blackwolf and Sylvana exchanged brief nods with him, though both seemed somewhat tense in his presence. PoH wasn't known for idle talk or tolerance for failure, and his standards for Laughing Coffin's members were merciless. If any of them fell short of his expectations, he had no qualms about dealing with them as he would an enemy.

Next came XaXa, an unsettling figure with wild, dark hair and a crazed grin. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of sadistic glee and unpredictability, and he took his seat with an exaggerated, theatrical flourish. XaXa was known for his twisted enjoyment of the hunt, the thrill of watching fear take root in his victims' eyes before he struck the killing blow. He wore his guild insignia with pride, like a badge of honor, and few in the guild were as notorious for their brutality as him.

"Can't wait to hear what we're planning next," XaXa said, his voice a low, eager hiss as he leaned forward, his eyes darting from Blackwolf to Sylvana. "It's been too quiet up there. The floors are getting boring."

Sylvana smirked. "Don't worry, XaXa. We'll have more fun soon enough."

Seated next to XaXa was Johnny Black, a man with a slouched posture and an air of smugness that dripped from his every word. Known for his skill with poisons, Johnny Black was the guild's go-to for subtle, drawn-out kills. He wore a black cloak adorned with small vials strapped along the sleeves, each one containing a different toxic concoction. His methods were slower, more deliberate than the others', but he took pride in the dread his poisons inspired.

Johnny Black leaned back, a crooked smile spreading across his face as he observed the room. "As long as I get to try out a few new mixes on the next batch of targets, I'm happy to oblige."

Sylvana rolled her eyes but nodded. "We'll need some quieter eliminations. Those with too much confidence, thinking they can walk freely without fear. They're the ones we'll target with your… special talents."

Johnny Black grinned, clearly pleased, his fingers idly tapping the small vials on his wrist. "I'll make it painful. Promise."

At the far end of the table, a hulking figure shifted in his seat. Red-Eyed XaXa was as much a brute as he was a sadist, known for his overwhelming strength and his weapon of choice—a massive, blood-red axe. His towering form cast a dark shadow over those around him, and he seldom spoke, preferring to let his actions do the talking. But those who had seen him in battle knew better than to underestimate his cold, calculating nature.

Blackwolf turned his gaze to the assembled group, a smile of satisfaction spreading across his face as he surveyed the room. With these killers at his side, their guild was a force to be reckoned with, each member bringing their own lethal specialty to the table.

"Listen up," Blackwolf began, his voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the hushed voices. "PoH has given us our orders. The players are getting bolder, thinking they can clear floors without consequence. We're here to remind them that Aincrad isn't just a game—it's a death trap."

The others nodded, their expressions darkening with anticipation.

XaXa leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "So, who's first? Some greenhorns trying to grind in safety?"

"Precisely," Blackwolf said with a smirk. "We're targeting solo players first. Those who think they're safe wandering the wilderness alone. We'll pick them off one by one, leave enough traces of carnage to make the others second-guess every step they take."

PoH, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice smooth yet cold. "Remember, it's not just about the kill. It's about the message. We want the players on the upper floors to fear every shadow, every step outside the towns."

Sylvana nodded, her voice laced with satisfaction. "If they want to survive, they'll have to stay within the safe zones. We want to remind them that true freedom doesn't exist here."

Johnny Black chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with malice. "I'll start preparing some surprises for the fools who think they can rest easy near the labyrinths."

PoH's gaze swept over the group, his dark eyes lingering on each member in turn. "You all know your roles. XaXa, Johnny Black, Red-Eyed XaXa—keep an eye on the frontlines. Blackwolf and Sylvana, I'll leave it to you to lead the ambushes. Make sure no one comes back alive."

XaXa grinned wildly, his fingers twitching with excitement. "You got it, boss. Just leave the mess to me."

As the dark figures finalized their plans, PoH leaned back in his seat, his eyes gleaming with a quiet, deadly resolve. The guild's purpose was clear: to spread fear, to make Aincrad a place of dread and death.

Sylvana's lips curled into a smirk as she looked around the table, her gaze meeting Blackwolf's. "To Laughing Coffin," she said softly, her voice filled with satisfaction.

The rest of the guild echoed her words, their voices dark and unified. "To Laughing Coffin."

The silence following the dark chant, "To Laughing Coffin," was chilling. The assembled members of Laughing Coffin sat in silence, their eyes gleaming with malevolence as they let the weight of their shared purpose settle over them. Each one was here not just to kill but to make Aincrad their domain of terror, to reshape the floors above into a realm of fear that kept players constantly looking over their shoulders, too afraid to climb higher.

PoH broke the silence, his gaze dark and unwavering. His voice cut through the stillness like a blade. "We're not here just to disrupt," he said, his tone cold, calculated. "We're here to remind them of what's waiting for them at every turn. We're here to turn Aincrad into our empire of chaos, where even the strongest players doubt themselves. And right now, there's one name everyone's talking about: Strawberry."

At the mention of that name, several members exchanged glances, some with dark amusement and others with quiet interest. It wasn't often that someone outside their guild had made enough of an impression to warrant PoH's attention.

PoH leaned forward, his gaze sharp as he continued. "The player who defeated the first-floor boss—solo. The one who's taken the #1 spot on the leaderboard. Strawberry has become a symbol of strength for those who think they can survive here. He's been climbing floors without hesitation, taking down high-level monsters alone. I heard he's already planning to beat the second-floor boss. And that makes him… dangerous."

XaXa grinned, the eager gleam in his eyes turning savage. "I've heard of him. Some kind of scythe user, right? I'd love to watch that confidence disappear. Think he's strong? Let him try those assassin moves when his friends start dropping like flies."

Sylvana rolled her eyes, a hint of a smirk on her face. "If he's soloed a boss, then he's no amateur. A player like that doesn't fall into a trap easily." (Oh, but she has; you did it pretty easily.)

Johnny Black twirled a vial of poison between his fingers, his eyes flashing with malicious excitement. "Doesn't matter how strong he is; poison doesn't care. It's only a matter of getting close enough."

PoH raised a hand, silencing the chatter. "I'm not saying we go after him without a plan," he said coolly. "Strawberry represents something dangerous: a player who doesn't fear this world. If we let that confidence spread, others will follow, and that's something we can't allow. He's proof that strength can be found here, that players can rise above our grasp." PoH's gaze darkened. "That's why we need to make an example of him."

Blackwolf, lounging casually in his seat, lifted his chin thoughtfully. "So, what's the play? Ambush him, wait till he's worn down?"

PoH shook his head. "No. We'll take our time, watch him, and wait for a weakness. When we finally strike, it won't just be for him—it'll be a warning to anyone else who thinks they can defy us."

Sylvana smiled, her gaze sharpening. "And when we do… they'll understand what it means to defy Laughing Coffin. We'll remind them that hope only leads to death."

A ripple of dark satisfaction spread through the room as PoH's plan took root in their minds, each member envisioning their role in bringing down the player who had become a beacon of strength. Strawberry was more than just a target—he was an example. And when they finally struck, it would be with the full weight of Laughing Coffin's malice.