Yan Sen and Aleksander stood quietly as the village head, John arrived to greet them. The man looked worn, with tired eyes and a voice weighed down by responsibility. He offered a brief nod of respect before beginning to explain.
"The first incident happened at the northern edge of the village—Hale family," he said, glancing back toward the dirt path they'd come from. "Three days later, same thing at the other end—Norell family. In both cases… the children turned violent. Possessed, we think. They killed everyone in their homes."
John swallowed hard, clearly disturbed even just recounting it."No warning. No cause we could understand. It's like they snapped overnight."
As he spoke, villagers gathered at a distance, watching the two strangers. Some with curiosity, others with suspicion. And many more with fear.
Yan Sen's appearance hadn't gone unnoticed—his pale skin, dark attire, and unshakable composure made him seem more like a demigod than a man. Even so, the village head didn't question him. Not openly.
They had no other choice. If another incident occurred, they would be forced to abandon the village altogether.
After a pause, Yan Sen finally spoke, his voice low but clear."Can you show us the homes of the two families?"
The John hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. Right this way."
He turned, motioning for them to follow. Aleksander walked just behind Yan Sen, eyes scanning their surroundings.
The village was quiet, far too quiet for midday. No children played. No chatter rose from the homes. Just the sound of footsteps on dry earth.
As they moved deeper into the village, Yan Sen looked at the houses, at the people, at the shadows between the buildings. His gaze lingered on certain spots as if he were sensing something invisible.
Aleksander noticed it, too. That crawling stillness in the air. Like something was watching them—but not from a window or rooftop.
Village Head John stood beside Aleksander, his arms crossed tightly as he watched Yan Sen silently inspect the old house. The structure was worn, abandoned, and eerily still—its door hung half open, and the wooden frame was darkened with age... or something worse.
Yan Sen moved slowly, scanning the walls and doorframes with his eyes—not touching, just observing. The air around him seemed to grow heavier with each step.
The village head leaned closer to Aleksander and spoke in a hushed voice. "I've heard my share of stories... ghosts, demons. Traveled plenty in my youth. I know when something's wrong." He paused, then asked, "What is it, really? A spirit? A demon?"
Aleksander's eyes remained forward, his voice steady. "It's neither."
Old man John furrowed his brow. His son, standing just behind him, shifted nervously.
Aleksander added, "My master knew the moment we stepped into the village. This isn't the work of a spirit or demon."
He glanced at the older man."It's a false god."
At that, both the John and his son, William nearby murmured the word in fear. "God…"
Aleksander nodded, understanding their reaction. He offered a calm, simplified explanation.
Then, his tone darkened slightly."This one's name is Bughuul. He's an ancient entity… who feeds on the souls of children. But he doesn't just take them. He corrupts them—manipulates them into killing their own families in grotesque ways. Afterward, he pulls their souls into the netherworld, where he slowly devours them."
John's face paled. His son, William took a shaky step back."Can your friend really fight something like that?" the man asked, voice tight with fear. "A god?"
Aleksander looked at Yan Sen—still silent, still observing the old house with the focus of a surgeon—and smiled faintly.
Aleksander smiled faintly, a trace of pride in his voice. "He's not just my friend. He's my master. And don't let his face fool you."
The words landed like a stone.
The village head John blinked, confused. "But he looks barely twenty-five…"
Aleksander said softly, "He might look twenty-five... but he's older than both of us. Much older."
The village head was speechless, eyes shifting back to Yan Sen—who now stood perfectly still at the threshold of the cursed house, eyes narrowed as if listening to something no one else could hear.
A strange gust of wind passed through the street, and the door creaked open just a little more.
The hunt had begun.
The wooden door creaked open as Yan Sen stepped inside. The interior was silent, frozen in the aftermath of horror. Furniture lay overturned. Dried blood stained the floor, still dark against cracked wood. A broken photograph frame sat face down, glass shattered.
Behind him, Aleksander, the village head, and his son cautiously followed, stopping just past the threshold.
Yan Sen didn't speak. He moved to the center of the room, then slowly raised his right hand.
His fingers began to move, drawing glowing sigils in the air—a psychic reading.
As he traced the last symbol, the house responded.
A cold gust swept through the room, even though no windows were open. The sigils pulsed once—and then the room began to change.
The temperature dropped. Dust floated upward instead of falling.
Then, around Yan Sen, spectral images began to materialize—ghostly, translucent, yet detailed.
The room darkened as if twilight fell in an instant. All of them could see it now: scenes from the past playing out like fading memories, superimposed onto the present.
Old man John's eyes widened. "You're seeing this too…?"
And his son, William nodded slowly, stunned. "By the spirits…"
While Aleksander has seen this before, so wasn't shocked.
The ghostly outline of a young boy appeared—around twelve years old—kneeling in the corner, drawing something on the wall. His hand moved erratically, smearing a thick dark substance—blood.
From the kitchen, the faint echoes of voices could be heard—his parents arguing.
Yan Sen remained still, his eyes tracking the illusion, watching intently.
Suddenly, a shadow stretched across the floor, unnaturally long.
From the darkened hallway, the outline of a tall, faceless figure emerged—Bughuul. Cloaked in ragged black, his form flickered like static. His presence was suffocating even in this spectral state.
The boy turned, his face blank—eyes lifeless, yet locked on the figure behind him.
Then chaos.
The boy lunged at his parents. Screams filled the air as the vision distorted—walls shaking, colors bleeding out. Blood splattered in violent flashes, yet no one moved. They couldn't. It was like watching a nightmare you couldn't wake from.
Bughuul stood in the corner the entire time—watching.
When the final scream ended, the vision began to dissolve. The specters faded, leaving the room in silence once more.
Yan Sen lowered his hand. The last sigil blinked out of existence.
Old Man John fell back a step, breath shaking. His son, William clutched his arm, pale-faced.
"What… what was that?" he whispered.
Aleksander turned to him. "That was the truth."
Yan Sen finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "Bughuul doesn't kill. He corrupts. He shows the children visions—things no child should ever see. And then he opens the door."
Old Man John was silent, unable to process what he'd just witnessed.
Yan Sen turned toward them, gaze sharper than before. "He's still here. And there's another child… one who hasn't killed yet."
Aleksander stepped forward. "Do you know who?"
Yan Sen's eyes narrowed, turning to the far end of the village.