Ansel had always found comfort in the stories of the Monkey King's cleverness and strength. It was like a symbol of resilience and cunning that he aspired to embody.
As he approached a busy crossroads, preparing to cross the street, a sudden, piercing scream shattered the calm. It wasn't just one voice. It was a chorus of terrified cries rising from the crowd.
Ansel turned sharply toward the source of the chaos.
There, weaving frantically through the crowd, was a woman wielding a knife. Her eyes were wild and unfocused.
Panic rippled through the street as people scattered in all directions, cars screeching to a halt to avoid the chaos. The woman's erratic movements and the gleam of the blade sent a wave of fear crashing over the onlookers.
Everyone kept their distance, instinctively retreating from the danger. Everyone did, except Ansel. He didn't have an idea of what he did.
He wanted to retreat as everyone did. Nevertheless, something whispered in his mind. It told him. "Stay still and wait for her to approach you."
He stood rooted to the spot, his gaze steady and unflinching as he watched the woman's desperate, uncontrolled frenzy.
"It seems like she was possessed by an evil spirit." Ansel murmured to himself. The truth was clear in his mind. The woman had lost control of her own will, overtaken by a malevolent force that manipulated her from within.
Among the crowd, a woman's anguished cries pierced the air. Her mother was there, trailing behind the possessed woman. Her face was pale with fear and desperation.
She dared not approach, paralyzed by terror. Instead, she screamed out her daughter's name. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Austyn, stop!!! Austyn!!! Austyn!!! Austyn!!!"
That woman, Austyn, charged toward Ansel with terrifying speed. The blade raised high on her hand. But Ansel was ready. With calm reflexes honed by countless unseen battles, he dodged the wild strike effortlessly.
The blade missed its mark, but Austyn did not relent. Her eyes locked onto Ansel with a fierce, unnatural focus.
In that moment, Ansel understood why he had been drawn to New Haven. This was the reason. The moment he had been preparing for without fully realizing it.
Doubt flickered within him. He could have avoided this confrontation entirely, choosing to flee or hide. He had the advantage of speed and the small extendable stick in his hand, a toy that could become a weapon if needed.
Ansel's heart pounded, not with fear, but with the heavy knowledge that this encounter was no accident.
Whatever came next, Ansel knew he could not turn away. This was his burden to bear, his responsibility to confront.
The evil spirit that possessed Austyn was a manifestation of the darkness he was destined to face. It was a test, a challenge that would push him to the limits of his strength and resolve.
But Ansel couldn't strike the woman. Despite the danger she posed, she was still an ordinary human, not a monster to be harmed.
The blade she wielded was a weapon. However, the woman behind was lost, a victim herself. To hurt her would be to cross a line that he was unwilling to breach.
Yet, the harsh reality pressed down on him like a suffocating weight. If he did nothing, he would die by her hands. Not just him, innocent bystanders around him were also at risk, caught in the crossfire of this tragic possession.
Ansel's heart pounded fiercely. He wanted desperately to act, to save himself and those around him. But there was a paralyzing truth he could not ignore: he had never performed an exorcism.
He didn't know how. The ancient rites, the sacred words, the rituals to banish evil, none of them were within his grasp.
In that moment, the choice was stark and brutal: fight or die. Time was slipping away. He had to decide quickly.
Ansel's mind raced. If he remained still and silent, he might not die immediately. He knew, deep down, that it was not yet his time to perish. There was more stuff for him to do, more battles to fight, more mysteries to unravel.
But if he chose to fight, he risked everything, his body, and his life. The wounds inflicted by a human opponent, though painful, were survivable.
But wounds inflicted by an evil spirit were a different matter entirely. They were curses etched into flesh and soul. The torment that would not heal with time. The pain was searing, as if his body were being consumed by flames from within.
Ansel's thoughts flashed back to the last time he had faced such agony. When the fayfiends attacked him. His hands had turned a fiery red, the pain so intense it nearly broke him.
To heal, Hansel had to soak his hands in ice cubes for an entire day. Hansel had run tirelessly, fetching ice from every corner, filling the refrigerator, yet the heat persisted.
When the burning finally subsided, his hands were numb and paralyzed from the prolonged cold. The memory was vivid, a stark reminder of the cost of fighting the devil.
As these memories flooded his mind, Ansel made his choice. He would run. He would hide. He turned and ran away from the danger, but toward it, his resolve hardened with every step.
Nowadays, he was no longer the frightened boy who fled from shadows. He had grown, learned, and endured. It was time to face reality, to confront the darkness head-on.
Whatever the outcome, he had to try. He was exhausted from endless dodging, from living in fear. And the woman, Austyn was relentless, her gaze fixed on him, refusing to let him go.
The woman, her eyes wild and glowing with an unnatural light, continued to pursue Ansel relentlessly. The spirit that possessed her moved with a terrifying speed and ferocity, as if fueled by an insatiable hunger.
Ansel could do nothing but run, weaving through the narrow corridors and crowded streets, dodging obstacles and desperate to keep his distance. His breath came in ragged gasps, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.