The silence shattered.
A violent rush of movement tore through the ruins.
The Sigbin lunged.
Adan shifted instantly.
Claws sliced through empty air where his throat had been. The creature's body twisted mid-motion, landing with unnatural lightness before launching again — faster, sharper, relentless.
Stone cracked beneath its impact.
Adan did not strike.
He stepped aside.
Another lunge — low, sweeping, vicious. The Sigbin's distorted limbs bent at impossible angles, propelling it forward like a projectile of muscle and fury.
Adan pivoted smoothly.
Calm.
Measured.
Untouched.
The ruins erupted into chaos. Broken stone splintered. Dust burst into the air. The Sigbin attacked with frenzied aggression, darting from blind spots, rebounding off surfaces, its movements erratic yet disturbingly precise.
A blur of violence.
Adan remained composed.
He dodged.
Turned.
Slipped past each strike by fractions of a second.
Not fleeing.
Observing.
Each motion of the Sigbin fed his awareness. The rhythm of its leaps. The delay between impact and recoil. The imbalance hidden within its speed.
A sudden shriek ripped from the creature's throat as it lunged from above.
Adan stepped forward instead of back.
The Sigbin crashed behind him.
Still he did not retaliate.
His expression remained unchanged, his breathing steady — a hunter not yet drawing his blade, patiently dissecting the storm before him.
The Sigbin, frustrated, screamed into the darkness.
The Sigbin lunged again.
Adan stepped aside — then finally moved.
With a calm motion, he reached into his robe and pulled free the bound Bible. The leather straps loosened beneath his fingers. The cover fell open.
Pages whispered into the darkness.
He flipped through them with practiced precision.
To any observer, it would have seemed impossible.
A blind man, reading.
Yet Adan did not rely on sight. His fingers brushed the pages lightly, and with each touch, the verses resonated within him — not as words, but as presence. As chants etched into memory, awakened through ritual and discipline.
The Sigbin circled, restless, watching.
Adan stopped turning pages.
Silence deepened.
Then —
Understanding.
The creature's nature unfolded within his awareness like a map drawn from scripture and experience.
Sigbin.
Classification: Lesser Predatory Entity.
Behavioral Traits: Erratic, highly aggressive, territorial.
Primary Attribute: Agility.
The Sigbin's greatest weapon was speed — explosive bursts of movement, unpredictable angles, relentless assault patterns designed to overwhelm prey before resistance could form.
Strength: Moderate.
Not built for prolonged confrontation. Its attacks relied on momentum rather than sustained force.
Endurance: Low to Moderate.
Fierce in short engagements. Vulnerable if drawn into extended conflict.
Psychological Profile: Instinct-driven. Easily agitated. Reactive.
Adan's grip tightened slightly on the Bible.
Then —
Weakness.
A clarity sharpened within him.
The Sigbin's unnatural mobility came at a cost. Its distorted anatomy, while enabling erratic movement, created instability — brief moments of imbalance following high-velocity lunges.
And more importantly —
Aversion to sanctified resonance.
Not mere symbols.
Not passive faith.
But consecrated invocation.
Sacred chants disrupted its cohesion. Prolonged exposure weakened its aggression, fractured its momentum.
Then —
The pages trembled.
A faint pulse stirred from within the scripture, subtle yet unmistakable. Light did not emerge, yet the air itself shifted, tightening around Adan like pressure before a storm.
Without hesitation, Adan reached forward.
Into the Bible.
His hand passed between the pages as though the space within them were deeper than paper, deeper than form. When his arm withdrew, cold steel rested firmly in his grasp.
A dagger.
Slender.
Consecrated.
Its presence carried weight far beyond metal — a weapon forged through ritual, bound not to sheath or belt, but to scripture itself.
The Sigbin recoiled.
Adan stepped forward.
Calm.
Composed.
The Bible remained open in one hand. The blessed dagger lowered in the other.
Now —
Adan was ready to hunt.
The Sigbin shrieked.
It burst from the darkness with explosive speed, claws and fangs cutting through the air in a final, desperate assault.
Adan reacted.
A motion too precise, too swift to follow.
For a fraction of a second, everything stilled.
Then the dagger traced its line.
Clean.
Decisive.
The Sigbin's body seized, its attack extinguished in the same instant it began. The violent momentum shattered, replaced by a heavy, lifeless fall against the ruined stone.
Silence returned.
Adan remained standing, blade steady, breath calm.
The encounter had ended.
Adan crouched beside the fallen creature.
Without hesitation, he reached down and lifted the Sigbin's head. Its weight was real, its form unmistakable. The lingering corruption still clung faintly to it, slowly dissolving into the night air.
Yet something troubled him.
The hunt had ended too easily.
Too quickly.
Adan remained still for a moment, his thoughts measured.
If this was the terror that plagued San Isidro, then the village had little to fear. Sigbins, while deadly to humans, were among the lesser entities he had faced. Fast. Violent. Dangerous.
But not formidable.
Still… it had been powerful enough to slaughter ordinary men.
Adan dismissed the unease.
A completed mission required no indulgence in doubt.
Rising calmly, he turned back toward the village.
San Isidro was no longer silent.
Whispers stirred as Adan approached. Doors creaked open. Footsteps gathered. The villagers emerged cautiously, tension thick in the air.
Adan stopped at the center of the clearing.
With a simple motion, he cast the Sigbin's head onto the ground.
A dull, heavy thud.
"It is done," Adan said calmly.
"The evil has been terminated."
Silence followed.
But it was not relief that answered him.
The villagers stared in stunned silence.
Adan stood before them, untouched.
No wounds. No trembling. Not even the faintest trace of exhaustion marked his presence. His breathing remained steady, his posture composed — as though the encounter had demanded nothing from him.
Whispers erupted.
"How…?"
"The Sigbin…"
"But he—"
Voices stumbled over one another, disbelief choking their words. Some glanced at the severed head. Others fixed their gaze on Adan, unease creeping behind their shock.
One villager finally spoke, voice unsteady.
"H-how did you kill it?"
The murmurs grew.
"You had no weapon…"
"No blade…"
"No defense…"
Their confusion thickened the air. Suspicion now mixed with fear, subtle yet impossible for Adan to miss.
He felt it again.
That same disturbance.
That same wrongness.
Adan remained calm.
"It does not matter," he answered evenly.
"How the beast was killed is irrelevant."
A quiet stillness followed his words.
"What matters," he continued, voice firm and controlled, "is that the evil has been terminated."
Silence reclaimed the clearing.
But the unease did not leave.
The clearing remained tense, thick with unspoken thoughts.
Yana stepped forward, her voice bright, deliberate.
"Father, please," she said warmly. "Have a drink with us. Let us celebrate. The Sigbin is gone."
A few villagers nodded, though their unease did not fade.
Adan stood quietly.
He felt it.
Beneath the invitation, beneath the smiles — something unsettled lingered. The same disturbance that had followed him since entering San Isidro.
"I will decline," Adan answered calmly.
The air tightened.
"I must continue. My duty does not end here."
He turned to leave.
Then —
A gentle presence brushed against his awareness.
Soft. Light. Unburdened by the tension that filled the crowd.
"Father… please wait."
Adan stopped.
Small footsteps approached.
A young voice, fragile yet sincere.
"Thank you," the girl said quietly.
Adan turned slightly toward her.
Unlike the others, her presence carried no weight of concealment. No distortion. Only warmth — a young soul trembling not with fear, but gratitude.
"You saved us," she continued, extending something toward him.
A cup.
Warm.
Coffee.
Adan hesitated.
For the first time since arriving, the unease loosened its grip.
Slowly, he accepted the cup.
"I will rest briefly," he said calmly.
Then, after a measured pause —
"And depart thereafter."
Adan lowered himself onto a nearby bench, the cup still warm between his hands.
The villagers watched.
Quiet.
Waiting.
He lifted the coffee and took a slow drink. The bitterness spread across his tongue, followed by warmth that settled deep within his chest.
For a moment, nothing changed.
Then —
A subtle shift.
Adan's brow tightened.
Not pain.
Weight.
His limbs grew heavy, an unfamiliar dullness creeping through his body. The air around him seemed to thicken, pressing inward. His grip weakened slightly around the cup.
The warmth became distant.
Muted.
The sounds of the clearing blurred into a low, indistinct hum.
Adan steadied his breathing, instinctively resisting, but the sensation deepened — dragging, suffocating, relentless.
Poison.
Realization came too late.
His fingers slackened.
The cup slipped.
Porcelain shattered against the earth.
The world tilted.
Then Adan collapsed.
Silence followed.
No panic.
No cries.
Only stillness.
Where tension once lingered, something colder emerged.
The villagers' expressions hardened.
Smiles vanished.
Eyes darkened.
And in the quiet of San Isidro, gratitude gave way to something far more grim.
Footsteps broke the silence.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
The cabin door groaned as a massive figure entered, his presence swallowing the space with sheer weight alone. The villagers did not flinch.
They had been expecting him.
Adan lay motionless on the ground.
Unconscious.
Defenseless.
Yana stepped forward, her voice stripped of its earlier warmth.
"Elias."
The huge man stopped beside the fallen priest.
Even in stillness, his size was imposing — broad shoulders, thick arms, a frame built not merely for labor, but for force.
"Take him," Yana said coldly.
"To the storage room."
No hesitation answered her command.
Elias bent down, lifting Adan's body as though it carried no more weight than cloth. The villagers watched in silence, their faces now emptied of pretense.
Outside, San Isidro remained wrapped in darkness.
Inside, the scheme moved forward.