Devil woke with a start, his chest heaving, sweat clinging to his skin. The haunting voice from the previous night echoed again in his mind, crawling under his skin and setting his nerves ablaze. Every fiber of his being screamed to stay in bed, to hide beneath the blankets and pretend nothing existed. But a stubborn curiosity, a dark pull he couldn't resist, gnawed at him.
His friends—Rick, Piu, and San—had been just as shaken. Their eyes still held the lingering terror of last night's encounter, and even their laughter felt forced. "It… it's just a dream, right?" Piu had whispered, though her voice trembled. Rick had tried to joke, but his usual confidence was cracked, fractured by the memories of fire and water twisting like serpents under Devil's command.
Devil knew it wasn't just a dream. He could feel it. The voice had weight, presence, intelligence. It had called to him for a reason, and he needed answers.
That afternoon, he couldn't stay at home. The thought of doing nothing, of letting the fear fester, was unbearable. His mother noticed his restlessness but said nothing, only shaking her head with worry that mirrored the warnings she had given him all his life. Devil slipped away, telling himself he'd only be gone for a little while.
The journey led him to the outskirts of the village, to a place the others dared not venture—the old house of his grandfather. No one lived there anymore. Windows gaped like hollow eyes, the wood rotting and warped, the smell of dust and decay spilling into the air. The villagers avoided it, crossing themselves if they passed too close, whispering tales of curses and lingering spirits.
Devil's heart pounded as he approached. Every instinct screamed danger, but the voice—the terrifying, thrilling voice—called him forward. He stepped inside, the floorboards creaking under his weight, the shadows shifting in unnatural ways.
Inside, the air was thick and cold, tasting faintly of iron. Devil's eyes scanned the room. Broken furniture, old ritual symbols etched into the walls, and scattered remnants of magical paraphernalia spoke of his grandfather's dark past. And then he heard it—soft, almost imperceptible. A whisper, low and sinister, curling around his ears like smoke:
"Child… come closer."
Devil froze, every hair on his body standing on end. He wanted to run, to leave immediately, but the pull was stronger than fear. He stepped further into the heart of the house, following the whisper.
Suddenly, a sharp, metallic clang echoed from the upper floor. Devil's pulse spiked. The voice had grown louder now, more distinct, as if the house itself breathed around him. He climbed the stairs cautiously, each step groaning underfoot. At the top, a long corridor stretched into darkness. Dust motes floated in the stale air, catching the light that filtered through cracks in the walls.
Then he heard it again—clearer this time, unmistakable. A chant, melodic yet horrifying, vibrating with a power that made his teeth chatter. Words he didn't understand, yet felt in the marrow of his bones. Devil's hands trembled. He could feel magic—dark, potent, almost alive—emanating from the end of the corridor.
Rick, Piu, and San had been waiting outside, too frightened to follow. "We should go back…" Piu's voice trembled through the half-open door, but Devil shook his head. He couldn't. Not now.
The end of the corridor opened into a room that smelled of old incense and iron. In the center, a faint glow pulsed from an old book, bound in blackened leather, its pages covered in cryptic symbols that seemed to writhe when he looked at them directly. Devil felt the pull in his chest, stronger now, like the voice itself was guiding him. He reached out, fingers brushing the cover, and the room trembled. Shadows stretched along the walls, forming shapes that whispered his name.
And then he heard it—the voice, no longer a whisper, but a roar that filled the room, shaking the floor beneath him:
"You have come… as I expected."
Devil's knees buckled. The air thickened, the shadows twisting into shapes that seemed to reach for him, crawling along the walls, the ceiling, even the floor. Flames flickered in impossible patterns, water sloshed in pools that shouldn't exist, and through it all, the voice spoke again, slow and deliberate:
"Your grandfather left me unfinished. But you… you can complete it."
He wanted to step back. He wanted to scream. But curiosity, and something darker, rooted him to the spot. Every warning he had ever received, every fearful glance of his mother, every story he had heard about his grandfather's demise, all collided inside him. And yet, the pull of magic, the promise of understanding, outweighed terror.
Suddenly, the book's pages flipped open violently, as if blown by an invisible wind. Symbols glowed, illuminating the room with an eerie light. Devil felt a rush of energy surge through him—powerful, intoxicating, and terrifying. The shadows writhed around him, whispering secrets and threats in a language older than time.
"Do you fear me, child?" The voice asked, softer now, coaxing, almost seductive.
Devil swallowed hard. "I… I need to know. I need to understand," he whispered back, voice shaking.
The room pulsed with a dark rhythm, responding to his words. The shadows paused, hovering just out of reach, and the book's glow intensified.
Then, abruptly, silence.
Devil's heart raced. For the first time, he sensed something else—something watching, waiting. A presence that was not entirely hostile, yet undeniably powerful. He felt it studying him, weighing him, deciding his worth.
Rick, Piu, and San remained at the doorway, frozen by fear. "Devil… maybe we should leave," Rick murmured, but Devil shook his head. Not yet. Not until he had answers.
The shadows whispered again, and this time, Devil understood a word, a single word etched in the echoes of the house:
"Prepare…"
Outside, the wind howled through broken windows, carrying a scent of fire, water, and something far older—something that had waited decades for him to arrive.
Devil stepped forward, his fingers brushing the glowing symbols, and the book seemed to breathe beneath his touch. He felt power course through his veins, terrifying and exhilarating all at once. And he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that his journey into darkness had only just begun.
And then—without warning—the shadows surged forward. A voice, deeper and more menacing than before, hissed directly into his mind:
"Tonight… you will see the truth… or you will be lost forever."
Devil froze. Outside the broken windows, the moonlight dimmed, as if swallowed by a growing darkness. And in the corner of the room, he saw something move—something alive, something waiting. Its eyes, two crimson sparks in the blackness, glowed hungrily.
He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He only knew one terrifying fact: whatever awaited him in the shadows… it was coming for him.
The house groaned, the wind screamed, and the darkness….watched.