The Chant in
It was a quiet night.
Inside a dimly lit room, a boy sat cross-legged on the cold floor. Candles burned weakly in a circle around him, their flames trembling as if afraid of the shadows they cast. Strange symbols were drawn on the ground in chalk, and animal skulls lay at each corner of the circle, staring blankly into the void.
The boy's voice echoed in the silence:
"In the name of the Great Demon Satan, please accept my sacrifice."
He repeated the words again.
And again.
Each time, his tone grew heavier—more desperate.
"Uhh…"
He paused. Something behind him stirred.
"In the name of the Great Demon Satan, please accept my sacrifice."
"Umm… kuu…" came a muffled sound.
He clenched his jaw, annoyed.
"Can you please stop screaming, bro? I'm doing something important here. Just stay quiet for a few minutes."
The boy—Morris, sixteen, pale-faced, and cloaked in black—kept his gaze fixed on the ritual circle. The hood of his robe shadowed his eyes, but the faint candlelight revealed a grin tugging at his lips.
"Ku… hu…" came the sound again.
Morris exhaled sharply.
"You just can't shut your mouth, can you?"
He stood abruptly, picked up a blood-stained knife, and walked toward a figure lying on the floor. A man—his wrists and ankles tied tightly with rope, a cloth gagging his mouth—struggled weakly.
Morris grabbed him by the hair, yanking his face upward. He tore the gag away.
"Now," he said, his voice eerily calm. "Say what you want to say."
The man coughed, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Wha… what the hell are you doing, Morris?"
Blood trickled down the side of his face from a wound on his head.
"Are you out of your mind? You hit me with a hammer! When father and mother come back—God help you—I'll tell them everything! You and your… your little bitch—what the hell are you wearing? Have you joined some cult or something? Untie me right now, Morris, or—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes froze on the glint of metal near his throat.
"W-What…"
A soft, melodic voice interrupted.
"Can you please be quiet?"
It was the girl. Vency. She held the knife with steady hands, its tip kissing the man's neck.
Morris who was reading the book which have black cover .
"Did you get the last item, Vency?"
"Yeah, Morris. I got it."
She smiled faintly, lifting something in her other hand.
It was the head of a cat. Blood still dripped slowly from its severed neck, forming a small dark puddle on the floor.
Morris takes the head of cat and put in the ritual and by the knife he cut his finger and blood drops pour in the strange mark.
The man's face drained of color. His breath hitched as the horrible truth dawned on him—what his brother had become.
And that's when it all started to make sense.
---
???'s POV
I was an ordinary guy. A college student from a middle-class family.
My father was a lawyer, my mother a homemaker. We weren't rich, but we were happy. My younger brother, Morris, was in high school—quiet, clever, and always smiling.
Things changed the day a new family moved into the neighborhood. A mother and her daughter, Vency. The mother worked as a nurse at the government hospital. The father had died in a car accident—a tragedy that shadowed them.
At first, they seemed like any other family. Vency was the same age as Morris, and the two quickly became friends. They went to school together, played together, even studied together.
But soon, I started to notice strange things.
Morris stopped talking to me as much. He avoided our parents. The boy who once laughed at everything became distant, secretive.
And then… the symbols.
Whenever my parents and I went out, I'd return to find the pictures of gods hanging upside down on our walls.
I visited Vency's mother to ask about it. She looked tired—haunted. She told me that after her husband's death, Vency had fallen into depression. Books were the only thing that helped her. "She reads everything now," her mother said. "It keeps her mind off… darker thoughts."
At first, it sounded harmless. But then she mentioned the book.
It was a strange novel, one Vency carried everywhere. She said it contained "the knowledge to bring her father back—to let him be reborn in a new world."
Her mother sighed. "I know how it sounds. That's why we moved here… away from the old house. The doctors said the memories there were making her worse."
I left feeling sorry for Vency. I shouldn't have.
That night, while my parents were away at a wedding, I went into Morris's room. He wasn't there. I figured he'd gone to his coaching class. But something on his desk caught my eye—a book.
No cover. No title. Just plain black.
I picked it up and opened it. On the first page, in simple print, were the words:
"Heroes of the Present."
"What a stupid title," I muttered. Still, I began to read.
Minutes passed. Then hours. The story was… strange, but I couldn't stop. It was like the words themselves were alive. By the time I looked up, it was 5 p.m. the next day—and I had finished it.
I stared blankly at the final page. My hands were trembling.
"What… what the fuck did I just read?"