Chapter: 4

The cavern seemed to stretch endlessly, the oppressive silence broken only by the faint echoes of their footsteps. The darkness around them felt alive, like it was watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. Anon led the way, his demeanor calm as ever, while Mike and Mary followed closely, their eyes scanning every shadow for danger.

After what felt like hours of walking, the trio came across a massive structure—a large tombstone, weathered by time but still standing firm. It was enormous, nearly twice the height of any of them, and its surface was etched with countless names. The writing was jagged, as though carved in desperation or rage.

Mike stepped closer, squinting to read the names. His stomach churned as he noticed the ages written beside them. Many were young—barely twenty—and some were even younger. The sheer volume of names made it clear that this was no ordinary grave marker.

"What is this?" Mike asked, his voice low, tinged with unease.

Anon walked up to the tombstone, placing a hand on its rough surface. His expression didn't change, but his tone carried a weight that hinted at something deeper. "I don't know," he said after a pause. "Could be a sacrifice. Could be the key to this nightmare. Or…" He trailed off, his eyes scanning the names. "Could just be the record of some old mistake—a scar of the past."

Mary frowned, stepping closer as she ran her gloved fingers across the etchings. "And how would you know that?" she asked, her voice skeptical but curious.

Anon tilted his head slightly, as if pondering her question. "Because people like to write things down. To remember. Sometimes it's to honor something important. Sometimes it's to hold onto guilt. And sometimes," he said, his voice darkening, "it's a punishment they give themselves, carving their sins into stone so they never forget."

The words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on Mike and Mary. Mary's brow furrowed as she stared at the names, her mind racing. "A punishment," she murmured, almost to herself.

Mike shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the tombstone and Anon. "But what does this have to do with what's happening here?" he asked. "This… this whole nightmare?"

Anon shrugged, stepping back from the tombstone. "Could be everything. Could be nothing. That's the thing about history—it's messy. The truth gets buried under layers of guilt, lies, and time. But…" He turned to face them, his eyes gleaming with a strange light. "If it's here, it means it matters. Maybe it's a piece of the puzzle. Or maybe it's a warning."

Mary crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "So what do we do with it?"

Anon smirked faintly. "We move forward. That's all we can do. Keep going, and see where this path leads. If this is a key, the lock will show itself. If it's just a grave… then we leave it in peace."

The three of them stood in silence for a moment longer, the weight of the tombstone pressing down on them. Then, with a nod from Anon, they turned and continued their journey into the unknown depths.

But as they walked, Mary couldn't shake the feeling that the tombstone was more than just a marker. There was something about it—something haunting. She glanced back one last time, the names etched into her mind. What mistakes had been made here?

And somewhere in the shadows of the cavern, a faint sound echoed. A whisper. Or perhaps a laugh.

The trio continued their descent into the depths of the sewer, the oppressive darkness and the faint, eerie hum growing stronger with every step. The atmosphere grew colder, the air heavier. As they reached a dead end, they found a large, imposing door standing in their way. The door seemed ancient, covered in strange, shifting symbols and a faint aura of distortion, as though reality itself wavered around it.

Anon stepped forward, his curiosity piqued, while Mike hesitated. "Are you sure we should open that?" Mike asked, unease clear in his voice.

Anon gave a dismissive wave. "When have you ever known me to play it safe?"

Mary leaned against the wall, her mask obscuring her face but her tone sharp. "Just don't do anything stupid."

With a firm grip, Anon pushed the door open. A strange, blurry light emanated from the other side, making the air shimmer like a heatwave. Without hesitation, Anon stepped through.

"Anon, wait—" Mike started, but it was too late.

Anon vanished into the light, and instinctively, both Mary and Mike followed.

Anon found himself standing in the middle of a cozy living room in a quaint farmhouse. The air was warm, filled with the sounds of laughter and the faint barking of a dog. Outside the window, children played in a sunlit yard, their joyful shouts echoing across the peaceful farmland. Birds chirped in the trees, and everything seemed idyllic.

He turned, expecting to see Mary and Mike behind him, but they were gone. His brow furrowed. "Where'd they go?" he muttered.

Mary stumbled, finding herself in a dark alleyway. The air was damp, the walls close, graffiti-covered, and oppressive. A flickering streetlight cast eerie shadows. She glanced around, confused, as the faint sound of footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby. It felt like she'd walked straight into the backrooms of her own worst memories.

"Mike? Anon?" she called, her voice low and tense, but there was no reply.

Mike blinked and rubbed his eyes. He was standing in a quiet orphanage hallway. The faint smell of old wood and cleaning products lingered in the air. He turned to see a bedroom behind him, small and sparsely furnished, but it felt strangely familiar.

"What the hell…" he whispered, stepping out into the hallway. He could hear children laughing faintly in the distance, but the sound felt warped, hollow.

Back in the farmhouse, Anon explored the room, his eyes sharp, observing the details. Something about this place felt… too pristine. Too perfect. His thoughts were interrupted by the creak of footsteps on the stairs. He looked up to see a man and a woman at the top, locked in an intense argument.

Then, the sound of a door opening behind him drew his attention. Turning, he saw another man enter the house, carrying a shotgun. The man's face was a mask of anger as he stormed past Anon, completely unaware of his presence.

Anon's gaze followed him as he confronted the couple upstairs. The man's voice was loud, accusatory. Words like cheating and betrayal cut through the idyllic atmosphere.

A loud gunshot echoed through the house, breaking the illusion. Anon remained unfazed, his expression neutral as he turned back to the window. The children outside had stopped playing, their faces pale as they turned toward the house. The barking dog fell silent, and the birds scattered.

Anon sat down on the couch, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "A memory," he said aloud, piecing it together. His eyes narrowed as he looked around the room. "But whose memory?"

The idyllic setting around him began to flicker, faint distortions creeping in like cracks in a mirror. Something was wrong, but Anon's calm demeanor never wavered. He leaned back into the couch, watching the scene unfold further, determined to find the answer.

Anon, still resting on the couch, noticed the faint sound of footsteps approaching. A young boy appeared in front of him, his face pale and filled with worry. The boy leaned in close, peering into Anon's eyes with a mix of fear and innocence.

"Do you see my mom and dad?" the boy asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Anon leaned back, unfazed by the question. "They're probably dead. Sorry, kid."

The boy's face twisted in confusion. He didn't seem to fully grasp the gravity of what Anon had just said, but worry crept into his expression nonetheless.

Anon sighed, sitting upright. "Alright, alright. Don't cry. Let's go check upstairs. They're probably fine," he said nonchalantly, waving the boy to follow him.

The boy nodded, his small hand gripping Anon's sleeve as they ascended the creaky wooden stairs.

At the top of the stairs, they found the boy's parents standing in the hallway, engrossed in a lively discussion about the car engine. They seemed completely at ease, their cheerful voices cutting through the tension that had filled the house earlier.

"Mom! Dad!" the boy shouted, running toward them.

The parents turned and immediately crouched down to embrace the boy, relief flooding their faces. "There you are!" the mother exclaimed, hugging him tightly.

As they stood up, their attention shifted to Anon. "And who's your little friend?" the father asked, his tone warm but curious.

Anon blinked, confused by the question. He glanced down at himself and realized with a start that he'd been transformed into a child, one eerily similar to the boy playing outside earlier. His small hands clenched into fists, his annoyance growing.

"Is this really necessary?" he muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is taking way too long for the nightmare to kick in."

The parents exchanged confused looks at his odd comment, but then they laughed, brushing it off as childish imagination.

The mother stood, smoothing her apron. "You boys must be hungry. Why don't you head to the kitchen? I'll make you both something to eat," she said warmly, ushering them downstairs.

The boy grabbed Anon's hand, pulling him along excitedly. Anon allowed himself to be led, but his sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, noting the subtle distortions creeping in around the edges of his vision. The peaceful facade wasn't going to last much longer, and he knew it.

In the kitchen, the mother busied herself with preparing dinner, humming a cheerful tune. The boy chatted happily, oblivious to the tension growing in Anon's expression. The room felt too perfect, too bright, the warmth almost suffocating.

Anon leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Let's just get this over with," he muttered under his breath, his eyes flickering to the shadows pooling under the kitchen table. They seemed darker than they should be, writhing faintly as though alive.

The mother turned, holding a tray of food. "Dinner's ready!" she announced with a smile, placing the dishes on the table.

Anon stared at the food, then at the woman, his sharp gaze unrelenting. "Tell me," he said, his voice low and calm. "Whose memory is this, and why am I here?"

The mother froze for a split second, her smile faltering before it returned, wider and more forced. The room grew unnaturally still, the boy falling silent as his head tilted unnaturally to the side.

Anon's lips curled into a smirk. "There we go," he said, leaning forward, his sharp eyes glinting. "Let the nightmare begin."

Mary POV

Mary stood still, her breathing heavy as her mind raced. The eerie screams echoed around her, the sound bouncing off the dark alley walls like a twisted game of hide-and-seek. The little girl's terrified cries and the man's heavy footsteps felt almost tangible, but every time she got close, they vanished like smoke.

She clenched her fists, frustration mounting. "What the hell is going on?" she muttered under her breath. She was used to the strange and surreal, but this was different—it was chaotic, relentless.

The screams came again, this time louder and more forceful, as if the source was right behind her. Mary spun around, her hand instinctively going to her weapon, but there was nothing. Only the empty, dimly lit street staring back at her.

Her thoughts drifted to Anon, to his calm, detached way of handling the unexplainable. She could almost hear his voice in her head: "Think. Don't rush. Figure it out."

Mary took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay still. "Alright, Anon," she muttered, scanning her surroundings. "What would you do?"

She closed her eyes, blocking out the cacophony of screams, the false urgency they carried. Her breathing slowed, and she focused on the details. The screams weren't random—they were a pattern. A loop.

Mary opened her eyes, her gaze sharpening as she noticed something she'd missed before: faint distortions in the air, like ripples on the surface of a pond. They formed a subtle trail leading away from where she stood.

She smiled grimly. "Nice try," she whispered, pulling her executioner mask tighter over her face.

Following the ripples, Mary moved with calculated precision. The screams grew louder, more desperate, as if trying to draw her back into the chaos. She ignored them, her focus unshakable.

The trail led her to an intersection, and there, she found the source: a swirling vortex of shadows and light, barely visible against the night. It pulsed with a malevolent energy, and she could feel it pulling at her mind, trying to unnerve her.

Mary reached for her blade, her voice steady. "I don't know what you are, but I'm not playing your game."

With a swift, deliberate slash, she severed the vortex. The screams abruptly stopped, leaving an eerie silence in their wake. The alley seemed to exhale, the oppressive atmosphere lifting slightly.

Mary stood there for a moment, catching her breath. Her mind wandered back to Anon and Mike, wondering if they were facing similar challenges.

She smirked under her mask. "You better still be alive, you idiots," she muttered before turning and making her way back, the shadows retreating before her.

Mike POV

Mike stumbled through the decrepit orphanage halls, each step echoing in the suffocating silence. The air was thick with the stench of decay, a rancid mixture of mold and something far worse—something dead and rotting but still... moving. Every shadow seemed alive, slithering along the cracked walls and warped floors, watching him, waiting.

The whispers started softly, indistinct at first, like the murmurs of children playing. But they grew louder, taking on a mocking tone, words twisting into cruel laughter. "You don't belong here, Mike," they hissed, "You never did."

He reached a room with a broken door hanging by a single hinge. Inside were rows of small beds, each neatly made, but the blankets were stained with dark, unrecognizable substances. The walls bore handprints—tiny, red, and smeared as if the children had clawed at the walls in desperation.

Mike backed away, but the door slammed shut behind him, trapping him in the suffocating room. Suddenly, the beds began to move, jerking violently as if something unseen were thrashing beneath the sheets. One by one, the blankets slid off, revealing twisted, emaciated figures, their mouths locked in silent screams, their empty eye sockets leaking black tears.

"Why didn't you save us?" a voice whispered from everywhere and nowhere, filled with sorrow and accusation.

"I… I didn't…" Mike stammered, his voice shaking.

The floor beneath him groaned, then gave way. He plummeted into a dark, endless void, the sensation of falling tearing at his stomach. When he landed, it was not on solid ground but on something soft and warm. He looked down and realized he was standing on a pulsating mass of flesh, veins throbbing beneath his feet. It stretched endlessly in every direction, writhing and shifting, moaning in pain.

From the fleshy ground, hands began to emerge—gnarled, twisted hands that grabbed at his legs, pulling him down. Mike struggled, his breathing ragged, but for every hand he fought off, two more took their place. The sound of cracking bone and squelching flesh filled his ears, a symphony of grotesque agony.

Desperation took hold, and he clawed his way out, only to find himself in a narrow hallway that seemed to stretch infinitely. The walls bled, the ceiling dripped with an acidic substance, and the floor was slick with something alive that squirmed beneath his steps.

A low growl rumbled behind him. Turning, he saw the figure of a man—a grotesque amalgamation of parts that shouldn't exist together. Its face was a patchwork of eyes, mouths, and teeth, stitched together with veins that pulsed with black ichor. It began to crawl toward him, its limbs cracking and bending unnaturally.

Mike ran, but the hallway stretched longer and longer, the growl growing louder, closer. He turned a corner and found himself back in the orphanage dining hall. The tables were set for a meal, but the plates held severed body parts—fingers, tongues, and eyes—arranged as if for a feast. Around the table sat children with hollow faces, their heads slowly turning to look at him.

He couldn't take it anymore. His mind cracked under the weight of it all, the sheer insanity of the horrors pressing in on him. He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face, and whispered, "I can't… I can't do this anymore. Just let me die…"

He reached for a shard of broken glass lying nearby, his trembling hands lifting it toward his throat. But as the shard touched his skin, a faint glow emerged from his hand—a soft, golden light that pulsed with warmth and familiarity.

It was the mark of the contract he'd made with Anon.

The glow grew stronger, enveloping his hand and then his entire body. The light felt like a lifeline, a reminder of something greater, of a promise made in the darkest of times. Mike froze, staring at the light, his breathing steadying for the first time since he had entered this nightmare.

"Anon…" he whispered, clutching his hand. He remembered the lazy smirk, the calm demeanor, and the unwavering strength of the man who had pulled him into this mess. The thought of Anon, his unshakable presence, gave Mike a flicker of hope.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Despite the dread that gnawed at his soul, he stood up, gripping the shard tightly. "You want me? Come and get me," he said, his voice trembling but determined.

The light in his hand grew brighter, illuminating the suffocating darkness. The eldritch horrors around him recoiled, hissing and screeching as if burned by the glow. Mike didn't know how long he could last, but for now, he would fight.

For the first time, he felt like he could survive.

Mike pressed forward through the dimly lit hallway, the red line on the floor glowing faintly, leading him deeper into the suffocating shadows of the orphanage. His every step echoed unnaturally, like someone—or something—was mirroring his movements just out of sight.

The sound of soft, wet footfalls began to accompany his own. They grew louder, more frantic, as though whatever was behind him was getting closer. Mike clenched his fists, his breath steady but his heart racing. He refused to turn around, knowing it would only feed the fear clawing at the edge of his mind. He kept his focus on the red line and what lay ahead.

The corridor around him began to twist and warp. Shadows slithered along the walls, forming the shapes of children playing in alleys, their laughter echoing unnaturally. A cat darted across his path, its eyes glowing like embers. It stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to face him. Its mouth stretched into an impossibly wide grin, letting out a low, guttural laugh that sent chills down Mike's spine.

"This place just gets better and better," Mike muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though his hands trembled slightly.

The red line ended abruptly at a large door, its surface scratched and splintered, as if something had tried to claw its way out—or in. The words "Classroom 4B" were carved messily into the wood, dripping with a dark, sticky substance. Taking a deep breath, Mike grasped the cold, rusted doorknob and pushed it open.

His eyes widened as he stepped inside. The room was large, its walls lined with broken desks and overturned chairs. At the center stood a grotesque figure—a woman with the lower body of a dog, her canine limbs twitching unnaturally as she turned to face him. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, her teeth jagged and yellow. Her voice was soft, almost motherly, as she spoke.

"Welcome, little one. I've been waiting for you." Her words dripped with malice disguised as kindness.

Mike took a step back, his instincts screaming at him to flee. But he clenched his fists instead, refusing to let fear take over. "Yeah, sorry, I don't do tea parties," he quipped, his voice steadier than he felt.

The woman-dog lunged at him, her elongated claws swiping through the air. Mike ducked and rolled forward, coming up on his feet with a burst of adrenaline. Without thinking, he drove his fist into her midsection with all his strength. The impact sent her flying into the wall with a sickening crunch, splintering the wood and revealing another room beyond.

As the dust settled, the sound of crying filled the air. It was not the cry of a wounded beast, but something far more unnatural. The sound came from the woman, her face twisted in a grotesque mixture of pain and sorrow. Her wailing grew louder, reverberating through the room like a banshee's scream. The walls themselves seemed to tremble in response, oozing a black, tar-like substance.

Mike turned to look through the hole in the wall. Beyond it was a room filled with children and teenagers, their faces hollow and featureless. They stood motionless, their heads slowly turning toward him in unison. The woman-dog's cries grew louder, more distorted, as if her voice was coming from multiple directions at once.

The hollow-faced children began to step forward, their movements jerky and unnatural. The oppressive weight of the room pressed down on Mike, making it hard to breathe. The cry transformed into a chorus of overlapping voices, each one dripping with malice.

"You shouldn't be here."

"You can't save them."

"You'll never leave."

Mike clenched his fists, the glow from his hand faintly flickering to life. He looked around at the nightmare closing in on him, his fear threatening to consume him whole. But then he screamed, his voice raw and defiant.

"BRING IT ON!"

The glow from his hand erupted into a brilliant light, forcing back the shadows and momentarily silencing the voices. The children hesitated, their heads twitching as if trying to process what was happening. The woman-dog let out a guttural snarl, her body twitching as she tried to rise.

Mike didn't wait for them to regroup. He took a step forward, his voice ringing with determination. "I don't care what you are or what you've done. If you think you can break me, you're dead wrong." while almost pee on his pants.

The light from his hand grew brighter, the warmth giving him the strength to face the horrors head-on. And for the first time since entering this cursed place, Mike felt like he had a chance to fight back.

Mike charged forward, fists raised, as the woman-dog snarled, her hollow-faced children rushing to defend her. Each step Mike took felt heavier, the oppressive air of the room weighing him down. He swung wildly at the nearest child, his fist connecting with a sickening crunch that sent the hollow figure crumpling to the ground. But for every one he struck down, more seemed to emerge from the shadows.

The woman-dog cackled, her voice a maddening symphony of mockery. "You're just a child yourself, aren't you? Flailing, helpless, lost in the dark."

Mike gritted his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow as he kept swinging, each punch more desperate than the last. But his strikes became slower, sloppier. His breath came in ragged gasps as the children clawed at him, pulling him down. Their touch was cold and wrong, like the weight of despair made tangible.

His body ached, bruised and bleeding, but Mike refused to give in. "I… don't… quit!" he shouted, throwing another punch. But this time, he missed, stumbling and falling to his knees. He looked up at the woman-dog, who towered over him now, her grin wider than ever.

"You were never going to win," she hissed, raising a clawed hand to strike.

Suddenly, a blade shot through the air, embedding itself in her face and blinding her in one eye. The woman let out an earsplitting scream, stumbling back as dark ichor poured from the wound. Mike's head snapped toward the source of the attack, his heart skipping a beat.

Standing in the broken doorway was Mary, her executioner's mask in one hand and another blade in the other. Her eyes met Mike's for a brief moment before she slipped the mask back on. The hollow-faced children hesitated, their movements faltering as though they were unsure of what to do.

"Don't worry," Mary said, her voice calm but firm. "I've got this."

Mike staggered to his feet, still clutching his ribs, his expression a mix of shock and relief. "Took you long enough," he muttered, wiping blood from his lip.

Mary ignored his comment, her focus locked on the woman-dog, who was now thrashing and shrieking in pain. With a flick of her wrist, Mary sent another blade flying, this one slicing through the creature's shoulder. The hollow-faced children moved to protect their mother, but Mary was faster, weaving through them with an eerie grace. Each strike of her blades was precise, cutting down the children one by one.

Mike leaned against a broken desk, watching in awe as Mary dismantled their enemies with almost surgical efficiency. She moved like a shadow, her mask giving her an air of invincibility. The cries of the hollow-faced children echoed through the room, but Mary seemed unfazed, her determination unshakable.

"You okay, Mike?" she asked without looking at him, her voice steady despite the chaos.

Mike let out a dry laugh, wincing as he clutched his side. "Define 'okay.'"

Mary didn't respond, instead driving her blade into the chest of another child before turning her attention back to the woman-dog. The creature was stumbling blindly, its claws flailing as it tried to locate its attackers. Mary took advantage of its disorientation, circling around it like a predator stalking its prey.

"Stay down, Mike," Mary said as she prepared for her next move. "You've done enough."

Mike clenched his fists, frustration bubbling inside him. He hated feeling useless, but he knew she was right. He watched as Mary launched herself at the woman-dog, her blades gleaming in the dim light. With a swift motion, she plunged both weapons into the creature's neck, silencing its screams.

The room fell eerily silent as the woman-dog collapsed to the ground, her body dissolving into a pool of black sludge. The remaining hollow-faced children froze, their forms flickering like static before vanishing entirely.

Mary pulled off her mask, letting out a slow breath as she turned to face Mike. "Next time, try to learn how to fight before throwing yourself into a nightmare," she said, offering him a hand.

Mike chuckled weakly, taking her hand and letting her pull him to his feet. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the save, Mary."

She didn't reply, instead glancing at the ichor-stained room. "Let's find Anon. We've wasted enough time here."

As they stepped through the broken door, Mike couldn't help but feel a newfound respect for Mary—and a renewed determination to hold his own in the battles to come.

Anon POV

The room seemed to shift, the warm and cozy atmosphere peeling away like old wallpaper, revealing the rot beneath. Anon sat in the chair, his cold eyes locked onto the woman before him. The mother, serene and wicked, folded her hands neatly in her lap, her smile wide but unnatural.

"Why?" Anon asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Why go through all of this? Betray your husband, bring misery to your children, destroy everything? For what?"

The mother tilted her head, her smile growing even wider. "I want to bring forth a god," she said, her tone calm and measured. "It is my destiny. I've seen the prophecy—a being so powerful that the universe itself will tremble. It is my burden, my purpose."

Anon's expression didn't change. "And let me guess," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "this isn't the first time you've brought a child into this madness."

The mother leaned back slightly, her smile turning wicked. "You're observant," she said. "No, it isn't the first time. None of them were the one I was searching for."

Anon's disgust was palpable as he leaned forward, his voice dropping into a cold growl. "So many men and children… you've played them all. Used them all. For what? A game you're not even sure you can win?"

The mother's eyes narrowed slightly, her expression hardening. "Do not misunderstand me," she said. "They are still my children, and I care for them deeply. But they were not chosen. They were not the one."

"Then why are so many of them dead?" Anon snapped, his voice sharp and unforgiving. "If you cared so much, why are they gone?"

The mother's expression softened, but there was no genuine sorrow in her eyes. "Because they weren't selected. It is not something I can control. I tried to protect them, but fate is cruel. They died in accidents, in sickness, in strange phenomena I could not prevent. No matter what I did, they perished."

Anon leaned back, his disgust growing. "You're playing a fool's game," he said, his tone ice cold. "You're sacrificing everything—everyone—for something that might not even exist. You talk about destiny and prophecy like they justify all this, but it's just… garbage."

The mother's smile faltered for a moment, but then she regained her composure. "You don't understand," she said. "This is bigger than you, bigger than me. It's for the universe. For—"

"Save it," Anon interrupted, standing up abruptly. He loomed over her, his shadow stretching unnaturally across the room. "You're not some savior. You're just a selfish, deluded fool who thinks their misery is noble because they slapped the word 'destiny' on it."

The mother's smile turned brittle, her hands clenching in her lap. "You can mock me all you want, but this is the truth. It is my truth."

Anon stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shook his head, turning away. "Your truth isn't worth the blood you've spilled," he said quietly. "And it never will be."

As he walked toward the door, the shadows in the room seemed to stretch and twist, reaching for him. The mother's voice followed him, soft and insidious. "You'll see. One day, you'll see that I was right."

Anon didn't look back. "I've seen enough," he muttered, stepping through the door and into the unknown.

Then some how anon arive in hospital room, The atmosphere in the hospital room was thick with horror, the air suffocating and oppressive. The walls pulsed with a sickly rhythm, as if the very building was alive, breathing in sync with the grotesque scene before Anon. The corpse of the woman lay in the center, the skin stretched and warped, the body riddled with massive, pulsating tumors. A giant, grotesque fitus had erupted from her, wrapping itself around her body, tendrils snaking out like veins. It was both alive and decaying, a manifestation of death itself.

Anon stood motionless, taking in the sight. His eyes narrowed. "You the one, huh?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with both disbelief and disdain.

He sighed deeply, looking around the room with a hint of frustration. "I wish I still had my cigarette. What a long day just to kill one," he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with an air of resignation.

Before he could continue his thoughts, an unseen force suddenly slammed into him from behind, sending him crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. If Anon had been an ordinary man, his body would have crumpled into a mangled heap, torn apart by the brutal impact. But Anon wasn't ordinary. He was something more.

His body struggled to move, the crushing weight of the force pinning him to the wall, making it nearly impossible to breathe. The suffocating pressure threatened to break him, but his face remained stoic, his expression darkening as he braced himself. "Alright, let's play that game," he growled, his voice laced with both irritation and determination.

Suddenly, the wall behind him began to shift. It rippled, as though the very structure of the room was being transformed, the hard surface flowing and warping like water. With a fluid motion, Anon dove into the wall, disappearing into the liquid void.

The room around him felt like it was turning inside out. The air was thick with oppressive dread, and the hospital room seemed to stretch endlessly, warping as if it were becoming part of the monster that lay in front of him. Anon quickly realized that the fitus wasn't just a simple creature—it was connected to the entire town, feeding off of it, expanding like a disease that had already corrupted everything.

Panic briefly flickered in Anon's mind, but he quickly suppressed it. If he tried to drown the fitus with his water, he knew it would destroy everything, including Mary and Mike, who were still out there. He couldn't risk that.

"Another plan then," Anon muttered to himself, as his mind worked swiftly. He reached for his spears, pulling them from the abyss. With a swift motion, he hurled them toward the massive fitus monster, his eyes focused on the target.

The spears flew, but they shattered mid-air before they could even reach their mark, snapping like fragile twigs. Anon's brow furrowed in frustration as he watched them disintegrate, the force of the fitus pushing them back before they could pierce its flesh.

His mind raced, the gears of strategy turning in his head as he considered his next move. But before he could settle on a new plan, he felt it—a dark, malevolent presence invading his Abysmal. The fitus monster was beginning to seep into his water, its corruption pushing against the boundaries of his control.

A cold sweat dripped down Anon's neck as he realized the severity of the situation. The dark force was slow, but it was relentless, creeping into him like a virus. The water he controlled, the very essence of his power, was being tainted by the fitus.

"This will be a stressful fight," Anon muttered under his breath, the gravity of the battle weighing on him. He could feel the pull of the dark force inside his very core, threatening to break him down, to consume him whole.

But Anon wasn't one to back down from a fight. Not even one as horrific as this.

Anon's eyes narrowed in concentration as he weighed his options. The Fitus monster, an aberration of organic nightmare, seemed impervious to everything he had thrown at it so far. Every strike, every attempt to pierce its grotesque form, had failed. The force that blocked his attacks was powerful and relentless, almost as though it had a will of its own.

"Not something I want to use after such a long time, but let's give it a try," Anon muttered, his voice steady despite the frustration creeping in.

He extended his hand, fingers splayed wide, and focused on the dark abyss inside of him. The air around him shimmered with an unnatural coldness as he called upon an old move. Slowly, as though the very darkness was obeying his command, a swarm of swordfish materialized, each one formed from the void itself. With a swift, fluid motion, Anon pointed at the Fitus monster, and the entire swarm of swordfish shot forward, their sleek bodies moving at the speed of sound.

The fish danced through the air, their sharp, streamlined bodies cutting through the atmosphere like bullets. But before they could make contact with the Fitus monster, something unseen seemed to block them. The swordfish struck an invisible barrier, their blades shattering on impact, their bodies scattering into the air. Anon frowned, observing the creature's strange defense mechanism. It was as if the Fitus monster was not just a physical being, but something more, something incomprehensible.

"Impressive," Anon muttered, his patience wearing thin. He quickly dismissed the failed attack and prepared for his next move.

"Plan B," he said to himself.

He thrust his hand forward, and from the depths of his Abysmal, a massive shark materialized, its body immense and terrifying. The shark lunged at the Fitus monster with an overwhelming force, its jaws wide, aiming to devour the entire creature. But just as the shark's head closed in on its target, the monster's dark force surged forward, causing the shark's head to explode in a violent burst of energy, its body disintegrating into fragments of nothingness.

Annoyed, Anon clenched his jaw. This thing was proving to be more than just an obstacle—it was a puzzle that he couldn't seem to solve.

Without hesitation, Anon shifted his focus. A jellyfish appeared, its translucent body glowing with an eerie light. He sent it hurtling toward the Fitus monster, the creature floating gracefully through the air. The Fitus monster responded by trying to destroy it, but as the monster's tendrils lashed out, the jellyfish multiplied, each part growing into a new clone of the original. The swarm of jellyfish continued to attack, but no matter how many times they multiplied, they never made contact with the monster. It was as if the Fitus monster was simply untouchable.

"Come on..." Anon muttered, his frustration mounting. "You're testing my patience."

His hand twitched as he remembered another technique from his long-forgotten arsenal. A pair of rapier swords materialized in the air, hovering before him, their blades gleaming in the dim light of the hospital room. Anon reached out and grasped them, his fingers wrapping around the hilt, feeling the familiar weight.

"Let's see if I still have the moves," he said, his voice tinged with a dark amusement as he prepared to face the Fitus monster head-on once again.

Meanwhile, outside the chaos, Mary and Mike stood in a strange, disorienting environment. Fish—dozens of them—swam around them in a surreal, dreamlike fashion. The water glowed with an eerie bioluminescence, the fish moving in unison, their movements synchronized like a choreographed dance.

Mary looked around, her brow furrowed with concern. "What is this...?" she whispered, uneasy.

Mike, however, stood with a calm expression. He could sense it—the presence of Anon, the strange energy that surrounded them. "It's okay," he said, his voice low but steady. "This is from Anon."

Mary glanced at him, confusion still clouding her face. "From Anon? What do you mean?"

Mike nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "He's not the kind to give up easily. This is him, trying to clear the path for us. We just have to trust him."

But Mary couldn't shake the unease she felt. Despite Mike's confidence, something in her gut told her that they were walking into the unknown—into something much darker than they had anticipated.

Anon's mind flickered back, memories of simpler times—of laughter and insults, of banter with Mike. He could almost hear Mike's voice in his head, calling him lazy. The sound of it made Anon chuckle quietly, a brief moment of levity in the midst of chaos.

Then, the laughter died as the weight of the situation pressed back into him. He could feel the presence of the Fitus monster, its essence corrupting everything around it. Anon straightened, his expression darkening, his focus returning.

"He's right," Anon muttered to himself. "I've become a bit lazy."

The words stung more than he expected. His power, his skill—it had been growing rusty. He was getting complacent, relying on brute force instead of his mind. It was time to remind himself of the potential he still held. Time to push past his limits.

With that, Anon's gaze hardened, and he propelled himself forward, faster than the speed of light. His body blurred as he shot toward the Fitus monster, the very air warping around him. His thoughts began to race, and as he reached the beast, a flash of inspiration hit him—memories of the time he had spent with Mike, experimenting with his abilities. He remembered the water manipulation, the idea he had explored with Mike back at the old house.

Atoms. Everything is made of atoms. And if I control them...

Anon's mind sharpened with purpose. He raised his hand, his fingers crackling with power. The space around him trembled as his ability activated. The air, the ground, everything around him—everything, including the space around the Fitus monster—began to shift. It all turned into water, flowing and undulating, becoming a fluid landscape. The atmosphere itself became part of his domain.

The Fitus monster, struggling against the transformation, began to thrash as the world around it dissolved into liquid. But Anon was not finished. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, then focused his energy.

"Hey, do you know that water can cut through diamond if pumped with enough force?" Anon shouted at the Fitus monster, a twisted smirk crossing his lips. "And in this state, I'm the Water, and you're the diamond."

Anon Scream "Abyssal Slash".

With a force that seemed to shake the very fabric of reality, Anon summoned every ounce of his strength and sent a tremendous surge of pressure through the water. The force was like a cosmic weapon, bending reality itself, as a powerful wave of water rushed forward at the Fitus monster. The pressure behind it was so intense that it tore through the dimension created by the monster, creating a rift to the real world.

The sky itself seemed to split, as if the very fabric of existence was being torn apart. The rift expanded, and Anon's strike became the catalyst for the destruction of the Fitus monster's twisted reality. The very essence of the creature buckled under the force, as its dimension fractured into countless pieces, dissolving in a flash.

Back in the real world, the chaotic distortion that had surrounded the town lifted. The monstrous energy that had plagued the area seemed to disappear as the rift from Anon's blow opened. The skies cleared, and the once-ominous landscape regained its normalcy. The town, which had been suffocated by the horrors of the Fitus monster, suddenly became clear, bathed in the soft glow of daylight.

As the scene cleared, Anon, now standing once more in the real world, looked around. Mary and Mike, who had been caught in the midst of the chaos, found themselves no longer under the influence of the unnatural forces. Everything seemed still. The town was as it should be—quiet, normal. The strange presence that had corrupted it was gone, and in its place was a heavy, yet relieving silence.

Mary blinked, adjusting to the sudden change. "It's... over?" she asked, her voice quiet but filled with disbelief.

Mike nodded, his face worn but calm. "Yeah. I think it is."

As the atmosphere around them cleared, they looked over to Anon, standing tall, his expression unreadable. He was different now, his power unleashed and his resolve renewed. The battle had taken everything out of him, but he had prevailed. The calm after the storm settled over them, and Anon let out a long, quiet breath.

"Yeah," Anon muttered, almost to himself. "It's over."

As the morning sun began to rise over the now-cleared town, the streets started to stir with movement. Police cars rolled in, their sirens cutting through the stillness. Reporters, alerted to the strange events, flocked to the scene, their cameras and microphones poised to document the story. Strangely, the townspeople—who had seemingly vanished from existence—began to emerge from their homes. They appeared disoriented, their memories hazy but slowly returning. The town, once forgotten as though erased from reality, was suddenly remembered by the outside world.

The ground beneath the town cracked and shifted. As fissures opened in the earth, grotesque scenes were revealed. Corpses—countless bodies of the town's missing residents—were unearthed. Their faces were twisted in pain, their forms contorted in unnatural ways, as if they had been subjected to forces beyond comprehension. The sight was enough to make the officers and reporters falter, some vomiting, others retreating in horror.

News headlines began to form as reporters whispered among themselves: "Mass Grave Found in Small Town!" and "What Happened to This Forgotten Place?"

Anon, standing with Mary and Mike at the edge of the chaos, observed the unfolding scene with a dark expression. He knew better than to let this spiral further. Turning to his companions, he spoke in a low, commanding voice. "We're leaving. Now."

Mike, still shaken from the battle, asked hesitantly, "Why do we need to hide? We just saved this place."

Mary glanced at Anon, then turned to Mike, her voice calm but firm. "It's better this way. People aren't ready to know about what we do or what's out there. If they understood even a fraction of the horrors we face, it could break them."

Mike frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the explanation. "What do you mean? They deserve to know the truth."

Anon cut in with a wry smirk, his tone laced with sardonic humor. "And the economy. Do you have any idea how much money our line of work pulls in? If people found out, they'd scramble to get involved. The market would collapse. Everyone and their dog would be trying to fight monsters or sell anti-eldritch charms on Etsy."

Mary rolled her eyes but added a more grounded reason. "It's not just that. Human belief is a powerful thing. If too many people focus on the existence of these entities, their collective fear and curiosity could accidentally manifest another rogue eldritch god. The stronger the belief, the more power they gain."

Mike blinked, processing her words. "So... by knowing about them, people could make more of them?"

"Exactly," Mary replied. "Ignorance is a shield. The less they know, the safer the world is."

Anon gestured toward his water domain, now shimmering faintly at their feet. "Enough talk. Into the water. We're not sticking around for the Q&A session."

The trio emerged from the water domain, stepping into the dim interior of Anon's apartment. The space was a chaotic blend of sophistication and clutter—ancient tomes stacked precariously on one side, modern gadgets scattered on the other. The scent of old books and faint traces of seawater filled the air.

Anon collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his temples. "What a day," he muttered. "One eldritch abomination down, only a million more to go."

Mary leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "At least the town is free now. But the fallout is going to be a mess. We'll need to monitor it."

Mike, still visibly shaken, sat down heavily on a nearby chair. "I don't get it," he said, his voice wavering. "Why do we even do this? What's the point if people will never know what we're risking?"

Anon looked at him, his expression softening slightly. "Because if we don't, no one else will. People out there? They get to live their lives, oblivious to the nightmares just beneath the surface. They don't know how close they come to losing everything, and that's the way it has to be."

Mary added, her voice gentler now, "It's not about recognition or glory. It's about keeping the world turning, even if we're the ones bearing the weight."

Mike nodded slowly, the weight of their words sinking in. The room fell into a contemplative silence, the only sound the faint hum of the city outside.