Chapter: 1

[Right up Anon Apartment roof]

The training resumed in the shadowed clearing, where the air carried a heavy tension. Mike stood with his hands clenched, frustration etched into his face as Anon watched him struggle to harness his abilities. Anon's patience was unyielding, his demeanor calm yet stern, his otherworldly presence a reminder of the daunting task ahead.

"Your problem," Anon said, his voice smooth and deliberate, "is that you lack a Belief. Without it, your abilities will be hollow, like a blade with no edge."

Mike wiped sweat from his brow. "You keep saying that, but what does it even mean? A Belief?"

Anon leaned against a gnarled tree, his shadow stretching unnaturally across the ground. "A Belief is the foundation of your power. It is the absolute truth you hold within yourself—your anchor to this world and your bridge to the eldritch realm. Without a Belief, you cannot channel the essence of curses properly. Your will must be absolute."

Mike frowned. "So... it's like my personal truth?"

"Yes," Anon replied. "But it must be more than words. It must be a conviction so strong it bends reality itself. A Belief is what allows you to manipulate the essence of curses and use them to alter your surroundings or enemies."

Mike stared at his hands, frustration gnawing at him. "But I've tried. Nothing works."

Anon stepped closer, his presence suddenly oppressive, like the weight of the ocean pressing down. "Then we will start with something simpler. If you cannot form a Belief, we will teach you how to wield a curse."

Anon extended his hand, and the air around them grew cold, the faint sound of water dripping echoing in the distance. "Curses," he began, "are not tools of brute force. They are intricate manipulations of essence—yours and your enemy's. Their purpose is not to destroy but to corrode, to weaken, to torment. They erode an enemy's stability, both physical and metaphysical."

Mike nodded hesitantly. "So, they're... more subtle than direct attacks?"

"Precisely," Anon said. "While blessings strike with precision, curses are a hunter's tool for long-term attrition and control. My curse, Drowning Aura, exemplifies this."

Anon gestured to the ground, and the air around him darkened, a faint ripple spreading across the earth as if an invisible ocean surrounded them. "Drowning Aura exploits an eldritch being's reliance on its environment. It suffocates their manifestations, disrupting their tether to the physical plane. Imagine pulling the foundation out from under a building—eventually, it collapses under its own weight. Also is any person or normal living beings been hit by my curse they will die as they will drown, literally"

Mike stepped back, uneasy. "But why doesn't it affect me? Or Mary?"

"Because you are not my enemy," Anon explained. "Curses are deeply personal. They are born of intent. When my curse activates, it senses those who are marked by my will as enemies. You and Mary are exempt because my essence recognizes you as allies."

Mike tilted his head. "So, it's like... a filter?"

Anon's lip curled into a faint smile. "A crude way to put it, but yes."

Anon took a step back, the ripples in the air receding. "There are many forms of curses, each designed to exploit different vulnerabilities. There are eight primary types, each with unique properties and applications."

• Infection Type

• Purpose: To spread and fester, weakening enemies over time.

• Mechanism: Infects the target's essence with decay, spreading corruption through proximity or contact.

• Example: A curse that rots the ground beneath an enemy's feet, turning their strength into weakness.

• Dread Type

• Purpose: To instill overwhelming fear and despair.

• Mechanism: Manipulates the target's perception, creating an aura of hopelessness that saps their willpower.

• Example: Drowning Aura, which erodes the connection between an eldritch being and its environment, suffocating its manifestations.

• Slumber Type

• Purpose: To immobilize or lull enemies into a vulnerable state.

• Mechanism: Forces the target into an unnatural sleep or paralysis, disrupting their ability to act.

• Example: A curse that blankets an area in a dreamlike fog, causing enemies to collapse into unconsciousness.

• Petrification Type

• Purpose: To freeze enemies in place, rendering them helpless.

• Mechanism: Solidifies the target's essence, turning their movements sluggish or halting them entirely.

• Example: A curse that turns the enemy's limbs to stone, locking them in place.

• Insanity Type

• Purpose: To unravel the target's mind.

• Mechanism: Distorts reality around the target, driving them into madness or confusion.

• Example: A curse that fills the air with whispers, causing the enemy to lose their grip on reality.

• Blindness Type

• Purpose: To rob enemies of their senses.

• Mechanism: Clouds the target's perception, making them unable to see, hear, or sense their surroundings.

• Example: A curse that envelops the enemy in darkness, isolating them from the world.

• Possession Type

• Purpose: To take control of the target's actions.

• Mechanism: Invades the target's essence, overriding their will and manipulating their movements.

• Example: A curse that turns an enemy into a puppet, forcing them to fight their allies.

• Hives Type

• Purpose: To overwhelm enemies with sheer numbers.

• Mechanism: Conjures swarms of eldritch entities or insects that attack the target relentlessly.

• Example: A curse that summons a hive of shadowy creatures to engulf the enemy.

Anon's voice softened, but his gaze remained intense. "Each curse is unique, a reflection of the hunter who wields it. To use a curse effectively, you must understand its purpose, its mechanism, and its consequences. Curses are not just weapons—they are extensions of your will."

Mike swallowed hard, the weight of Anon's words sinking in. "And what happens if I get it wrong?"

"Then the curse will consume you," Anon said bluntly. "Curses demand precision and intent. Without control, they will turn against you, feeding on your essence until there is nothing left."

Mike's hands trembled, but he clenched them into fists, determination flickering in his eyes. "Teach me."

Anon nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Then let us begin."

Anon's demeanor shifted, his usual calm replaced with a piercing intensity. His eyes locked onto Mike, the air around them seeming to thicken with anticipation. Mike shifted uneasily under the weight of Anon's gaze.

"What are you feeling right now?" Anon asked, his voice low and deliberate.

Mike groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Not this again! Every time we talk about abilities, you ask about my feelings. I've had enough of it!"

"This is different," Anon interrupted, his tone unyielding. "This is crucial. You're not answering for me—you're answering for yourself. If you can't face your feelings about your enemy, you'll never develop the right curse. You'll never align your will with your vision. And without that, you're nothing but a blunt instrument in a fight."

Mike's frustration simmered, but he bit his tongue. He'd learned that Anon didn't waste words. If he was pressing the point, it meant there was something critical Mike hadn't grasped yet.

Anon continued, his voice sharp and commanding. "Curses are born from intent, but intent alone isn't enough. They're shaped by the feelings you carry toward your enemy. Take Dread Curse, for example."

Anon stepped closer, his presence looming. "When I face my enemies, I want them to feel fear. To know despair. To experience agony so deep it unravels them. My curse—Drowning Aura—reflects that. It manifests my will, my hatred, my intent to crush their tether to existence. My curse is an extension of who I am and how I fight. Yours must be the same. Your feelings will define it, guide it, and empower it."

Mike stared at Anon, his frustration giving way to unease. "So you're saying... I have to hate my enemies?"

"Yes," Anon said simply. "But hate isn't just blind rage. It's specific. It's targeted. What do you want your enemy to feel? Do you want them to suffer? To regret their actions? To lose control of their minds? Your emotions must align with your vision for the curse to take form."

Mike rubbed his temples, the weight of Anon's words pressing down on him. "And if I get it wrong?"

Anon's expression hardened. "If your feelings aren't clear, your curse will be unstable. It may backfire. It may consume you. This isn't something you can afford to get wrong."

Mike sighed deeply, the enormity of the task sinking in. "Alright. Give me a few minutes."

He turned away, pacing in the clearing as he wrestled with his thoughts. He wasn't used to analyzing his feelings, especially not about his enemies. What did he want them to feel? Anger? Fear? Guilt? The question gnawed at him, forcing him to confront parts of himself he'd rather ignore.

Anon watched silently, his sharp eyes never leaving Mike. For all his seriousness, there was a flicker of hope in his gaze. Mike's struggle was necessary, even if it was uncomfortable. Only by confronting his emotions could he begin to shape his power—and in doing so, he would grow stronger.

Finally, Mike stopped pacing, his fists clenched as he turned back to Anon. "I think I know," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes.

Anon gave a small nod. "Good. Then let's see if you're right."

Mike opened his mouth, ready to speak, but stopped again. His brow furrowed as he reconsidered. Each time he tried to put his thoughts into words, doubt crept in, leaving him silent.

Anon sighed, crossing his arms. "Seriously, just say it. If you want your enemies to suffer, we'll go with Dread. It's straightforward and effective."

Mike hesitated again, glancing at the ground. "One more thing," he said cautiously. "We're just hunting eldritch creatures, right? You know... monsters?"

Anon's expression darkened slightly, his eyes narrowing. "No. Sorry, kid, but sometimes it's not just eldritch creatures. We also take out sinners, cultists, and—more often than you'd think—bad guys. Humans."

Mike's jaw tightened, his expression shifting to discomfort. "But... I don't want to hurt them. I mean, I really don't want to kill people."

Anon raised an eyebrow, his tone edged with sarcasm. "Really? Not even the most devious one? The kind of menace who would happily watch the world burn for their own gain? You're telling me you'd let them walk away?"

Mike's frustration boiled over. "No, I'm not just gonna go around killing 'bad guys.' That's not me!"

Anon held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to get worked up. Though... the pay is good, you know," he added with a sly grin.

Mike's glare was ice cold, his stance rigid with conviction.

Anon sighed again, this time genuinely. "Fine, fine. Slumber type is for you, then. Non-lethal, just like you want."

Mike frowned. "Slumber type?"

Anon nodded and began to explain. "Slumber-type curses are the most non-lethal of them all. They work by pulling your enemies into a deep sleep, locking them in a realm of dreams you control. In that realm, you can manipulate their perceptions, twist their fears, and, yes, even traumatize them. Think of it as giving them a second chance. They'll wake up alive, but haunted by the nightmares you chose to give them."

Mike seemed to relax slightly. "So, they don't... die?"

"Nope," Anon confirmed, "not unless you want them to. Slumber curses let you control how far you take it. A simple nightmare for a slap on the wrist, or an endless torment if they really deserve it. It's still a curse, though, so don't go thinking it's all sunshine and rainbows."

Mike was quiet for a moment, considering the weight of Anon's words. "And... if they're innocent?"

"They won't be affected, i mean you literally inside their head and can read all their memory if you want to," Anon said firmly. "Curses respond to intent. If your enemy isn't deserving, the curse won't take hold."

That gave Mike some relief. At least there was a safeguard against punishing the wrong people.

"Alright," Mike said after a long pause. "I'll give it a shot."

Anon smirked. "Good choice, kid. Let's see if you can put them to bed."

Anon stood in front of Mike, his expression unusually serious for a change. "Alright, kid. Training time," he said, clapping his hands. "First step—gather a blessing. Easy stuff. Either spread it around yourself like an aura or focus it in one point, like your hand."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

Anon rolled his eyes. "You've already got blessings flowing through you. You're a Hunter, remember? Just... feel for it. Think of something good. Something pure. It's like tapping into your inner light or whatever cheesy crap you need to imagine."

Mike sighed and closed his eyes, concentrating. After a few moments, a faint, warm glow began to emanate from his hands.

"See? Not so hard," Anon said, grinning. "Step two: corrupt the good."

Mike opened his eyes, the glow flickering as his focus wavered. "Wait, what?"

Anon laughed. "I'm joking. Kind of. What I mean is you need to take that nice, fluffy feeling and twist it. Focus your negative emotions into it—your frustrations, your fears, your anger. Force those emotions onto your blessing. That's how you turn it into a curse. In your case, you're going to focus on making your enemy fall asleep. Think of it as smothering them with a really heavy blanket of negativity."

Mike frowned. "That sounds... wrong."

Anon shrugged. "Welcome to curses, kid. It's not about right or wrong. It's about intent. Remember, Slumber curses don't harm those who are innocent. You're just making them take a nap. Harmless. Mostly."

To demonstrate, Anon walked over to a small cage and pulled out a rabbit. "Alright, your target. Meet dinner." He placed the rabbit on the ground in front of Mike.

Mike's eyes widened in horror. "Wait, what? Dinner? You're not serious."

Anon smirked. "Oh, I'm dead serious. But that's later. Right now, your job is to make this rabbit sleep. It's innocent, so the curse won't do anything but knock it out. No harm, no foul."

Mike hesitated, staring at the rabbit, which twitched its nose and looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. "I don't know... I don't want to hurt it."

"You won't," Anon said firmly. "Slumber curses are harmless to creatures like this. Trust me. Just focus on what I told you. Feel the blessing, then flood it with your intent. Picture the rabbit getting sleepy. No malice, no fear—just overwhelming tiredness."

Mike took a deep breath and knelt down. He extended his hand toward the rabbit, the faint glow returning as he gathered his blessing. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to channel his intent. He thought about the rabbit feeling calm, its body growing heavier and its mind drifting into a deep sleep.

Slowly, the glow shifted, darkening as it pulsed with his emotions. The rabbit blinked a few times, swayed slightly, then lay down, its breathing slowing into a soft rhythm.

Mike opened his eyes, surprised. "I... I did it?"

Anon nodded, his grin widening. "See? Not so hard. And hey, you didn't even hurt it. Nice work, kid."

Mike glanced at the rabbit, relief washing over him. Then he looked up at Anon suspiciously. "You're not really going to eat it, are you?"

Anon's expression turned mock-offended. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

Mike sighed in relief.

"I was joking!" Anon added, snatching up the rabbit and heading toward the kitchen. "Mostly."

Few moment later as Mike jokingly asked, "What if I master all Curse types? Wouldn't that make me, like, the ultimate hunter?" he laughed nervously.

Anon's face remained unreadable for a moment before he simply replied, "Yes."

Mike froze, his joking demeanor replaced with wide-eyed shock. "Wait, what? Didn't you say people have to choose the right type or risk it backfiring?"

Anon nodded. "I did."

"Then how—"

"Because," Anon interrupted, leaning closer to Mike, his voice low, "there's a way. If you can master not just your emotions but something deeper—something truly malice-driven—you can control all Curse types. It's not just about hate. It's about understanding that malice, bending it, shaping it, and wielding it like a weapon. But it's not easy. It's like balancing on the edge of a knife. One slip, and the curses consume you instead."

Mike hesitated, trying to process this. "And... who could even do that?"

Anon leaned back, his eyes distant. "An old friend. Someone who knew how to dance with malice and come out the other side... mostly intact."

Before Mike could ask more, Anon waved him off. "Focus on Slumber first, kid. You're nowhere near ready for the rest."

[Back to the Hotel]

Erin huddled inside the closet, her breath shaky and shallow, trying to silence her racing heart. Her 'cousin' was so close now, its unnatural whispers echoing through the room. As the closet door creaked slightly, Erin shut her eyes tight, bracing for the worst.

But then, something changed. The whispers turned into gurgles, and she heard a sickening, wet cough. Opening her eyes just a sliver, she saw blood dripping from the creature's hollow mouth.

It stumbled back from the closet, clutching at itself, veins bulging unnaturally as dark streaks spread across its pallid skin. It let out a scream that was both human and inhuman, agony and rage blending together in a horrifying cacophony.

[Infection: Bloodrust]

Erin cautiously peeked through the slats of the closet door, watching as the thing staggered into the hallway. Its limbs twitched violently, its body convulsing as if something was tearing it apart from the inside.

She crept out of the closet, her steps hesitant as she approached the doorway. Her eyes widened as she saw the creature crumpled on the ground, its body grotesquely distorted as if crushed by an invisible force. The air around it seemed heavy, oppressive, making it hard to breathe.

[Dread: Deadweight]

Then she heard it—a sound of steady, deliberate footsteps echoing down the hall. Someone was coming.

The figure stopped in front of the writhing creature. It was a man, tall and imposing, with sharp features and an unsettling air of confidence. He looked down at the grotesque form with disdain.

"So pathetic," he muttered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You shouldn't have even tried."

As the creature attempted to crawl away, steel wires and jagged metal erupted from its body, binding it in place. The wires tightened, locking its limbs and neck in an unyielding grip. The creature's desperate thrashing slowed, then stopped entirely, leaving it motionless and trapped.

[Petrification: Steel waste]

The man, Demyan Nikitin, sneered and raised his boot, bringing it down hard on the creature's head. The sound of bone and flesh being crushed echoed through the hallway, and the creature's remains fell silent.

Erin watched in horror from the doorway as Demyan turned toward her. His piercing gaze met hers, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged with danger.

"You shouldn't be here," Demyan said flatly, his tone carrying a hint of menace. "But since you are, we need to talk."

Erin stepped back as Demyan pocketed his phone, the calm yet calculating expression on his face unnerving her.

"Did you go to the mine or the waterfall?" he asked, his voice measured but firm.

Erin blinked, confused by the sudden question. "The mine," she replied hesitantly. "I didn't have time to go near the waterfall."

Demyan frowned, pulling his phone out again. His fingers moved rapidly across the screen, typing a message.

"What are you doing?" Erin asked, her voice shaking slightly.

Without looking up, Demyan replied, "Confirming something." He finished typing and slid his phone back into his pocket. "If you made it out of the mine alive, then the core of this mess—the eldritch source—isn't there. It's at the waterfall."

"Eldritch mess?" Erin repeated, her voice rising in pitch. "What does that even mean?"

Demyan gave her a sideways glance, his sharp eyes scrutinizing her. "That thing I just killed," he said, gesturing back toward the mangled remains in the hallway, "was a lesser spawn. An echo, if you will, of something far worse. These things are anchors, tethered to whatever's at the center of this chaos. Kill enough of them, and the core becomes vulnerable."

Erin shuddered, her mind racing. "You're saying there's... something worse out there?"

"Much worse," Demyan said bluntly. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "But let me give you some free advice: the less you know about this kind of thing, the better. Knowledge like this doesn't just haunt you. It changes you. If you dig too deep, you won't be the same person when you come back up—if you come back up at all."

Erin swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Then... why are you here? Who are you?"

Demyan's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Let's just say I'm the guy they call when things like this happen. Cleaning up after the supernatural isn't exactly a glamorous job, but someone's gotta do it. And no, I don't work for the government, so don't bother asking."

He pulled out his phone again, scrolling through it absentmindedly while speaking. "You've stumbled into something you shouldn't have, but lucky for you, it seems you've managed to avoid becoming another statistic. Barely. But if you keep asking questions, you might not be so lucky next time."

Erin hesitated, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on her. She opened her mouth to ask another question but hesitated. The image of her "cousin," twisted and horrifying, flashed through her mind.

"What about—"

"Your cousin?" Demyan interrupted without looking up from his phone. "Don't bother. That thing wasn't your cousin anymore. Whatever made it look like that... it's gone now. It's better this way. Trust me."

Erin felt a lump form in her throat. "But—"

Demyan finally looked up, his eyes hard. "You pissed yourself, by the way."

Erin's face turned crimson, and she glanced down, horrified to see that he was right.

"Go clean yourself up," Demyan said, waving her off dismissively. "You smell like fear, and it's making this place even more unpleasant."

Mortified, Erin turned on her heel and hurried back to her room, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against it, her breathing shallow and rapid. Her mind reeled from everything Demyan had said, but the humiliation of her current state was the most immediate problem.

Without wasting another second, she rushed to the bathroom, determined to clean herself up and regain at least a shred of her dignity.

Erin was still in the bathroom, trying to compose herself as she cleaned up, her hands trembling from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Outside, she heard Demyan pacing back and forth in her room, his boots making deliberate, heavy sounds on the carpeted floor.

"Who are you, and why are you here?" Demyan asked through the closed bathroom door, his voice calm but firm.

Erin hesitated, gripping the sink tightly as she considered how much she should tell him. Finally, she took a deep breath and replied, "I... I was looking for my cousin. She disappeared a few weeks ago, and the last place she was seen was around this area. I didn't know what else to do, so I came here. I thought maybe I could find some answers."

Demyan was silent for a moment before responding. "And now you're neck-deep in something you don't understand. Your cousin... the thing you saw—it wasn't her. Whatever happened to her, she's gone."

"I know," Erin whispered, her voice breaking.

Demyan sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "Look, I get it. You're just a normal person who got caught up in this. But you're not safe here, and you're slowing me down. When you're done in there, get dressed and get out of here. There's a car outside you can use. Keys are in the ignition."

Erin's heart raced. "Wait!" she called out, panic rising in her voice. "Don't leave me here! Please, just wait for me. I'll be quick, I promise."

Demyan's tone softened slightly, but he remained firm. "I'll be back. But if you think you can't handle this, take the car and leave. You've seen enough already. This isn't your fight."

Erin rushed through the rest of her clean-up, but by the time she emerged from the bathroom, Demyan was gone. His absence left the room feeling colder, emptier, and far more dangerous. She quickly got dressed, her hands fumbling with her clothes as dread filled her chest.

Meanwhile, Demyan was already downstairs, moving with quiet efficiency through the darkened hallways of the hotel. He had found a cluster of surviving staff members hiding in a utility closet, their faces pale and eyes wide with terror. They whispered frantic explanations about their coworkers behaving strangely, but Demyan didn't need to hear it. He already knew what they were dealing with.

As he led the staff out of their hiding spot, one of the "staff members" down the hall began to move toward them. Its gait was jerky, its face an unnatural mask of calm that made the hairs on the back of Demyan's neck stand on end. He stopped, pushing the others behind him.

"That's not one of you, is it?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

The terrified staff members shook their heads, one of them whispering, "No... that's Kara. But she... she's not Kara anymore."

Demyan smirked grimly. "Thought so."

He stepped forward, unsheathing his machete. The eldritch creature mimicking Kara tilted its head, its face twitching as if struggling to maintain its disguise. Demyan didn't wait. He lunged forward, slicing across its chest.

The creature staggered back, and Demyan's eyes narrowed as he muttered under his breath, "Time for some fun."

He activated a curse—Insanity: Mind Biter—his presence becoming oppressive, like a black cloud descending on the eldritch being. The creature began to thrash, its movements erratic as it clutched its head. It let out a guttural scream, a sound so chilling it caused the human staff members to clap their hands over their ears.

The creature's body convulsed, its form deteriorating as if it were experiencing pure, unrelenting terror. It began to sob uncontrollably, its voice distorted and inhuman.

"Pathetic," Demyan muttered, stepping forward. He raised his machete and, in one swift motion, decapitated the creature. Its headless body crumpled to the floor.

One of the staff members, still shaking, asked, "Why don't you just use a gun?"

Demyan wiped the blade of his machete on the creature's remains, a faint smirk on his face. "Guns are boring. I like cutting things up. Stabbing's fun, too."

The staff members exchanged uneasy glances as Demyan turned toward them, gesturing for them to follow. "Come on. I'll get you out of here. But stick close. There are more of those things around, and they're not as easy to deal with as this one."

Back in her room, Erin sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her phone tightly and listening to every creak and groan of the old hotel. She couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching her.

Demyan moved methodically through the remaining floors of the hotel, his machete ready in hand. The hallways were eerily silent now, the oppressive energy from before having dissipated. If there were any eldritch creatures left lurking here, they were either well-hidden or had fled. After a thorough search and finding no further signs of danger, he made his way back to Erin's room.

When he opened the door, Erin nearly jumped out of her skin but quickly relaxed when she saw it was him. Relief washed over her, though her face still showed traces of exhaustion and fear. Behind Demyan, a small group of survivors followed, their faces pale but hopeful now that they had a clear way out.

Demyan gestured to the group. "Alright, everyone. There's a car waiting outside. Take it and get as far away from here as possible. Don't stop until you're in the next town over."

The survivors nodded, grateful for his guidance. As they filed out of the room, Erin remained seated on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

"What are you waiting for?" Demyan asked, his voice sharp as ever. "You've got a way out. Take it."

"I'm not leaving," she said softly, her voice trembling.

Demyan raised an eyebrow, his patience already wearing thin. "You're not leaving? What are you talking about? I just cleared the way for you."

Erin looked up at him, her eyes welling with tears. "I can't leave. I need to know what happened to my cousin. I can't just... walk away."

Demyan sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I already told you. Your cousin is dead. Whatever that thing was you saw before, it wasn't her anymore. She's gone."

Erin's lip trembled, and tears streamed down her face. A nearby older couple, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. The woman put a comforting hand on Erin's shoulder and turned to Demyan with a scolding expression.

"Do you have to be so harsh?" the older woman said, glaring at him. "She's just a young girl. Have some compassion."

Demyan blinked, his face shifting into an incredulous expression, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Compassion?" he muttered, gesturing broadly. "I just saved all your lives from things that would've torn you apart, and you're telling me to be gentle? You're welcome, by the way."

The older couple shook their heads in disapproval, clearly unimpressed by his tone, but Demyan wasn't in the mood to argue further. Instead, he turned to Erin, who was still sitting there, clutching her cousin's locket tightly in her hands.

The old man frowned. "Sometimes, people need hope to keep going. You could try being a bit more sensitive."

Demyan gave them a flat, deadpan look, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His thoughts were clear on his face: Are you seriously lecturing me about manners right now?

"Listen," Demyan said, softening his voice ever so slightly. "I get it. You're grieving. But staying here is going to get you killed. Whatever you're hoping to find, it's not going to bring her back."

Erin didn't respond, and Demyan decided it was time to move on. "Fine. Stay if you want, but don't say I didn't warn you."

He turned to leave, his steps purposeful as he headed toward the waterfall to regroup with his allies. However, as he reached the hotel's entrance, he noticed something that made him stop in his tracks: only one car remained in the parking lot. And Erin was standing next to it, holding the keys in her hand.

Demyan's shoulders sagged in exasperation as he walked up to her. "Seriously?" he said, his voice dripping with annoyance. "You're holding the keys hostage now? You've got to be kidding me."

Erin, still teary-eyed, gave him a faint smirk. "You said I couldn't stay here. So I'm coming with you."

"You realize the waterfall isn't some scenic tourist spot, right?" Demyan said, his tone flat. "It's ground zero for whatever's FUCKing causing this mess. If you go with me, you're putting yourself in more danger than you've ever been in your life."

"I don't care," Erin replied, her voice firm despite her tears. "If there's even the slightest chance I can find out what happened to her, I'm taking it."

Demyan rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath before throwing up his hands in defeat. "Fine. Whatever. Get in the car. But don't blame me if this ends badly."

Erin climbed into the driver's seat, a determined expression on her face despite the fear lingering in her eyes. Demyan got into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary, his face etched with irritation.

"Drive," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes.

As the car sped toward the waterfall, the tension between them was palpable, but neither of them spoke. The road ahead was dark and winding, with the faint sound of rushing water growing louder as they approached their destination. Erin gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white, while Demyan sat silently, his machete resting on his lap.

"Thank you... for not leaving me behind," she said softly.

Demyan didn't respond immediately. He stared out the window, the machete resting across his lap. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "Just don't make me regret it."

The night felt heavier with each passing mile, as if they were heading straight into the heart of something ancient and malevolent.

As the car neared the roaring waterfall, the tension was palpable. Erin gripped the steering wheel tightly, her gaze darting around the darkened forest that lined the narrow road. Demyan, sitting in the passenger seat, frowned as he glanced at his phone again. No response. His friend was supposed to have been here by now, but the silence was ominous.

Just as Demyan was about to speak, a deafening crash interrupted him. Something massive slammed into the car with enough force to send it flying off the road. The vehicle tumbled through the air like a toy, crumpling under the impact. Erin screamed, but before she could comprehend what was happening, Demyan reached across, grabbed her, and kicked the car door open mid-air.

With a practiced, almost superhuman grace, Demyan leapt from the falling vehicle, landing on solid ground with Erin in his arms just as the car smashed into the ground, reduced to a heap of twisted metal.

"What the hell just happened?!" Erin stammered, her voice trembling as Demyan set her down.

"Quiet," Demyan ordered, his tone sharp. He scanned the area, his body tense. "Whatever hit us isn't done. It's still out there."

The ground trembled beneath them, and from the shadows emerged a pack of grotesque eldritch creatures. Their twisted, rust-colored forms dripped with a viscous, glowing liquid, their jagged limbs moving unnaturally as they closed in on the two of them.

Demyan didn't hesitate. He stepped in front of Erin, his voice low but commanding. "Hold on tight. Don't let go."

Erin nodded, clinging to his arm as Demyan surged forward with explosive force. What followed was nothing short of chaos.

Demyan launched himself at the pack of eldritch creatures, his feet moving with blinding speed. The first creature lunged at him, its serrated jaws snapping, but Demyan spun in mid-air, delivering a devastating roundhouse kick that shattered its head into a spray of glowing ichor.

Another rushed him from the side, claws outstretched, but Demyan was already moving. With Erin still clinging to his back, he used his momentum to leap upward, driving his knee into the creature's chest and sending it crashing into the ground.

Three more charged at once, their twisted limbs flailing wildly. Demyan ducked low, sweeping one off its feet with a powerful leg sweep before twisting and driving his heel into the chest of the second. The third lunged from behind, but Demyan flipped backward, planting both feet into its face and sending it flying into a tree.

The battle was a blur of precision and brutality. Demyan's movements were a dance of death, his legs and feet delivering blow after devastating blow. Each kick was like a sledgehammer, shattering bones and rupturing whatever passed for organs in the eldritch creatures.

Erin could barely comprehend what she was witnessing. She clung to him tightly, her heart racing as Demyan singlehandedly dismantled the entire pack of horrors with nothing but his legs and feet. By the time the last creature fell, the ground was littered with the mangled remains of the eldritch monstrosities.

Demyan exhaled sharply, standing amidst the carnage. "Stay alert," he said, glancing back at Erin. "It's not over."

Before Erin could respond, the ground beneath them began to quake violently. The earth split open, and from the chasm emerged a massive eldritch plant-like entity. Its appearance was grotesque, a nightmarish fusion of vine-like roots and carnivorous flowers. The largest of its blooms resembled a Venus flytrap, its jagged maw snapping hungrily as it loomed over them.

"Stay back!" Demyan barked as the plant lashed out with its roots. He dodged with ease, his movements fluid as he evaded each strike.

The plant's roots smashed into the ground around him, leaving craters in their wake. Demyan moved like a shadow, always one step ahead of the creature's attacks. As he dodged, he reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of small, featureless dolls.

"Time to end this," he muttered.

He flung the dolls onto the ground, and as they landed, he uttered a single word under his breath. A dark energy surrounded him as he cast the Possession Curse, his voice low and commanding.

[Hollow Maelstrom]

The dolls began to twitch and shudder, their forms warping as the curse took hold. They grew larger, their once harmless shapes twisting into monstrous, humanoid constructs. Each one radiated malevolence as they turned toward the eldritch plant.

With an inhuman screech, the cursed dolls charged at the plant, moving with terrifying speed. The plant lashed out with its roots, but the dolls were relentless, swarming over it and tearing into its vines with savage ferocity.

As the plant thrashed in desperation, one of the cursed dolls reached its core—a pulsating, glowing mass at the base of the plant. The doll latched onto it and exploded with a deafening roar, the blast sending shockwaves through the area.

When the dust settled, the eldritch plant was no more. Its remains smoldered on the ground, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh and vegetation.

Demyan stood amidst the destruction, his breathing steady. He turned to Erin, who was still frozen in shock. "Let's move," he said, his voice calm but firm. "This wasn't even the main event."

Erin swallowed hard, nodding as she followed him toward the waterfall, the distant sound of rushing water growing louder with each step.

As they approached the roaring waterfall, the air grew thick with mist, and the ground beneath their feet became slick and uneven. Erin, still reeling from everything she had witnessed, hesitated before speaking.

"Demyan… those dolls," she began cautiously, her voice barely audible over the sound of rushing water. "How did you make them move like that? And everything else—you dodging attacks, fighting those creatures with nothing but your feet… None of that is normal."

Demyan glanced at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he considered ignoring the question entirely, but then he sighed and slowed his pace, walking beside her.

"The dolls are tools, nothing more," he explained. "I use a curse called Possession. It lets me channel energy into objects—like those dolls—and temporarily animate them. They follow my intent. Think of them as… extensions of myself."

Erin frowned. "Extensions of yourself? You mean you control them like puppets?"

"Something like that," Demyan replied. "But it's not just that. The real trick is what's inside the dolls."

"And what's inside?" she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Demyan's face broke into a mischievous grin. "Grenades."

Erin stopped in her tracks, staring at him in disbelief. "You stuffed grenades inside toys?"

Demyan chuckled. "It's efficient. They run toward the target, explode on impact, and get the job done. Simple, effective, and satisfying."

"That's… horrifying," Erin muttered, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "If you ever decided to put something bigger inside those dolls, I'm pretty sure that would qualify as a war crime."

Demyan turned to her with a playful gleam in his eye. "It's not a war crime if we're not in a war."

Erin crossed her arms, refusing to let him off the hook so easily. "It's still a crime, Demyan. You can't just blow things up and call it 'art' or whatever."

He smirked, his tone light as he countered, "Legal terminology is fireworks. Makes for a great show, doesn't it?"

Erin couldn't help but let out a small laugh despite herself. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Maybe," Demyan said with a shrug, his grin fading slightly as his eyes turned toward the waterfall ahead. "But impossible is exactly what we're walking into. So stay close, and don't ask too many questions. You won't like most of the answers."

Erin glanced at him, unsure whether to feel reassured or even more uneasy. The sound of the waterfall grew louder as they pressed on, the mist growing thicker, hiding whatever lay ahead.

As Erin stood at the edge of the rushing waterfall, mesmerized by the beauty of the cascading water and the sparkling mist catching the Moonlight, she felt an almost magnetic pull to step closer. The hypnotic roar of the water seemed to call to her, its rhythm soothing yet commanding. She took another step, almost instinctively, toward the edge.

Suddenly, Demyan's strong hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her back with surprising force.

"Don't," he said firmly, his eyes sharp and serious.

Erin stumbled but managed to steady herself, looking up at him in confusion. "What? I was just—"

"That," Demyan interrupted, pointing toward the edge, "is what they call the Call of the Void."

Her brow furrowed as she processed his words, her heart still racing from the abrupt tug. "Call of the Void? Isn't that just… like, a weird intrusive thought? Like when you're standing on a high place and think about jumping?"

Demyan shook his head, his grip on her wrist loosening but not releasing her entirely. "Not this kind. This isn't just your mind playing tricks on you. This is something else. Something deliberate."

Erin swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of his words. "What do you mean, deliberate?"

He let go of her wrist and crossed his arms, nodding toward the waterfall. "Eldritch creatures have a way of turning natural phenomena into weapons. They don't just attack directly—they manipulate, corrupt, lure. The Call of the Void is one of their tools. It's like a trap. The closer you get, the harder it is to resist the pull. People think it's just the beauty of the place or their own thoughts, but it's not. It's them."

Erin shuddered, stepping farther back from the edge. She hadn't even noticed how strong the urge had been until now. "That's… terrifying."

Demyan nodded grimly. "Terrifying, but clever. Never underestimate them. They use anything they can—your fears, your curiosity, even your admiration for something beautiful."

Before Erin could respond, the ground beneath their feet rumbled violently. She lost her balance, and Demyan reached out, grabbing her once again, but this time it was too late. The earth gave way, and they both plummeted into the churning water below.

The fall was disorienting, the roar of the waterfall deafening as they plunged into the cold, crashing waves. Erin gasped for air as she surfaced, coughing and sputtering, but Demyan was already at her side, steadying her with one arm.

"Hold on," he said, shielding her with his body as debris and rocks from above splashed into the water around them.

As they drifted in the current, Erin noticed something strange. The waterfall wasn't just pouring into a pool—it was feeding into an underwater cave, partially hidden by the cascading water. The faint glow of light emanated from within, illuminating the jagged walls of the entrance.

"Is that…?" Erin began, her voice trembling from the cold and fear.

Demyan nodded, his expression unreadable. "An underwater cave. Looks like we're not climbing back up."

He started swimming toward the opening, dragging her along with him. "Come on. Whatever's inside, it's better than staying out here and waiting to get picked off."

Erin hesitated for a moment but nodded, kicking her legs to help propel herself forward. As they entered the cave, the roar of the waterfall grew muffled, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by the sound of dripping water and their own labored breaths.

The cave walls glistened with moisture, and faintly bioluminescent plants clung to the rocks, casting a dim, otherworldly glow. The atmosphere was heavy, oppressive, as though the cave itself was alive and watching them.

"Stay close," Demyan muttered, drawing his machete from its sheath as he scanned their surroundings.

Erin followed him, her eyes darting nervously around the cave. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into something far worse than anything they'd encountered so far.