Enya leaned in slightly, her voice hushed.

"Pell," she whispered, keeping her gaze on the village leader across the table. "Something's off. I can't explain it, but... something here is wrong."

Pell didn't answer.

His skull shifted slightly, sockets narrowing. He was no longer watching the man, but the draped curtain behind him. The one where the sounds had started again.

From the shadowed passage beyond emerged a tall figure cloaked entirely in a thick, stitched garment. Its robe was dark brown, heavy with dust, and dragged faintly along the rugs as it moved. The hood was pulled up, wide and deep, covering whatever lay beneath.

The soul-flames in Pell's sockets tightened.

There was no face.

No flicker of skin. A lack of glinting eyes to shine in the light.

There was only shadow. It was lit brightly enough in the center of the tent, but as the figure moved forward, the darkness within never faded. A complete absence, as if the hood had swallowed whatever lay underneath.

There was no shape of a person beneath the robe. No outline of a shoulder, no defined legs; its knees didn't appear beneath the fabric as it walked forward.

Its sleeves were long and heavy; the fabric was loose enough to obscure the shape of its arms as it carried a small metal tray. On top was a porcelain teapot, etched with floral designs.

Once it finally reached the table, it slouched and placed the tray down without a sound. Neither the teapot nor the cups even clinked.

"Ah," the village leader said warmly. "Thank you."

His smile hadn't faded the entire time.

His gaze turned back to them. "This tea is a special recipe," he said. "Passed down by my family for generations. Rare, refined, and very... soothing."

The shadowed figure reached forward and lifted the teapot. There were still no signs of hands, the sleeves too thick to see past.

A black liquid poured slowly into the two cups. It was thick—almost syrupy in appearance. There was no steam, as if it were already cold.

Silently, they all waited as the cups filled. Finally, it set the teapot down, and then stood like a creeping sentinel next to the village head.

"Go on," he said. "It'd be rude not to accept my kind gesture."

Enya stared at the cup.

Pell's skull shifted slightly in her arms, but he said nothing.

The smell from the tea was faint—sweet, maybe—but there was something underneath it. Something faintly metallic. Like rusted coins, or the inside of an old well.

Enya didn't move.

The tent fell silent. Even the outside village seemed to vanish. No footsteps, no wind, no birds. Just a silence that felt wrong. Heavy.

Pell noticed she was staring—unblinking, locked on the two figures. He wasn't sure what she was thinking.

Then she began to move.

Enya's fingers tightened around his skull, and she slowly rose to her feet.

"Huh? Kid?" Pell asked, surprised.

She took a step back. Then another. Her gaze never left the village head or the figure beside him.

"Oh? Leaving already?" the man said, voice light but echoing strangely. "That's no good."

His words followed them as Enya stepped backward through the curtain. It brushed against her shoulders and fell shut behind her.

The moment they were outside, she turned, cradling Pell in her arms—then ran.

"H-hey! What's going on?!" Pell shouted.

Enya's feet slapped hard against the dirt. Her breath hitched, but her pace didn't slow. Pell's vision bounced violently with every stride, his skull rattling from the impact. His line of sight was locked on the road ahead—the same road they'd entered from.

But something was wrong.

It wasn't getting any closer.

The trees. The hill. The gate. None of it changed. The ground moved beneath them. He could feel her running. He could see the steps she took.

But the entrance stayed exactly where it was.

Enya stopped suddenly.

She grabbed Pell's skull and tossed it into the air.

"Wha—" he managed, just before blinking out of existence.

A second later, he reappeared.

Pell landed in a crouch, knees bending slightly, a bony fist hitting the ground to catch himself. She had de-summoned him—then re-summoned his full body. The transition restored his skeletal frame, ribs and legs locking into place like they had never left.

He looked up at her, catching her expression.

Something had changed.

"Hey—" he started.

But Enya had already turned. She spun back around, her boots grinding against the dirt as she pivoted. Her gaze fixed on the tent.

The flaps were opening.

Calmly, the village head left, the hooded figure trailing behind him like a shadow.

Without hesitation, Enya raised one hand.

The ground trembled around the tent. In the next moment, three massive bone spikes erupted from the earth. They speared upward with brutal force, impaling both figures clean through the chest. One each through the front chest of both, the third, through the back of the shadowed figure.

Neither made a sound.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Pell shouted, staggering forward. "I know shit was unsettling in there, but you can't just kill the village leader! Now the whole damn town's gonna be after us! Again!"

He hissed through his teeth, glancing back toward the road—there was still no sign of movement or the clamoring sound of guards rushing toward them.

Pell looked again at the corpses, and then to Enya.

Enya remained silent.

He knew she didn't care about killing people. Not really. Not anymore. After that mess with the bandits outside Talo—after Sable's dungeon—it had become clear to him. Her perspective on death had shifted drastically. Which, he supposed, made sense. She did only have the memory and maturity of a toddler back then. Her growth had been shaped by monsters and violence.

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Maybe it wasn't to say that her perspective had shifted—but rather, she never had a previous perspective at all.

He wasn't much better now.

Pell didn't feel grief for the village leader. Or the shadow. Just anxiety—about the consequences they'd face now. Now, his priority was simply to survive. Dead bodies no longer bothered him, except when they involved future problems.

"I can't kill him!" Enya shouted back.

Pell's soul-flames flickered. He looked back at the two corpses. "What are you talking about? You just turned them into skewers!"

But even as he said it, something felt wrong.

He noticed it—there. A twitch.

He didn't have eyes, but he could still see. His vision wasn't sight, not exactly. It was filtered through his soul-flames—a kind of perception that saw the world as outlines, temperature, shape, and echo. He could see just as well as when he was alive, just that everything was tinted with a muted gray.

"What…" he murmured.

"They aren't humans," Enya stated.

Skill: Insight has been activated. Target: Death Remnant Revealed Information: The remnant of a spirit that had long since died and lost its identity. Death remnants will assume the last personalities and identity of the person they have consumed. If a soul is consumed, it can never be recovered. Death Remnants can only be harmed by soul, spirit, or holy-based attacks.

She stared, eyes fixed on the unmoving bodies. In the strange stillness of the tent, she hadn't been able to identify what felt off. The way the man spoke. The shadow's presence. Even the tea. It had all felt wrong. And so, she used her insight skill. From then on—everything made sense. She then grabbed Pell and quickly left the tent.

"Those things are monsters."

Enya quickly explained what her insight skill had shown her as they stared at the bodies.

Pell listened, his eyes still watching the bodies as they began to shift and shudder.

First was a twitch, then came a spasm. That was until their limbs began to fully move.

The village leader—his body jerked unnaturally, sliding itself up the length of the bone spear, hands gripped tight, dragging his own body upward. Flesh tore; sinew split. But he kept rising, impaled clean through the chest. He reached the top, then slid off with a wet, smacking sound, landing clumsily on both feet.

There was a massive hole in his torso. Rib fragments jutted out. Strands of shredded organs hung in the air freely. But he stood upright as if nothing was wrong.

Beside him, the cloaked figure did the same.

It didn't bleed.

The bone spike had pierced straight through its chest, but nothing spilled out. There was no gore—only a void. A blank nothingness that seemed to swallow even the light around it. The cloak sagged over a hollow space, draped across absence.

Enya's skin tingled.

Mist slowly rolled in across the village. It was slow, but methodical. A slow, creeping fog that chilled the air that reached her skin. The temperature of the village was slowly declining.

From the houses around them, the villagers began to emerge.

Men. Women. Old, young.

They all wore the same vacant smiles now. Their steps were slow, unhurried. Each movement careful. Deliberate. Their eyes were blank and sunken, yet locked forward as if all of them could see through Enya at once.

Pell's soul-flames narrowed. "This is bad."

He took a step backward until his heel bumped into something. Pell quickly turned and jumped back, Enya turning at the same time.

It was the little girl. The one with the brown cap who had been their so-called "guide."

Enya's eyebrows narrowed. She hadn't sensed her presence at all. There was no sound or aura. Not even a single flicker for her to pick up on. Not even with all of her passives that boosted perception. Normally, she could sense people standing behind corners she couldn't see, but this time—nothing at all. She could only stare, stunned.

"Would you like a guide?" the girl asked. The same question she had offered before. Only this time—

"The price is only your soul." She stepped forward and lifted a hand, reaching toward Pell's face.

Pell flinched. Instinct took over in that moment. With the confirmation that these villagers were monsters, he took the gamble.

He reeled back his arm and punched forward with all his force—shoulder, elbow, wrist all aligned. The strike hit her square in the face.

And passed through.

There was almost no immediate resistance. Not like hitting clothing or even skin. It was like plunging into a deep river. His hand tore through the face of her body, and a cone of distorted air exploded behind her. Her face morphed around his arm, locking it in place.

And yet, she didn't flinch. Instead, she continued reaching, and gripped her hand onto his arm.

Pell froze.

A shock of pain rippled through his bones.

Something was wrong. His core—it was shaking. Not physically. It was splintering. Pulling within him. His soul-flames flickered erratically. One second small, the next, a bubbling ball of burning purple magma.

This sensation. He knew it. It was the same as the dungeon quake. That overwhelming, intangible pressure. Corruption and damage to the soul—a worse pain than anything physical.

He panicked.

Without thinking, he twisted and snapped his own arm off at the elbow.

The girl still held the forearm, her smile unchanged.

Pell stumbled back and caught himself, pivoting toward Enya.

"Come on," he hissed. "We're leaving—now!" He hooked his remaining arm under Enya's, lifting her off the ground as she yelped, holding her tightly to his side. He sprinted forward, the joints in his body snapping quickly. His knees kicked up clouds of dust as he tore through the village.

He didn't know where he was going.

Any direction would do. Just not here. Anywhere but here.

Behind them, the guide girl watched. She was still smiling. Still holding that discarded bony arm lodged within her face. And all around, the villagers turned their heads in unison.

Pell ran.

He didn't know where he was going—just that he needed to move. Enya was tucked beneath his arm, her small frame jostling with each heavy step. Her fingers clutched the front of his ribs like she was bracing against the world.

Up ahead, a section of low fencing came into view.

Pell's soul-flames narrowed as he focused on them. The fence was barely a meter high. He charged straight toward it, ready to leap and vault.

But the fence didn't get closer.

He glanced down—his feet were moving. His legs still pushed against the dirt. His body propelled forward; he could feel it in his joints. But the world ahead had stopped responding. It didn't make any sense. The fence just hovered there, locked at the edge of his vision.

"Damn it—here too?!"

He quickly turned and looked for somewhere else. Another fence on the opposite side.

Same thing.

He looked for a small gap. Maybe behind a building or an open space—a side entrance into the village.

It wouldn't come.

It was like trying to escape inside a nightmare. No matter how hard he ran, the edges never changed. The only path that did move... was deeper into the village.

More villagers had stepped outside their homes.

Some leaned against doorways. Others stood motionless in the middle of the path. They all wore the same pale smiles. Their heads turned to follow him as he passed, their eyes wide and glassy. The streets began to narrow, buildings sagging inward, shadows deepening under the cloudy sky.

Enya's body shifted in his arms. The air kept getting colder. She could also feel the shivers creeping up on her body.

She had to focus.

Her eyes began to glow a faint but focused yellow. Her mouth opened slightly; her brow scrunched up like she was trying to see something far away.

"What is…" she whispered.

She shook it off and tried again. Enya took a slow breath, and closed her eyes. She tried to stretch her senses outward.

And immediately, it started hurting.

Nausea. Confusion.

The further she pushed, the worse it got. The space around her wasn't just blurry—it was wrong. Every pulse of awareness she sent out came back scrambled. The images were jagged, overlapping together like broken glass shards from a shattered window.

She winced. It felt like trying to breathe underwater. Or read words written on smoke as a fire kept burning.

Her stomach turned. The world rippled too much. She felt like throwing up.

"I can't—" she started, about to cancel the skill, but then paused. Her face twitched again. "Wait. There's something. Over there."

She opened one eye, pointing weakly with her finger. "That way. And then go right."

Pell grunted but didn't argue. He had no better idea. Everywhere just felt endless and infinite.

He turned sharply, his feet kicking up dirt onto his shins as he adjusted his route. Villagers continued to emerge all around them—men, women, children, all dressed in the same dull tones, all watching with blank attention. Their smiles stayed frozen. Not joyful. Not curious. Just... wide. They were monsters imitating a human smile.

Pell kept moving. He followed the directions that Enya pointed out.

He didn't know how long they ran—thirty seconds, a minute, maybe more—before a new structure came into view.

Up ahead stood an old structure.

It looked different from everything else. The roof curled upward in a slanted dome; stained glass windows were cracked but intact, and a thick wooden door hung loosely on one hinge. The building was long abandoned—dusty, discolored, its outer walls patched with dried vines and time.

A church.

Pell stopped a few paces from the door.

"This where you want to go?" he asked, eyeing the entrance. "You sure?"

"I don't know," Enya said softly. "It's just... this is the only place that doesn't feel all twisty."

"Twisty? What are you talking about?" he asked, setting Enya down on the ground.

"Everything feels weird when I use my senses… But not here. Here—it's quiet. It didn't hurt when I used absolute focus over here. But I don't feel anything inside. I can't explain it but… at least it doesn't make my brain hurt."

Pell stared back.

Down the street, the villagers had gathered.

At the front was the leader, shoulders relaxed, arms folded behind his back. The gaping hole of exposed organs, trailing blood, still followed him. Beside him was the shadowy cloaked figure, but this time—it was floating. Levitating like a real spirit. The young girl who had been their guide was behind them, holding Pell's discarded arm like a toy, he face still twisted and warped. Dozens of others filled the space behind them.

They were all silent, but still smiling. No one spoke a word, but they kept advancing.

Pell looked forward again. He grabbed Enya's arm and reached for the church door.

"Quiet sounds good," he said, shoving open the door.

They stepped inside.

The door creaked shut behind them.

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