The demon's struggle grew more desperate by the second. Cracks of shadow and dark energy flared violently around him, rippling like chaotic lightning across the collapsing garden.
He thrashed against the old exorcist's iron grip, but the old man's resolve had solidified into something more than human—a last stand forged in duty.
Each second passed like an eternity.
And the young exorcist's chanting… reached its crescendo.
Then—
A blinding light erupted, swallowing the battlefield whole.
The demon's roar tore through the air, a final guttural scream laced with wrath, fear, and despair.
His form—once terrifying and absolute—fractured into fragments of dark matter, vanishing into the overwhelming brilliance.
And silence fell.
The light dimmed, leaving behind only ash, cracked stone... and a fallen figure.
The old exorcist lay crumpled, strength bleeding from his body as surely as the blood staining his robes.
The young exorcist stumbled to him, voice trembling.
"Master... we did it. We sealed the demon."
The old exorcist's lips curled faintly into a smile.
"Yes, my boy. We did."
Those were his final words.
And then—nothing. His chest stilled. His hand went limp.
Death came quietly.
The young exorcist, now alone, wept.
The one who raised him, protected him, taught him how to stand tall even in the face of monsters—was gone.
He clutched his master's body, head bowed beneath the weight of legacy, sorrow, and the burden now left on his shoulders.
In the wake of the demon's sealing, the town decayed.
What once pretended to be a place of life now revealed itself as a corpse of a place—abandoned, cursed, and bleeding echoes of the damned.
Buildings stood like tombstones.
Streets whispered only fear.
And though the demon was gone, its shadow remained—its questions, unanswered.
Where had the demon been sealed?
Would it rise again?
What became of the souls in the paintings?
Could they ever be freed?
With the final page turned, the diary closed, but the tale had not ended.
"To whoever reads this diary," I whispered, the words etched deep into me, "I hope you will find the courage to delve into the unknown and unlock the secrets it holds."
Ronald stared blankly at me.
"So... We are supposed to unlock the secrets?"
"Yup! It won't be a secret for long! Let's do this, Ronald!" I grinned.
"First question. Where was the demon sealed?"
"Huh? Ermm... How do we know that?" Ronald scratched his head.
"Oh, Ronald. Did you forget who we fought today?" I raised a brow.
"Too many." He looked genuinely lost.
"The old man in the bunker, duh. And where are we?"
"Realm of death?" he offered, visibly shrinking from his own answer.
"Half right! Remember we entered a mansion? So, my guess is we are in Mr. Lerrington's mansion."
I paced, connecting the dots.
"Moreover, the mansion is filled with those weird inscriptions, remember?"
"Ya... Those weird markings look a bit like the ones in the diary. So, you're saying... the old man we fought in the bunker is the demon, and it was sealed in Mr. Lerrington's mansion?"
His voice trembled—but clarity finally hit him.
"Bingo!"
Then, the world rumbled.
The floor shivered. The mansion groaned like a beast in pain.
Walls cracked. The air trembled.
Ronald and I clung to each other like two leaves in a storm.
"Ah! Give us a break!" I shouted.
"What's happening?!" Ronald screamed back.
Then—stillness.
The quake ended, leaving behind dust, silence, and the rapid thud of our hearts.
"Don't know, but I hate earthquakes," I muttered, patting the dirt off.
Ronald's finger pointed, trembling.
"Look, the first question in the diary is gone!"
I blinked.
"Wow! We must've answered it correctly. Kudos to us. Now, onto the next question."
"Will the demon arise once more?" I read aloud.
Without hesitation, I declared:
"No!"
And instantly—a wind howled into the room.
The walls trembled. Papers scattered like frightened birds.
Then—SLAM.
Something invisible hurled us across the room and smashed us against the wall.
Pain flashed white in my vision.
"Ouch! That hurts!" I groaned, dragging myself upright.
"You okay, Ronald?"
"Yeah," he whimpered. "But what was that? Was that a-a g-ghost?!"
I shrugged despite the ringing in my ears.
"Don't know, but here's the good part—second question is gone!"
"This place is so weird. I-I-..." Ronald's lip trembled.
I forced a grin and nudged him.
"Come on, Ronald. Cheer up! We're halfway there. You wouldn't want to die in this kind of place, right?"
He nodded silently.
"Alrighty then. Here's the third question. Read it out loud, my boy. Use that slumbering voice and scare the heck out of this place."
Ronald wiped his tears and gripped the diary like a sacred artifact.
He exhaled slowly and said with growing strength, "Third question: What happened to the victims who were sealed inside the paintings?"
"Attaboy. Ain't that scared now, right?" I ruffled his hair.
He nodded again.
"So, what's your answer, Ronald?"
"Still sealed inside?" he said uncertainly.
Nothing happened.
No wind. No quake. No glowing response.
Just silence.
"I guess it doesn't like that answer," I muttered.
"But... they are still sealed inside," Ronald frowned, disheartened.
I leaned in. Whispered softly.
"How about this, Ronald?"
His eyes lit up with realization.
He stood straighter and declared:
"The victims are sealed inside the paintings, but... not for long!"
The diary shimmered slightly—then the question disappeared.
"Great job, Ronald!" I clapped. "We're making progress."
"Nothing changed, though?"
"Who cares. On to the next question!"
"The last question: How to free the victims from the paintings?" Ronald's voice dropped into a solemn tone.
"Llyne, what do we do? How do we free them?"
I stared at the diary, tension gripping my mind.
"We can't afford to give a half-assed answer like before," I murmured.
But the diary was blank. No hint. No clue. Just the question, waiting.
My thoughts spun.
"But… what if the answer isn't in the diary at all?" I wondered aloud. That idea... frustrated me.
"I hate using my head. If Shorty was here, he'd know what to do."
I groaned, rubbing my temple.
Suddenly—crackling fire. A faint sound, but... strange. Alive. I turned.
The fireplace burned brighter than before.
"Hmm…?" I stared into the flames.
"Llyne? What's wrong?" Ronald touched my shoulder, worried.
But I couldn't look away. Something about the fire was calling to me. Pulling.
Then—
It hit me.
A surge of clarity. Like lightning to the soul.
"Ah! How could I forget?" I gasped. My grip tightened on the diary.
I narrowed my eyes at it.
"Why you little devil. Have a taste of retribution!"
Without hesitation—I tossed the diary into the fire.
Flames roared. Pages curled. Smoke rose.
"HYAAAAH!!! What are you doing?!"
Ronald lunged, but it was too late.
The diary burned to ash.
"The diary!" he cried, falling to his knees in despair.
"Seriously, I've never seen anyone cry over a diary like this." I said, blinking in disbelief.
Then—
A whisper.
"Thank you."
A male voice, cold and close, breathed into my ear.
I turned. Nothing. No one.
Ronald wept. "The diary!"
I shook my head, still stunned.
Then—a noise.
A sound. Faint. Hollow. But there.
"Did you hear that?" I asked.
"Yeah," Ronald sniffled. "My heart breaking into pieces."
I laughed, dry and soft.
Then turned toward the door.
And opened it.
What I saw on the other side froze me mid-breath.