Story recap:
Moksh and Albert's New Assignment
Moksh has been officially appointed as a Vacant Elite, a title that comes with a significant new assignment: handling cases across South Asia and certain zones in Japan. His first mission, alongside Albert, is to investigate a string of murders on Ross Island (now Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose Island).
The Case File: A Witch and a Haunting
* The Scene: Ross Island, which is rumored by locals to be haunted.
* The Suspect: A supposed "witch" living in a ruined British-era building called The Sebastian House.
There have been twelve murders, initially thought to be part of a drug trafficking scheme. However, traces of black magic were found at the Sebastian House, suggesting a deeper, supernatural cause.
The first seven victims were teenage girls, all killed in the same manner: burned and stabbed, and found 52 meters from the Sebastian House. The pattern was broken with the deaths of a YouTuber, a local journalist, and three older women. The most recent victims were killed in different locations and in more gruesome ways.
The local police are uncooperative, and a captured drug dealer has provided no useful information. The locals on the island are acting strangely and seem to be guarding a secret, adding another layer of complexity to the investigation.
Moksh and Albert are now headed to Ross Island to confront the truth behind the murders and the mystery of the Sebastian House.
After that:
The sea was restless.
The small patrol boat cut through the dark green waves, its hull slapping hard against the swells. The wind carried the tang of salt and old storms, stinging Albert's cheeks. Moksh, however, leaned casually against the railing as if he owned the ocean.
"You're enjoying this way too much," Albert muttered, trying not to lose balance as the boat tilted.
Moksh didn't even look at him, eyes fixed on the jagged silhouette of Ross Island ahead. "Do you know the difference between you and me?" he asked.
Albert sighed. "I'm sure you're about to tell me."
"I like walking straight into the places other people run away from," Moksh said with a faint smirk. "That's why the Grandmaster gave me this badge. You… well, you're still here because I dragged you into it."
Albert shot him a look. "One day, that mouth is going to get you in trouble."
"That's called confidence, my friend," Moksh replied. "Learn it."
The island loomed closer — moss-covered ruins rising like ribs of some ancient beast from the jungle. The air felt heavier here. Too still for a place surrounded by an untamed sea. No stray birdsong. No sound but the hum of the motor and the ocean's growl.
As they docked, an officer from the local station waited at the pier. His face gave away nothing, but his grip on the rusted rifle was tense.
"You're the investigators? Follow me," he barked.
Albert glanced at Moksh. Moksh only grinned. "Lead the way, chief. Just try to keep up."
The Path to Sebastian House
The trail was narrow, the jungle pressing close. Creepers hung low, brushing against their shoulders, their leaves slick with the humidity that clung like a second skin. Every so often, the officer would glance over his shoulder at Moksh — as if expecting him to slow down, but Moksh kept walking ahead of him now, boots crunching over dead leaves.
"Locals avoid this place after dark," the officer warned. "Some stop talking when you mention it."
"Fear does that," Moksh said without missing a step. "Or guilt."
Albert caught up, speaking lower. "You think they're covering for someone?"
Moksh shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time. People protect the evil they know, to avoid the evil they don't."
The trees opened suddenly, revealing the Sebastian House — what was left of it. Once extravagant and colonial, now just a skeletal façade. Ivy strangled the stone walls. The shattered windows yawned like black eyes, and somewhere inside, wood creaked without wind.
Albert felt it before he could explain it — that shift in air pressure, the sense of being watched.
Moksh stepped forward without hesitation. "Let's see what's hiding in your shadows," he whispered to the ruin itself, as if issuing a challenge.
Inside the Ruins
The main hall was a graveyard of dust and rot. Their footsteps echoed over cracked marble that once gleamed for aristocrats. A grand staircase, half-collapsed, led to darkness above. Scattered on the floor were bones of small animals… and something stranger — circles drawn in black ash, symbols etched in the center.
Albert crouched beside one, brushing ash with a glove.
"Black magic markings. Definitely ritual spots."
"Yeah," Moksh said, scanning the walls. "And whoever's doing this? They're not just dabbling. They know exactly what they're calling."
Albert straightened. "Which means they'll be back."
Moksh's smirk widened. "Then let's make sure they find us instead."
Albert frowned. "You want to bait them?"
"You've got to stop being surprised," Moksh said, already stepping deeper into the shadows. "Predators come to the bold. And I don't plan on spending my nights hiding."
Albert shook his head but followed, already sensing that this case wasn't just going to be dangerous… it was going to get personal.
The day surrendered to darkness with a sudden, violent swiftness—thick cloud swallowing any moon, shadows running wild along the ruined walls. The wind outside had stilled; inside the Sebastian House, the silence pressed like a physical weight.
Moksh took command of the shattered drawing room. He moved with a confidence that was equal parts swagger and provocation, trailing his flashlight beam in lazy arcs and whistling an old tune just to break the tension. Albert rolled his eyes. "How are you relaxed right now?"
Moksh flashed a grin, teeth white in the gloom. "If something out there wants to haunt us, I say let's give it a show."
They'd set up in the main hall, camping chairs by the haunted remnants of a grand fireplace, facing doors that gaped open into regions of blackness. The local officer who'd brought them had vanished at dusk with muttered excuses.
Albert's nerves were raw. He scanned the stone floors, where the ashen circles were faintly visible even in the gloom. "People died here," he whispered. "Twelve of them, and you're acting like you're hosting a party."
"That's the point," Moksh replied, gaze fixed on the open stairway. "Fear is a parasite. If you act like you own the room, the real monsters sometimes make the first move. Besides—" he paused, cocking his head "—I want whoever's watching to think I'm not afraid. It makes them sloppy."
A gust rattled broken panes upstairs, sending a brief rain of plaster powder shimmering in their torchlight.
Hushed voices. Just outside—barely audible—leaves scraping together. Then a human footstep, slow and purposeful, somewhere in the darkness beyond.
Moksh's lips curled into a smile. "Showtime."
Albert flicked off his flashlight and drew his sidearm. The shadows seemed to shift, as if something moved just out of view in the ruined corridor to the right.
"Stay here," Moksh mouthed, already heading toward the noise. His footfalls were noiseless on the debris-strewn floor. He was daring any lurking presence to step into the light.
A cold, metallic scent—the tang of blood old and new—hung near the threshold to the basement stairs. There, the circles of ash seemed darker, fresher. Something had been disturbed.
Moksh glanced back; Albert signaled, tense.
"Moksh… there's something on the wall."
He swung his beam upward. Gouged into the rotten plaster, crude symbols glistened with a blood-like sheen—some still wet, the lines ragged, desperate.
As they stared, a voice—a woman's, guttural and low—drifted out of the far corridor, winding up the staircase:
"Why are you here?"
Moksh's jaw tightened, but he smirked, letting bravado fill the breach. "Looking for a witch," he said, raising his voice. "You know her? Or are you still making house calls after midnight?"
Silence. Then another footstep. A silhouette at the end of the hall—female, wild-haired, as ragged and real as anything conjured out of nightmares. Her eyes found Moksh in the dark, glinting with a feral awareness.
She smiled, wide and unnatural. "You should run. They all do," she hissed.
Albert—rifle up, but sweat on his brow—took a step closer to Moksh. "This is not funny—Moksh, she's real."
Moksh only smiled wider, stepping forward. "If I ran, you'd never respect me. Besides, I haven't seen someone try to kill me in days."
The woman beckoned—then vanished into the staircase's yawning black mouth.
Moksh looked at Albert, half-wild excitement in his eyes. "Ready for round one?"
Albert swallowed, adrenaline spiking. "Next time, you're going in first." He followed, tension bow-strung.
They climbed the creaking steps—each floorboard protesting—into old servants' quarters where moonlight barely sliced the black. Symbols, ritual stains, and something animal—lurking breath—seethed just ahead. The house was no longer empty.
For the first time, Moksh's confidence met the razor edge of the unknown. But he kept moving, head up, ready to challenge whatever owned this darkness.
Tonight, it was predator versus predator. And the game had just begun.