The trail back through the forest was quiet. Mist lingered at the roots of the trees, curling between the underbrush like forgotten whispers.
Yan Sen and Aleksander moved steadily, the dirt road crunching faintly beneath their boots.
Then—
A sudden roar of hooves shattered the stillness.
Out from the trees, a group of bandits on horseback burst forth, weapons raised, eyes wild with hunger and greed. They surrounded the two travelers in a loose circle, yelling threats and curses.
Aleksander's expression hardened.
With a snap of his fingers, a sword erupted in his palm, forged in roaring flame. The fire reflected in his eyes, and for a moment, the clearing turned blood-orange.
The bandits reeled back.
Panic swept across their faces.
Some turned their horses immediately, the others hesitated—until Yan Sen calmly stepped forward.
His expression was unreadable. He spoke no words of warning. No threat. No plea.
But his gaze passed over each bandit like a judge issuing sentence.
He had seen the stains on their souls.
Rape. Murder. Torture. Crimes that could not be repaid with time or guilt. Monsters in human flesh who'd worn civilization as a mask.
So, he made a decision.
He did not shout. He did not fight.
He simply invoked death.
Not a dramatic spell. No explosion. Just truth wrapped in divine will.
The bandits fled. Horses thundered across the terrain, deeper into the forest.
And then—
Silence.
One by one, the men dropped from their saddles.
Like puppets whose strings had been cut, they crumpled into the undergrowth—limp, lifeless, forgotten.
Their horses kept running, unaware.
Having reached a quiet, secluded spot surrounded by trees and starlight, Yan Sen raised his palm. A complex magic circle spun to life in his hand, glowing with ancient symbols.
In the blink of an eye, a towering, Gothic mansion materialized from the void.
This was the infamous House of Mystery—a sentient, living realm beyond time itself.
Aleksander's eyes lit up with awe... and a little fear.
The House, once belonging to the legendary John Constantine of the future, was more than just a structure. It was alive. Indestructible. Shifting endlessly. Within its halls lay infinite rooms, twisted monsters, and secrets too dangerous for the world outside.
The House could cross realms, drift between timelines, and even anchor itself in the Void of Time—where no aging or decay occurred. Time stood still inside. A year could pass, and not a second would touch your body.
Yet woe to any uninvited guest. Those who entered without permission would be cursed, haunted by their worst fears, and bent into submission—slaves of the House's true master. Once bound, they could be summoned back at any moment by the wielder.
The House of Mystery stood at the heart of its sprawling, otherworldly estate—grand, gothic, and impossibly vast. It loomed like an ancient cathedral lost in time, surrounded by a landscape untouched by decay or mortality.
The house itself rose four full stories into the air, with twisting turrets, towering spires, and narrow balconies that seemed to appear and vanish with every blink. An attic rested beneath the sloped roof, where arcane whispers danced in the shadows, and a vast basement sprawled beneath the earth, storing secrets not meant for human eyes.
All of it was enclosed by a massive wrought-iron fence, its black metal bars etched with runes that shimmered faintly in moonlight. The grand front gate, adorned with snarling gargoyle faces and a keyhole that shifted position, stood as the only entrance—unless the House allowed you another way in.
The Grounds were just as mystical as the House itself:
To the east, a lush garden bloomed wildly, its paths winding through flowers that glowed under the stars, some of them whispering if you walked too close. Stone statues lined the walkway, watching silently with eyes that followed movement.
Behind the house sat several sheds and an imposing blacksmith's forge, where the echo of hammer on steel often rang through the night. Here, magical weapons could be forged—blades etched with soul-binding glyphs, bows strung with phoenix hair, and armor that shifted with the wearer's thoughts.
Nearby, the Alchemy Room was built into a separate stone pavilion—walls lined with potions, tomes, bubbling cauldrons, and transmutation circles glowing faintly beneath the floor.
And at the far western edge of the property stood the Wellhouse—a small, ominous structure cloaked in mist. Its stone roof sagged with age, yet the well inside was deep, echoing into unknown dimensions. Rumors said it granted visions… or took something in return.
The air around the estate shimmered with residual magic. No matter the time outside, within the grounds it was always twilight—caught between night and dream, dusk and starlight.
The House was not merely a home. It was a realm—a sanctuary, a prison, a forge, and a temple—all under one living roof.
It watched. It waited. It remembered.
Since reaching a nice quiet spot, Yan Sen held his hand out as magic circle appeared in his palm.
Suddenly a house appeared, it was the famous House of Mystery owned by the future John Constantine.
The House is a sentient living being. It is virtually indestructible, and can fix any damages done to it. The House is virtually a realm that houses infinite amount of monsters and organisms.The House can travel through different realms and in between time and space, where Yan Sen can use it as a means to travel or escape. The House exist in a "Void of Time." Time does not pass in the House itself, as though it would seem as somone has spent years in the house without appearing to age.
Any uninvited visitors that unwittingly go inside the house are stricken with psychological attacks, are cursed, and are forced to relive their worst nightmares. Worst of all, they become slaves of the owner of the House, John Constantine to be specific, and becomes under their control. John can summon them back at the house whenever he needs them.
Aleksander smiled nervously. "I love this place... but it creeps me out."
Yan Sen merely gave a faint nod and said, "Go rest. Tomorrow, we begin the next phase of your training."
The moment the doors creaked open, the inside greeted them with its usual eerie grace—a luxurious Victorian-era manor, dimly lit by candlelight, fireplaces crackling with blue flame, and whispers in the shadows.
Aleksander yawned. He was already half-asleep as he climbed the velvet stairs and found his room.
Yan Sen, meanwhile, floated to his chamber. There, in a space where gravity meant nothing, he crossed his legs mid-air and entered deep meditation. Golden strands of energy swirled slowly around him, as though the House itself was breathing in sync with his spirit.
While Aleksander slept on his bed, but his mind was awake—curious, eager, and restless.
He decided to enter the Astral Dimension.
Drawing in a deep breath, he stilled his heartbeat and reached beyond his body. A soft glow emanated from his chest. With practiced ease, his soul slipped free.
His physical body remained still on the bed, eyes closed peacefully.
But his astral form—a translucent version of himself—floated up, weightless, pulsing with blue energy.
He hovered there for a moment, marveling at the difference. The Astral Plane was a parallel reality, ethereal and formless, filled with colors unseen and sounds unspoken.
With a gesture, a floating tome—the Grimoire Yan Sen had given him—opened before him. Its pages glowed softly in the astral light, symbols shifting and rewriting themselves as his consciousness engaged.
Hours passed. Or maybe it was seconds. Time flowed strangely in this state.
Then, suddenly, his senses flared. In astral form, every magical pulse, every ripple in energy, echoed through him like a wave. His gaze fell back to his physical body lying below… and that's when he saw it.
The black beaded bracelet on his wrist—engraved with runes on each bead—was glowing faintly orange.
Aleksander's eyes widened.
Luda.
His heart tightened in his chest. She was his beloved, once his soon-to-be wife, before everything shattered. Before the demon sacrifice tore their lives apart.
She, too, was a gifted sorceress, though her dreams were held back by reality. She had stayed behind to care for her ill parents when Aleksander began training under Yan Sen.
Without wasting another second, Aleksander returned to his body. A soft breath escaped his lips as he opened his eyes.
He tapped the glowing bead.
A soft shimmer bloomed from the bracelet, and then a projection formed in the space before him—a full-body astral message, flickering gently in the dim light.
It was Luda.
Her brown hair flowed gently behind her like she was underwater. Her blue eyes shimmered with worry, framed by pale, delicate features.
"Aleksander," she said, her voice strained but strong, "I need your help."
Aleksander stood up abruptly, his heart racing."Luda, what happened? Are you alright?"
The projection wavered slightly, almost as if reacting to the urgency in his voice.
[A/N: So Death( DC Version) takes form of Kat Dennings, also MC takes Students. Also, these Students later form Order Of Exorcists. Also MC has Shikigami, you can choose he can create anything using his Creation ability like Ifrit( Reincarnated as a Slime), Merakuera (Rezero), Puck (Rezero)...etc.]