Adam jolted awake.
He was lying in the middle of a narrow dirt road, surrounded by a dense forest stretching endlessly in every direction. The sky, gray and oppressive, seemed moments from collapsing, and the silence around him felt… wrong. No birdsong. No wind. Just the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears.
He sat up slowly, trying to understand where he was. The system hadn't given him time to adjust—no warning, just the growing sensation that something out there was watching.
[System Initiated – World: Hereditary]
Objective: Survive for 72 hours and stop the ritual.
Difficulty: Death (4 survivors)
Reward: Variable based on performance.
Voices echoed faintly up ahead. People. He walked cautiously toward a clearing, where a white van had crashed into a fallen tree. Four people were gathered around it, speaking in hushed tones.
A dark-skinned woman with a hardened expression was the first to spot him. She raised a survival knife.
"Hey! Stay right there."
Adam raised his hands, not stepping any closer.
"I'm not a threat. Mission system. I was sent here too."
"System… so you know." She slowly lowered the blade. "Janaína. I was military—until the last cycle. Now I'm just another survivor. Those two are Thomas and Érica."
Thomas was a thin man with patchy facial hair and hollow eyes—quiet, always clutching a worn crucifix between nicotine-stained fingers. Érica, the youngest, maybe nineteen, had her brown hair tied in a messy bun. She looked terrified, eyes darting around the trees.
"How many hours left?" Adam asked.
"Sixty-nine," Janaína replied, checking a timer on her wrist. "Three hours since we woke up here. The forest hasn't changed. Nothing here changes."
"And the house?" Thomas asked with a hoarse voice. "I saw… it in a dream. The big house. Where it begins."
Adam felt a chill. He'd dreamt it too. A secluded house in a valley, surrounded by crooked trees, with an attic that whispered in inhuman tones.
"That's where we have to go," Érica whispered. "It's the heart of this."
They followed the trail.
The forest felt alive. With every step, twigs snapped on their own. Whispers echoed in the distance, vanishing the moment anyone tried to focus. Something followed them. Nothing visible, but all of them felt it.
Then they saw it.
The house.
An old wooden structure with a rotting porch and dark curtains covering the windows. A car was abandoned in the front yard, headlights shattered. No signs of life. But it wasn't empty. Adam felt it immediately. As if the air itself held the weight of trapped souls.
Before entering, Janaína stopped.
"From here on, no one walks alone. No solo exploring. If anyone starts acting strange, the other two watch closely."
"Are you serious?" Érica murmured. "We're talking about demons, not zombies."
"Exactly. And demons use the voices of those we love. They get inside your head. Twist you."
The group entered.
Silence.
The air inside was dry and still, as if no one had breathed there in years. Old furniture, covered in dust and stains. A fallen picture frame. A dinner table set with empty plates.
But the clock on the wall still ticked.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Adam searched the rooms carefully. The sound of creaking wood was constant, but footsteps never came from any of them.
On the second floor, he found a child's bedroom. In the center was a miniature model—a dollhouse, an exact replica of the one they were in.
"This is…" he whispered, realizing something chilling: there were four figures inside. Each with their face.
Janaína appeared at the doorway.
"This isn't just a mission. It's personal. He's watching us."
"Who?"
She didn't answer. Just pointed to the attic, sealed with a heavy lock.
"Up there… is what hasn't awakened yet."
That night, no one slept.
At 3:12 a.m., glass shattered somewhere in the house.
Thomas swore he saw someone standing in the corner of the room, smiling in the dark. But when the lights came on, there was no one.
Érica started crying without knowing why. Said she heard her mother's voice, asking her to "accept the gift."
Adam stayed silent, fingers tight on the cursed revolver's grip.
The first night had passed.
But the true hell was just beginning.