The young disciples, whose eyes had long since opened to the spiritual world, stood frozen in wide-eyed horror.
They could see what no living soul ever should.
Dozens, maybe hundreds, of shrieking, translucent spirits clawing and writhing inside High Shaman Baekseol Mudang's body.
They tore at her from within, shredding flesh, drinking her blood, gnawing on sinew, yet keeping her alive just enough to suffer.
One disciple gagged, bile rising in his throat, as a spirit's face pressed against the inside of her skin, its mouth opening in a silent scream before vanishing back into the swirling mass.
And then—
They exploded out of her in a rain of gore, streaking through the air like bloody fireworks.
The younger disciples, who couldn't see the truth, could only feel the air grow thick, heavy, suffocating. Their fear of the unseen was worse.
It was the kind of primal dread that made the heart want to stop just to escape it.
