Passing through the four-winged key's door, a mountain path stretched ahead, shrouded in thick fog. Tombstones lined the way, and dolls hung sporadically from branches. Eveline, phasing through one, paled visibly.
"H-Hey, Ethan… can I stick close?" she stammered.
"Scared?"
"N-Not scared! …Okay, fine, I'm terrified. Stop speed-walking!"
Her fear kept Ethan grounded, but the atmosphere was undeniably grim. Still, compared to the Baker house's nightmarish kids' room, this was tame. That place was too much, Eveline. Crossing a suspension bridge to a gate, Ethan's vision whited out briefly, and a voice that shouldn't be audible rang in his ears.
"Ethaaan."
"What?"
"Huh?" Eveline blinked.
Beyond the gate stood a familiar figure, cradling a baby. It was unmistakably Mia—his beloved wife, shot dead by Chris's team. Was that Rose in her arms? Was the flask a fake?
"What… Why is Mia… She's dead…" Eveline faltered.
"Ethan, follow me. I need to tell you something," Mia said.
"Mia? Is that really you? No way… Wait!"
Ethan chased her, but no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't close the gap. His sprint felt like a sluggish walk. What was this?
"Something's wrong… I can't leave your side, Ethan," Eveline said, confused.
"Rose isn't normal, Ethan. You have to do something…" Mia's voice echoed.
"What's going on? Eveline, you see her too, right?"
"Yeah, I see her! But I can't get closer to check if she's real. I'm stuck to you!"
"What?"
Something was affecting Eveline too—a free-floating hallucination bound to him. Was this mental interference, like the original Eveline's powers?
"Everyone's disappearing… even Rose… I can't bear it…" Mia's voice faded.
"No way that's Mia… Right, Eveline?"
"Probably fake. But back then, Mia was alive… What if she was fooling us both? What if Mia's the mastermind?"
Mia's figure vanished. Ethan's outstretched hand grasped only air. Eveline's ominous words stirred a gnawing dread. No, it couldn't be. Shaken but with no choice, they pressed on. Meters from where Mia disappeared stood a massive tombstone, surrounded by eerie yellow flowers and dolls. The name carved into it hit like a thunderbolt.
"…A. Beneviento… Mia Beneviento… 1987-1996… This spelling…" Ethan muttered.
"Could this be… Mia's grave?" Eveline whispered. "I don't know anything about Mama before she met me. You, Ethan?"
"Me neither… I only learned she was a special operative three years ago."
"If the real Mia's in there, then who's the Mia we know?"
It clicked. The one noble they hadn't seen face-to-face. They'd heard the doll's voice—Angie—but never Donna's. Thinking back, her silhouette was eerily similar to Mia's. If Mia, riddled with bullets, had somehow survived…
"The puppeteer, Donna… But no way, right?" Ethan said.
"What if Mia tricked us, and Chris attacked her because he knew?" Eveline pressed.
"This is insane… We'll find Donna and get answers, Eveline."
They found a door ahead, with a sign: Offer a memory. Hesitantly, Ethan pulled out a cherished family photo of Mia and Rose, placing it in a mailbox-like slot. The door unlocked.
"What the hell…?" Ethan murmured.
"That's what it means, isn't it?" Eveline said.
Inside was a cave with an old elevator. As they ascended, the lights flickered, then plunged into darkness. Eveline let out a small "Eek!" before they restored.
"What was that?" Ethan asked.
"No idea… but seriously, stop it, it's creepy!" Eveline whined.
The elevator stopped, and they stepped out to a cliffside mansion overlooking a waterfall—Donna's home.
"Looks like it'd collapse in an earthquake," Eveline remarked.
"Scenic, but who builds a house here?" Ethan said.
The gate stood carelessly open. Wary, Ethan pushed through the mansion's door into an elegant interior. A knitting project sat on a central table. No one around?
"Creepily quiet," Eveline noted.
"Yeah. Come out, Donna! Are you Mia?!" Ethan shouted.
No response. They ventured deeper. The mansion was pristine, almost too perfect, with dolls scattered about. Eveline, curious, tried to explore but pouted, unable to stray far from Ethan.
"Ugh, why can't I leave your side!?" she huffed.
"Didn't you ask to stick close because you were scared? …Another elevator?"
"Hey, I've got a bad feeling. Let's skip it, Ethan."
"If something happens, you'll be fine. No one's up here. If Mia or Donna's anywhere, it's below."
"I-I know, but…"
Despite Eveline's protests, they descended. The basement was simple—shelves, desks, livable.
"Not so scary," Eveline said, relieved.
"Overthinking it. Let's go."
"I'd follow you anyway, stuck like this."
In a study, upbeat music drifted from a room ahead. Exchanging glances, they opened the door to find a familiar doll on a table—Angie, the bratty puppet. Mannequin limbs hung from the ceiling.
"Ethan, look! A flask!" Eveline pointed.
"What?"
There, atop Angie, sat a flask, carelessly placed. As Ethan reached for it, the lights flickered. Not again. Darkness fell, and that voice echoed.
"Angie's been waiting for you forever. I'm a better kid than Rose. Please, be Angie's daddy… forever. HeeheeheeHAHAHA!"
"What…!?" Ethan gasped.
"Scary scary scary! And stop stealing my vibe, you bratty doll!" Eveline yelled.
Her shouts rang out, but Ethan couldn't see her. When the lights returned, Angie and the flask were gone. A strange sensation hit—his back, waist, and right hand felt… empty.
"Wait, my guns…?"
"Ethan! The case with Rose's flask is gone too!" Eveline cried.
"Are you serious!?"
The case he'd gripped, the sniper rifle on his back, the handgun, Samurai Edge, even his knife—all vanished. Unarmed in enemy territory? Bad news. But he had Eveline.
"Eveline, Molded blades, now!"
"Right, that'll—huh? Wait, what?"
"What's wrong? Hurry—oh no."
"S-Sorry, Ethan… I'm trying, but it's not working!"
Whatever happened, even his Molded transformation was sealed. Truly defenseless. Searching the room, Ethan noticed a photo of a bullet-riddled Mia beside a mannequin on the central table.
"Why's this here…?" he muttered.
"Is this… Mia's doll?" Eveline wondered.
"What's their game?"
Working with Eveline, they scoured the basement, solving the mannequin's puzzles to progress. All Ethan wanted was to grab the flask and escape. Then—
Papa~!
"!?"
A chilling voice echoed. It was the birth cry of hell itself.