Chapter 4: The Hunt & The Interloper
A child's laughter, light and innocent, drifted through the open window of the basement, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of the house. Kael's spirit-sense, which had been a low hum, suddenly flared to life, a frantic, red light in his mind. The laughter, to his supernatural senses, twisted and warped into a sinister, echoing hum. It was the sound of a spider spinning a web, of a predator stalking its prey. He looked at Ed and Lorraine, their faces now grim, their eyes fixed on the window. They couldn't hear what he heard. They couldn't see what he saw. A shadowy figure, formless and dark, was hovering near the window of the house next door, a grotesque caricature of a man, its long, spindly fingers reaching out. A faint, glowing red thread connected the entity to the child, a new, horrifying clue.
What is that? The child is a magnet? Or a battery? This isn't a hunt. It's a harvest.
His mind, the very thing that had failed him before, was now racing, connecting the dots. The entity wasn't looking for a home. It was looking for a meal. The System's warning, so cryptic before, suddenly made sense. Kael felt a jolt of pure, unadulterated fear, but it was overshadowed by a primal surge of protective instinct. He was a coward, he had failed his last life, but he was not going to watch a child get hurt. He had to do something.
[ SYSTEM: WARD FAILED. RETREAT. OR DON'T. ]
The words were a cold reminder of his helplessness. He was an analyst, a planner, and his first attempt at direct action had been a slapstick comedy of errors. He had failed to save himself. What made him think he could save a child? He ignored the voice. He had to try. He grabbed the bag of salt from Ed's hands.
"I have to stop it," he said, his voice strained.
"Kael, no!" Ed said, his hand outstretched. "We don't know what we're up against!"
Kael didn't listen. He scrambled up the basement stairs, his mind a whirlwind of panicked thoughts and half-formed plans. He burst out the front door, the late afternoon sun a blinding white in his eyes, and sprinted toward the house next door. He threw open the gate, his hands fumbling with the bag of salt. He tried to draw a warding circle, his hands shaking, spilling salt on the concrete. The lines were crooked, the circle a pathetic, jagged mess.
"Great," he muttered, his voice filled with self-deprecation. "I'm the guy who spills the holy salt. Classic."
He looked up at the window. The entity's shadowy form was now pressed against the glass, its laughter a low, triumphant hum. The child inside was staring at the window, a look of wide-eyed fascination on her face, oblivious to the horror she was facing. Kael's ward had failed. His attempt to play hero was a joke. The entity turned its head, its shadowy face twisting into a mocking grin. It raised a hand, and with a sickening shatter, the window exploded inwards. The child screamed.
The sound was a raw, primal thing that cut through Kael's fear. He didn't think. He didn't plan. He simply acted. He threw the rest of the salt at the window, a desperate, useless gesture. But the entity wasn't interested in the salt. It was interested in him. It left the child's window and moved with a terrifying speed toward him, its form shifting, twisting, coalescing into a grotesque, inhuman shape. It was the same creature he had seen in the attic, the main boss he had so desperately wanted to die to. But this time, it was a predator, and he was the prey. He didn't have time to run. He didn't have time to scream. The entity's shadowy form enveloped him, a crushing weight that filled his mind with icy dread. The world went black, and he felt a cold, alien presence invade his mind, pushing his consciousness aside.
The last thing he felt was a phantom pain in his neck, a sharp, twisting sensation, a reminder of his last pathetic death. The last thing he heard was the System's cold, detached voice.
[ SYSTEM: DEATH NOTED. POSSESSION RESISTANCE: +5%. KEEP TRYING. ]
He reawakened, trembling, the cold of the entity still clinging to his skin. He was in the attic again, a crumpled heap on the floorboards, the taste of dust still in his mouth. He looked at his hands, his body. He was whole. But his mind... his mind felt different. Something had changed. He wasn't just a survivor anymore. He was a target. The entity knew who he was. And it knew where he was. He looked at the cracked mirror, his reflection wavering, his humanity fraying at the edges. His fear had deepened, but so had his resolve. He had failed, but he had also learned. He was a player in a game he didn't understand, but he was no longer a pawn. He had a mission now, a new one. He was going to find out what was happening. He was going to save the child. And he was going to make this thing pay. The house was no longer a trap. It was a battlefield. He looked down at his trembling hands. The faint red thread from the entity to the child still felt palpable in his mind. He was in this now. And there was no turning back.
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