The silence.
The silence was cruel.
An entire city where there was nothing.
Only the void.
Only the silence.
Returning to Don, he was now moving through the city streets, searching for anyone—anyone at all.
Only one thought echoed in his mind:
Survival.
He crossed the neighborhood where he lived.
Ten minutes later, he reached the marketplace.
What he saw made his heart freeze.
Children.
Many children.
Hanging by their feet from the wooden poles of the market stalls.
There was no life there.
Blood filled the ground.
As Don looked at them, they all seemed to be smiling.
Their eyes and ears were gone.
Their chests were split open, revealing nothing inside—nothing.
But what truly terrified him was the smile.
They looked happy.
As if they desired it.
He continued walking.
All he saw was death and silence.
Step. Step. Step.
With every step he took, the sound of the blood splashing beneath him made him want to run.
Yet Don was not a warrior.
He had never been in danger before.
He used to genuinely want to fight demons when he was little—but the old man (his father) always used to say:
"Demons? Are you fighting ants, boy? Remember this: ants fight ants. But us? We merely observe them."
His father's words used to encourage him at first.
But as he grew older, he realized his father was nothing but a lunatic.
Don finally reached the end of the marketplace after several minutes of walking.
Ten steps ahead of him was his destination:
The blacksmith's workshop.
But before he could complete his steps, he finally heard a sound.
It was the sound of singing:
Hush, child… come closer,listen, whispers twist like crawling snakes,gossip drips through cracks of night,every poisoned word you speakwakes the beast behind my crooked smile,
la la la… la la la
I stir the dark with every secret,tasting fear like warm smoke,trembling tongue spreads lies,I crawl beneath your skin,twist your shadow into mine,
la la la… la la la
hhh… hehehe… hahahaha
Footsteps splash in gloom,stories summon things that should never wake,your voice—oh your voice—is the frail thread I snap when darkness laughs,
la la la… la la la
shhhh… ssshhhhh
Circle, ashes fall,tongues turn torches, rumors ignite,from every spark of spite I rise again,whispering: goooossiip… gossip…
la la la… la la la
hhh… hehe… hahahaaa
I taste you when you shake,bind you with the tales you twist,the deeper you speak, the deeper I drag you—down, down, deep where secrets rotand I never, ever sleep.
la la la… la la la
hhh… hehehe… hahahaha
Why is this happening?
That was the only question Don could form in his mind.
What was now before him was Miss Mira.
Don recognized her from her dress—embroidered with roses and soaked in blood.
He was not prepared for her hideous body now.
The torn pieces of the dress lay soaked in blood on the floor, and the sight of the flowers now stained with crimson red only intensified the horror of the scene.
No.
This was a monster.
It had many hideous hands, resembling joints—or closer to worms.
Don couldn't determine the number, but he saw ten hands at that moment.
At the end of each hand were fingers filled with pus—like the kind that had been on Uncle John.
The hands gripped children.
Children he had played with before.
Friends he knew.
Even some of the children who used to bully him.
All held by their heads.
Sightless. Earless.
And all singing.
They never stopped.
They repeated the word gossip again and again.
And hummed la la la…
Miss Mira was now three meters tall.
No—she was no longer Miss Mira.
She no longer had any features.
Her entire face was a mass of ears from which her hideous voice emerged, sounding like a broken piano.
She had only one eye in the middle of her chest, beneath which lay the blood and entrails of all the children.
Don didn't know why she did this.
She didn't have a mouth to eat with.
Why defile them like this?
Then she raised one of the corpses above her head.
The top of her head opened up like a saw full of teeth.
She placed the first child inside.
Then the second.
Until the last.
With every child, the sound of bones and flesh being ground made one wish for death.
But the horrific thing was that the children never stopped singing.
The singing continued.
Until, finally…
Silence returned.
He saw her stomach distend—as if she had become pregnant.
And strangely, she had no legs.
Don thought this was his chance now.
But Don didn't move.
She hadn't looked at him yet.
She was busy digesting her meal.
He wanted to run to the blacksmith's workshop, lock himself in, and search for a real weapon instead of the knife.
But he felt that moving now might lead to failure.
So he waited.
And watched.
As he watched, he asked The Source to show him the timer for his quest.
[11:45:10]