Ethan didn't hesitate.
The moment the house cracked, he moved.
Whatever was breaking through wasn't like the others. He felt it instantly—not just pressure, not just distortion, but something heavier. Something human.
That was worse.
Cassidy stepped forward at the same time, her control tightening across the street like an invisible net pulling everything back into place. "Don't rush in," she said sharply. "This isn't like the others."
Ethan didn't slow down. "I know."
The broken house stood in front of him, its structure intact but its presence completely wrong. The door hung slightly open, and from inside, a faint red glow pulsed against the darkness.
Not light.
Something thicker.
Ethan stepped in.
The temperature dropped immediately.
Not cold like ice.
Cold like something had been drained.
The air smelled metallic.
Strong.
Fresh.
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"…Blood."
Behind him, Cassidy stopped at the entrance. She didn't step inside. "Be careful," she said quietly. "This one didn't call."
That made Ethan pause.
"…What do you mean?"
Cassidy's voice lowered. "This one was already answering."
That was enough to push him forward.
The interior of the house was wrong.
Furniture was still in place, but everything was… shifted. Slightly off. Like the space itself had been rearranged without moving anything physically.
The red glow grew stronger as Ethan moved deeper inside.
It led to the kitchen.
He stepped in—
And stopped.
The walls were covered.
Not painted.
Not marked.
Covered.
Blood stretched across every surface, smeared in patterns that didn't look random. Lines curved, intersected, repeated—almost like symbols, but not quite. The floor was worse.
Too much.
Far too much.
Ethan's breathing slowed.
Not out of fear.
Out of focus.
"…This isn't a call," he said.
"No," Aval replied. "This is intent."
Ethan's grip tightened.
"Human?"
"Yes."
That made it worse.
A sound came from upstairs.
Soft.
Deliberate.
A step.
Ethan's head tilted slightly.
He didn't rush this time.
He moved slowly, carefully, his senses stretched thin. Every step up the staircase felt heavier than it should have, like the house itself was resisting him.
Halfway up—
Another sound.
A drag.
Something being pulled.
Ethan's expression hardened.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway stretched ahead in silence.
Three doors.
One open.
Two closed.
The red glow leaked from the open one.
Ethan approached it.
Step by step.
His hand reached the edge of the door—
Then paused.
"…You're here."
The voice came from inside.
Calm.
Clear.
Completely sane.
Ethan pushed the door open.
The room was lit.
But not by light.
Candles.
Dozens of them.
Arranged carefully around the room.
And in the center—
A man.
Kneeling.
Working.
Ethan's eyes locked onto him.
"…What are you doing?"
The man didn't look up immediately.
He continued moving his hands slowly, deliberately, as if finishing something important.
"…You're early," he said.
Ethan's chest tightened.
"I didn't call yet."
Silence.
Ethan stepped closer.
Then he saw it.
The floor.
A body.
Cut.
Not randomly.
Carefully.
Precisely.
Arranged.
Ethan stopped.
"…You did this."
The man finally looked up.
And smiled.
"Of course."
No distortion.
No madness in his eyes.
Just—
Clarity.
"That's the point."
Ethan felt it then.
Not like Egor.
Not like the Collector.
This was something else.
Something grounded.
Something real.
"You're not being controlled," Ethan said quietly.
The man tilted his head.
"…Controlled?"
Then he laughed.
"No."
A pause.
"I'm learning."
Ethan's eyes narrowed.
"…Learning what?"
The man stood up slowly.
Careful.
Measured.
Everything about him was intentional.
"How far it goes," he said.
The candles flickered.
The blood—
Moved.
Not physically.
But something within it shifted.
Ethan felt it immediately.
The pressure.
The pull.
"…You've been answering calls," Ethan said.
The man smiled wider.
"Yes."
A step forward.
"But not like you."
Ethan didn't move.
"What's your name?" he asked.
The man paused.
Then—
"…Does it matter?"
Ethan didn't answer.
The man chuckled softly.
"Call me whatever you want," he said. "They don't anymore."
That wasn't a joke.
That was a fact.
Ethan's arm burned slightly.
The mark reacting.
"You're unstable," Ethan said.
The man's expression shifted.
Not offended.
Interested.
"…No," he said.
"I'm ahead."
The blood on the floor pulsed.
Stronger now.
Ethan felt something pushing outward.
Trying to form.
Trying to become.
"You're not supposed to be here yet," the man continued. "You're still… early."
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"I'm not here to compare progress."
The man laughed again.
"No," he said.
"You're here because you're curious."
A pause.
"Just like me."
The room grew colder.
The candles flickered violently.
And the blood—
Started to rise.
Ethan stepped back slightly, his stance shifting.
"…You're going to stop," he said.
The man smiled.
"No," he replied calmly.
"I'm just getting started."
The blood formed.
Not liquid anymore.
Solid.
Sharp.
Icicle-like.
But darker.
Thicker.
Alive.
Ethan's eyes narrowed.
"…Yeah."
His arm burned.
The mark glowing faintly.
"I've seen this before."
The man tilted his head.
"…Good."