The man's words hit Lou like a physical blow. He stared at the slumped figure, the heavy weight of the flintlock suddenly feeling much more real in his sweaty palms.
How does he know? Lou's mind raced. Is he the one who hit 'Execute' on the Death Spirit?
As he narrowed his eyes at the man, something in the pit of Lou's stomach lurched.
It wasn't nausea but a shift in his very perception, like a camera lens finally clicking into focus.
A jagged, pulsing red mark, the size of a withered leaf shimmered inside the man's belly.
It was a foul, oily spirit energy that made Lou's skin crawl.
"You can see it too, huh?" William asked.
"Wait—I thought you said you couldn't see spirit energy?" Lou whispered, his eyes still glued to the red rot in the man's gut.
"I said I couldn't track it across a city, lad. I didn't say I was blind," William countered. "Up close, a stench like that is hard to miss."
"What is that thing?"
"A cursed artifact. Most likely swallowed or embedded," William muttered, his gaze shifting toward the cottage door. "Which means the main course is waiting for us inside."
Lou felt a cold oppressive weight radiating from the house.
If the red mark in the man's stomach was a flickering candle, the energy coming from behind those wooden walls was a bonfire of shadow.
It was the Lady in White's signature, but thicker and darker.
"Hey! You didn't answer me!" the man cried out, his voice cracking with desperation. "My father... is he—"
Schwing!
The sound of steel biting the air cut him off. Lou jumped, nearly dropping the pistol.
Where the hell did that come from?
William hadn't been carrying a blade, but now a gleaming length of steel was pressed firmly against the man's throat. It was like he'd pulled it straight out of the atoms of the air.
"Enough, you piece of shit!" William snapped. He used the flat of the blade to hoist the man to his feet, his movements surgical and terrifyingly fast.
He threw a sharp glance back at Lou. "High alert, Klaus. If my gut is right, we aren't just hunting a spirit anymore. We're dealing with a Witch."
A Witch?
Lou's internal monologue went into a full-blown panic.
He did not just say a fucking Witch. This was supposed to be a spirit tracking quest, not a boss fight against a dark spellcaster!
"Inside. Now!" William growled at the man, shoving him toward the threshold.
The man stumbled forward, his shoulders hunched in a mix of grief and terror, leading them into the dark maw of the cottage.
Lou followed, his finger trembling near the trigger of the flintlock, praying that the "one-shot" in his hand would be enough for whatever was waiting in the shadows.
"Nice and slow," William warned the man, his voice vibrating with a threat that made Lou's skin crawl. "If you try anything stupid, I will split you in half."
"Who the hell are you people?" the man stammered, his hands shaking as he pushed open the inner door.
"We're nobody," William said, shoving him forward.
Lou followed, his grip on the flintlock so tight his knuckles ached.
Does this thing even work on ghosts? he prayed silently. Please tell me spirits have a weakness for lead and black powder.
They entered a smaller room, a cramped bedroom filled with tattered mats and crude wooden racks.
And there, standing in the corner like a glitch in the world, was the Lady in White. Up close, she was a nightmare in high-definition. She had hollow eyes, death-pale skin, and hair that seemed to move even though there was no wind.
But it was the woman sitting beside her that stopped Lou's heart.
She had short, fiery red hair that clashed violently with her massive black gown. She sat perfectly still, her eyes closed, radiating a calm so heavy it felt like a physical weight in the room.
"Debra! Oh, Debra,"the man cried, rushing to his wife's side. "These men... they aren't messengers. They're hunters!"
"Hush now, my poor husband," Debra whispered, her voice smooth as silk and cold as ice. "I know exactly what they are."
She opened her eyes.
Lou's hands began to shake uncontrollably. He leveled the pistol at the Lady in White, but his gaze was locked on the redhead.
This is it. The 'Caster.' The Witch.
He didn't need anyone to tell him she was the one who had written Albert's death warrant.
"I wasn't expecting hunters to track the Death Spirit back to the source," Debra said, a faint, mocking smile playing on her lips. "Perhaps I was careless."
"You were," William growled, his sword tip hovering inches from man's chest. "That thing left footprints a mile wide. You know what happens next, right?"
Debra's smile widened, revealing teeth that looked too white for this filthy house. "Yes. You both die."
Of course. The classic villain monologue, Lou thought, though his bravado was paper-thin. She's evil at first sight.
"Should I kill them for you, my love?" The man asked, his depression suddenly replaced by a manic, desperate malice.
"No, Jon," Debra murmured. "If you fight the man with the sword, you'll be dead before you can blink. But the boy..." She turned her gaze toward Lou, and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. "I'm sensing low spirit energy from him. He won't be any trouble for you. Leave the Hunter to me."
Jon turned his stare toward Lou, his eyes dark with a hunger for violence.
"If he makes a move on you, Klaus, shoot him," William said, his eyes never leaving the Witch. "It shouldn't be that hard."
Shouldn't be hard? Lou's mind screamed. I've got one bullet, zero experience, and a guy who looks like he's possessed by a 'cursed leaf' wanting to rip my throat out.
The mystery of "why" was still gnawing at Lou's brain, even as the air in the room turned ice-cold. He wasn't a fool, he'd read enough plot twists to see the strings on this puppet.
Jon was a thrall. Lou could practically see the spiritual leash connecting the man to the redhead.
Judging by that foul, leaf-shaped rot in Jon's gut, he'd been hexed into submission. Even back in his original world, Lou had heard the urban legends about women using "love potions" or "muthi" to turn men into mindless worshippers.
Look at this pathetic loser, Lou thought, watching Jon gaze at Debra with a mix of terror and adoration. He didn't just let his father die, he probably helped set the table. She's got him on a total remote-control setting.
"Why?" Lou blurted out, his voice shaking but demanding. "Why kill Albert? He was just a baker. What did he ever do to you?"
Debra didn't flinch. She just laughed.
"Does it really matter, little Seer?" she purred, rising from her seat. Her black gown pooled around her feet like spilled ink. "Even if I told you the truth, you're both dead men walking. I'm going to feast on your souls and use your bones for broth. As for the old man? He simply didn't deserve to breathe the same air as me. That's all you need to know."
She stood tall, her presence expanding until she seemed to fill the cramped room. "Now, enough talk. You were both stupid enough to march to your own funerals. There's a high price on a Hunter's head, and I plan to collect."
William shifted his weight, his materialized sword humming with a faint, dangerous light. "Stay on high alert, kid. Don't let that man out of your sight. If he lunges, you drop him."
One shot. Don't screw this up, Lou. There's no 'Reload Last Save' here.
Debra flicked her wrist with a sharp, bird-like motion. The Lady in White let out a bone-shattering shriek.
It was a sound that felt like glass dragging across Lou's eardrums, and charged at them with impossible, flickering speed.
"Now!" William roared.