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Soren's steps paused for a second. He waited a few beats, but sensed no demonic aura at all.
These paranormal-show guys were always overreacting—most likely just manufacturing drama for the camera or scaring themselves.
He ignored the screams and continued deeper inside.
The basement wasn't large and had no stench. Instead, a cool draft flowed steadily through it.
In one corner sat an old restraint chair—clearly the original owner's tool for keeping Michael Myers locked up.
After a quick sweep, Soren noticed a section of floor that had been chiseled open and crudely covered with dirt.
Chilly air kept pouring up from the hole.
He stomped on the loose soil. It collapsed inward, revealing a pitch-black vertical shaft with a metal ladder bolted to the wall.
A faint red glow flashed in Soren's eyes as he judged the depth, then he simply leaped down.
Thud.
He landed solidly, straightened up, and scanned the bottom.
This wasn't a dead end. The shaft connected to an abandoned sewer line leading outside.
He walked to the end. A wave of stench hit him.
Soren looked down and frowned deeply.
The shallow water covering the ground was slick with oil. Half-gnawed rat corpses floated everywhere, scattered carelessly.
Thank goodness he was wearing tall boots.
If he'd been in regular shoes, stepping into this black water full of dead rats and letting the filth soak through… he would have wanted to chop his own feet off.
Forcing down the discomfort, he waded forward through the muck.
After walking a short distance, Soren's steps slowed to a halt.
A human corpse lay quietly on the damp ground ahead.
It wore a set of dark-blue work overalls and a rubber mask on its face.
"Found him just like that?"
Soren studied the body.
He felt zero demonic presence from it—not even the slightest trace of a living person.
It looked exactly like… an ordinary corpse.
At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed from the passage behind him, accompanied by an excited shout.
"Over here! We finally found it! Clancy, camera on me!"
Peter came running, panting heavily.
He shoved Soren aside without hesitation and rushed straight to the corpse, launching into a dramatic narration for the lens.
Soren didn't resist the push. He simply stepped sideways and quietly yielded the stage to the host.
He stood in the shadows, watching Peter's excited performance.
Michael might only be in a deep sleep. These two could serve as live bait—maybe the presence of living humans would wake the killer up.
Only then did Soren notice that behind cameraman Clancy was another figure.
Andrei.
The man was wearing the exact same style of work overalls as the corpse and clutching a rubber mask in his hand.
No wonder he had claimed he needed to "coordinate from the van." He had waited for them to go in, then changed and snuck over to play the fake killer for extra show effect.
The screams from the second floor earlier must have been him scaring Peter and Clancy on purpose.
Andrei spotted Soren and started to greet him—he had seen how calmly the young man had kicked down the door earlier.
Far better than Peter's performance: fearless in danger, bold yet careful. Exactly the ideal host material he had been dreaming of.
But the next second, Andrei's face turned deathly pale. Pure terror filled his eyes, as if he had seen something unspeakably horrifying.
Soren followed his gaze and looked back.
In front of the camera, Peter was still reciting the lines Andrei had written for him: "…This is the unkillable nightmare! Dear viewers, we are now only one step away from danger…"
Peter felt he was in peak form today—clear thoughts, crisp delivery, even adding a couple of clever ad-libs.
Maybe the pressure from that new young guy had lit a fire under him. He felt like his career was experiencing a second spring!
Especially when he caught Andrei's horrified expression out of the corner of his eye—his smugness shot through the roof.
Look at that. His narration skills were so powerful they had even shaken the director himself.
"So when you hear heavy breathing in the dark…"
Just as Peter prepared to deliver his grand closing line, an odd sensation bloomed in his chest.
He looked down in confusion. A blood-covered knife tip was slowly pushing out from his sternum.
The crimson blade glistened under the flashlight beam.
Peter opened his mouth. Blood surged up his throat, choking off whatever he had been about to say.
He stiffly twisted his neck, turning little by little.
The corpse that had been lying still was now sitting upright.
Behind that rubber mask, two empty eye sockets pressed against the back of Peter's head, staring at him in silence.
"SHIT!!!"
Andrei screamed, the mask in his hand dropping to the ground. He spun around and bolted like he had seen a ghost.
"Damn it! Andrei, wait for me!"
Clancy nearly dropped the camera in terror.
He stumbled a few steps, then looked back and saw Soren still standing motionless.
"Soren! Run! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"
Clancy shouted. When Soren didn't move, he gritted his teeth, forced himself to charge back, and yanked hard on Soren's arm.
But Soren's body might as well have been rooted to the ground—he didn't budge an inch.
An icy aura spread through the sewer. Cold sweat broke out on Clancy's forehead.
After a brief hesitation, he turned and fled in the direction Andrei had gone.
Soren paid no attention to the two fleeing men. Instead, he looked at Michael Myers with genuine curiosity.
He had sensed nothing from this body—no living aura, no demonic scent.
So why had it woken up?
Was it some kind of curse similar to Papa Midnight's?
Soren watched as Michael slowly pulled the kitchen knife from Peter's body.
No matter what, better to shut it down first.
Demonic power surged inside him. Soren's figure blurred into an afterimage as he closed in.
Michael swung the blade in response, but Soren sidestepped it cleanly.
At the same time, he grabbed the killer's wrist and delivered a chopping strike to the elbow joint.
Crack—
The sound of breaking bone echoed through the sewer.
In just a few exchanges, Soren had snapped all four of Michael's limbs.
The heavy damage left the body unable to support itself. Michael collapsed into the filthy water and lost consciousness.
Soren stepped forward, ripped open the overalls, and carefully examined the body, searching for any runes, marks, or seals.
Nothing.
To get to the bottom of this, he took half a step back. Thick black mist rolled behind him as Pyramid Head emerged from the fog, dragging its giant cleaver.
Dissection work like this was best left to Pyramid Head.
The moment the massive blade split open Michael's skull—
Something changed.
As if sensing the threat of death, an overwhelming demonic aura erupted from the cleaved head.
Michael's brain split apart like a walnut. A shapeless mass of flesh wriggled out, extending dozens of tiny tentacles as it crawled free.
Soren's eyes narrowed, staring at the writhing lump.
The moment it emerged, the flesh began convulsing violently, trying to expand outward.
But a red glow surfaced across its body, forcibly restraining the growth.
Looking closer, the red light was formed by countless interwoven threads—a massive net that bound the flesh tightly.
Soren understood instantly: this was the seal that had completely locked away every trace of demonic aura and fluctuation.
That was how the demon had slipped past the Angelic Council's inspection, parasitizing an ordinary human and living normally.
Now, with its host body dying, the hidden demon had sensed mortal danger.
The sealed flesh shook violently, hammering against the seal.
Finally—crack!
The red net shattered into glowing fragments and vanished.
Without the restraint, suffocating demonic power exploded outward like a flood.