They come from all directions, marching toward their humble hut.

  Ratih gasps sharply, clutching hands against her chest. “Barja…” Her voice is barely a whisper.

  “There’s no way out,” Barja mutters, his pulse hammering in his ears.

  His grip tightens on the boy.

  Think! Think!

  But nothing comes to his mind, so he simply shoves Adanu Raksa into the wife’s arms.

  “Get back inside! Quick!”

  He spins and rushes back toward the house, darting through the kitchen door.

  Once inside, his eyes scan the dim interior—

  There! A machete. Hanging on the wooden wall.

  It is not a warrior’s blade. And he is no warrior.

  But he is a husband, a protector. And he will not let these things take his wife.

  Clutching the machete with both hands, he charges back outside.

  The first undead lurches toward him.

  Barja swings. The machete bites deep, nearly cleaving its shoulder apart.

  But—

  The thing does not scream.

  Does not recoil.

  Does not stop.

  Barja kicks its chest while ripping the blade free. He then hacks the other one wildly, but it’s like cutting through dead wood.

  The creatures just keep moving. Their sunken, milky eyes lock onto him.

  A sick dread settles in Barja’s gut. His throat tightens.

  They don’t fear him. This is not a battle he can win.

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  Panting, he stumbles back, gets inside the kitchen, lock the door.

  Then, once he whirls around—

  “Ratih?”

  His wife is not there. His stomach drops.

  Terror surging through his veins, he bolts toward the living room.

  Then he stops, frozen in horror.

  Ratih is on the floor. Collapsed. Unmoving.

  And hovering above her—

  A ghastly, white apparition, its tangled black hair floating like it's submerged in water. Its bloated face splits into a grotesque grin.

  Adanu Raksa still lies unconscious beneath it.

  The spirit ignores Barja’s presence, swaying slightly, breathing in something unseen.

  Barja staggers forward, his voice cracking.

  “No! Ratih!”

  His grip on the machete tightens. His vision blurs with rage.

  A roar of anguish rips from his throat.

  “Curse you! What have you done to my wife?!”

  He jumps at the spirit, swinging his machete with all the fury of a desperate man.

  But—

  The blade slices through empty air.

  As his momentum carrying him straight through the ghostly figure, a chill rips through his body.

  Barja gasps, his body suddenly weak, and—

  Brak!

  He crashes into a small wooden table. It splinters beneath his weight, debris scattering across the floor.

  The impact jolts the boy from his nightmare. His eyelids flutter open, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

  “Sir…? Ma’am…?”

  Adanu Raksa’s voice is barely above a whisper, thick with fear and confusion.

  His wide, terror-stricken eyes dart around the dim hut, taking in the horrors that surround him.

  And then—

  He freezes.

  The malevolent spirit greets him with its terrifying grins.

  Ugly face. Deadly stare. Long dirty nails.

  Everything in it kills the boy’s sanity, shutting his brain off from processing anything.

  Barja groans, forcing himself up despite the weight pressing on his chest. His limbs tremble, drained from whatever foul energy the spirit had taken from him.

  Ratih isn’t faring any better. Though she hasn’t collapsed completely, she is slumped against the wall, her breaths shallow, her body frail with unseen pressure.

  Yet, even in their weakness, they don’t hesitate. With what little strength they have left, the two elders pull Adanu Raksa close, shielding him within their embrace.

  They have no strength left to fight. They cannot stop what is coming.

  But they can protect the boy from seeing it.

  “No, child! Don’t look! Don’t look!”

  The spirit sneers. A wet, guttural laugh gurgles from its throat.

  “Foolish humans.” Its voice is an unnatural rasp, slithering through the air like oil on water. “Your stinking souls mean nothing to me.”

  It leans forward, hovering hungrily above them. Its rotten breath chills their skin.

  “The boy—give him to me. His spirit is tainted by the great Carrion Flower Devil.”

  Its lipless mouth stretches into a grotesque grin.

  “Let me devour him.”

  Ratih clutches the boy tighter, whispering a silent prayer.

  Barja, his heart pounding, stares into the entity’s soulless gaze.

  He understands now.

  This boy is not just a victim. He is a beacon for things that should not exist in this world.

  And as the realization sinks in, so does something else—

  A terrible temptation.

  If they let go of the boy… if they give him up…

  Would the horrors stop?

  Would this malevolent spirit leave them alone?

  Would they be saved?

  A lump lodges in Barja’s throat. His fingers tremble.

  And then, barely above a whisper—

  “Dear… let the kid go.”

  Both Ratih and Adanu Raksa freeze.

  But the malevolent spirit grins, her hollow eyes gleaming with twisted amusement.

  She could end this in an instant. A single touch, and the two elders would crumble like dry leaves.

  But that would be too easy. She wants to savor this.

  So instead, she plays a crueler game.

  “You know…” her voice slithers through the air, smooth yet grating, like metal scraping against bone. “I could just kill you both.” She tilts her head, feigning thoughtfulness. “But I would much prefer if you—hand him over willingly.”

  The spirit leans closer, her grin widening, sharp and predatory.

  “Offer me the boy… and I promise, I swear on the old gods—I will let you walk away unscathed.”

  Barja grips Adanu Raksa’s wrist.

  But Ratih clutches the kid tighter, her trembling hands cradling his small frame, shielding him from the monster before them. Her heart pounds, but she does not waver.

  “No! You’ll have to kill me first!”

  Barja stiffens. His throat tightens. “Ratih, what are you saying?!” His voice is raw with desperation. “There’s nothing we can do to protect him! Don’t you see what’s outside? The demons, the undead—they’ll rip us apart! This is our only way out!”

  The front door still hangs open. Outside, the undead stand in restless formation, their movements twitchy and wild.

  But a single glare from the terrifying spirit inside is enough to halt them in place—silencing their hunger, suppressing their madness.

  The spirit smirks, her tone dripping with mockery.

  “I’m holding them back… but how long do you think that will last?”