The town was called Drevos Hollow.
Once.
The rusted sign that used to bear its name now lay face-down in the weeds beside the road, half-buried beneath layers of ash and bone-dry soil. The wind rolled through its crooked houses like a whisper lost in time, dragging the scent of mildew and old secrets behind it.
Pedro Pao stood at the edge of the old path, his coat snapping in the breeze. It was too big for him, frayed at the cuffs and slashed in several places. The long fabric barely concealed the assortment of tools hanging from his belt—threads, rods, iron cuffs, flasks. Every piece carried the scars of past exorcisms. Every piece told a story of survival.
Sixteen. Brown curls. Tall. A smirk like he didn't give a damn about the world but eyes that said he understood it better than most. Pedro wasn't a soldier or a priest. He was something in between—a ghost of an old profession. A survivor of an old war.
And the last of the Pao Family.
[MISSION CLASSIFICATION: RECON-EXORCISM]
Target: Category III Demonic Manifestation
Town Status: Communication Severed – 3 weeks
Location: Drevos Hollow
Risk Level: Minimal
Contract Source: Church Bounty Ledger, Red Seal
Payout: One silver seal
Objective: Identify and purge minor demonic presence. Avoid unnecessary confrontation. Do not invoke divine intervention without cause.
He passed by the town well, its stone rim cracked and dry. The bucket was gone, and the rope had frayed into useless strands. The homes surrounding the chapel had windows boarded up with planks that bore prayer carvings—rushed ones, shallow and desperate.
"Someone tried to hold the line," Pedro muttered, his fingers brushing a broken prayer charm nailed to a doorframe.
But something stronger had passed through Drevos Hollow.
He approached the chapel. It stood at the heart of the town like a skeleton temple, its once-white facade scorched and graying. The cross above the door had been inverted and fused in place by some foul heat.
Pedro smirked.
"You'd think they'd at least be creative with their blasphemy."
He tapped his walking stick—a silver-tipped rod etched with sigils—against the chapel's doorframe. It pulsed faintly green. Safe.
He stepped inside.
The stink hit first. Rot and sulfur. Moldy incense. Sweat-slick fear.
The pews were mostly intact, though smeared with dark stains. The altar had collapsed into rubble, and behind it stood a shattered statue of a winged figure—headless, one wing melted down its back.
A single figure knelt before the wreckage, whispering in a language no human had ever spoken.
Pedro didn't flinch.
"You the priest?" he asked lazily.
No answer. The figure trembled.
Pedro let out a breath. His fingers slid into his coat and drew out a thin silver thread.
Law of Severance: Ready.
The figure twitched. Then turned.
Black, lidless eyes. A tongue too long. The skin bloated, pale, marked by spiraling glyphs that pulsed like veins.
"So… hungry…" the thing hissed.
"Yeah, that's about what I expected."
It lunged. Pedro stepped aside and flicked the silver thread through the air—a whip-thin slice of light.
SHIKT!
The demon howled as part of its spiritual mass was carved away, crashing against a cracked pew.
Pedro circled it casually, his boots crunching over broken glass and bone.
"Category III confirmed: Glutton Spawn. Guess that explains the missing villagers."
[SKILL: LAW OF DOMAIN MAPPING]
Pedro dropped to a knee and traced a sigil into the dust with his finger—a four-pointed star wrapped in a double ring.
The ground pulsed. A field of perception rippled outward from him, ghostlike. It painted the chapel in hues of corruption and residue.
The creature was a splinter—an infection. But deeper beneath the floor…
"There's something else here."
The Glutton Spawn staggered upright. Its host body was failing, muscles twitching as the parasite tried to maintain control. Pedro didn't hesitate—he popped open a brass device on his wrist.
A low-frequency hum filled the air—off-key, metallic, dissonant.
The demon convulsed.
Law of Voice Echo: Harmonic Interference.
Pedro approached, spinning a copper disk in his hand that amplified the vibration.
The spawn shrieked again before crumpling, its black ichor sizzling against the stone.
Pedro moved to the altar and cleared away rubble, revealing a trapdoor warped with age. He forced it open, revealing stone beneath—and on the stone…
A sigil. Unlike any he'd seen in months.
Seven mouths. A coiled serpent. A broken crown.
"That's not Gluttony…"
He touched it—and immediately recoiled.
Whispers. Cloaked figures. A cracked mirror. A voice dripping with jealousy.
"I see what the others cannot. I see what should be mine…"
Pedro gritted his teeth and snapped back.
"Envy."
Not the Monarch himself. But a trace. A mark. The kind of sigil only a herald would leave behind.
He stared for a long moment, a strange emotion rising in his chest—not fear.
Excitement.
For the first time since the massacre, he had a trail.
The chapel doors burst open behind him.
A girl stood in the entryway, spear in hand. Short black hair, two-colored eyes—hazel and sharp electric blue. She wore Church-standard exorcist armor under a torn coat that bore a sigil Pedro didn't recognize.
She pointed her weapon.
"Step away from the altar!"
Pedro turned slowly, raising one brow.
"You're late. Town's already ruined. Demon's dead. I didn't even break a sweat."
"You defiled a sacred space. Identify yourself."
"Pedro. Pao. You're welcome."
She didn't smile.
She lunged.
The spear cut a flash of silver through the air. Pedro ducked, spun, and flicked a charm from his coat. It clanged against the ground and exploded in a burst of holy smoke.
"Jumpy, aren't you?"
"Rogue exorcists are enemies of the Church!" she shouted, slicing through the smoke.
Pedro weaved between pews, dodging and countering with silver-thread traps. Her spear brushed his sleeve once—left a burn mark.
Finally, he leapt over the altar and pointed down.
"You want to explain this, Sister Holy-Stab?"
She paused. Her eyes landed on the sigil.
Silence.
Pedro watched her face shift from suspicion to confusion. Then—fear.
"…Envy?"
Pedro nodded grimly.
"Looks like your 'minor case' just became a capital threat."
They stood in silence for a beat.
Then she lowered her spear.
"Sister Mara. Third Division."
Pedro mock-saluted. "Nice to meet you. Try not to stab me next time."
She examined the sigil more closely, tracing it with her glove. "This is fresh. Envy's herald must've passed through within the last week."
Pedro crossed his arms. "Then I'm closer than I thought."
"To what?"
"To killing the bastard."
Mara frowned. "You really think you can take on one of the Devil Monarchs?"
Pedro's eyes hardened.
"I don't think. I know."
He turned and walked out of Drevos Hollow's cursed chapel, back into the fog-drenched streets.
Behind him, the sigil on the altar pulsed once more—faint green fire licking the air, whispering promises of envy, corruption, and wrath yet to come.