Chapter 64: Lost Soul
Outside the ancient house, the crowd of spectators had swelled, their murmurs a low hum against the backdrop of the trembling structure.
The air was thick with anticipation and dread, as if the house itself were a living entity, pulsing with secrets no one dared to voice.
he two entrant guards, now joined by reinforcements, stood at the forefront, their hands resting on their weapons, eyes scanning the building for any sign of change. No one had entered since the initial expulsion of the visitors, and the realization had settled in: the house was sealed, its doors unyielding to any who tried to breach them.
The leader of the tourism site, a grizzled man named Captain Torren, stood apart from the group, his weathered face etched with concern as his mind churned with possibilities. "It’s either that someone is still inside, triggering some hidden condition," he said, his voice low, "or the house itself is reacting to something we don’t understand. Either way, I want to know everything. Every change, every sound, every whisper from that damned place, I want it reported immediately. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" came the unified response from a group of thirty subordinates, their ranks varying from seasoned veterans to wide-eyed recruits.
They fanned out, some setting up observation posts, others consulting arcane devices to monitor the house’s energy. Torren cast one last glance at the vibrating structure, its weathered facade seeming to mock their efforts.
’It has been like that for three days now.’ The leader muttered under his breath before turning to walk away.
...
Inside the house, Baines stood on the first floor, his breath steady despite the relentless assault on his mind and soul. The spirits’ memory attacks, once a disorienting torment, had lost their edge. He had learned to navigate them, closing his eyes the moment the visions began and willing himself back to the present.
The technique Astral Fang had proven effective against the spirits, its ethereal energy slicing through their intangible forms. But the ghosts were another matter. Their attacks were more insidious, targeting his very essence, and Baines had begun to notice something new in their movements.
"What is this?" he whispered, narrowing his eyes as he studied the ghosts. Their forms flickered in the dim light, their outlines jagged and unstable. As he focused, he saw faint lines of energy threading through their movements, patterns that seemed deliberate, almost ritualistic.