In the silent house, a rather short young man rolled out from under the iron bed.
He looked around with some confusion. "Wasn't I just under the chair? What tricks are these Heretic Faithful playing?"
He drew a black, slender spike from his waist, glanced at the chipped desk cluttered with old stationery, and then his gaze moved ahead, toward the thick cardboard-covered windows and the tightly shut door.
"What is this place? A cheap apartment?"
Disgusted, he covered his nose, then turned back to look under the bed, which was completely empty. He was the only one in the room; his companion who had been hiding under the chair with him had vanished without a trace.
Thump... thump-thump... thump...
At that moment, rhythmic knocking came from behind the closed door.
He frowned slightly, gripped the slender spike in his hand, and carefully walked toward the door. He leaned on the peephole, watching the scene inside.
The narrow, cramped, and deserted corridor appeared before him.
