Beihan tilted his head slightly, looking upwards at Shiller, making fine lines appear on his forehead. Shiller wrote down four words and circled them, just like creating a mind map, with other branches drawn below.
"I don't often venture into the Abyss, so my understanding of them is rudimentary. But as spirits, they are sure to appear in the form they prefer most."
Underneath the four names, Shiller wrote a few words that represented their dressing styles. Beihan leaned over and saw that under the name 'Hunting', was written "black shirt".
"He often attends various social gatherings, trailing his prey from the dance floor to the corridors and washroom stalls. His clothes are often stained with wine, lipstick and blood. Black is the color least likely to show dirt."
Shiller's low voice echoed in the room, and Beihan felt a chill crawl up his spine, starting to understand the horror faced by protagonists in ghost movies.
Then he saw Shiller had written "white shirt" under the word 'art' and explained why.
"If a black base can devour all colours, then white is there for the brightest colours to stand out. When he is working on a soft, passionate material, the marks left on the white shirt become part of the artwork, a memento worth preserving."
When Shiller's gaze fell upon the last two names, his pen paused for a moment before writing "grey scarf" under 'gluttony'.
"He is not a graceful diner, often gorging himself, eating excessively. The large amount of food consumed allows him to quickly restore his strength and energy, preparing for what's to come. He usually carries a grey napkin at the very least, to ensure that soup doesn't drip onto his clothes."
Finally, when it came to 'torturer', Shiller's pen paused unusually long. It was as if he was recalling something, but eventually, he wrote "red coat".
"He is very fond of wearing red clothing; it reminds him of fish that, stripped of their skin, jump uncontrollably when exposed to the air."
The last introduction about the torturer was the shortest, but Shiller's tone and the implication of some of his words sent a shiver down Beihan's spine.
He looked again at the four names on the paper, licked his dry lips, and then asked, "What else? What are their characteristics and weaknesses?"
Shiller shook his head slightly: "As I said, I don't frequent the Abyss. I don't know them well. The only thing I do know is that we should try not to provoke them. Otherwise, you can experience what it's truly like to be a horror movie protagonist."
Beihan's Batman-like intuition reminded him that Shiller was telling the truth. At that time, the shimmer of broken glass flew only a centimeter away from his eye and that moment felt like an eternity.
"Regarding their weaknesses, I can only provide guesses." Shiller first pointed to 'Hunting' and said, "Hunting would only target one prey at a time. Once he sets his sight on someone, he will repeatedly appear in front of him until he finds an opportunity to strike."
Beihan abruptly realized something. The descriptions Shiller gave regarding these morbid personality traits revealed some murky truths. So, by instincts, he said, "From the dance floor to the corridor, and then to the washroom stalls?"
At that moment, Beihan saw his vision sway with dizziness as a hazy light filled his sight. As the light faded, crowds in the ballroom scattered like stars, and his sight locked onto one person.
In his wavering vision, that man's silhouette continuously appeared; leaving the dance floor, greeting people around him, accepting a wine glass from the waiter, standing and chatting with acquaintances, until finally, turning towards the corridor.
Crossing the long corridor where the light dimmed, a figure disappeared into a washroom stall. With a flicker of the light bulb, the young face of Shiller wearing a black shirt was reflected on the mirror.
Beihan suddenly woke up, at last realizing that Shiller wasn't describing concepts, but the past.
And so, the perspective continued.
In his sightline, Beihan saw a massive mural, and when he turned his head, it seemed to be an art studio set up inside a massive warehouse. The massive mural depicted the "Education of Cupid" by French painter François Boucher.
Before Beihan had a chance to think about any potential metaphors in the painting, he saw a huge fish among the cluttered easels. A knife was stuck in the fish's belly, but the blood foam continuously bubbling from its gills indicated it was still alive.
Scaling the fish, opening the cavity, exploring the muscles and bones, blood kept splashing out, going up along the sleeves, leaving blood dots on the shirt.
An intense sense of hunger kicked in, lights in his sightline started to tremble.
The sharp siren sounds got closer and then further away, shouts, curses, and gunshots were incessant.
Beihan found his vision gradually detaching from this body, and then he saw the huge warehouse drenched in blood, and the skinned fish jumping in the distance.
The cops fell in like beans, their arms holding up guns encircled the scene like a gigantic flower—Shiller, who was covered in blood, lay spread out on the floor at the center, his young face showing a joy akin to a newborn's.
Beihan jolted awake, his gaze at Shiller now entirely different. Yet, Shiller was oblivious, still engrossed in discussing the possible weaknesses in these morbid personality traits.
But Beihan wasn't listening anymore.
He took a deep breath and stood up, turning to look at the other door in the office that led to the restroom.
He didn't say anything to Shiller, who had looked up, and went straight to the restroom. He didn't go into the toilet stalls, but suppressed his gagging sounds, opened the faucet, and splashed his face with water.
Beihan straightened up, wiped his face in the mirror, and combed back the wet hair on his forehead.
The overhead light flickered.
The figure of Beihan in the mirror suddenly transformed. He saw Shiller again, but not his younger face.
He had white temples, no glasses, and those grey eyes were absent-minded, looking at Beihan with a faint smile.
Beihan blinked fiercely, and he vanished again.
Just as Beihan was about to speak, the faucet moved suddenly.
With a creak, the faucet was opened, and the flowing water drowned out any noise of speech, while Shiller reappeared in the mirror.
Beihan saw clearly this time, Shiller was wearing a dark blue suit, the burnt orange tie knotted on a Double Windsor, looking solemn and magnificent.
"What you have seen happened genuinely."
His voice was as if ringing beside Beihan's ear, causing him to turn involuntarily, but there was nothing there.
"Who exactly are you?"
"Who exactly is Shiller?"
Beihan hadn't expected him to counter-question, and he, too, had no answer to this question, but he had seen some, seen a part at least.
And so, that answer was almost slipping off his tongue, but he bowed his head and shook it, saying, "You can't create illusions for me."
"You know that was not an illusion."
Beihan bent over the washstand again, panting. What he had seen, heard, and touched in that vision seemed too real.
The dazzling festive lights, the noisy sounds of the crowd, the gasping of a wounded prey and the faint struggle and warmth of the blood...
"Why?" Beihan asked somewhat angrily, "Are you just enjoying all this?!"
"They are my adversaries, but I indeed relish all this."
Beihan slowly closed his eyes, his hands resting on the wash basin began to tremble. For him, this was a real ghost story — there was a group of people in this world who enjoyed, and felt genuinely joyful, about torturing their own kind. They were natural criminals, born killers.
"Who exactly is Shiller?"
The overhead light flickered again, and that deep voice reappeared in Beihan's ear.
The light flickered once again, and the extraordinarily tall figure vanished, with Beihan's face appearing in the mirror.
He was wearing a patient's uniform, forming a stark contrast to that elegant suit, while in the overhead light's illumination, his eyes set deep in his sockets appeared incredibly dark.
"Who exactly is Shiller?" he mumbled to himself.
This time, he saw Shiller, dressed in a splendid suit, appearing behind him in the mirror.
Shiller reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder. Although Beihan hadn't felt any touch, he still felt an unspeakable weight that seemed ready to crush him.
"Answer me, Batman, who is Shiller exactly?"
"He is..." Beihan's gaze began to flicker along with the overhead light. He gasped deeply, and in the end, only a deeply hollow voice reverberated inside the narrow room.
"Shiller is... the Killer Devil."
Batman and Natasha were cleaning the blood on Natasha's arm in the bathroom. Natasha, looking tense, stared at the door and said, "Hurry, he might be coming soon."
She looked down at the wound on her arm, which was injured when they had just come up from the stairwell a few minutes ago, and the window at the end of the corridor exploded.
At that time, they hadn't realized the seriousness of the problem. They thought it was just some ghost playing tricks until they saw the shadow of Shiller on the glass, and at the same time, the blood from Natasha was gone.
What was scarier was that the wound, which was not deep initially, was getting deeper and bloodier, yet not a drop fell to the ground; everything vanished into thin air.
It was as if the clotting function of the platelets had suddenly stopped working. The blood showed no signs of clotting; it just kept flowing out and then disappeared into the air.
It wasn't until Natasha saw on the window of the ward corridor, Shiller, wearing a grey scarf around his neck, kept tearing at Natasha's wound on her arm and all the blood vanished at his fingertips.
Only then did Batman and Natasha realize that Shiller was not wandering aimlessly. They had merely been lucky not to run into Shiller who would target them previously.
The two ran all the way, finally finding bandages for dressing in a prep room ahead. They ran into the washroom and managed to shake off Shiller who had been following them, now preparing to bandage the wound.
Just as Batman finished cleaning the wound and was about to bind the bandage to it, the light overhead flickered twice.
A figure appeared in the mirror over the sink.
Natasha's eyes widened because she was very familiar with this figure. The Shiller in the mirror, wearing a high-necked sweater, with his half-long hair tied behind him, was currently wearing a smirk on his face as he stared at Natasha.