Jusof stands beside the table with parchment paper in his hand. The flickering light of the lamp cast long shadows across the symbols, making them seem alive. Yahya's eyes were fixed on them,
"Are you sure about this?" Adam asked, his voice low and wary as he paced behind them, eyes darting to the dark corners of the room. He was trying to stay calm, but even with his experience in the field he could not stay still like a storm waiting to break.
Jusof didn't answer immediately. His fingers trembled slightly as he turned a page in the ancient text before him, studying the instructions. "We have no other choice. The runes on Evelyn's belt and Baker's hand are bound to a source. This is the fastest method. More will die if we can't find and sever the connection."
Yahya exhaled slowly, his mind racing. He hadn't signed up for this kind of fight when he joined the Ninth Division. But here he was, staring down something that made the worst nightmares of his war days seem tame. Supernatural forces. Rituals that twisted life and death itself. And now, it was his turn to be part of it.
Yahya had no experience with these kinds of rituals, with the power of runes and symbols. But if they could use his body to trace the source, he'd do it. There was no going back.
"Do you think this will work? The captain gave his go-ahead but I still don't think this is a good idea" Adam's question sliced through the silence. He stopped pacing and met Yahya's eyes, concern shadowing his features.
"There may be another way but we have no time" Yahya replied, his voice flat but resolute. "We do this now."
Adam nodded and turned to his female colleague who was facing the wall cause she was to embarrassed to see a man half-naked in the centre of the room.
"Farah, try to find a powerful spirit to possess and beat the hell out of anything that try to come here"
Farah replied with athumbs out a thumbs up.
Jusof glanced up from his text, his expression softening for a moment. "I'll guide you through it, Yahya. It's dangerous, but it's the only way we can track the ritual back to its source."
Yahya nodded once, his face stern as he stepped forward. He sits down on the cold floor. The air seemed to grow heavier, thick with a strange energy that made the hairs on his neck stand up.
Jusof stepped closer, holding a small vial of ink.. He dipped a thin brush into the dark liquid, then turned to Yahya. "We'll need to inscribe the runes on your skin. Directly. It's the only way to activate them properly. The ink will bond to your flesh, allowing us to trace the pattern."
Yahya's throat tightened. Just another scar.
"Do it," Yahya said, his voice tight but steady.
Jusof met his gaze one last time, his expression unreadable, and then moved forward. The brush danced across Yahya's skin, the ink cold as it touched his body. The air around them seemed to hum, vibrating with an unseen force as the runes took shape, slowly but surely.
Adam stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching intently. "If this goes wrong, you're the one who's going to have to get us out of here."
"I'm aware," Yahya replied, not taking his eyes off Jusof.
The last rune was finished. Yahya felt a sharp pull deep in his chest, like a tether being anchored to something far away, something ancient and dangerous. The air in the room crackled with a sudden energy as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Jusof stepped back, his face pale. "It's done. Now we wait."
There was too much tension in the room. The runes on Yahya's skin throbbed in tune with his heartbeat as he felt the cold seeping further into his bones. There was an odd feeling that something—no, something more—was observing him. Something was calling to him.
Yahya's vision blurred briefly, and the shadows in the room appeared to shift and stretch. He blinked and shook his head to clear his mind.
Jusof's voice broke through the haze. "Yahya? Are you all right?"
Yahya's hand clenched into a fist, the runes on his skin burning as if alive. "I'm fine. It's just... something's happening."
Adam moved forward, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, something's happening?"
The air surrounding them changed once more, more intensely before Yahya could react. The deep, resonant vibration that appeared to emanate from everywhere in the room intensified into a hum. The walls trembled as though the building's foundations were quivering.
"Get ready," Jusof warned, his voice tight. "This is it. The connection is being made."
Yahya held the belt in his arms and whipped himself on his back. He felt a cooling and warm sensation before being plunged into extreme pain. His eyes flicker between black and white as if fighting to gain consciousness.
Yahya screamed so loudly that it sounded like it was coming from a beast. The room abruptly became dark.
It was completely dark, dense, and pushing down on them like a live thing. A hollow echo echoed around the room as Yahya's cry faded into nothingness. Adam reached out blindly, his pulse pounding as he strained to see. "Yahya? Are you present? His words seemed to vanish into thin air as they were engulfed by the shadows.
Then, dimly, Yahya was illuminated like a ghost by a dull red glow that came from the runes etched on his body. His eyes were wide open as though he could see something outside the room, and his face was twisted with agony. His steps were heavy and shaky as he stumbled forward, moving almost like a puppet. Jusof gripped Adam's shoulder, pulling him back. "Stay back," he warned, his voice a whisper. "The ritual… it's drawing on him. He's crossed into another plane—a shadow of the Hollowing."
Through the fog of pain, Yahya could see shapes emerging from the darkness, ghostly figures drifting in and out of view. They were faces twisted in agony, flickering in and out like dying embers. He tried to focus, but each one slipped from his grasp like smoke, vanishing as quickly as they appeared. They were speaking, whispering, their voices a cacophony of sorrow and despair.
One figure lingered longer than the others—a man with sunken eyes and a face half-decayed, staring at Yahya with an expression of both accusation and pleading. The figure's lips moved, forming a word Yahya could barely decipher: "Find… them…"
Suddenly, the vision shifted, and he was no longer in the dark room of the Ninth Division headquarters. Instead, he found himself standing in a vast, desolate landscape, filled with shadows and jagged shapes jutting from the ground. The air was cold, with an unnatural chill that bit into his skin, and a thick fog hung around him, muffling every sound.
Yahya knew instinctively that he was in the Hollowing, or a twisted fragment of it, pulled here by the ritual's power.
In the distance, he saw faint, flickering lights, like distant fires. They were moving, shifting. As he approached, the lights resolved into shapes—people, their faces drawn and filled with despair, their eyes hollow. They were bound by chains of shadow, etched with runes similar to those that Jusof had inscribed on him. Each of them bore a mark on their hand, the same twisted sigil that Baker had, glowing with a faint, ominous light.
One of the figures looked up, meeting Yahya's gaze with lifeless eyes. It was Evelyn, her face a mask of sorrow and terror. Her voice was faint, as if coming from a great distance. "They're using us… drawing us in. The Circle… they feed on our fears, our regrets. We're trapped here… bound by these marks…"
Yahya tried to speak, but his voice was swallowed by the thick air. He reached for her, but his hand passed through her like mist. The sensation was chilling, like touching something halfway between flesh and memory.
Behind her, more figures appeared—dozens of them, each bearing the mark of the Circle of Sorn, each a soul bound to this fractured realm. They stared at him with hollow eyes, silent pleas for salvation echoing in their gazes. And then he saw another face, one that twisted his stomach with a surge of rage and sorrow: Denavolt.
The apparition's mouth moved, forming words without sound, his hollow eyes fixed on Yahya as if trying to warn him.
The silence was shattered by a loud, bone-chilling voice, echoing from somewhere unseen. "The souls of the broken and the damned… they belong to us. You cannot sever what has already been bound, Detective Kasim."
The ground beneath him trembled as the shadows deepened, swirling into a single, monstrous form—a towering figure cloaked in darkness, wearing an ancient mask etched with runes similar to those carved on his own skin. Its voice was a hiss, like metal scraping against stone. "Leave… or join them, forever."
Yahya felt a surge of defiance. Gritting his teeth, he focused on the marks on his skin, feeling them burn hotter, as though responding to his will. He shouted into the void, "You don't control them. The Circle's hold can be broken. I'll sever every chain."
The figure loomed closer, its face a shifting mask of shadows, and it laughed—a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "You are but one, and the Circle is many. Each soul feeds the Hollowing, bringing us closer to release. You cannot stop us."
But even as the figure threatened him, Yahya could feel the pull on the symbols weakening, as if his resistance had disrupted the connection. He concentrated harder, focusing on the faces he'd seen—Evelyn, Baker, Denavolt. Their chains can be broken.
With a final surge of effort, he forced himself back to the present, feeling his consciousness return to the Ninth Division briefing room.
The darkness receded like a tide, and suddenly he was back, lying on the cold stone floor, breathing hard. Adam was at his side, gripping his shoulder, eyes wide with alarm.
"Yahya! Are you okay?" Adam's voice was tight with worry.
Yahya nodded weakly, still catching his breath. "I saw them… all of them. The Circle's using their fears, their grief. They're trapped, but I think… I think we can break them free."
Jusof's face lit with a glimmer of hope. "If we can disrupt the ritual marks, we might be able to release them from the Circle's control."
Yahya sat up, wincing as the symbols on his skin throbbed with residual heat. "We need to move fast. The Circle is drawing power from each soul they ensnare. If they reach full strength…" He didn't finish the thought, but the implication was clear.
Adam helped him to his feet, his expression a mixture of determination and fear. "Then we go after them. We break every last one of those marks and free the souls they've trapped."
Jusof was already gathering his notes and the necessary supplies, his face set in a grim determination. "The ritual has given us a lead, Kasim. I believe we can trace the origin of the power back to where the Circle performs its rites."
Yahya picked up his coat, slipping it over his aching shoulders. He exchanged a look with Adam and Jusof, feeling the weight of what lay ahead, but also a fierce resolve.
"Then let's finish this," he said, his voice cold and unyielding.