Dark leather boots echoed against the pavement tiles, the cold night wind slipping through the hoodie sleeves and stealing away hard-earned warmth.
Liang pulled a pair of sunglasses and a mask, purchased from a flea market, out of his pocket and donned them. Standing at the base of an old apartment building, he looked up. The once-red brick walls were weathered and peeling, the ivy crawling up the sides long dead, adding an eerie chill to the surroundings.
Checking the address on his phone, he stepped through the building's entrance.
The hallway reeked of mold, its corners piled with large black garbage bags. The walls, painted with cheap white paint, failed to hide the soot stains left from a devastating fire years ago.
The fluorescent lights flickered with a ghostly glow. Liang pulled his hood tighter, rubbed his hands together, and began climbing the narrow staircase.
This building had once been part of a high-end residential area. According to online records, it had witnessed the tenure of ten Gotham mayors and the establishment of the New City District. However, a fire over a decade ago claimed several lives, irreversibly reducing the building to a shadow of its former glory, now buried in the ruins of history.
Finally, he reached the seventh floor, the fourth door on the left.
Knocking on the door, he heard hurried footsteps from within.
"Coming."
The door opened a crack, revealing a middle-aged couple. Both looked gaunt, with sunken eyes and dark circles, their faces etched with exhaustion from some unrelenting torment.
The woman fidgeted with the hem of her shirt and nervously asked, "Are you the medium?"
Two days ago, the couple had learned about the existence of a medium through an acquaintance and had emailed Liang, hoping he could resolve an incident involving a spirit.
"Technically speaking, I'm not exactly a medium," Liang said, adjusting his sunglasses. "The term 'medium' dates back to the early days of human civilization—shamans, witch doctors, those who claimed to connect with spirits, gods, and ghosts. I'm different. Summoning spirits isn't my specialty, but banishing or slaying them? That I can do."
The couple exchanged a bewildered glance, unsure how to react. Liang coughed lightly, and they quickly opened the door wider to let him in.
The moment Liang entered, he caught a whiff of something odd in the air—a charred, acrid smell, like burnt wood mixed with a faintly sweet, meaty undertone.
The scent of roasted flesh. A lingering soul from a fire?
The furnishings were modest. A retro-style refrigerator, a threadbare carpet, and a bulky old television all attested to the family's financial struggles.
"Judging by the family portrait on the table, the one being haunted is probably a seven- or eight-year-old boy. Is he in the bedroom?"
The couple froze, startled. "You mean Ben? Yes, he's in the bedroom."
"Open the door."
The man hesitated, swallowing hard. "Uh, shouldn't you prepare some kind of ritual first?"
"Rituals like a banishment circle?" Liang made a triangular gesture with his hands. "I need to assess the situation first to know what I'm dealing with."
Reluctantly, the man pulled a brass key from his pocket, took a deep breath, and inserted it into the lock. "Ben's condition is... unusual. Please be prepared."
He opened the door just a crack, allowing Liang to peek inside.
The bedroom was carefully decorated, evident from the fresh cartoon posters on the walls and the piles of stuffed animals. However, the window was completely boarded up with wooden planks, letting no light in.
As for the boy...
Liang saw him. The child's once-golden locks had almost entirely fallen out, leaving behind a cracked, parched scalp. His checkered shirt was shredded into ragged strips hanging loosely from his body.
His distended abdomen swelled and contracted unnaturally, as if some serpent-like creature writhed beneath his skin.
Iron shackles bound the boy's ankles, chains as thick as fingers connecting him to the bed frame.
The boy crouched in the corner, clinging to the ceiling and walls like a lizard. Detecting the light, his head twisted 180 degrees, revealing eyes that were mostly white, with only a tiny, pinprick black pupil staring at Liang.
"ROAR!"
The boy emitted a guttural growl, pushing off the ceiling to pounce. Just as his fingertips were about to reach Liang, the chains yanked him back, leaving him to howl and thrash in frustration before retreating to the shadows.
Liang thoughtfully signaled for the man to close the door. "This is a severe case of spiritual possession. Do you remember when it started?"
"Around six months ago," the man replied, holding his sobbing wife. "Ben fell off the bed while playing. Ever since, he's had a persistent fever that no hospital could diagnose.
"About a month ago, he started sleepwalking, mumbling incoherently, avoiding sunlight, and self-harming with scissors and other objects. We had no choice but to confine him in the room.
"We've sought help from churches, mediums, and other spiritual experts, but none of them could help."
"I see." Liang nodded. "I'll go in and kill the spirit. If you hear anything unusual, don't be alarmed."
"Kill?!"
The couple exchanged horrified glances. Every medium they'd consulted had tried coaxing the spirit to leave with prayers or rituals. None had ever resorted to outright destruction.
The woman anxiously asked, "Will killing the spirit hurt Ben?"
"No," Liang said coolly. "When he wakes up, it'll feel like a bad dream—except he'll have missed half a semester of school."
He motioned for the man to unlock the door. The man hesitated, nervously asking, "How will you do it? With a Bible? Holy salt?"
"Those are too tame." Liang headed to the kitchen, retrieving a long carving knife from the cutlery drawer. He weighed it in his hand before flipping it with a flourish.
"Medium, please don't act rashly!" The man stepped between Liang and the door, cold sweat dripping from his brow.
"Relax. I'm a professional."
Brushing the couple aside, Liang kicked the wooden door open, leaped to the ceiling, grabbed the boy by the neck, and slammed him onto the bed.
"Leave this body," Liang ordered, pressing the blade to the boy's carotid artery.
The boy's lips stretched into a grotesque grin, nearly reaching his ears. He laughed maniacally. "Not... a... chance."
"Then die."