As soon as Elan saw his father gasping for air, suspended in the air by that unseen, deadly force, his heart pounded with fury.

Every instinct told him to run, to rush forward without thinking of danger.

Rage burned in his eyes, hot and bright. His only thought was clear and simple: he had to get inside the large, two-story wooden house.

There, he would confront the man responsible for all this misery. His father, his family, and these innocent people were suffering because of that madman’s dark magic.

Without pausing a moment longer, Elan sprinted toward the looming house. The wooden structure looked old and worn, its boards creaking in the gentle morning breeze.

He had seen it many times before, but today it was the stage for something terrible.

But just as Elan neared the entrance, something unexpected happened. In the blink of an eye, his body jerked violently upward.

It was as if an invisible force had seized him, lifting him off the ground. His feet, which had been pounding the earth just moments earlier, now left the solid ground behind.

His arms flailed helplessly, and a strangled gasp burst from his lips. It was not the sound of anger or determination now—it was the sound of shock and fear.

Elan’s throat felt as if it were being squeezed by an unseen hand. His face flushed a deep red almost instantly, and his eyes grew wide with sheer panic.

In a matter of seconds, he found himself hanging in mid-air right beside his father, who was also trapped by the same mysterious force.

The sight was heartbreaking: both father and son, suspended helplessly, their struggles silent but desperate.

Desperation took over Elan as he flailed his fingers at his neck, clawing at the invisible grip.

He pulled and scratched, trying with all his might to free himself from this cruel, unseen hold. But it was useless.

The grip was as strong as iron, tightening mercilessly just as it had done to poor Bryan earlier. It squeezed without care, leaving Elan to struggle in the air, his efforts growing weaker by the second.

A few steps behind them stood Samuel. Samuel’s eyes were wide with terror as he watched the horror unfold before him. His entire body trembled, and his breathing turned ragged as fear gripped him.

Samuel had seen many strange things in his life, but nothing like this. His heart hammered in his chest as he witnessed two men, his own comrades, being yanked into the air as though they were nothing more than rag dolls.

Before Samuel could even react, the invisible force reached out once more.

Without warning, he too was yanked upward. His feet left the ground as if he were being pulled by an unseen magnet, and his throat constricted painfully.

He tried to cry out, but the force cut his breath short. His limbs jerked as he struggled against the relentless pull, his face contorting in pain.

In a terrible instant, three men now hung in the air—father, son, and Samuel—all suffocating under this merciless power. Their bodies twitched and writhed, each one fighting desperately for a chance to breathe again.

At that moment, Adam’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword. His grip tightened around the familiar handle, the cold metal a small comfort against the chaos around him.

He was ready to draw his blade and fight, to end the terror that had taken hold of this people.

When suddenly, he felt it—a presence. It was not a sound, nor a visible shape, but a feeling that crept up his spine like a warning. Someone, or something, was behind him.

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Adam’s sharp instincts, honed by years of danger, screamed at him. In a split second, he spun around, his eyes scanning the empty village. And then he saw them.

Three figures, moving as silently as shadows, lunged suddenly toward Sophia. They were astonishingly fast—almost too fast for any normal human.

Their bodies moved with an eerie fluidity, as if they were gliding rather than walking.

Their feet barely made a sound on the hard,dart ground of the village street. In mid-air, with weapons raised high, they advanced with clear intent: to strike and harm.

Adam reacted without hesitation. Every second counted in moments like these.

Without a second thought, he reached out, seizing Sophia’s shoulder firmly by the fabric of her cloak, and yanked her close to him.

His grip was tight, filled with the protective force of a man who would risk everything for those he loved. He knew that if he did not act now, Sophia could be caught unawares by these attackers.

Just as Adam pulled her to safety, a sudden, sharp sound shattered the brief silence.

THWACK!

The three attackers slammed their wooden staffs forcefully against the ground in the very spot where Sophia had been standing only moments before.

The sound was heavy—a dull echo that reverberated along the empty street and sent a chill through everyone present.

Sophia’s breath caught in her throat as she stumbled against Adam’s chest. Shock and confusion filled her eyes.

For a moment, she could only stare at the scene unfolding before her, unable to understand what had just happened.

Slowly, as she gathered her senses, she turned her gaze toward the attackers. Her face shifted from confusion to deep disbelief.

Looking closely at the three men, she noted that they wore loose, worn-out leather clothing. Their faces were gaunt, and their movements stiff and almost unnatural.

But what caught her attention most were their eyes. Each one of them had a haunting, luminous green glow that burned in the dim light.

The eerie light in their eyes was unlike anything she had ever seen before, and it filled her with dread.

Adam’s eyes narrowed as he quickly took in every detail. 'Villagers?' he thought.

The realization struck him like a blow. These were not strangers or bandits from another land—they were the very people of this village.

But then a question burned in his mind: 'why were his own people attacking them? Had they been bewitched, or were they under some dark spell?'

Before Adam could process the situation any further, more movement rippled from the house on his left. Out of the doorway, three more figures sprang into view.

They moved with the same strange, unnatural fluidity as the first group, but there was a difference this time.

These men were not holding staffs. Instead, they carried farming tools.

One wielded a rusty sickle, another clutched a wooden pitchfork, and the third carried a sharp metal spade.

Their faces were grim and determined, and they seemed to be aiming their crude weapons directly at Adam’s head.

The moment Adam saw the second wave of attackers, he acted on pure, split-second instinct.

One of the men from the farming group was already mid-swing, his rusty tool raised high. It was aimed straight at Adam’s skull—a blow that could have ended him in a single strike.

In that heartbeat, Adam raised his left leg in a swift and controlled motion.

With precision born of many battles fought, he drove his foot straight into the attacker’s gut.

THUD!

The force of the kick was enough to shock the man completely.

The attacker let out a choked gasp as the blow sent him flying backward. His body hurtled through the air and crashed into the very house he had leapt out of just moments ago.

The impact was so strong that wood splintered around him, and he disappeared into the dark interior of the building.

Adam, however, could not afford even a moment of relief. He quickly turned his head, scanning the village street and the surrounding area.

More people were emerging from their homes, one by one, as if drawn by the chaos.

Dozens of them now appeared, all moving in that same unnatural way.

They wore the same tattered leather clothing as the first group, and each one had that same eerie green glow in their eyes.

A sinking, heavy realization settled in Adam’s chest. These were his people—but something was terribly wrong. 'They looked as if they were under a terrible spell, hypnotized or worse. Had someone performed a dark experiment on them, or were they victims of some cursed magic?'

As his mind raced through all the possible explanations, a sound suddenly snapped his focus away from the approaching crowd.

It was a strangled, desperate noise coming from behind him—a sound that carried deep pain and urgency. Adam spun around, his eyes searching in alarm, until they landed on Bryan.

There, hanging in mid-air not far from where they had all been fighting, Bryan’s face was a picture of terror. His skin had turned completely pale, as if all the color had drained away.

The light in his eyes, once so full of life and determination, was now dimming. His body twitched weakly, suspended by that same cruel force, and his lips moved as if trying to call out for help.

But no sound came out. Bryan was suffocating, his life slowly being squeezed away by the relentless power that held him.

The sight of Bryan’s suffering made Adam’s heart clench in despair and anger.

As the scene unfolded—a mix of rage, fear, and hopelessness—the empty village seemed to hold its breath.

In that tense moment, Adam tightened his hold on his sword, knowing that he had to act before it was too late.