The fog thickened with every passing moment, wrapping around the cemetery like a living entity. Heavy and sticky, it hovered just above the ground, blurring the outlines of tombstones and creating unsettling shadows. The air was saturated with moisture and the scent of damp earth, while the deep silence made even the faintest rustle echo throughout the entire necropolis.

Cornelius walked slowly, in silence, beside Matthew. The priest seemed to know every tombstone, every cross, and every path winding through this place. His face was stern and unwavering, and his eyes constantly searched for something. Cornelius felt strange. Maybe it was the fog, maybe it was the place itself, but something deep inside him told him they weren’t alone.

And then, a scream rang out.

“Oh fuck, the devil!!”

Isaac.

Without a second thought, Cornelius and Matthew rushed toward the source of the noise. Pushing through the thickening fog, they saw Isaac and Lucy standing frozen in place—and a little further ahead...

Something had crawled out of a grave. Something that had once been human. The corpse was draped in tattered remnants of clothing, its skin cracked in places, revealing patches of rotting flesh. Its eyes were clouded, and its lips moved in an eerie, trembling manner, as if trying to speak, but incapable of producing any sound.

Suddenly, without warning, the corpse lunged at Sister Anastasia.

The nun froze for only a fraction of a second, but that was enough for the creature to reach her. Matthew, however, reacted instantly—delivering a powerful kick that knocked the corpse to the ground. He then knelt beside it and pressed his hand against its forehead.

He whispered something under his breath, and the body convulsed violently. The corpse trembled for a moment—then went still.

Isaac stared at the scene, mouth agape.

“What the…?”

“Exorcism,” Matthew explained curtly as he stood and dusted off his hands.

“That was… sick,” Isaac groaned, clutching his head.

Matthew gave them all a harsh look.

“They’re waking up earlier than usual this year. You’re not ready to be wandering around here,” he said coldly. “You have no business being here. If you try to interfere, you’ll only be in our way. Go back to the parish house.”

“But we can help!” Lucy protested.

“No,” Matthew cut her off. “You’re leaving.”

Anastasia nodded and gestured for them to move. Lucy shot the priest a look of irritation but ultimately said nothing more. Cornelius walked in silence, while Isaac followed, still pale and visibly shaken.

As they left the cemetery, Cornelius couldn’t stop thinking about what he had just witnessed. It was impossible. The dead shouldn’t rise from their graves. It didn’t make sense.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something between the trees.

A figure.

Quick, almost ghostly.

Before he could get a better look, it vanished.

“Did you see that?” he asked, but Isaac and Lucy just looked at him, puzzled.

“See what?” Lucy replied.

Cornelius furrowed his brows. He was sure he had seen someone.

When they reached the parish house, Anastasia led them inside before immediately returning to the cemetery. Inside, they were greeted by a sleepy Simon, who rubbed his eyes and looked at them drowsily.

“You’re back already?”

Isaac immediately stepped toward him, visibly shaken.

“I need psychological help. Right now.”

Simon sighed.

“We’ll deal with it in the morning. Go to sleep.”

“What?! You said you’d help us whenever we needed it!” Isaac protested.

Simon rolled his eyes.

“Fine, fine. Sit down.”

Cornelius said nothing as he climbed up to the attic. He lay down in his sleeping bag but had no intention of sleeping.

He was certain that the figure he had seen was responsible for what had happened at the cemetery. This was all part of some scheme. Once Lucy had fallen asleep, he quietly slipped out of the house and headed back toward the forest.

He hadn’t gone far when two boys blocked his path.

image [https://i.postimg.cc/jqBWCP2H/475184398-1317906192581334-6752924931039650517-n.jpg]

They looked about 14 or 15 years old. They were... beautiful. Almost unnaturally so. Their skin was smooth, their eyes large and hypnotic.

“The Master wants you to belong to him,” one of them said.

Cornelius didn’t have time to react before they both lunged at him.

Without hesitation, he immediately created distance and summoned his weapon. He aimed at one of the boys’ heads. A shot rang out.

The bullet went straight through.

The boy stopped.

And then... he started moving again.

“How...?” Cornelius couldn’t believe his eyes.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The second boy tried to grab him from behind, but Cornelius struck him with the back of his sniper rifle. The boy fell—and suddenly, his nose fell off.

He froze in place.

Meanwhile, the other one, still with a hole in his head, began to laugh.

“You’re falling apart...” he whispered. “The Master will replace you soon.”

With those words, they both retreated into the darkness.

Cornelius stood there, stunned.

This couldn’t be real.

They...

They weren’t human.

Clenching his fists, he ran toward the cemetery.

When he arrived, he saw Matthew and Anastasia performing an exorcism over one of the bodies.

Matthew turned to him with a stern expression.

“What are you doing here?!”

Cornelius took a deep breath.

"Something attacked me in the forest. Two boys. They said, ‘The Master wants me to belong to him.’ And then… they… they weren’t human."

Matthew stiffened.

"That’s impossible. No one left the cemetery!"

"Admit it, this is all some kind of joke. Haha…! You almost convinced me that ghosts exist."

Suddenly, the air was pierced by a shrill, disgusting cackle.

A figure emerged from the fog.

Swollen, grotesque. Its skin was rough, its face covered in pulsating blisters filled with eyes, and its wide mouth stretched into a grotesque grin.

"Hehe… Welcome, I’m Crock," it said, pointing at Cornelius. "Cornelius, sweetheart, soon you will be MINE!!!"

Darkness seemed to thicken around it.

Cornelius stiffened. His heartbeat quickened, but he didn’t let his panic show. His hand involuntarily clenched around his spectral sniper rifle, his finger twitching on the trigger.

"What?" he whispered through clenched teeth.

He felt the icy touch of fear creeping under his skin, but he forced himself to keep a calm expression.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

Crock tilted his head, and one of the eyes within the blisters focused intensely on him.

"Oh, sweetheart… I just want you to belong to me."

Cornelius felt an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

"Disgusting…" he muttered, bringing his weapon closer to his eye, ready to shoot.

Crock laughed, as if Cornelius’s reaction pleased him.

Matthew, who had been observing the situation with cold detachment, finally took a step forward. He stood motionless, staring at the creature.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The man licked his cracked lips, grinning widely. His body pulsed slightly, as if something inside him was constantly shifting.

"Ah, little priest… you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this day."

image [https://i.postimg.cc/gkRxhjLf/475659094-1142324687430825-1607714864459107149-n.jpg]

Matthew had no intention of prolonging the conversation. He tightened his grip on the chainsaw handle and started the engine. The metal blade roared through the air, slicing through the silence of the night. Without hesitation, he lunged at the creature, cutting straight into its stomach.

Instead of blood, a thick, green dust oozed from the wound.

It resembled mold, and the moment it made contact with the air, it began to spread throughout the area.

Matthew leaped back at the last second, covering his mouth with his sleeve.

"Don’t breathe it in, Cornelius!" he warned, but it was already too late.

The dust engulfed the entire cemetery. Visibility dropped to almost zero, and the putrid stench of mold burned their nostrils, making them nauseous.

Cornelius, who had been aiming his sniper rifle at the creature, suddenly felt his legs go numb.

"What the…"

At that moment, Matthew realized someone was missing.

"Where is Anastasia?!"

Matthew quickly looked around, but the nun was nowhere to be seen.

"I don’t like this!" Cornelius narrowed his eyes, keeping his weapon raised.

Their troubles were only beginning. As the dust cloaked the cemetery, hands began to emerge from the graves. They tore through the damp earth, clawing their way out in agony until their owners finally rose from the dead.

The corpses were in various states of decay. Some still had patches of skin, while others were nearly bare skeletons, but they all moved with a singular purpose—they were hunting for victims.

Matthew cursed under his breath.

"Well, we’re screwed."

Suddenly, Cornelius saw a flash of white energy cutting through the fog right in front of him.

It was a sword.

A massive claymore sliced through the air, cleaving one of the approaching corpses in half.

Isaac.

Behind him stood Lucy, her hands in her pockets as if she had just gone out for a casual stroll. And next to them…

"Psychological support has arrived!" Simon called out, raising a hand in greeting.

"What are you guys doing here?!" Matthew growled.

Lucy shrugged.

"Cornelius decided to play solo hero, so we followed him."

"We couldn’t just leave him." Isaac lowered his sword, flashing Matthew a confident smile.

The priest looked at them, gritting his teeth.

"Fine. Handle the corpses. I’m going to find Anastasia."

Lucy, Isaac, Cornelius, and Simon were left alone with the horde of the undead.

At the forefront stood the two boys Cornelius had met earlier in the forest.

"Don’t forget—the rest are disposable. Cornelius must survive."

"I know, I know…" the second boy replied, adjusting his decaying face.

Cornelius grimaced, feeling an icy shiver crawl up his spine.

"Damn it."

There was no time to think. They had to fight.

Meanwhile, Matthew moved quickly, ignoring the rancid dust in the air. He had a bad feeling—something was pulling him toward the heart of the cemetery, toward the mausoleum.

He hoped he was wrong.

But as soon as he crossed the stone threshold and descended the narrow, damp steps, he saw her.

Sister Anastasia stood in the middle of the underground crypt, pale and trembling.

"Father Matthew…" she rasped. "It’s good that you’re here… You arrived just in time."

Matthew narrowed his eyes.

"Just in time for what?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement.

At the other end of the crypt stood Crock.

But he was no longer the swollen monster. Now, he looked like a shadow of his former self—anorexically thin, his skin like parchment, and his long, bony fingers trembling as if they could barely support his body.

Anastasia shuddered, staring at him with terrified eyes.

"He’s here… he…"

Matthew looked at her blankly.

"Who are you?"

Anastasia froze.

"Don’t think you can fool me. What have you done with Anastasia’s soul?!"

The nun suddenly stopped shaking. Her head tilted slightly to the side, and her lips stretched into an unnatural, wide grin.

Bones cracked as her head twisted 180 degrees.

For a moment, there was silence.

And then she started laughing.

Matthew raised his chainsaw and revved the engine.

"May God have mercy on your soul… because I won’t."