It was the end of summer, and Silas Yang found himself waiting in line for the amusement park's haunted house. Beside him stood his childhood friend, Lisa Rose, and her older sister, Leah—a recent Harvard Medical School graduate. Until recently, Silas had been a software engineer for a Tokyo-based mecha video game. That chapter was over now; he felt no longing or regret—only a quiet contentment for his ordinary life and deep gratitude that his mother and siblings were alive.

Despite the occasional pang of shame—given Lisa's affluent background—Silas had been relying on her generosity for months. He often reassured himself, 'Never take this for granted. I promise I'll repay her someday.' Still, he couldn't quite fathom what she saw in him.

One of his favorite escapes was browsing digital art—a pastime that perhaps resonated with his perpetual feeling of not quite belonging in his own body, or even this world. As he scanned his surroundings, a small gathering at a picnic table caught his eye. In the group, one figure stood apart: a beautiful woman with long, flowing black hair, wearing a black cap, a crisp white shirt, black pants, and—if one squinted—a pair of white sneakers. Though she was surrounded by cosplayers—a common sight on Halloween—Silas couldn't pinpoint the character they were emulating. 'They're good,' he mused. 'Are they recording something for YouTube?'

Yet something about the woman—and the scene—felt different. His intuition, which he sometimes called his Sixth Sense, whispered that these were no ordinary people. Silas had always had a knack for foreseeing outcomes, but today the feeling was both unusually strong and unsettling. He recalled Lisa's half-joking remark that he could earn a living as a fortune teller with his gift—if only it would come on command. Just as he was about to step toward the mysterious woman, Lisa clutched his arm like a leash. His curiosity battled caution: 'What if she, too, was a seer? What if I wasn't as unique as I believed?' A swirl of sadness and intrigue welled within him. Before he could decide, it was their turn to enter the haunted house.

Inside, reality unraveled. One moment, Silas felt the light touch of a delicate hand; the next, he found himself in a gothic city. His last memory before the shift was an unseen arm yanking him behind the curtains.

"So, this city is called Umbraheim—and you're telling me I'm in another world now?" he asked, disoriented.

A fair maiden with blonde hair, luminous green eyes, and a flowing black dress—accentuated by an enigmatic gas mask—nodded. "I am Charlotte Ashford," she announced, her silver pistol, Marine Antoinette, gleaming at her side. "We noticed you were drawn to the Void, as if She were calling your name. While most instinctively avert their gaze from Her presence, we sensed something extraordinary in you. It appears that, once, you were a psychic—an esper—with the resolve to challenge Metadeities."

"This feels like a dream. Are you real?" Silas replied in awe. "You look like a beautifully crafted doll—and you speak so poetically." Impulsively, he reached out to pinch her cheek, but his hand passed right through her.

For a moment, her eyes flickered with something unspoken. "We've heard the words dream and real before—though never addressed to us. Once, we were known as Nightmare Amorphous; later, as Tenebris. Since you've already taken our hand, why not join us on our hunt for the Monkey's Paw and its Fourth Swarm? The artefact is hidden somewhere in this city, and its creator's power interferes with our own. Unsurprisingly, it is drawn to humans. Fear not—we will protect you and return you to the amusement park once our task is complete." With graceful formality, she lifted her dress and bowed.

"Sure. My summer vacation is nearly over, and frankly, I feel adrift even when I return. Maybe I'll find some inspiration here. Despite this world's terrifying facade—and knowing better than to judge a book by its cover—I'd hate to leave you stranded. Although, if you turned out to be an ugly witch who eats babies, that might make parting a bit easier."

"If that were the case, we would have tossed you into a cauldron, stirred you up, and eaten you. But rest assured, we are neither purely evil nor entirely good. Our mission is to hunt down usurping forces—the darkness that dares to eclipse our own. Sometimes, to master our inner shadows, we must hunt the supernatural indiscriminately."

Silas considered her words thoughtfully. "You're dressed in black, yet you carry yourself with an almost saintly air—reminding me of that woman in the black cap earlier. It might sound clichéd, but it's hard to picture you as evil. Humans tend to equate beauty with goodness and ugliness with vice. If you ever decide to become a reaper and end me, I only hope it's quick and painless. Sometimes, I fear living more than I fear pain or death—and other times, I simply don't care."

Together, they wandered through a grimdark city beneath an eternal twilight. Here, the living and the undead went about their daily routines in a macabre harmony. A lich sat on a bench, calmly reading the newspaper, while vampires rode in a cart drawn by pegasi seemingly sculpted from blood. In a shadowed alley, wendigos gnawed on one another. A few of these ghastly figures shot Silas malevolent glances—but when they caught sight of the imposing figure of Nightmare trailing behind him, fear overtook them, and they scattered into the darkness. One trembling wendigo managed to stutter, "L-l-lady Wild Hunt... have mercy upon my wretched soul! I beseech you—spare me, and let not your ravenous hunger claim my flesh!"

With a single fluid motion, Nightmare leveled her hand cannon at the darkness and declared,

"You will continue to spread death and cold among the mundane—it's your nature. One day, whether driven by our random urges or simply for no reason at all, countless of your kind will fall prey to our metapresent hunt. Killing machines exist to slaughter until nothing is left. Cherish the restraint—the pause between our relentless hunts."

No sooner had the last wendigo fled than an Aura of Death surged through the area. In an instant, Silas felt himself sinking into the ground, his body lifeless.

At that very moment, a boy appeared on the scene, his eyes wide as he witnessed Nightmare revive Silas.

"I recognise that power—it's akin to that of the Monkey's Paw," he said urgently. "I don't know who you are, but I could use your help. My name is Morris. I once wielded the Monkey's Paw, and I still feel its pull. I can trace its approximate location. With your power, I can finally rid us of that cursed artefact. Hurry—the Shattered Veil is already on my trail!"

Before Morris could finish his plea, Nightmare fired her silver pistol. Not one, but countless Scream's Forte erupted from it. In an instant, several invisible assassins—beings of various races—materialised around Morris, only to collapse lifelessly. Had Morris not been attuned to death, he might have mistaken their still forms for slumber. Instead, their bodies convulsed like marionettes, aging in reverse until reduced to a single primordial cell—then disintegrating into dust. The swirling dust coalesced into black mists that were absorbed back into Nightmare's being.

"The final piece is in place. It is checkmate," she intoned. "We will come back for you, Silas. You were a brilliant pawn."

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With those words, black mist enveloped both Nightmare and Morris, whisking them away to an unknown destination.

Silas slowly pushed himself away from the crumbling wall of a decrepit building, his hand pressed against his heart. 'No way... did I really die back there?' he wondered. He had triumphed in boxing matches, run marathons with Lisa and Leah, and even rock climbed—each time hyperbolically describing the exhaustion as death, though never in a literal sense. He'd always fancied himself the protagonist of an endless story called life. Opening and closing his palm, he thought, 'Well, I'm technically still alive. I didn't die—so it cancels out.'

Rising, he wandered the desolate city alone. High above, a giant black vulture circled him. At first, its presence startled him, but he soon realised that the creature—likely connected to Nightmare—appeared intent on guarding him. Even the denizens of Umbraheim seemed to avoid crossing his path.

Needing a moment to collect his thoughts, Silas sank onto a bench fashioned from bones and pulled out his Samsung Galaxy. In an effort to distract himself from the creeping dread, he meticulously adjusted his phone's security settings:

* Brightness: 30%

* Auto-scan: daily—morning or night?

* Weekly reset: morning or night?

* Auto-lock: Five or ten minutes?

'No need to change my ringtone; Shooting Star is still my favorite.'

He then scrolled through his photo gallery, pausing on images of his mother, siblings, and Lisa—each a snapshot of genuine smiles and cherished moments.

Suddenly, the ground trembled. A vast sea of death and undead surged toward the heavens. The black vulture swooped down, forming a protective barrier around Silas. The situation escalated rapidly—the very planet seemed to be rotting away, its decay spilling over onto neighboring celestial bodies. In a surreal twist, Silas found himself no longer on solid ground but adrift in space—with the vulture acting as a makeshift submarine, navigating an endless, churning ocean of the undead. His head spun as he beheld the planet contorting into a colossal, erratic black hand—a grotesque symbol of death in motion.

At the epicentre of this chaos, the cursed Monkey's Paw unleashed its full might, as if determined to obliterate Nightmare. Yet she remained untouched by its malefic power. Unfurling a pair of delicate, dragonfly-like wings, Nightmare regarded the accursed paw with indifference. Raising her hand, strands of glowing white light—black strings emanating from her fingertips—intertwined with the paw's being, showcasing a fragment of her power known as Metapotentia: Iron Maiden. With her other hand, she aimed her silver pistol and declared,

"The Eternal Diva sends her regards."

In a flash, Silas was transported onto a barren moon. He wandered amid the clattering, erratic movements of undead corpses tumbling across the lunar surface—yet they instinctively avoided him. Then he heard it: a death spell resonating across the omniverses. Morris, channeling the residual power of the Monkey's Paw, had begun a desperate prayer to his patron deity, the Nevermore Huntress. His voice echoed across the lifeless rock and rippled through the omniverses:

Morris feels the cost,

Cursed paw calls from India,

Pyrrhic dreams undone.

Driven by instinct, Silas sprinted toward the epicentre of the spell's energy—the very spot where he had first witnessed that eerie, glowing darkness. There, he found Morris lying amid a dissipating heap of undead.

Morris offered a weak chuckle as he slowly recognised Silas, the ghost of a smile forming. "So, my last adventure ends here..." His voice trailed off. "I saw them all, you know... Friends. Family. Soldiers I fought with. The White family." His eyes grew distant as he murmured, "I was the only one left standing... but no longer." With those final words, his body dissolved into nothingness.

Earlier, Silas had marveled at the uncanny nature of it all. It was surreal to realise that the Monkey's Paw, Morris... That short story he had once read in college wasn't just a piece of fiction. It wasn't some eerie tale confined to the pages of a book.

It was real. More real than ink on paper, more tangible than he ever could have imagined.

Before he could fully process the thought, Nightmare materialised before him. "Noir, be a good birdie and take him home," she instructed.

In an instant, Silas found himself outside the haunted house. Lisa gripped his arm tightly. "That was terrifying! Thank God you were here with me, Silas."

Leah waved her hand before him. "Your boyfriend seems a little out of it. How many fingers am I holding?"

"I'm fine," Silas replied, attempting nonchalance. "That was the last scare for the night, right? Now we're heading to Costco to..."

His words trailed off as they walked toward the parking lot. 'Wait... is Costco even open at this hour?'

High above, atop a ferris wheel, the woman with the black cap gazed into the distance as if peering beyond the veil of stars rather than the cloudy night sky. As a light drizzle began, she spoke, "Should I make contact with Nightmare... or erase her entirely? Your decision."

The Void-Cloaked Mantle replied, "Neither, Sovereign. Our paths are destined to cross. When that moment comes, I ask for your presence—and your blessing—to wield my full power, unrestrained."

Lumi'Nae removed her cap, letting it fall to the ground as her long black hair caught the raindrops. "Is Nightmare your enemy?" she asked softly. "I've never truly understood what it means to have an enemy... but I will watch your battle."

"My greater counterpart is both ally and adversary," Nemesis said lightheartedly. "If Tiamat heard your words, she would say you only afford such luxuries because of your immense strength. Tiamat views all as enemies to be eradicated without hesitation—trigger-happy, as Nightmare would call it. Yet, I believe our group will serve as a positive influence for her."

Lumi'Nae nodded, then her gaze landed on Silas.

"Mmm. That boy, Silas... he was an Anomalous Main Character, stripped of his supernatural power. I could feel my signature—Hyperpotentia: Ruinheart—concentrating on him, but its mark was unsettlingly different. I have no recollection of having encountered him before. I attempted to restore his psychic abilities, as though they had always been present, but the other Ruinheart has diluted them. Furthermore, that same aggressive signature seems to permeate everything, as if an expiration date is placed on all things. I am uncertain how long it will take to fully remove it, but for now, I can at least delay and stabilise it until my journey reaches its end."

"Rest assured, Sovereign. Your memories will return to you when you deem it necessary. I recall your previous caution—that I should not reveal too much—but I believe the time has come to speak plainly. In a time long past, you were once a savage force, unchained and capable of wreaking destruction beyond comprehension. You were a terror so great that few dared approach you, for those who did were torn asunder, both physically and metaphysically. Among your sisters, you were the most dangerous—your very presence caused realms to recoil in fear, and countless lives were claimed by your wrath. You saw all things as a cacophony of noise, a vile eyesore. Had it not been for the intervention of Kurohime-sama and myself, you would have likely brought an end to it all. For that, I am profoundly grateful. Though our reunion has been but brief, it is abundantly clear that you now wield a strength of a different nature."

"Is that so? I am no longer that entity. I'm not sure where she went, but I believe it's for the best that she vanished. Had she remained, she would have become an obstacle—one I would have needed to remove before I could truly begin to explore the worlds."