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He slowly walked out from a place where even the streetlights and moonlight couldn’t reach.

Casting a longer shadow, darker than the darkness that lingered in the air, he revealed himself step by step.

With each movement of his feet, shadows slithered like snakes from his blue jeans, and faces appeared and disappeared in rapid succession. The black hoodie draped over him shifted, casting and discarding shades, creating bizarre shapes that seemed to writhe and contort like a ghost pleading for mercy.

Thud.

With every echo of his footsteps, his attire swayed slightly, and in sync with that swaying, the shadows twisted. The shapes of the shadows looked like eyelids, an open mouth screaming, a person flailing in water, or even a face in agony.

Faces flowed down his pants.

The faces drawn in shadow were filled with sorrow and despair, wailing loudly.

A multitude of people seemed to struggle within the hoodie.

Layer upon layer of individuals stacked on top of one another, their forms so obscured they were almost unrecognizable, flailing about helplessly. They waved severed arms, stretched out fingers in a desperate attempt to break free, their expressions one of dire struggle, only to realize their futility, sinking into despair. Yet, they couldn’t let go of hope, as just a thin veil separating them from the living world meant they couldn’t forgo that last flicker of aspiration, continuously striving for escape.

And above all that.

There were blue eyes.

Shining brightly as if piercing the darkness, lingering with a gloomy aura that seemed to catch glimpses of life within the dark. Those blue irises, though accustomed to capturing the energies of exorcism and spirits, were filled instead with their opposite nature.

And perched upon his shoulder was a scraggly little bird, resting there.

In Jinseong’s memory, only one person resembled that.

“Hmm, are you interested in the story…?”

Death.

A being who called himself Death, destined to be known as Huele, the Possession Sorcerer.

He appeared before Jinseong.

Wearing artifacts designed to merge seamlessly into the darkness.

Draped in symbols to avoid human attention, to keep himself out of sight.

With artifacts that eliminated any presence, muffled footsteps, and allowed for stealthy movement.

He appeared before Jinseong.

And with a flash of blue in his eyes, shrouded by an unnatural darkness, he gazed at Jinseong and spoke.

“Yes. I’m quite interested.”

The Possession Sorcerer, calling himself Death, gazed at Jinseong with a smile curving upon his lips.

In response to that grin, Jinseong slowly nodded, the mask shifting along with him.

Crack.

Crack.

Jinseong’s mask shifted.

It moved as if its nerves were directly linked to the black shell, the once wide-open jaw gradually closing. The sharp teeth that had extended to tear flesh withdrew, and the drool that had been dripping suddenly ceased. Just as if it had never intended to consume, the mask was perfectly compartmentalized, transforming into a sleek form.

And gradually, blemishes began to spread over that slick mask.

As if some liquid had leaked.

Or as if blood had begun to flow, these stains appeared on the mask.

Yet those stains weren’t bright red, but a shimmering yellow.

A golden hue that sparkled when exposed to light.

The golden color spread and permeated, dyeing the mask until it mirrored a dazzling, gleaming gold.

That mask, coated in gold, had a form reminiscent of a blend between insect and human.

An enigma of a mask that seemed fit for ancient rituals.

“I have interest, indeed. That’s a good thing…”

A mask of mysterious form.

From the mask radiating a peculiar alluring light of gold, a voice emerged.

It sounded a bit like a cow mooing, mixed with the chorus of buzzing insects.

If a herd of flies and a cow were to walk together, wouldn’t it sound something like this?

Inside the warped mask, the contorted shapes reflected and resonated, creating cryptic echoes, while twisted parts mimicked sounds akin to both a cow’s moan and the cries of a swarm of insects.

Thus, the voice flowing from Jinseong’s lips was jarring yet irresistibly compelling.

One couldn’t help but focus, instinctively turning their head toward the source of that voice.

The Possession Sorcerer, too, had no choice but to glance toward that face.

However, it wasn’t only the Possession Sorcerer observing that face.

It was clear he wasn’t alone in possession of this body.

“Is that so?”

From the skin of the Possession Sorcerer, a liquid began to flow.

A viscous, transparent fluid, defying gravity as if it were alive, crawled up his neck and face. With time, the liquid gradually turned translucent, adhering to the shit’s face.

As it clung, it returned to its clear state, evaporating at room temperature into vapor, settling like mist on the sorcerer’s face.

The mist spread wide, fluctuating between translucent and transparent, gradually forming a shape.

That shape bore an uncanny resemblance to a human face.

<Ectoplasm.>

A medium for easily handling spiritual power.

A method employed by those who wield spirits, materializing spiritual power through a tangible medium.

By using ectoplasm, one could exchange spiritual energy for physical energy without summoning evil spirits, and even unleash mighty force not possible for an untrained body.

However, convenience always comes with a cost.

That ectoplasm held risks not remotely comparable to simply summoning spirits.

Since it engaged with spiritual energy, it became considerably easier for spirits to interfere, drastically increasing the risk of possession or bodily takeover. This technique, once a fleeting trend in the West, fell out of favor as practitioners vanished altogether.

Yet now, the Possession Sorcerer used that ectoplasm without hesitation.

As if it were part of his own body.

Rather than pouring ectoplasm from the usual holes found in a human body, he extracted it through his pores and manipulated the liquid like his own limbs, moving it toward his face, adjusting the density of the ectoplasm freely, and shifting form from liquid to gas at will.

Moreover, he did more than merely use it as a medium; he allowed spirits to inhabit it.

Every action he performed hinted at ensuring his status as a grand sorcerer of impeccable reputation.

“It’s delightful to hear that what I’m interested in brings good news.”

Faces began to morph.

From man to woman.

From boy to old man.

The visage wrinkled and twisted, noses shifted from high to low, eyes raised and dropped, lips that curled and squished, gaped open and extended downwards.

The skin of the face spasmed, and the phantoms of multiple faces appeared, only to vanish in an instant.

Like illusions conjured by the smoke of a cigarette.

As if it were a brief performance created by scattered light.

Countless faces materialized and faded on the Possession Sorcerer’s visage.

Surfacing only to plunge back into the abyss, caught by an unseen hand.

Hell.

The face of the Possession Sorcerer contained hell.

Countless souls flailed, yearning for escape yet sinking helplessly, desperately seeking a gulp of air only to resurface.

That single breath was so sweet.

It lingered as an elusive hope, finding solace in the belief that someday they would break free.

So the souls, unable to even give up, clung to their fraying sanity and would endure anguish in that place until the day they faded away.

“I am Death.”

And that hell declared so.

I am Death.

I am unavoidable mortality.

I am the fate that arrives relentlessly, without exception.

“I have come to collect sinners for hell.”

The Possession Sorcerer spoke with multiple voices, weaving together a single sentence.

“Sinners must suffer eternal torment in hell.”

In a voice that crackled with fiery intensity, blending with voices of those drowning, screaming women, frail old men, and desperate boys.

“Evil people must pay the rightful price for their sins, even if it is only after their death.”

The blue eyes fixed on Jinseong.

And opposite those blue eyes, another pair of eyes glimmered.

These eyes bore no blue but possessed a fiery radiance.

Sparks danced around within those irises.

Deep inside, flames ignited, flickering and flickering, shimmering in and out, warping the light within.

Shimmering sparks broke off and flitted about, floating through the air.

Those sparks were once brilliant, then faded, dying into nothingness, merging with other ashes to form shapes, encircling other sparks to create a figure.

That figure resembled a swarm of insects rushing toward a blaze.

“Sinners, sinners.”

The eyes, filled with a yearning for light, stared at Death.

“Who is that sinner?”

 

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