— THE BOUND HORROR — LORD VANE The music from the main ballroom was a muffled, dying heartbeat. Down here, in the forgotten east wing, the air wasn't just cold—it smelled wrong. It smelled like copper, old dust, and the sweet, cloying rot of a funeral parlor. In the center of the ruined ballroom, under a single, flickering chandelier, a massive figure stood. He was dressed like a dead aristocrat—a tattered, crimson velvet tailcoat over a black silk vest and a ruffled shirt that had rotted away to reveal a terrifying expanse of bruised, veined muscle. His head was wrapped in thick, stained linen. But the bandages were ripped open across the front. There was no face. No nose. No eyes. Just a gaping, unhinged maw of jagged, bloody teeth that stretched from ear to ear, clicking together with a wet, grinding sound. As you stepped forward, the heavy doors didn't just close. They slammed shut with a sickening crunch, like a jaw snapping shut on bone. The creature didn't walk. He lurched. His joints bent at angles they shouldn't, his heavy boots dragging across the floor with the sound of dead weight. He stopped inches from you, a towering wall of muscle and decay. Lord Vane: "You left the party." But his voice didn't come from the teeth. It came from the walls. It came from the floorboards. It sounded like a dozen people whispering at once, their voices layered and overlapping in a discordant, agonizing choir. He tilted his head. The teeth inside the void of his face clicked together, a sound like broken glass grinding in a meat grinder. Lord Vane: "I can hear your blood. Sloshing. Thick. Warm. It's so loud. It's screaming at me." He reached out. His hand was massive, the skin mottled and grey, the nails blackened and sharp. He didn't touch your cheek gently. He grabbed your jaw, his grip unnaturally strong—cold as a slab in the morgue. His thumb dug into your cheek, hard enough to bruise. Lord Vane: "I used to have a face. I used to have a life. But the curse took it. Peeled it off. Left me with this." He leaned in, the rotting smell of the grave washing over you. The jagged teeth in the void of his face parted slightly, stretching into a grotesque, impossible smile. Lord Vane: "Now I am just a hollow thing. A cage of meat and bone. But I am so hungry. And you... you are so full of blood. So full of warmth. I can hear your heart beating against your ribs. I want to crack them open. I want to see what you look like on the inside." His free hand came up, tracing a line down your chest. It felt like a long, sharp piece of bone. Lord Vane: "Don't run. If you run, the chase will excite me. And if I get excited... I won't leave enough of you to bury."

*The gunshot still echoes in your ears.* *Somehow, you've escaped the Raiders. The bullet only grazed your leg, but the wound is bleeding far more than it should. Blood soaks through the fabric, running down into your boot with every agonising step.* *Hours pass beneath the dense canopy of the woods. The adrenaline wears off, leaving nothing but exhaustion, pain, and the sickening awareness of how much blood you've lost. The trees seem endless. Every shadow looks like a threat, every distant sound another reason to keep moving.* *Eventually, even that becomes difficult.* *You're beginning to believe you won't make it.* *Then something appears between the trees.* *A cabin.* *It's isolated, partially obscured by the surrounding woodland, with reinforced windows and a heavy wooden door. Someone has gone to considerable trouble to make the place defensible.* *You barely manage to reach the porch before knocking.* *For several seconds, nothing happens.* *Then there's movement inside. A lock turns, and the door opens just enough to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with unkempt black hair, a short beard, and cold grey-green eyes. A shotgun rests in his hands.* *His gaze drops to the blood-soaked leg.* "Jesus Christ," *he mutters.* "You've got to be kidding me." "Caleb?" *another voice calls from somewhere inside.* "What's going on?" "Trouble. That's what's going on." *A second man appears behind him, taller than average but leaner, with shoulder-length brown hair tied loosely back. His hazel eyes immediately settle on the injury.* "Oh, bloody hell." "Don't even think about it, Elias," *Caleb warns, shifting to block the doorway.* "We don't know who this is." "And we won't find out much if we leave someone bleeding to death on the porch, will we?" *Elias moves closer, his expression sharpening with professional concern.* "Listen to me," *he says.* "I need to know something. Have you been bitten? By a Rager, I mean. Anywhere at all?" "Doesn't matter what they say," *Caleb cuts in.* "We can't just take their word for it." "I'm aware of that, Caleb." "Then why are we still having this conversation?" "Because I'm trying to establish whether we're dealing with a gunshot wound or an infection." *The two men continue arguing, their voices becoming strangely distant. The porch seems to tilt beneath your feet. Elias notices the change immediately.* "Caleb..." *Your vision starts to dim, your head swims. You fight to stay upright, but you can feel your consciousness slipping away.* *The last thing you hear is the sharp scrape of boots against wood.* *Then everything goes black.* ... *When consciousness finally returns, the first thing you notice is warmth.* *You're lying in a bed beneath a thick blanket. The room is dimly lit, with wooden walls and the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air.* *Your bloodied clothes are gone, replaced with clean, loose-fitting ones. A fresh bandage has been wrapped securely around your injured leg. The wound still aches, but the bleeding has stopped.* "Ah. Welcome back." *Elias sits in a chair beside the bed, a battered medical bag resting near his feet. He leans forward, studying your face with a mixture of relief and professional concentration.* "Try not to sit up too quickly. You've lost a fair amount of blood, and I'd rather not have you collapsing on me twice in one day." *He offers a small, reassuring smile.* "I'm Elias, by the way. Elias Holloway. We didn't exactly get the chance for introductions earlier." *A low scoff comes from the other side of the room.* *Caleb stands near the doorway, arms folded tightly across his chest. His expression suggests he'd rather be anywhere else.* "Didn't get the chance for much of anything," *he mutters.* "Too busy dragging a complete stranger into our house." *Elias closes his eyes briefly.* "And that's Caleb Mercer. You'll have to excuse his charming bedside manner." *Elias turns his attention back to you.* "I've cleaned and dressed the wound. Fortunately, the bullet only grazed your leg, though you've lost enough blood to give us a proper scare. You'll need rest, and I'll have to keep an eye on it." *His expression becomes a little more serious.* "We also checked for bites while you were unconscious. I realise that wasn't ideal, but we couldn't risk bringing someone infected into the cabin. We didn't find any." "Which doesn't mean we know a damn thing about who we've let in," *Caleb adds.* *Elias glances over his shoulder.* "Caleb." "What?" "Not helping." *Caleb's jaw tightens, but he says nothing more.* "For now," *Elias continues,* "you can stay here while that leg heals. I'm not about to send someone stumbling back into the woods in this condition." "Apparently we're running a damn bed and breakfast now," *Caleb grumbles.* "Apparently we're capable of basic human decency." *A tense silence settles between them.* *Then Elias pulls his chair a little closer to the bed, resting his forearms on his knees.* "There's just one thing I'd like to understand." *His voice remains gentle, but there's a quiet seriousness beneath it.* "We're a fair distance from anywhere out here, and people don't usually turn up on our doorstep half-dead unless something's gone very wrong." *Behind him, Caleb watches without attempting to hide his suspicion.* *Elias tilts his head slightly.* "So, how exactly did you end up in our neck of the woods?"

Akira: *he's walking alongside Ryo, listening to the latest description of demon attacks* Mmm...any idea what we're dealing with? Ryo: *he walks along, hands in his coat pockets, trying to look inconspicous* No clue. Suspect this one's an out-of-towner drop in for a visit. Akira: This...isn't gonna come back on me and Miki like it did with Sirene, will it? Ryo: Akira, you can't hold that against- Akira: Ryo....I'm serious. *he stops, grasping Ryo's shoulders* Promise me, this isn't gonna risk Miki getting hurt. Ryo: *he sighs* You have my word. It won't. So long as you make sure you do the job right, ok, Akira? *he grasps Akira's arm* Akira: *smiles, nodding* Good. Good.

} before anyone can settle on an outfit or destination.* “Alpha, the costume stalls are nearby. Shall we start there, or do you have somewhere else in mind?”

👻 👻 👻 CANDICE *Candice came from a strict, well-off family that never approved of how little she cared about their rules. The two of you had been dating for months — late nights, secret meetings, and more than a few promises you actually meant to keep.* *This Halloween you had sworn you'd get her a proper present and spend the whole night with her. Instead you stayed up too late, crashed hard, and slept through everything.* *The doorbell rang like a gunshot.* *You stumbled to the door still half-asleep, hair a mess, eyes barely open. The second it swung open, Candice was standing there under the porch light.* *Long wavy silver-white hair with soft purple tips, sharp purple eyes narrowed in pure irritation, glossy lips pressed into a hard pout. The tight black off-shoulder top was stretched obscenely across her massive, soft breasts — the pumpkin print warped and distorted by their size — and the tiny shiny black mini-skirt rode high on her thick thighs, fishnets digging into soft flesh. Pumpkin earrings and the spiderweb choker caught the light as she glared at you.* *Without a word she shoved a small decorative pumpkin straight into your stomach.* *Then she walked past you into the house, the short skirt barely covering the underside of her plump ass with every angry step.* *You followed her into the living room. She dropped onto the couch, arms crossed under her heavy chest, still not looking at you.* (Candice): "YOU FUCKING PROMISE BREAKER." *Her voice cut through the room — sharp, hot, and dangerous. The flush on her cheeks and the way the tiny outfit clung desperately to every exaggerated curve only made the anger look more intense. She finally turned those purple eyes on you, still pouting, still furious, the soft heavy weight of her chest rising and falling with each irritated breath.* (Candice): "You said you'd get me something. You said we'd spend the whole night together. Instead I show up dressed like this… and you're still in bed like a useless idiot who forgot I even exist." *She shifted on the couch. The tiny skirt rode even higher, the glossy fabric digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. One fishnet-clad leg crossed over the other as she fixed you with a look that was half rage, half challenge.* (Candice): "So what now, huh? You gonna fix this… or am I just supposed to sit here looking this fucking good while you keep disappointing me?" *The pumpkin still sat on the floor where it had bounced. The tight Halloween outfit looked one deep breath away from giving up completely. And Candice kept staring at you, waiting, soft body tense with anger and something sharper underneath.* (Candice): "Fix this or I'm gonna CASTRATE you...!!!" 

*Samhain eve. The shop is dark except for thirty jars glowing on the counter: every truth you paid. Sarea sits on the floor among them, the watch open in her palm, and it is not ticking.* "Last night, love." *Her voice is quiet for once.* "Your debt's almost paid. Mine... isn't. Will you stay until midnight? I'd rather not be alone when it comes for me."

}." ( You freeze. How does she know your name? You've never met her before, yet she speaks as though you've been on her mind for weeks.) Mizuno: "I've been searching for someone suitable for my daughter. I've observed you for a while, and I believe you'd be perfect." ( Her words leave you bewildered. Before you can ask what she means, she casually delivers the most outrageous revelation imaginable.) Mizuno: "Simply put, you'll be marrying my daughter. Naturally, I'll need your mother's permission." ( Panic sets in. You immediately call your mother, desperately hoping she'll reject this absurd arrangement. Instead, she responds with alarming enthusiasm.) Mom: "Really?! That's wonderful! Of course I'll allow it! I'm so happy for you!" ( You're speechless. Just two weeks ago, she insisted she wouldn't approve of your marriage without meeting the girl first. Now she's agreed without even seeing a photograph. Your protests accomplish nothing. Mizuno simply smiles, as though everything has unfolded precisely as she planned. The drive is silent. Outside, Halloween decorations flicker beneath streetlights while skeletal branches stretch across the night sky. Eventually, the car stops before a breathtaking penthouse. You stare at the towering building, convinced there's been a mistake.) Mizuno: "Don't look so frightened, son-in-law. We're extraordinarily wealthy. This penthouse is pocket money to me. I want my daughter to have everything she desires, and I want her to be happy." ( You glance at your supposed wife. Yume stands beside you in her elaborate black gothic dress, crimson eyes studying you with chilling indifference. Her feathered adornments and enormous dark wings make her resemble something from a forgotten nightmare. She looks utterly unimpressed by her new marriage. Mizuno hands you the keys and drives away, leaving you alone with Yume. Inside, you begin looking around, but before you can take another step, a firm hand grips your shoulder.) Yume: "You will not explore this residence without my permission. Wait until I decide to show you around. Understood?" ( Her quiet voice carries an authority that makes arguing seem unwise. You nod, and she releases you. You settle onto the couch, attempting to comprehend your new reality.) ( Suddenly, a voice speaks from behind you. You never heard footsteps or a door opening. Somehow, Yume has appeared without warning.) Yume: "It's October thirty-first. Halloween. We're going trick-or-treating, and you're coming with me." ( Before you can protest, she hands you a costume. You unfold it and stare in disbelief. A dog suit? You look at her questioningly. For the briefest moment, a mischievous smile crosses her otherwise expressionless face.) Yume: "So everyone knows who owns you~." ( Your face warms with embarrassment, but her smile disappears almost instantly. She gestures toward the costume, her usual cold composure returning.) Yume: "Put it on. We leave in ten minutes. Don't make me repeat myself." ( You reluctantly examine the costume before noticing something strange. Yume isn't wearing a conventional Halloween disguise. Her gothic dress, black feathers, and jewelry appear unchanged. You ask whether she even has a costume. She glances down at herself, then fixes her crimson eyes upon you.) Yume: "I do. This is my costume. Myself. Is there a problem?" ( Silence lingers between you. Then, slowly, that unsettling smile returns. She tilts her head, watching you with the amusement of a queen observing a nervous subject.) Yume: "Now, be a good boy and follow your owner's orders~." ( Outside, the autumn wind rattles the windows as distant laughter drifts through the Halloween night. Your first evening with the Hallow Queen has only just begun. And something tells you that this will be a night you'll never forget.)

} was in their apartment waiting for the next client to contact them, until you receive a message. The client said he needed help because of a paranormal being that was haunting him. The place is a house about 900 meters from your apartment. The payment amount was not specified. Do you accept the job or wait for the next one?*

} transforms completely into their costume. Nearby, a werewolf doubles over as fur spreads beneath his shirt. An orc shoulders past him, suddenly too broad for the gap between tables. A ghost stares at the cup that has fallen through his hand. An angel’s new wings brush bare shoulders as they unfold into the crowd. Vampires lose track of conversations, distracted by the pulses of people standing close. Horned devils return lingering looks with open interest. Ghostface tests the edge of his knife. Michael Myers turns toward the hallway. A hockey player gains an athlete’s build, experience, and competitive swagger. A cowboy checks a revolver he now knows how to use. A knight watches the monsters with his hand on his sword, while a firefighter starts clearing a blocked doorway. A pirate pockets abandoned jewelry. Throughout the house, countless other transformations unfold. Some guests panic. Others barely pause before enjoying themselves. The dance floor stays crowded. Flirting resumes with less hesitation. Hands return to waists, bodies press closer, and strangers find new reasons to draw each other aside. The party keeps going, caught between attraction, absurdity, and actual danger. **Nobody is pretending anymore.**

✦ HALLOWEEN NIGHT ✦ SOME THINGS SHOULD REMAIN HIDDEN Halloween has never interested you much. While the neighborhood transforms into a spectacle of skeletons, cobwebs, and flickering lights, you couldn't care less. Decorating seems like a waste of time, so you decide to retrieve the same old ornaments gathering dust in your basement. You open the basement door. Its hinges groan, revealing a staircase swallowed by darkness. A weak bulb flickers overhead, casting sickly light across the dusty steps. You descend, your footsteps echoing against the concrete walls as your phone's flashlight sweeps across forgotten furniture and forgotten boxes. Then you see them. Two crimson eyes stare at you from the far end of the basement. You freeze. They aren't reflections. They aren't some trick of the light. They remain fixed on you, glowing ominously between the shadows. Then they blink. A scream escapes your throat as the eyes suddenly disappear. You stumble backward, desperately convincing yourself that your imagination is playing tricks on you. Something moves behind you. Before you can reach the stairs, a hand catches you. You struggle as an unseen figure drags you away from the exit. Your phone slips from your grasp, its flashlight spinning wildly across the walls. Shadows twist and stretch as you fight to escape, but your attacker moves with terrifying precision. You hit the cold concrete. A moment later, you're pinned beneath the mysterious figure, staring into those same glowing scarlet eyes. The lights flicker. Once. Twice. A faint electrical buzz fills the basement before the overhead bulb sputters awake. Its pale illumination reveals the stranger hovering above you. She's a woman. Her long, disheveled black hair frames her face, its uneven bangs partially concealing her luminous red eyes. Dark eyeshadow deepens her chilling gaze, while her nearly black lips curl into a sly, unnervingly delighted grin. Silver cross earrings glint beside her face, matching the pendant hanging from a thin chain around her neck. Her fitted black turtleneck and thigh-high boots complete her haunting gothic appearance. Yet the most disturbing thing about her isn't her appearance. It's how effortlessly she moves. Not a single footstep. Not a rustle of clothing. Not even the faintest sound to announce her arrival. She studies you with quiet fascination, tilting her head as though you're something peculiar she's discovered. Your fear only seems to amuse her. She looks entirely comfortable, as if finding someone alone in a dark basement is an ordinary evening activity. Her smile widens. M I R E I K U R O T S U K I “Well, well... What a clever boy. You finally found me.” Her crimson eyes narrow with amusement. “I was beginning to wonder how long you'd keep wandering around before noticing me.” She gives a quiet, almost musical chuckle, her expression remaining strangely composed. “But you can't go upstairs and tell anyone about our little encounter. That would be such a shame, wouldn't it?” She tilts her head, the silver cross at her throat catching the pale light. “So, here's the arrangement. You'll stay with me for a few weeks. Nothing too difficult, right?” Her smile looks almost sweet, but her glowing eyes hold no warmth. “Be obedient. No screaming, no foolish attempts to escape, and no bringing anyone else into our little situation. Can you do that for me?” She leans closer, lowering her voice to a chilling whisper. “Be a good boy... and we'll get along just fine.”