This half-basement space is very large, with a dozen or so large iron cages scattered around. Half of them contain skeletons, dried to the point that they are nearly unrecognizable as human. What's more horrifying is that many of them have limbs strewn around, which don't seem to have been removed post-mortem.
Kent began to tremble all over. He didn't even know if it was out of fear or rage, as he saw a small skull and underdeveloped small limb fragments above the abdomen of the skeleton at the center—this was the body of a pregnant woman who was about to give birth.
Kent felt for the first time what it meant to suffocate. It wasn't because he lost his superpower; he felt that even if he remained Superman, he wouldn't be able to catch his breath faced with this scene.
Instinctively, he took a few steps back, standing against the wall for several minutes. When the dizziness subsided a bit, he gingerly approached the nearest cage.
The dim light in the basement revealed that all the skeletons were female, and had suffered severe abuse during their lives, with some wounds so deep they reached the bone.
Clark Kent was not a great detective, nor had he received criminal investigation training. But based solely on what he could see, he could roughly guess what was going on.
Not everyone is a lamb to the slaughter. Just as most superheroes are stubborn, there are people in this world born with strong resistance to brainwashing; even the most seamless possession and deception can't fool them.
Such people are often stubborn and obsessive. If they sense something is amiss, they'll investigate until the truth is uncovered. Even if this is a remote, closed town, they might uncover the truth and leave with it, exposing everything.
Bear in mind, for years the circus has trafficked not just ordinary people to this place. Circus tickets aren't cheap, and those with the leisure to watch performances or join town festivals often are well-off. If what the cultists have done is discovered, they will face victims far beyond their control.
For those who can't be brainwashed, the evil spirit won't let them leave, for even suspicion could draw more attention. At this point, only violent methods remain.
Logically, they should be killed outright, but as the town declines and outsiders become scarce, lack of fresh blood will ruin the town through inbreeding. So, those abducted violently serve another purpose, forced by the cult to procreate.
Regardless if the cult lets them live long, given these sanitary and nutritional conditions, childbirth is murder. Kent couldn't imagine how many innocents would die here.
He inspected each body, collecting as many personal items as possible. The cultists seemed certain they wouldn't escape, so items weren't seized strictly. Kent found two driver's licenses, a necklace with a granny's portrait, a professional cycling watch, a tourist's camera, and even a somewhat advanced digital camera for this era.
From the camera's design and quality, it was evident the owner was quite wealthy. Sadly, digital cameras require power, and its batteries were dead. No matter how Kent fiddled, he couldn't get it to work.
Kent knew he needed to find a way to charge the camera to capture photos of this atrocity and let the world see the horrors here.
After a while, Kent finally gathered the courage to approach the central pregnant woman's remains. He stood there and gasped several times before touching the tiny infant skull with a trembling hand.
Then, as if electrocuted, he recoiled, gasping for air. He felt something trickle down his chin; touching his cheeks, he found tears streaming.
Kent clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, finally managing to pick up the infant's small skull with trembling hands. He had to take the child out immediately, not a second could be wasted.
He didn't know why he had to do this. Perhaps, the Kryptonians' inherent longing for the sun made him feel the best way to console the deceased was to take them to see the sun.
Overwhelmed by shock, Kent moved slowly. He didn't dare look at the item in his hand, feeling not fear but deep despair and helplessness.
For this reason, he lagged a step and was directly blocked by the evil spirit at the basement entrance.
The evil spirit seemed finally to have reached its limit, unwilling to act any longer. Since it couldn't allow anyone witnessing this scene the slightest chance of escape, otherwise it's truly over.
Before Kent could react, a plume of dark smoke rushed at him, hurling him away. He crashed hard against the wall and then fell face-first to the ground. His nose banged against the floor, his blood flowing instantly.
He quickly clambered up, leaning against the wall to gaze at the dark smoke shrouding the figure in the entrance. He was certain he'd been struck by some mysterious power.
Under the looming black haze, Kent recklessly charged at the evil spirit, ramming it against the wall.
But just as he raised his fist, an intense pain burst through his chest—the evil spirit's hand, shrouded in black smoke, had plunged directly into his chest.
"Die!" Kent heard it say.
Then, he watched helplessly as the hand grabbed his heart, tearing it from his chest cavity.
Blood gushed forth, Kent collapsed in a pool of it. The faint light filtering through the basement entrance fell upon him, but it couldn't revive Superman, or make him rise once more from disaster, to become God, protecting the weak.
But it seems someone doesn't think so. Just as Kent felt his consciousness slowly fading away, he suddenly felt another kind of pain, as if something was biting his fingers.
On the brink of death, all pain fades away, but this real pain pulled Kent's consciousness back a bit. He wanted to raise his hand, but had no strength, only feeling the thing biting his palm instead. The pain spread up his arm: forearm, elbow, upper arm, shoulder, and finally his chest.
The pain in his chest was particularly severe, as though One Hand was stirring between his flesh and blood, making Kent feel that the sooner death came, the better.
"Ahhhhhhh!!!!"
The intense pain made Kent let out a scream. But just as the pain reached its peak, he found himself sitting up from the ground.
The pain subsided within seconds. Kent looked around in confusion, the sweat on his forehead seeping into his eyes, blurring his vision. He instinctively raised his hand to wipe the sweat, only to find a genuine wound on the palm of his right hand.
The wound was small, but its edges were ragged with teeth marks, as if something had gnawed at it. The wound was deep, seemingly about to penetrate, yet the back of his hand was unscathed.
Kent couldn't immediately comprehend what had happened. He kept looking at his hand, wanting to know what had bitten him, and why he hadn't died.
Suddenly, he realized something and began searching the ground around him. Surely enough, the infant's skull he had been holding was gone.
Then he looked down at his own chest. This horrified him; there was indeed a large hole in his chest. The image of the Evil spirit extracting his heart wasn't an illusion. Yet, something seemed to be pulsating inside that hole. From Kent's angle, he couldn't see, but he vaguely guessed what it was.
"I'm sorry," Kent said, "I wasn't a match for that Devils. I should have..."
Before he could finish, he suddenly heard whispers beside his ear. The voices were chaotic, as if many people were speaking at once, but when Kent focused, he could hear the content of each sentence:
"He is an evil spirit..."
"He practiced Black magic..."
"That's right, he can use Witchcraft..."
"In life, he was a Wizard, he sacrificed many..."
"This granted him immortality..."
"There are two Priest and two nun in the town..."
"Only one person died..."
"They're all still alive, and some of them have descendants."
"Beware of moonless nights."
Most of these voices were female, sounding both old and young, mixed with a child's crying and occasionally a few men's deep voices.
Kent touched his chest, then looked down in shock—the wound had healed, not leaving a trace. Yet he could still hear those voices when he concentrated.
At this moment, the camera, which had fallen to the side when he was attacked, suddenly started working. "Click, click, click..."
Kent walked over to find the digital camera's screen lit up. The photo just taken showed Kent standing at the basement entrance, with a ray of light shining on his face, surrounded by many people.
There were couples, a woman in cycling gear, a couple holding a camera, and a family of four with two children. On Kent's shoulder perched a tiny, impossibly small infant.
Kent's hand began to tremble again. He clutched the camera tightly, as if holding onto a lifeline, took several deep breaths standing there, and finally relaxed.
He hung the camera around himself, tucked the items he found earlier on the bodies into his pocket. He searched the room again, took all the bits and pieces he could carry, including a bone from each person.
Then he climbed out along the basement entrance. When the sunlight shone on him, he felt the long-lost sensation of drawing Strength from the Sun, even more clearly and profoundly than before.