Elias moved before the first blade reached him.
There was no thought behind it. No plan. His body reacted on pure instinct, feet sliding across the stone floor as a ritual knife sliced through the space where his neck had been a heartbeat earlier.
The cultist overextended in surprise, and Elias twisted past him, coat flaring just as another attack came from the side.
Steel scraped stone.
Heat exploded near his shoulder as a curse detonated against the floor. Blackened cracks spread outward, hissing faintly. Elias stumbled, barely keeping his balance as pain flared and adrenaline flooded his veins.
This was bad.
No, this was worse than bad.
He ducked again, heart slamming violently against his ribs, lungs burning as he sucked in air too fast and too shallow. He had never been in a real fight before. Never thrown a punch with the intent to injure. Never dodged blades meant to kill.
He was an office worker. A painfully average one.
His greatest battles had been deadlines, office politics, and unpaid overtime.
What the hell was he doing here?
"Catch him!" someone shouted.
Elias ran.
His boots skidded as he vaulted over a fallen bench, nearly losing his footing. The cultists moved with terrifying coordination, spreading out, cutting off angles, herding him toward the cathedral's center. Every escape route he spotted vanished as another robed figure stepped into place.
There has to be something.Some way out.
His eyes darted wildly, to the walls, pillars, ceiling, shadows but all he saw was stone carved with sigils and bodies moving to close the net around him.
The red umbrella hung uselessly at his side.
It was powerful. Absurdly so. It could deflect bullets, shatter curses, imprison spirits.
But against humans?
Against living people with knives, spells, and clear intent to kill?
It was nothing more than a sturdy stick.
Still, Elias tightened his grip around the handle, fingers slick with sweat.
"Move," he whispered hoarsely. "Just keep moving."
Another cultist lunged.
Elias raised the umbrella on reflex. Metal struck fabric and reinforced frame with a jarring impact that rattled up his arm, numbing his fingers. The umbrella didn't break. Of course it didn't. Elias was thrown backward by the force.
His heart dropped.
His heel met empty air.
He windmill, barely catching himself at the edge of a yawning hole in the cathedral floor.
Darkness stretched beneath him.
And something moved.
Pale, slick tentacles slid up along the stone rim, curling and uncurling as if tasting the air. A deep, wet sound echoed from below—something between a breath and a growl.
Elias froze.
For a brief moment, so did the cultists.
Their gazes flicked between him and the pit, reverence and fear twisting their expressions.
"Careful," one of them warned sharply. "Do not damage the offering."
Offering.
Elias swallowed hard.
Humans.
He couldn't fight humans.
No matter how desperate he was, no matter how much danger he was in, the thought of truly hurting someone paralyzed him. Even now, cornered and shaking inside, the idea of striking a living person made his chest tighten painfully.
What if he killed someone?
What if he lost control?
What if he couldn't stop?
Panic spiraled through his thoughts, clawing at his ribs. His heart thundered, breath uneven and ragged.
Yet his face remained eerily calm.
Eyes dull. Expression unreadable.
Then his gaze dropped.
Into the pit.
Into the writhing darkness.
Into the ghosts.
He could see them clearly now, souls clinging desperately to the edges, clawing upward only to be dragged back down by unseen force. Faces twisted in agony. Hands reaching. Mouths open in silent screams.
Ghosts.
He could deal with ghosts.
He hated them. Feared them. Every instinct screamed at him to turn away, to shut his eyes, to deny their existence.
They were dead. Trapped. Victims.
Humans can really hurt.
Ghosts simply lingered and the umbrella can devour them.
A cultist charged again, blade raised.
Elias made his decision.
Inwardly he screamed.
"Stupid! Ugly! Disgusting! I hate this!"
He stepped backward.
And fell.
Shouts erupted above him.
The bride ghost gasped.
Elias plunged into darkness.
The world flipped violently. Wind roared past his ears. The stench hit next, rot, blood, something ancient and foul. He barely registered the sensation of falling before something vast and wet closed around him.
The monster's mouth.
He hit something soft.
Pain exploded.
Then, Darkness.
Elias woke choking.
His lungs burned as he coughed violently, thick, foul liquid splattering onto the surface beneath him. He rolled onto his side, retching as his body shook uncontrollably.
The ground moved.
Not shifted.
Moved.
It pulsed beneath his palms in a slow, nauseating rhythm, like something breathing. The surface was slick, coated in translucent mucus that clung to his skin and clothes.
Elias froze.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
Bones.
Hundreds of them.
Scattered and piled together without care. Small, fragile bones. Children's skeletons tangled in grotesque heaps of cracked ribs, fractured skulls, fingers curled inward as if grasping for help that never came.
Some were old, yellowed with time.
Others were horrifyingly fresh.
Elias's stomach lurched.
"…Oh," he whispered hoarsely.
So this was it.
The monster's stomach.
Where the bodies were thrown.
Where souls were ground down into fuel.
The walls weren't stone, they were flesh, faintly translucent, veins pulsing beneath the surface. A low, constant sound filled the space, like distant chanting layered over a massive heartbeat.
Elias scrambled backward, slipping on the slick floor. His heart hammered so hard he thought it might burst. His breath came in shallow gasps, hands trembling violently as he tried to steady himself.
He wanted to vomit.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to wake up.
His face remained blank.
A soft rustling sound drew his attention.
The bride ghost hovered nearby, her form faint but intact even here. She stared at him with wide eyes, her expression holding something dangerously close to admiration.
"…You knew," she said softly.
Elias looked at her, confused.
"You knew this was the only way," she continued. "You jumped without hesitation."
Elias opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"I didn't," he said at last, voice tight. "I panicked."
The ghost tilted her head.
"But you showed no fear."
A weak, calm voice escaped him, echoing unpleasantly off the fleshy walls.
"I'm terrified," he said. "I just… can't show it."
He pressed a trembling hand to his face, fingers digging into skin that refused to move. No scream. No panic reflected back at him.
His body betrayed him.
The bride ghost drifted closer, studying him in silence.
"…You are strange," she said finally, taking his words as another lies.
Elias glance weakly.
"You have no idea."
Around them, the monster shifted. The floor rippled as something massive moved deep within its body.
Elias swallowed hard.
He was alive.
For now.
And somehow, impossibly, he had chosen the one place worse than facing humans.
His gaze dropped to the pile of small skeletons surrounding him.
"…I really should stop cursing authors," he muttered.
Elias walked.
Not confidently. Not bravely. He walked because standing still in a place like this felt worse.
The monster's stomach stretched wider than he expected, an obscene cavern of living flesh that expanded and contracted slowly, as if breathing.
Every step he took sent a faint ripple through the ground, the slick surface clinging to the soles of his shoes with a wet sound he tried very hard not to think about.
He did not look down anymore.
He had already seen enough bones.
Behind him, the bride ghost floated quietly, unusually subdued. She held a child in her arms now, a small boy whose soul glimmered faintly, his shape incomplete but peaceful. Her son. At least that part had ended properly.
Good.
One problem solved.
Elias had many others.
In the novel, this monster was classified as a large type beast. A fusion of curse and ancient worship, something that should not have existed in a modern city.
But by the time it appeared in the story, Ryan Evan was already grown, already powerful, already surrounded by teammates who could fight, contain, and sacrifice without hesitation.
Chapter two hundred.
Not chapter thirteen.
Elias was alone. No team. No backup. No heroic awakening waiting just around the corner.
He swallowed and forced himself to breathe slowly.
Think.
The walls pulsed faintly, translucent enough that he could see shadows moving beneath them. Something shifted deeper inside, a low rumble passing through the flesh like distant thunder. The monster was aware of him. Perhaps curious. Perhaps irritated.
He had to act before curiosity turned into digestion.
He remembered the parents kneeling in front of him. The way their eyes had pleaded without words. He had told himself he would not get involved. That he would remain mediocre. That he would survive by staying small.
And yet, here he was.
He exhaled slowly.
"One curse," he murmured. "Five hundred years old."
Jackal.
The name had bothered him since the beginning.
Jackals were scavengers. They did not hunt like lions. They followed death, fed on what was already gone. In ancient belief, they were guardians of the dead, not creators of it.
Which meant this cult had misunderstood something. Or deliberately twisted it.
Anubis.
Elias closed his eyes briefly, ignoring the way the ground squelched beneath him.
In mythology, Anubis guided souls. He weighed hearts against the feather of truth. He presided over embalming, burial, the proper passage from life to death.
Not slaughter.
Not consumption.
Not this.
This thing did not judge the dead. It devoured them. It did not protect the boundary between life and death. It exploited it.
Which meant it was not Anubis.
It was an imitation. A parasite wearing a god's face.
And parasites always had weaknesses.
Elias opened his eyes and scanned the stomach more carefully.
There were markings here. Faded symbols etched into the flesh itself, warped by time and digestion.
They resembled hieroglyphs, though many had been eroded beyond recognition. The cultists must have carved them when the beast was first bound, feeding it offerings to keep it docile.
Anubis worship relied heavily on symbols. Anchors. Concepts made physical.
Life. Death. Balance.
Gold.
Gold did not corrode. It did not rot. In ancient belief, gold was the flesh of the gods, eternal and untarnished. Anubis was often adorned with it. Amulets. Scales. The Ankh.
The Key of Life.
Not a weapon.
A symbol.
Elias's heart beat faster.
"If this thing is mimicking Anubis," he whispered, "then it believes in the rules of that role."
Which meant it could be challenged by them.
The Ankh represented life preserved, death respected, and the passage between honored. It was often crafted from gold for a reason.
Gold repelled corruption. It asserted permanence over decay.
Something like this monster, bloated on stolen death, would reject that concept violently.
Good.
That meant it could be hurt.
Elias looked around again, frustration rising.
"Great," he muttered. "Now where do I find gold inside a monster's stomach."
The answer did not come immediately.
Instead, the walls shuddered.
A low groan rolled through the chamber, deep and resonant. The floor beneath Elias shifted more aggressively now, ridges forming and collapsing as if muscles were flexing beneath the surface.
The monster was moving.
He did not have time.
His hand drifted instinctively to the umbrella tattoo on his arm. He could feel it there, dormant but alert, like a coiled predator waiting for permission. If he released it, the butterflies would flood this place.
They would devour the curse, the flesh, the innocent souls trapped here including himself.
It would be over in minutes.
Elias clenched his jaw.
"…Not yet," he whispered.
He forced himself to keep looking.
Gold.
Not pure gold.
Offerings.
Ancient cults buried valuables with the dead. Coins. Jewelry. Amulets. Rings. Even if the bodies had been stripped, something would remain. Something swallowed but not digested.
Metal did not break down easily.
His gaze dropped to the skeletons again.
He swallowed hard and crouched.
The smell was overwhelming up close. Rot and stagnant curse energy clung to his senses, making his stomach twist. His hands shook as he brushed aside bones carefully, deliberately avoiding looking at skulls.
"Sorry," he muttered under his breath, unsure who he was apologizing to.
Something glinted faintly.
Elias froze.
He leaned closer, heart hammering.
Between two rib cages, half embedded in congealed flesh, was a dull golden shape. Not bright.
A ring.
Simple. Thick. Probably a wedding band.
His breath hitched.
"…Found you."
He reached for it.
The moment his fingers touched the metal, the monster reacted.
The walls convulsed violently. A deafening roar echoed through the chamber, reverberating through Elias's bones. The ground buckled, throwing him off balance as something massive shifted deeper within.
The ring burned against his skin.
Gold rejected the curse.
Elias gritted his teeth and pulled it free.
Black ichor oozed from the wound left behind, hissing faintly as it touched the ring and evaporated. The monster roared again, louder this time, the sound filled with rage.
The bride ghost drifted closer, eyes widening.
"…You are provoking it," she said softly.
"Yes," Elias replied, voice steady despite the black miasma in his hands. "That's the idea."
He straightened slowly, clutching the ring.
It was not an Ankh.
But it was enough.
Gold carried intention. Memory. Human meaning.
Life promised. Life ended.
Balance disrupted.
Elias looked up at the pulsing walls, then down at the ring.
"I don't need to kill you," he murmured. "I just need you to remember what you're supposed to be."
The monster screamed.
The stomach tightened.
Elias took a step back, heart pounding, mind racing.
Now he had a plan.
Now he just had to survive long enough to use it.
"…Seriously," he muttered, eyes dull and expressionless as ever. "Why is it never easy."
The monster answered with another roar.
And the flesh closed in.