Being vomited out by a monster was not an experience Elias had ever imagined adding to his resume.
The impact came first, a heavy, wet thud, followed by the unmistakable sensation of sliding across something slick and uneven. Bones pressed against his side. Something cracked beneath his elbow.
The smell hit a heartbeat later, old rot mixed with incense, blood that had long since lost its warmth, and a sour, metallic undertone that clung to the back of his throat.
Elias lay there for a moment, unmoving.
Not because he was unconscious.
Because he was very seriously reconsidering every life choice that had led him here.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling was low, carved stone blackened by soot and age. Faint symbols glimmered along the walls, their light pulsing weakly like dying embers.
Chains as thick as a man's arm stretched from the ground to the center of the chamber, where something massive rested atop a stone altar.
The monster.
Up close, it was worse.
Its body was less a single creature and more an amalgamation of things that should never have been joined together.
Fur matted with dried blood clung to patches of gray flesh. Its limbs were twisted unnaturally, bound by ancient chains etched with talismans that dug deep into its skin. Its head lolled forward, jaws forced open by a heavy metal brace bolted directly into bone.
The hole above, the one Elias had fallen through, aligned perfectly with its mouth.
So those tentacles were its tongue.
The realization made something inside him shrivel.
Elias pushed himself upright with slow movements. His hands trembled violently, though his face remained eerily blank. His heart was hammering so hard he was convinced the sound alone would alert every spirit within a hundred meters.
Still underground.
Still alive.
Barely.
Around him lay piles of skeletons, human remains arranged not randomly. Some were intact, others missing limbs, skulls cracked open as if something had gnawed from the inside. The floor beneath his boots shifted subtly, soft and spongy, gooey as it mix with monster saliva.
Elias swallowed.
He did not scream. He simply stood there, eyes hollow, posture composed, as if this were just another unpleasant errand he had to finish before dinner.
Inside, however, he was absolutely, catastrophically panicking.
This is disgusting.
This is horrifying.
I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.
A soft presence drifted closer.
The bride ghost emerged from the shadows, her form dimmer than before. Her red dress was stained darker at the hem, and in her arms she cradled a small, translucent figure. A boy, no older than seven. His soul flickered weakly, eyes closed as if asleep.
Her son.
"You're under it," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "The beast is bound here. An altar prison."
Elias nodded once, stiffly.
Bound.
Good.
That meant it could not chase him.
For now.
The bride drifted closer to the altar, her gaze fixed on the talismans plastered across the chains and the creature's flesh. They were old, far older than the cult above. Layers upon layers of sealing formations overlapped, some cracked, others patched crudely with newer symbols drawn in blood.
"This seal was never meant to last this long," she said. "Five hundred years is already beyond its limit. The souls were added to sustain it. Feed it. Patch the cracks."
Of course they were.
Elias stared at the talismans, his mind racing despite the immobility of his body. He recognized some of the symbols. Not from personal experience, but from books.
The blood-red crystal at Elias's chest was warm against his skin.
He did not take comfort in it.
He stared at the talismans carved into the chains.
They were old.
Too old.
Not something a modern cult should have known how to make.
Elias's mind drifted, unwillingly, back to another time. Another life. Sitting alone in a small apartment, scrolling through chapters late at night. Reading a horror novel not because it was popular, because Elias himself feel good.
Because it was fiction.
He had laughed at some of the terminology back then. Scoffed at the dramatic explanations. Bought a ridiculous exorcist dictionary on a whim, the kind marketed to curious amateurs and role-players. Forty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents for a thick book full of half-explanations and footnotes that contradicted themselves.
He had used it to play pretend.
Not because he believed any of it would ever be real.
Certainly not because he expected to stand inside the stomach of a five-hundred-year-old sacrificial beast, trying to decide whether touching a seal would kill him instantly or simply make things worse.
Or even transmigrated into the so called novel.
"The formation must be broken," the bride said softly. "The talismans must be destroyed. Only then can the souls be released."
Elias's eye twitched.
Break the formation.
No.
Absolutely not.
Every instinct he had screamed that touching those seals was the fastest way to die in an unimaginably painful manner. Even amateurs knew that dismantling an ancient formation without preparation could cause backlash strong enough to tear a person apart.
And he was not an exorcist.
He was an office worker.
A former office worker, technically. One who filed paperwork, drank stale coffee, and complained about overtime. Not someone who dismantled five-century-old sacrificial prisons while standing on a monster's stomach.
His fingers curled around the blood-red crystal pendant at his chest.
The rules of handling the dead.
Respect the body.
Do not disturb the resting place without reason.
Never sever a soul without purpose.
"I can't," Elias said quietly.
The words came out flat, emotionless, as if spoken by someone else.
The bride did not look angry. She looked tired.
"If you do not," she replied, "the beast will reform even if destroyed. The seal will rebuild itself using what remains. More children. More souls."
Elias closed his eyes. He opened them again and looked at the monster.
In the novel, this creature had been a late-game threat. A colossal beast overwhelmed by Ryan and an entire team of elite exorcists. Its destruction had been loud, glorious, righteous.
This was not that scenario.
This beast was restrained, weakened, still horrifying and Elias was alone.
Mostly.
He glanced at the bride ghost.
She floated there patiently as her son held protectively in her arms. She had searched graves, spoken to monks and shamans, learned fragments of rituals and prayers in her desperation. She had done everything she could, with the limited knowledge of a grieving mother.
She had nothing left to give.
"The talismans," she said carefully. "They are anchored by blood. The priest's blood. And the sacrifices. Remove the anchors, and the formation collapses."
Elias listened without moving.
His face remained composed.
Inside, his thoughts were tangled and frantic.
I don't know how to break this. I don't even know if what I remember is correct. That book was a scam.
A prison pretending to be a god.
"Why Jackal," Elias murmured, more to himself than to the ghost.
The bride did not answer.
He scanned the chamber again, forcing himself to think despite the slick, living floor beneath his boots. The altar. The chains. The talismans. The veins of dull yellow embedded into the stone.
He hated it.
He hated relying on anything he did not understand.
But he hated the idea of more children disappearing even more.
Elias exhaled slowly.
I am not a protagonist. I am not prepared for this .I shouldn't be here.
And yet, here he was.
Standing beneath a false god.
Surrounded by bones.
*****
Celestia Athlwein was in a foul mood.
That, unfortunately, was nothing new.
The training hall rang with the sound of impact, the air trembling each time her fist collided with reinforced combat plating, fire flickering along her knuckles as the unlucky squad member on the receiving end was sent skidding across the floor like a sack of grain.
"Again," Celestia snapped.
The man groaned, struggling to stand, sweat soaking through his uniform as scorch marks bloomed across the surface.
"You hesitated," she continued, irritation sharp in her voice. "In the field, hesitation gets people eaten. Or worse."
Someone else flinched.
Someone always did.
Her squad was used to this. Intelligence and Surveillance Division was not meant to be gentle, and neither was its vice leader. They had learned quickly that Celestia Athlwein did not tolerate excuses, nor did she offer comfort. She burned everything down until only results remained.
Still, today her temper was worse than usual.
No leads.
No patterns.
Jackal activity was increasing, bodies disappearing, sigils resurfacing that should have been buried decades ago, and yet every report that crossed her desk felt deliberately incomplete, like someone was rearranging the pieces just enough to keep the picture blurred.
She clicked her tongue and turned away from the training floor.
"Dismissed," she said curtly.
Relief rippled through the room.
The moment she stepped out into the corridor, the air shifted.
Celestia stopped walking.
"Well," a smooth voice said from behind her, unhurried and warm, "you're as terrifying as ever. I see the rumors weren't exaggerated."
Her jaw tightened.
She did not turn around immediately.
"Noah Fallow," she said flatly. "You're not supposed to be in my division."
A soft chuckle followed.
"Technically, I'm not," he replied. "I'm just… visiting."
She turned then.
Noah Fallow stood there in his immaculate exorcist uniform, coat draped loosely over his shoulders, silver insignia gleaming faintly under the hall lights. His hair was neatly tied back, features refined to the point of disarming, the kind of man who looked gentle even when standing still.
Too gentle.
Behind him stood another man, tall and lean, glasses reflecting light as he adjusted them with a habitual motion. Cain Ardent, vice leader of Assault Squad Six, expression neutral, posture composed, eyes observant in a way that suggested he missed nothing.
Celestia crossed her arms.
"An S-ranker doesn't just 'visit'," she said coldly. "Especially not one who sits on the Seven Head Council."
Noah smiled.
It didn't reach his eyes.
"Straight to business," he said. "I admire that. But I'm afraid this wasn't my choice."
That earned him a sharper look.
Cain spoke this time, his voice calm. "High command approved a joint operation. Assault Squad Six will be assisting ISD with the Jackal investigation."
Celestia scoffed. "Assisting? Or supervising?"
Noah tilted his head slightly, the gesture almost boyish. "If it helps, think of it as… reinforcement."
She stared at him.
She had fought monsters older than cities, torn through demonic beasts with her bare hands, stood on battlefields soaked in blood and ash. Very few things unsettled her.
Noah Fallow did.
Despite looking like late twenties, he was one hundred and fifty years old.
Human.
And worse, he enjoyed things he should not.
Celestia had seen it once, long ago. The way his eyes lit up during a failed containment operation, the faint, almost imperceptible thrill beneath his composed exterior as chaos unfolded.
He was effective.
He was reliable.
And he found despair entertaining.
Which made him dangerous in a way monsters never were.
"You don't belong anywhere near this case," she said bluntly.
Noah's smile softened further. She was about to retort when her phone vibrated.
Celestia froze.
That number.
She snatched the device from her pocket and answered without greeting.
"What," she snapped.
Static crackled briefly before Elias's voice came through, calm to the point of irritation.
"I found something," he said. "Jackal hideout. Underground. Cathedral structure. Multiple corpses. Active ritual."
Her heart skipped.
"What do you mean you found it," she demanded. "Where are you right now?"
There was a pause.
Too long.
"I sent the coordinates," Elias replied evenly. "You should move quickly."
Then the line went dead.
Celestia stared at the phone.
"What the fuck," she hissed.
She spun on her heel, fire flaring unconsciously around her boots as she cursed aloud. "That idiot—"
Her phone vibrated again.
No signal.
She swore viciously.
Noah watched her with open curiosity now, amusement flickering across his features like a candle flame.
"Interesting," he said lightly. "You don't usually react like that to civilians."
"He's not a civilian," Celestia snapped.
Cain frowned. "Then who is he?"
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"…Complicated," she said.
Noah laughed softly. "Oh, I do love complicated."
She glared at him. "Don't."
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Relax. If he's the one who located the hideout, then he's either incredibly lucky or incredibly unlucky."
Celestia turned sharply and began walking, already pulling up the coordinates Elias had sent, scanning the map with narrowed eyes.
"This location," Cain said, falling into step beside her. "It's outside the known Jackal zones."
"Exactly," Celestia replied. "Which means he walked straight into it."
Noah hummed thoughtfully as he followed. "Brave. Or foolish."
"Both," she muttered.
Elias Evan no Elias Graves.
A D-rank on paper.
A pressure that made seasoned hunters uneasy.
A man who claimed weakness with indifference.
And now, someone who had wandered into a Jackal nest alone.
She felt a familiar throb behind her eyes.
A headache.
"Prepare your squad," she ordered without slowing. "We move now."
Cain nodded. "Understood."
Noah's smile widened just a fraction as he watched her.
"This Elias," he said casually. "I'm looking forward to meeting him."
Celestia shot him a sharp look.
"You shouldn't."
He chuckled, unbothered.
"Oh," he replied softly, eyes glinting. "Now you've made me curious