He paused for a moment, waiting a few seconds, but sensed no demonic aura.
Those paranormal show crews loved to exaggerate; it was most likely just some staged effect for the program, or they were scaring themselves.
He ignored it and continued deeper into the structure.
The basement wasn't large and lacked any foul odors; instead, a faint, cool breeze could be felt slowly circulating.
A tiger chair sat in the corner, apparently where the original owner of the house once used to restrain Myers.
After a quick look around, Sephirot found a section of the floor that had been chiseled open and crudely camouflaged with dirt.
Gusts of chilling wind poured into the basement from the hole.
He stepped down on the dirt, which collapsed inward to reveal a pitch-black shaft. A ladder for climbing was bolted tightly against the shaft wall.
A faint red glow flickered in Sephirot's eyes. Once he confirmed the depth, he leaped straight down.
Thud.
Landing steadily on the ground, Sephirot stood straight and observed the scene at the bottom of the hole.
This wasn't a dead end; the far side connected to an abandoned sewer leading outside.
As he reached the end, a wave of stench hit him full in the face.
Sephirot glanced down, his brow furrowing deeply.
A layer of grease floated on the surface of the standing water that submerged the soles of his boots. The half-eaten carcasses of rats were tossed haphazardly everywhere.
Fortunately, he was wearing tall boots.
If he had been wearing ordinary shoes, stepping into this heap of black water filled with dead rats, letting the filth soak through his shoes and cling to his feet, he'd want to chop his own feet off, let alone throw away the shoes.
Enduring the discomfort, he waded through the water.
After walking some distance, Sephirot's pace slowed to a halt.
On the damp ground ahead, a human corpse lay silently.
The body wore a set of deep blue coveralls, and a rubber mask covered its face.
"Found him just like that?"
Sephirot studied the body.
He couldn't feel the slightest trace of a demonic aura from the corpse, nor could he detect even a hint of a living presence.
It looked just like... an ordinary corpse.
Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the tunnel behind him, accompanied by a shout of delight.
"Over here! Finally found it! Clancy, get the camera on me!"
Peter ran over, out of breath.
He shoved aside Sephirot, who was standing in his way, and rushed to the corpse, launching into a non-stop commentary for the camera.
Faced with Peter's shoving, Sephirot didn't stop him, instead stepping aside to yield the stage to the host.
Sephirot stood quietly in the shadows, watching the agitated Peter.
Myers might just be in a deep sleep; he could use these two to see if the scent of the living would stimulate Myers enough to wake him up.
It was then that he noticed another figure following behind the cameraman, Clancy. It was Andre.
The man was wearing a pair of work overalls identical to the one on the corpse, clutching a mask in his hand.
No wonder he had said he would coordinate everything from the van; he had planned to wait for them to go inside before changing into his costume and rushing in to pose as the killer for the sake of the show.
It seemed that the screams Peter and the other man had let out upstairs earlier were caused by him.
Andre saw Sephirot and wanted to go over to greet him; he had witnessed the young man's performance when he first entered the house.
It was far better than Peter's performance, calm in the face of danger, bold yet meticulous. He was practically the ideal host in Andre's eyes.
But in the next second, his face suddenly turned deathly pale, filled with such terror it was as if he had seen something horrifying.
Sephirot followed his gaze and looked back.
In front of the lens, Peter was still reciting the lines Andre had written for him: "...This is that immortal nightmare! Ladies and gentlemen, we are now just one step away from danger..."
Peter felt as though he were in peak form tonight; his thoughts were clear, his articulation sharp, and he was even able to add a touch of his own flair here and there.
Perhaps spurred on by the presence of this new young man, he felt his career was undergoing a second spring!
Especially when his peripheral vision caught Andre standing nearby, the look of absolute horror on the director's face made Peter's inner pride soar to its peak.
It seemed his mastery of dialogue was so powerful that the atmosphere he rendered had even struck awe into the show's director.
"So, when you hear heavy breathing in the dead of night..."
Just as Peter was about to deliver his final closing line, a strange sensation suddenly bloomed in his chest.
He lowered his head hesitantly, his gaze slowly shifting downward, only to see a blood-stained blade protruding from his own chest.
Under the beam of the flashlight, the bloody tip of the knife looked eerily vibrant.
Peter opened his mouth, but blood kept surging up from his throat, choking back the lines he wanted to say.
He craned his neck stiffly, turning his gaze back inch by inch.
The corpse that had been lying so quietly was now sitting up.
Beneath that rubber mask, two hollow eye sockets were pressed against the back of his head, watching him silently.
"Shit!!"
Andre let out a shriek, the mask in his hand dropping to the floor. Like a man who had seen a ghost, he spun around and bolted.
"Dammit! Andre, wait the hell up!"
Clancy was so terrified he nearly dropped the camera on the floor.
He scrambled and stumbled forward a few steps, then looked back to find Sephirot still standing in place, motionless.
"Sephirot! Run! Have you lost your mind?"
Clancy yelled. Seeing Sephirot unmoved, he grit his teeth and forced himself to rush forward, giving Sephirot a hard yank.
But Sephirot's body was like it was rooted into the ground, not budging an inch.
A frigid chill spread through the sewer, and cold sweat broke out on Clancy's forehead.
After a moment of hesitation, he turned and fled in the direction Andre had gone. Sephirot ignored the two fleeing men, staring instead at Michael Myers with an expression of intense curiosity.
He had felt absolutely nothing from the man; this shell possessed neither the breath of the living nor the scent of a demon.
How could he have awakened?
Was it perhaps a curse originating from somewhere else, similar to the magic of Papa Midnite?
Sephirot watched as Myers slowly pulled the kitchen knife from the corpse.
Regardless, he would make it quiet first.
Magic surged through his body as Sephirot blurred into an afterimage, closing the distance instantly.
Faced with the assault, Myers swung the blade downward, but Sephirot stepped aside to evade it.
In the same motion, he seized Myers's wrist with a backhand grip and slammed a knife-hand strike into the crook of the man's arm.
Crack.
The sound of shattering bone echoed through the sewer.
In just a few brief exchanges, Sephirot had broken all of Myers's limbs.
The severe trauma left Myers's body unable to support itself; he collapsed into the sewage and fell unconscious.
Sephirot stepped forward and tore open the coveralls, meticulously inspecting Myers's body to see if there were any runes, imprints, or marks.
He found nothing.
To get to the bottom of the situation, Sephirot took half a step back. Thick fog billowed behind him, and Pyramid Head emerged from the mist, dragging his Great Knife.
For a dirty job like a dissection, Pyramid Head was naturally the most suitable choice.
Just as the Great Knife split Myers's skull open, a sudden mutation occurred.
As if sensing the threat of death, an extremely dense demonic aura erupted from the severed cranium.
Myers's brain split open like a walnut, and an amorphous lump of flesh squeezed its way out, crawling forth with a mess of tiny tentacles.
Sephirot's gaze narrowed slightly as he stared at the mass of gore.
Once the flesh emerged, it began to twitch violently, trying to expand outward.
However, a faint red light flickered across its surface, restraining the impulse.
Looking closely, this red light was woven from countless intersecting lines, forming a massive net that bound the flesh in a death grip.
He understood instantly: it was this seal that had forcibly locked away all demonic aura and fluctuations within the body.
This was how the demon had evaded the detection of the Council of Angels, living an ordinary life as a parasite within a human.
Now, with the death of the host's physical body, the hidden demon sensed danger.
The imprisoned flesh began to vibrate incessantly, battering against the seal.
Finally, with a crisp crack, the red seal shattered and dissipated into spots of light.
Without that layer of restriction, a suffocating surge of demonic power erupted like a flood.
-------------------------------
Tl note:
Hello everyone! I've started publishing a new translation: Warhammer: Wait, Do I Have to Sit on the Golden Throne Too? The story looks very promising, and the author has already written a Warhammer fanfiction with over 800 chapters, so I'm really excited to share this one with you. I'll leave the link in the comments for anyone who wants to check it out. Hope you enjoy it!