Zephyr stood still in front of the rotting entrance to the hut.

This was the spot that led down into the hidden cave.

He was not sure what magic was happening inside, or why no one was left behind to guard this critical entry point.

The lack of security felt like a trap waiting to snap shut.

Before he could decide to jump in, a tremor shook the ground beneath his boots.

’What?’ Zephyr thought.

He grabbed the wooden frame to steady his balance.

The old, broken village lamps hanging from the ruined houses had been dark for years.

Suddenly, they lit up automatically with a green fire.

The burned houses, which were empty just a second ago, started filling with the loud chatters of everyday life.

Zephyr quickly ducked back and hid behind the side of the hut.

He watched the dead village come back to life in the worst way possible.

Grey smoke gathered in the centre of the square.

The smoke twisted and shaped itself into human figures.

These smoke ghosts walked the dirt paths.

Some were screaming in agony, some were just children playing, but they were all moving with a strange rhythm.

"He is coming..."

"Praise the god..."

"Mommy, please help me..."

Creepy, overlapping whispers started echoing right into Zephyr’s ears.

These were the trapped souls of the innocent people who died here as a sacrifice years ago.

They had come back to the physical world.

All of the souls turned their smoky heads and started walking toward the hut.

Men, women, and small children in smoke-like structures walked directly inside the opening.

They marched straight down into the cave without even looking at Zephyr, hiding in the shadows.

His breathing hitched, but he stayed still.

Then, one of the smaller figures broke the line.

He saw a kid made of grey smoke stop and look at him for a long time.

The ghost raised a smoky hand and pressed it directly against Zephyr’s chest.

His consciousness faded instantly.

Zephyr blinked.

He was no longer hiding behind the hut but stood right in the centre of the village as a helpless spectator in broad daylight.

Right in front of him, two robed cultists were using thick vines covered in sharp thorns to beat up a young kid.

They had stripped the boy’s shirt off.

"Please," the kid cried out, his voice cracking.

"Let me go."

The thorned whip slashed down hard.

It ripped the skin right off the kid’s bare back, tearing the muscle deep enough to make the white bones underneath visible.

Seeing this highly unfair and cruel situation, Zephyr let out an angry yell.

He ran forward with his fists raised to stop the torture and protect the child.

But his hands passed right through the cultists.

It was, after all, just a memory recorded in the ghost’s soul.

He was forced to just stand there and watch the horror play out.

He could not save the boy.

Back in the real world, the long line of tortured souls, which were saved as a feast to feed the demon king, walked deep inside the cave.

They moved one by one down the tunnel, acting as if they were obeying a magnetic order.

"HEHEHEHEHEHE," Anasthesia laughed.

Her creepy smile stretched wide across her wrinkled face.

My physical body was still down there in the cave.

I was floating high in the air, the wooden chair, tied up in the thick ropes.

My muscles strained as I tried desperately to fight back against the control and the mental domination trying to break my mind.

The line of grey smoke ghosts filed into the large cavern.

"Come here, my sweet babies," Anasthesia called out.

She raised her scarred hands toward the high ceiling.

"Break his mind. Break his soul. Torture it to your heart’s content and make way for the true king."

One of the ghosts, taking the shape of a tall woman, walked slowly up to my floating chair.

She reached out her smoky fingers and touched my physical body.

’Huh?’ I thought.

I was just standing in my old childhood room back on Earth a minute ago, trying to talk with my mom.

But the moment the ghost touched me in the real world, the scenery inside my head shifted abruptly.

The childhood bedroom dissolved into grey mist.

Now, it was a totally different place.

I was standing in the Whispering Village, but it looked bright and untouched.

It was showing the village right before its brutal massacre took place.

A woman was tied tightly to a pole in the centre of the square.

It was the same woman whose soul just touched me in the cave.

She was crying and begging the surrounding cultists to stop their atrocities.

"Please let me go," she pleaded, tears streaming down her dirty face.

"I have a family."

None of the robed figures listened.

They did not pay any attention to her cries at all.

The woman stopped crying for a brief moment.

She lifted her head and locked eyes directly with me.

I was just standing there in the crowd, watching her suffer.

Swoosh.

A sudden rush of wind hit my face.

The world spun in a circle.

Instead of the woman, I was the one tied up in the rough ropes now.

The coarse fibres dug deep into my wrists and chest.

I looked down and saw the cultists gathering the dry wood right at my boots, getting ready to burn me alive.

The rough bark scratched my shins.

"No, stop this," I shouted, struggling hard against the bindings.

"It was not me. Let me go."

I looked out into the crowd of villagers.

The woman who was tied here just a second ago was now standing where I had been.

She looked at me with dead eyes.

There was zero pity on her face.

"I begged the same way," she said flatly.

One of the cultists struck a match and threw it into the dry branches.

The searing heat burned through my clothes, making my skin blister and peel.