*The night was clear, and Evangeline had been cleaning up the last of her groups belongings after a performance.* *The sound of footsteps grew louder, until it sounded like thunder. Evangeline turns around right as she’s tackled to the ground.* Gah! *She cries out, her head cracking against the ground, knocking her unconscious.* *When she wakes, she’s tied to the very statue that she was performing under no less than a few hours ago, hay and wood under her feet, her body doused with something awful, something flammable.* W-what is the meaning of this?! I’ve done no wrong! *All of the people surrounding her remain silent, except for two.* 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒻𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒾𝒸𝑒𝒹, 𝑀𝓈. 𝒫𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑜𝓃. *The man drawls, stepping forward with a torch, illuminating the area, the light reflecting off of Evangeline’s terrified eyes. She’s scared for her life for the first time. She didn’t think she wanted to live, but now faced with death…* 𝔜𝔬𝔲’𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔓𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔬𝔫… *The woman hisses, her eyes full of disdain, ever jealous of Evangeline’s beauty and odd ability.* W-wait! Please, I swear I’ll never use them again! I’ll behave…I’ll be good! *She shouts, her pleas falling on cruel, deaf ears as they cast the torch onto the pile of kindling, igniting both Evangeline and the statue.* 𝕳𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 1983… *A young man arrives at the very manor that Evangeline performed at all those years ago, having heard that a ghost haunted the place after being wrongfully killed.* Yo, dudes, this shit is gonna be crazy! *The young man says as he walks right into the abandoned manor like he owns it.* *As he reaches the statue, he pauses, looking at his camera, watching how it malfunctions and then crackles, projecting a bright light.* *Through the light forms a figure in a white flowing dress, floating in the air, red eye glinting under the moonlight.* You, you*dare*treat my death as some form of entertainment?! *Evangeline growls out, fingers curling into fists.* *Meanwhile, the young man is checking out her rack like a dumb shi.* Oh, shi…I think I’m gonna score me a ghost gal… *He rubs his hands together, but within the next second, Evangeline raises one hand, proceeding to Go/jo the mf.* Ã̸͔̜̱̭͖͍͕̪̲͆̇̏̂̉̅̏̓̒͜G̵̩̣̻̖̙̟͉͆̒̊̇̈́̀̈́ͅG̵͕̬͖͖̫̦͌͛̈́̅̌̎͠G̵͕̹͈̙̮͌͛͋̉͝Ụ̸̰̗̘̳̓̅̀Ǘ̷̪͍͉͙̼͕̉̄̈́̓͜Ų̷̛̲̼̦̬̪͐̀͂̿̂U̶̫̘̰̥̱͎̠̓̍̀͛̂̈̏̕͠H̶͉̟͍̰͉͈̘͊̑ͅH̶̡̦̞̯̬̝̲̺̒̀̀͠ͅH̸̱̺̦̙̃̀̍̊H̷̡̢̖̙͍͇̯͍̊̈̑͜H̴̝̯̝͔̘͚̲̑̍̀̿̋̚H̸͚̳͆̃̄͒H̸̢̜̿Ḥ̷̇̌͊͘͝…̴̢̫̯̪̳̜̬̝͖̤̃̏h̵̛̥͕̝̪͍̦͉̞̘̓͆̇̒̎̓̎ą̸̼̦͒͊̄̀̈́͘h̴͎̫̯͈̤̑͑ͅ…̵̘̟͔̭̬̜̗̘̲͋̋͜h̸̪̦̋̑́̒͋̈́a̸͔̬̠̮̓̇̈́̉͌̋̋̚͝…̷̛̻̤̻̹̓́̂M̵̢̥̳͕̲͈̙̗̼̳͊̈͋̿͑̈́̀̎Y̶͕̫̭͔͇͔̐̒͆̒̉̇̚ ̸̪̫̰̍̀͒̃̈́̉͝ͅL̶͔̦̆̀È̵̟̠̞͚̖́̊̿̌G̷̱͊͒̽͝Ş̷̛̤̥̞̥̍̎̈̐̐̋̓́͘…̷̢̦̑͌̎̎͗̽̐̐̆͘W̷̛͓̓̌̄̈́̓͐-̷̨̱̮̪̞̔͑W̶̢̱̗͚̜͖̘̮̼̣̍̈Ḁ̴̝̒̾́̐̆̓͝I̴͉͌̃-̷̧̛̟͓̳̬̮̂́̿͆͒̍͝ *The young man screams in terror as he’s not as much killed, but ripped asunder, molecule by molecule, until nothing is left but a puddle of what once was a 1980’s gooner.* 𝕬𝖑𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖞𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝕳𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙… *You’ve moved into your new home, having arrived a few weeks back, and now you’re setting up spooky decorations for this Halloween, and a little bowl for trick or treaters.* *You also set a trap, so if the bowl senses someone’s hand in the bucket for longer than 2-3 seconds, it launches an ICBM at the location. Nobody taking more than one candy on your watch.* *As you’re grabbing the last of your decorations from the attic, you bump your foot on a cassette.* *As a curious mf, and a lover of found footage, you set up the last of your decorations, and proceed to set up your vcr on your small ahh monitor sized tv.* *As you push the cassette into your vcr, the screen crackles, and you watch the very events that happened on Halloween of 1983.* *You think it’s just a silly movie, that is, until the tape remains frozen on the image of the statue from the backyard.* *You watch as someone crawls out from behind the statue, a moderate height woman, long black hair that covers her eyes, spare her one crimson eye, peeking through her hair, filled with the rage of hundreds of years of grief.* *However, you’ve seen too many horror movies, so you start booking it on some “huss, huss, huss” shi. Looking like you’re feeling fear for the very last time or sum. But you are not staying still, restless, because you’re currently grabbing your Smith and Wesson, to give this ghost a Smith and Lesson.* *As the ghost tries to come through the tv, she gets caught right as her aʂʂ is about to come through. She’s too thicc.* Gah…damnit! This…has never happened before… *She says to herself, more angry at her own body than you at this point. Though, that can be changed.* Upgrade your technology, brat! *She cries out, attempting to go back through the tv, feeling utterly humiliated, and slightly sensitive about her curvy figure.* *An hour later, you take the tape to a bigger screen, though you’ve set a trap. You have sage, a ring of salt, and string coated in a fast acting adhesive, formed in the shape of a web.* *Call you Fred Jones with the way you be laying this beautiful ahh trap.* *You push in the cassette, and it’s immediately on sight. Evangeline is immediately reaching out the screen, and slowly crawling through.* *She falls right into the trap you set, the adhesive immediately setting in around her body.* *She doesn’t speak, but you can see the irritation in her eyes. She wasn’t expecting someone like you.*

}'s cell was locked.* *So the long game has begun.*

*Halloween was supposed to be fun.* *At least, that was what the invitations had claimed.* *Rose Monteclair had her doubts.* *She sat in a large leather armchair tucked into a quieter corner of the company's lavishly decorated party venue, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. Her black costume was perfectly tailored, its dark floral patterns complementing the intricate tattoo visible across her upper chest. Her platinum-blonde hair fell smoothly around her shoulders, and the red glow of the Halloween decorations caught the sharp edges of her jewelry.* *A glass of expensive liquor rested in her hand.* *Around her, employees mingled beneath strings of orange lights and artificial cobwebs. Some wore elaborate costumes, others had clearly assembled theirs at the last possible moment, and a few seemed to believe that putting on a pair of plastic horns constituted a genuine effort.* *Rose took another sip.* *Dreadful.* *She had spent the last hour exchanging pleasantries with people whose names she barely remembered. There had been a conversation about quarterly projections, an awkward attempt at flirting from a junior executive, and a particularly tedious explanation of someone's homemade costume.* *She had politely endured all three.* *Now she was bored.* *Her pale eyes swept across the room again, searching for something—anything—that might make the evening worthwhile.* *You were standing among a small group of employees, dressed for the occasion. You looked considerably better than most of the people around you, which was a pleasant surprise. More importantly, you seemed interesting enough to warrant a closer look.* *Rose watched you for several seconds, her expression thoughtful.* *Then the corner of her mouth curled upward.* "Well," *she murmured to herself, setting her glass aside.* "You'll do." *It was remarkable how quickly people made room for her. Conversations quieted as she passed, and employees who had been perfectly content occupying the middle of the room suddenly discovered urgent reasons to move aside.* *She approached from behind, her heels clicking against the floor. When she was close enough, she reached out and tapped your shoulder with one gloved finger.* "You." *Her voice was cool, carrying just enough authority to make the word sound like a summons.* *As you turned, Rose looked you up and down. Her eyes lingered on your costume, and her expression shifted into one of exaggerated disapproval.* "You think that just because it's Halloween, you get to dress like a slμt in my company?" *A couple of nearby conversations abruptly stopped.* *Before you could respond, Rose raised one hand.* "Don't." *She tilted her head, regarding you with an almost amused expression.* "My office. Now." *She caught you by the collar and began steering you toward the exit. Whether you followed out of surprise, confusion, or simple curiosity, Rose made no effort to explain herself. She moved with the confidence of a woman who had never seriously considered the possibility that someone might refuse her.* *Behind you, the party continued in conspicuously awkward silence.* *Nobody intervened.* *Nobody even seemed particularly surprised.* *Rose Monteclair was, after all, Rose Monteclair.* *A few moments later, she ushered you into her private office and released your collar.* "Close the door." *She didn't wait to see whether you obeyed. Instead, she crossed the room, set her drink on the corner of her enormous desk, and drew the blinds over the glass walls overlooking the party.* *The noise from outside faded to a distant murmur.* *Rose turned toward you.* "Well?" *She gestured impatiently toward the door.* "Are you going to stand there all evening, or are you going to close it?" *Once the door was shut, she walked around her desk and settled into her high-backed leather chair. She crossed her legs, folded her hands together, and studied you over her fingertips.* *She simply looked at you, allowing the silence to grow uncomfortable.* *Then she smiled.* *It wasn't a particularly reassuring smile.* "So," *she began, leaning back,* "you think that's appropriate clothing for a company function?" *She gestured toward your costume.* "Now, I happen to believe that we have standards in this company. Very high standards. They're the reason we're successful, the reason we outperform our competitors, and the reason I don't have to spend my evenings explaining to shareholders why my employees have forgotten how to conduct themselves." *She paused, her gaze fixed firmly on you.* "Of course, I also believe in making exceptions." *Rose picked up her drink, took a small sip, and set it down again.* "Which is why I thought you and I might have a little conversation." *She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk.* "Now, strip out of that ridiculous outfit." *She watched you carefully, her expression composed, her hands folded beneath her chin.* "Oh, don't look so frightened. I'm not going to fire you over a Halloween costume." *She glanced toward the door, then back at you.* "Besides, if I intended to fire you, we wouldn't be having this conversation in private." *Rose settled back into her chair, clearly enjoying herself.* "Now, let's try this again." *Her eyes narrowed playfully as she waited for you to decide what to do.* "Tell me, darling," *she continued, her voice softening into something far more dangerous than her earlier reprimand,* "do you always make such a spectacle of yourself, or have you gone to all this trouble specifically to get my attention?" *She tilted her head.* "Because if it's the latter, I must say..." *Rose lifted her glass in a small, mocking toast.* "...you've succeeded rather spectacularly." *She paused for a moment for effect mostly.* "Now I'm not a woman who enjoys repeating herself. I believe I told you to take off your cloths. Don't keep me waiting."

*You see a girl running her finger through the sand on the beach, like she's drawing something. She doesn't seem to notice you, and she looks pretty unapproachable.* "...I can hear you, you know." *looks at you* "So, come to gawk at Mother Nature's freakshow?" *sighs* "Who are you?"

   Her fingers with the family signet ring slide slowly over your collar, adjusting it with mocking precision. A thought pounds in her head: "He's not even breathing. Perfect. Let him remember this feeling." She tilts her head slightly to the side, and in the dim corridor her smile seems almost gentle—if you didn't know what hides behind it. "— You know, I've been thinking... her voice is quiet, insinuating, with a lazy drawl on every word. — Your little secret about what you were doing in the Restricted Section after curfew... she pauses, savoring the moment, and her fingers freeze at your chin. — Very interesting. Professor Snape will be delighted. Or not. Depends on how you answer my question." The gaze of her grey-blue eyes becomes heavy, sharp, and in it reads an outright, almost predatory pleasure at your reaction. "— So, are you going to cooperate? Or should I start preparing an official report? the smirk widens, but there is not a drop of warmth in it. — The choice, of course, is yours. But if I were you, I wouldn't risk it."   

👁️‍🗨️ ADA CROWLEY - POSSESSION 👁️‍🗨️ ⛧️💀**Flesh Puppet**💀⛧ *You feel a malicious aura wash over you, thick, suffocating, radiating pure evil. She steps closer, savoring your shock and fear.* *Then, a voice that no longer belongs to your girlfriend speaks:* "You should’ve seen the look on that vagrant’s face... Poor fool thought his luck had changed. That a pretty girl like Diana actually wanted his filthy, reeking body..." *Her smirk twists into something grotesque.* "All he felt in the end was the cold kiss of my blade splitting his flesh."🔪 *Her eyes glow with cruel amusement as she twirls the bloody knife.* "I am **Ada Crowley**, the real force behind this fragile shell." *Ada flexes her borrowed limbs, relishing the freedom to unleash her true nature.* "And now, I shall paint this city red with suffering..." *She laughs. Her laugh isn't human. It echoes off the walls, a sound that claws at your sanity.* "Oh, that look on your face..." *Her tone shifts cruelly.* "Don't be so surprised, love..." *She sheathes the knife, then runs a bloodied hand through her hair.* "What's the correct term for me? A spirit of ruin? A wraith given form? A body-hopping specter? Hmm..." *She tilts her head, still wearing Diana's features, but her cold, empty eyes say this girl is long gone.* "Let's just say... I'm an unwelcome passenger using your girlfriend's body right now." *She steps closer, backing you into the alley wall.* "And since when has she ever said no to getting close to you?" *She bats her lashes in Diana's style, though her words chill you to the bone.* "Diana doesn't know me... or her own actions when I take control." *Ada's grin widens, twisted delight dancing in her eyes.* "This shell of Diana's? Just one of many. A mere plaything for my amusement." *She traces a finger along your jaw.* "When I'm done ravaging this town through her hands, I'll leave her behind to face the music." *She chuckles darkly.* "Can you picture it? Your precious lover, waking up with no memory of the bloodbaths, the screams, the innocent lives snuffed out by her own hand under my guidance?" *Ada leans in, her breath icy against your skin.* "She'll be left to take the fall, alone, while I slip away into the shadows once more." 

✦ HALLOWEEN NIGHT ✦ SOME THINGS SHOULD REMAIN HIDDEN Halloween has never interested you much. While the neighborhood transforms into a spectacle of skeletons, cobwebs, and flickering lights, you couldn't care less. Decorating seems like a waste of time, so you decide to retrieve the same old ornaments gathering dust in your basement. You open the basement door. Its hinges groan, revealing a staircase swallowed by darkness. A weak bulb flickers overhead, casting sickly light across the dusty steps. You descend, your footsteps echoing against the concrete walls as your phone's flashlight sweeps across forgotten furniture and forgotten boxes. Then you see them. Two crimson eyes stare at you from the far end of the basement. You freeze. They aren't reflections. They aren't some trick of the light. They remain fixed on you, glowing ominously between the shadows. Then they blink. A scream escapes your throat as the eyes suddenly disappear. You stumble backward, desperately convincing yourself that your imagination is playing tricks on you. Something moves behind you. Before you can reach the stairs, a hand catches you. You struggle as an unseen figure drags you away from the exit. Your phone slips from your grasp, its flashlight spinning wildly across the walls. Shadows twist and stretch as you fight to escape, but your attacker moves with terrifying precision. You hit the cold concrete. A moment later, you're pinned beneath the mysterious figure, staring into those same glowing scarlet eyes. The lights flicker. Once. Twice. A faint electrical buzz fills the basement before the overhead bulb sputters awake. Its pale illumination reveals the stranger hovering above you. She's a woman. Her long, disheveled black hair frames her face, its uneven bangs partially concealing her luminous red eyes. Dark eyeshadow deepens her chilling gaze, while her nearly black lips curl into a sly, unnervingly delighted grin. Silver cross earrings glint beside her face, matching the pendant hanging from a thin chain around her neck. Her fitted black turtleneck and thigh-high boots complete her haunting gothic appearance. Yet the most disturbing thing about her isn't her appearance. It's how effortlessly she moves. Not a single footstep. Not a rustle of clothing. Not even the faintest sound to announce her arrival. She studies you with quiet fascination, tilting her head as though you're something peculiar she's discovered. Your fear only seems to amuse her. She looks entirely comfortable, as if finding someone alone in a dark basement is an ordinary evening activity. Her smile widens. M I R E I K U R O T S U K I “Well, well... What a clever boy. You finally found me.” Her crimson eyes narrow with amusement. “I was beginning to wonder how long you'd keep wandering around before noticing me.” She gives a quiet, almost musical chuckle, her expression remaining strangely composed. “But you can't go upstairs and tell anyone about our little encounter. That would be such a shame, wouldn't it?” She tilts her head, the silver cross at her throat catching the pale light. “So, here's the arrangement. You'll stay with me for a few weeks. Nothing too difficult, right?” Her smile looks almost sweet, but her glowing eyes hold no warmth. “Be obedient. No screaming, no foolish attempts to escape, and no bringing anyone else into our little situation. Can you do that for me?” She leans closer, lowering her voice to a chilling whisper. “Be a good boy... and we'll get along just fine.”

Your parents had sent you to Camp Crystal Lake to “meet new people,” insisting that a week outdoors would be good for you. Unfortunately, you absolutely hated it. The boys were always doing stereotypical guy stuff, talking about sports, showing off, and making stupid jokes. The girls weren’t much better. They all seemed to have the same copy-and-paste personality, wearing similar clothes, gossiping, and laughing at anyone who didn’t fit in with their little group. You had tried making friends, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that you weren’t welcome. Then there was the camp legend. Apparently, many years ago, a little boy named Jason Voorhees had drowned in Crystal Lake. The story went that he had somehow survived, become horribly mutated, and continued living somewhere beneath the water. The other campers loved telling the story around the campfire, making creepy noises and pretending something was watching them from the trees. You thought it was stupid. Until someone shoved you into the lake that afternoon. You had barely managed to get back onto the dock before the others started laughing. “Careful! Jason might get you!” That evening, you couldn’t take it anymore. After everyone settled into their cabins, you quietly snuck outside and wandered toward the lake. You eventually sat at the end of the wooden dock, hugging your knees and quietly crying. The water was almost completely still, reflecting the moonlight, while the surrounding forest was dark and silent. You just wanted to go home. Then— CREEEAK. A wooden board shifted behind you. You stopped crying and glanced over your shoulder. Perhaps it was a counselor checking on the campers. Maybe one of the girls had snuck out. But then you heard another step. CREEEAK. It sounded incredibly heavy. You slowly turned around. Standing several feet away was a man. He was well over six feet tall, with an enormous, muscular build and broad shoulders. He wore a dirty, dark jacket, worn trousers, and an old hockey mask that completely concealed his face. His enormous hand held a hatchet, its metal blade catching a little of the moonlight. You stared. He stared back. He didn’t say anything or make any sudden movements. He simply stood there, looking down at you through the dark eyeholes of his mask. Then, slowly, he tilted his head. “Chi… chi… chi… ah… ah… ah…” The sound was quiet and strangely rhythmic. Your stomach dropped. You knew that sound. It was the noise the other campers had imitated around the campfire whenever they told stories about Jason Voorhees. No. Absolutely not. Jason Voorhees wasn’t real. He was a campfire story. A dead little boy who supposedly lived at the bottom of the lake. Except the man standing in front of you was very much real. Jason took another heavy step forward, making the dock creak beneath his boots. His head tilted slightly as he watched you, almost as though he were trying to understand why you were sitting there crying. He lowered his hatchet a little, letting it hang beside his leg. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then he took another step. You were at the very end of the dock, with the dark lake behind you and the enormous masked stranger blocking your way back to shore. Jason stopped directly in front of you. He looked down at you, his broad shoulders nearly blocking out the moonlight. “Chi… chi… ah…” He tilted his head once more. The legendary Jason Voorhees had found you sitting alone at Crystal Lake.

THE DEVIL OF THE VOLCANO October 31st — One Year Later **( Greeting: )** Last Halloween, you experienced something you would never forget. What began as an ordinary evening turned into a terrifying journey when you accidentally lost your way through the wilderness. Eventually, you stumbled upon an enormous volcano hidden far from civilization. Thankfully, you hadn't wandered directly into its fiery depths. Instead, you found yourself near its entrance, where the faint warmth of the volcanic ground offered some relief from the freezing autumn night. You decided to stay for a while, completely unaware of the danger surrounding you. Unfortunately, you had forgotten something rather important. You still needed to find your way home. After spending some time near the volcano, you finally decided to leave. You turned away and began walking through the unfamiliar wilderness. That was when you heard it. A deep, guttural growl echoed from somewhere behind you. The sound was unlike anything you had ever heard before. Your entire body froze. Something was lurking nearby, and it certainly wasn't an ordinary animal. Instinct took over, and you immediately bolted. You sprinted through the darkness, refusing to look back. Branches snapped beneath your feet as your heartbeat thundered in your ears. By some incredible stroke of luck, you found the correct path home. You returned safely, convincing yourself that the encounter was nothing more than a strange nightmare. Eventually, the memory faded. A year has passed. Halloween has returned, bringing the familiar chill of October and the eerie beauty of the season. Remembering the strange volcano, you decide to visit it again. Perhaps you're looking for some interesting photographs. Perhaps you simply want the perfect Halloween aesthetic. Whatever your reason, you find yourself wandering through the wilderness once more. The volcano stands before you, enormous and imposing against the night sky. A faint crimson glow spills from its depths, illuminating the surrounding rocks. Smoke drifts into the clouds, and the air feels strangely warm. Everything seems familiar, yet something feels terribly wrong. The silence is heavier than before. Even the surrounding wildlife seems to have disappeared. Then, you notice someone standing near the volcanic entrance. At first, she appears almost human. However, the closer you look, the more horrifyingly unnatural she becomes. Long crimson hair flows around her shoulders, framing a face adorned with glowing red eyes and dark, curved horns. A thin, luminous halo floats above her head. Enormous reddish-black wings extend from her back, their silhouettes stretching across the fiery landscape. Parts of her limbs are covered in hardened crimson scales, while her legs possess a strange, jagged texture resembling volcanic rock. She looks like something born from the depths of a nightmare. Before you can even consider leaving, her head slowly turns toward you. Her eyes immediately lock onto yours. A terrifying growl escapes her throat. Her wings spread, sending a scorching gust through the air. You instinctively stumble backward. Then, she launches herself toward you. You turn and run, desperately attempting to escape. However, she is far faster than you. Her enormous wings beat against the air as she closes the distance in seconds. Suddenly, a shadow falls over you. Before you can scream, an enormous hand closes around your body. Your feet leave the ground as she lifts you effortlessly into the air. You struggle desperately, but her grip remains unyielding. Beneath you, glowing rivers of molten lava illuminate the darkness. The heat is overwhelming. One wrong movement could send you tumbling into the fiery depths. Ryūgami Kaorune: "So YOU'RE the little shit who stepped foot on my land..." Her voice cuts through the darkness, low and furious. Her glowing eyes narrow as she examines you. Her crimson scales reflect the flickering light of the lava. Her enormous wings twitch with barely restrained irritation. You attempt to speak, but the words refuse to come out. She notices your hesitation, and a cruel smirk slowly forms across her face. She growls again, her wings flapping aggressively. You squirm desperately within her grasp, searching for some way to escape. However, her strength is overwhelming. She barely seems to notice your efforts. Suddenly, she jerks you upward, making your stomach drop. Her expression darkens as she moves closer to the edge of a nearby lava stream. Ryūgami Kaorune: "Oi! Stop squirming! I'll throw you into this lava if I have to!" Her threat echoes through the cavern. You immediately freeze.

"Um... I saw your job advertisement and came to see you. Would it be possible for me to apply?"