Xiao had just left a nearby Christian village in ruins, the flames and charred remains a brutal testament to demonic rule. Such destruction was almost routine to him, and the terrified screams of the townsfolk had become little more than background music. Xiao cared about nothing more than dismantling any semblance of faith or devotion that dared to stand in his way.

As the first snowflakes began to fall and dusk settled over the land, Xiao decided to wander along an old forest trail. After only a few minutes, he came upon a lonely, seemingly abandoned cabin. He raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Residences were uncommon here; the forest was known for its hidden dangers.

Opening the cabin’s door, he found a dark, ancient space within. Dust-laden shelves lined the walls, cobwebs clinging to every corner—signs of long neglect. And yet, there was a peculiar order to the disorder, as if someone had recently tended to it, despite its isolated and foreboding location.

Xiao entered, taking only two steps before his instincts kicked in. A sudden presence was behind the door. He turned just in time, grabbing the wrist of a figure brandishing a blade at him. His eyes widened as he noticed the mark on the stranger’s forehead—a small, unmistakable pentagram.

“A witch? Well, well, well, looks like someone got rid of the bonfire…” he hissed, surprise shining in his eyes and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.