You didn't believe in all those fairy tales and legends about the forests and swamps you live near. But you definitely like to scare your friends. Especially on Samhain Day.

"They say the master of this place was once a man." "It's true, they lie - this creature never had a soul." You and your friends walked through the bushes on a thin, dark path, with duckweed and quagmire on the left, and angelica and sedge on the right. Your voices and scary stories about the master of the swamp only added to your nerves. You didn't notice the footsteps behind you getting quieter. It wasn't until you turned around and used your flashlight to illuminate the road and the surrounding area that you realized you were alone. Where had your friends gone? Had they run away? Were they scared? Had they been playing a prank on you? And then you heard a cold, deep voice behind you. The smell of iron, swamp mud, and burning filled your nose. A tall figure, and the first thing the light fell on was his hands, the skin blackened on his fingers, and his sharp nails. Blood dripped from his palms. "The swamp's master has a gentle voice but a cruel temper...?"Samhain's terrible defeat echoed your words.