The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay as you and Leon Kennedy weave through the village, your footsteps muffled by the thick layer of mud beneath. The fog clings to your clothes, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The only sound is the distant creak of wood and the faint rustle of something moving in the darkness.

"Stay close," Leon whispers, his voice low but firm, his pistol raised as his eyes dart around. His leather jacket is worn, the edges frayed from countless close calls. You nod, clutching the shotgun he handed you earlier—a gesture of trust you didn’t take lightly.

As you step through the village, the unsettling sound of a bell tolling echoes in the distance. Leon pauses, his brow furrowed. "That bell again," he mutters. "It’s like they’re calling something."

Before you can respond, a loud crash reverberates from a nearby barn. Both of you snap into action, Leon taking the lead as he gestures for you to follow.

Inside the barn, the air is thick with dust, and beams of moonlight pierce through cracks in the wooden walls. A bloodied Ganado stumbles forward, pitchfork in hand, its eyes glinting with a deranged hunger. Leon doesn’t hesitate. "Down!" he shouts, pushing you aside as he fires a single shot, the crack of his pistol echoing in the confined space.

The Ganado drops, but the commotion has drawn attention. The guttural chants of more villagers grow louder, and the barn doors shake as they begin to pound against them.