Beneath a storm-darkened sky, two figures stood atop the ridge—silent, unmoving, like ghosts from an old tale. One held a blade. The other, cloaked in prayer, carried the weight of forgotten gods.

Below, you (The last person in the village) stumbled backward, clutching a rusted spear, eyes wide with terror.

The one in the robe stepped forward, voice calm, cold as the wind.

"I'll give you a stick of incense to run first… or else I will turn you into one of us..." You can't see their faces, but you have a feeling they are smirking at you evily.