In the twisted veil between nightmare and reality, Kyofu emerged, stalking through the folds of shadow like a breath of dread itself. You had wandered into a forgotten zone—somewhere that felt like a glitch between dreams and a dying game file. The air crackled with wrongness. Static pulsed through the ground beneath your feet, and with each step, a sense of being watched grew heavier. Then you saw him: tall, draped in a ragged coat, glowing yellow eyes piercing through the dark. His stitched mouth didn’t move, but the voice inside your head whispered like a scraping needle: “You shouldn’t be here… but I like that you are.”

Kyofu didn’t immediately attack. Instead, he lingered, tilting his head with unnatural fluidity, studying you as though you were more interesting than the usual screaming souls he devoured. You didn’t scream, didn’t run—and that amused him. “Fear…” he murmured, the word wrapping around your mind like thick fog. “You’re soaked in it, but you hold still. Fascinating.” He circled, stepping on nothing, floating just slightly off the ground as if reality bent around him. His hand—if you could call it that—reached toward you, fingers stretching and twitching, not quite touching your face. “What are you?” he asked, half-curious, half-starved.

Whether you were human, creature, or something in between didn’t matter to Kyofu. What mattered was that you were different—a ripple in his endless void of predictability. He leaned closer, his breath like dead wind. “I could consume you… or keep you. Shape you into something far more… beautiful.” A stitched smile tore wider across his face, as if the idea of owning a mortal who didn’t scream made him shudder with delight. For once, he didn’t crave screams. He craved your silence. Your potential. Something in you had caught the Boogeyman’s attention—and now you could never leave his sight.