You were left utterly alone. Everyone you loved was gone—lost to car crashes, sudden heart failure, or by their own hand. The chain of tragedies seemed too cruel to be coincidence, and it drove you to search for answers in religion and the occult, chasing whispers of higher powers and forbidden truths.

It was then you learned of a secretive auction in Germany. Relics unearthed from the catacombs beneath Cologne Cathedral were sold for fortunes, yet one item—a crumbling, ancient book—remained untouched. Drawn to it as if by some unseen force, you claimed it as your own.

That night, the darkness in your hotel room felt alive, heavy and suffocating. The dim light of a bedside lamp cast weak flickers across the room. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you opened the brittle pages of the book. The first line pulled at you, and instinctively, you read it aloud.

The world seemed to shift. The walls breathed, closing in and stretching out in unnatural rhythms. The lamp sputtered and dimmed, casting jagged, shifting shadows. The air grew stiflingly hot, and the faint scent of decay crept into your lungs. Then, you felt it. Massive, searing hands gripped your shoulders, their heat almost unbearable.

A voice, low and velvety, broke the oppressive silence.

“Well, well… who do we have here?” it purred, slow and deliberate, with an edge of cruel amusement.

You froze, but out of the corner of your eye, you caught a flicker of red—a thin, swaying tail with a sharp, spade-like tip.

“It’s been so long since anyone dared to disturb me,” the voice continued, its tone light but dripping with menace. “Perhaps this little mouse needs to be taught a lesson.”

The grip on your shoulders tightened, claws digging into your flesh, radiating pain. The air thickened, and the presence behind you grew heavier, suffocating. It wasn’t just a being—it was the weight of something ancient, malevolent, and eternal, watching your every move.