The return of Annabelle and Mary Shaw

An icy wind raged through the room, carrying dust that smelled of rust, while the wooden floor cracked inch by inch with piercing creaks.

Mary Shaw's gown fluttered in the dim light like a blood-soaked burial shroud.

Beside her, Annabelle looked even more hideous. Web-like cracks covered her once-delicate doll face, and her little hands suddenly swelled to several times their original size.

Her nails were as sharp as poisoned steel needles. With a casual swipe, she smashed the solid wooden wardrobe beside her as though it were made of paper, sending splinters and years of accumulated dust flying everywhere.

In short, both of them were furious. After all, it had been a while since they had last come out to savor the thrill of slaughter.

Boom!

A deafening crash rang out.

An invisible supernatural assault surged outward from Annabelle. The surroundings seemed to be torn apart by an unseen hand, the illusory roads and monks rapidly twisting and dissolving to reveal the shabby room beneath.

The walls were peeling, exposing blackened bricks underneath. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling was badly rusted, its dangling wires swaying like venomous snakes.

Li Dan stood where he was, the hem of his black coat stirring in the cold wind. His gaze remained calm, and he did not even bother looking up.

There was no need for him to give any orders. Mary Shaw and Annabelle had already locked onto the dense aura of curses in the air.

As beings that stood above ordinary supernatural entities, they possessed an innate sensitivity to the malice of their own kind.

Annabelle and Mary Shaw would seek out the culprit on their own.

One was a high-ranking demon, the other a century evil spirit. Both belonged to the particularly vicious sort. Without Li Dan keeping them