A frigid ripple spread rapidly from the center of the room like waves on water.
Sulfur and blazing fire mingled with the Prince of Hell's brutality, the Evil Spirit Puppet's cold, deathly stillness, and the pain and despair that had accumulated here for years, forcibly stirred awake.
It was as if an energy bomb had detonated soundlessly deep beneath the earth, its tremors racing along the fragile boundary between Hell and the mortal world.
Almost the instant the ripple spread, the basement environment began to warp.
The shadows in the corners began to writhe and stretch unnaturally, as though something were struggling to break free from within them.
The temperature plummeted. Their breath frosted in the air, cold droplets quickly condensed on the walls, and blurred, malicious whispers began echoing through the room—sometimes weeping, sometimes cursing—drilling directly into their minds.
Dean and Sam stood back-to-back, tensely scanning their surroundings, their knuckles white around their weapons.
Every flicker of shadow and every shift in those whispers sent their hearts racing.
Wu Heng stood where he was with his eyes closed, as though deep in meditation.
Only the faint twitch of his eyelashes showed that he was focusing completely on sensing the spreading ripple. Like a fisherman, he patiently and precisely felt for the slightest tremor on his line, waiting for his prey to bite.
The wait was not long, yet time seemed to slow, every second stretched several times over.
Then, CRACK!
Space tore open like glass, ripped apart into two gashes. No dazzling light emerged—only pure, suffocating darkness poured from the fissures.
Two figures stepped out.
They had roughly human forms, but their skin was sickly pale, as though they had never seen sunlight. They wore ragged black clothing in an ancient style.
Most chilling were their eyes: empty, lifeless