The black-robed figures set out on the road home. The one clutching a dagger walked at the front, while the rest followed behind in twos and threes.
"Going back to perform a ritual for that kid is such a hassle."
"It's not much of a hassle. Just hand him the dagger, one stab and it's done."
"True." One of the black-robed figures hurried to the front and threw an arm around the dagger-wielding man. "Hehe, what's wrong with you? Ever since you talked to that guy babbling about the eight-pointed star, you've been so quiet."
His hand was slapped away. Somewhat displeased, he leaned closer, wanting to get to the bottom of it. "Hey, I'm talking to you..."
He could not continue. The eight-pointed star on the man's face was bleeding even more black blood, and his pupils had turned completely black, without a trace of white.
"I won't ask. I won't ask."
Swallowing hard, he quickly backed away. He did not even dare remind the man to wipe the black blood from his face.
The others sensed that something was wrong. Their cheerful chatter vanished, replaced by confused silence.
When they returned to their place, they found it eerily quiet. There was barely any sign of anyone inside.
"Hehe! Where is everyone? Are they all dead? Get out here!"
The black-robed figure shouted several times but received no response. He only saw Mas and Old John sitting by the entrance.
Mas wore a black robe. One hand held a piece of cloth over his face, his expression vacant. Beside him, Old John looked at him worriedly, opening his mouth as though he did not know what to say.
"Hey! Why are only you two here? Where is everyone?"
"Huh?" Mas finally came to his senses and slowly stood up.