Jaden stood in front of the mission board at DC headquarters. Jun had just handed him another contract — a string of demon attacks in the lower outskirts of the city. Normal, at least on the surface. But something about this one felt… different.
"These ones don't kill right away," Jun said, arms crossed. "They haunt. They possess. They break people from the inside."
Jaden studied the details on the parchment. Victims had reported hearing voices, seeing dead loved ones. Some had gone mad before vanishing completely. There were no bodies. Just blood, shattered furniture, and silence.
"We're calling them 'Whispers,'" Jun added. "High-level. Tricky. I'd send backup, but we both know you don't like company."
Jaden didn't answer. He grabbed the parchment, nodded, and left the room.
By nightfall, he was already at the outskirts — an old district, abandoned buildings swallowed by fog and vines. The silence here wasn't normal. It was too thick, like the air itself was holding its breath.
He stepped into the first house. The floorboards creaked under his weight. There were claw marks on the walls, symbols written in something darker than paint. Blood, old and dried. But no sign of the demon.
Suddenly, a sound. A faint whisper.
"Jaden…"
He froze. The voice was soft. Familiar. Too familiar.
His mother's voice.
He drew his blade instantly, his eyes scanning the room. "You're not real," he muttered.
The voice came again, closer this time. "You were just a boy…"
Jaden stepped back. His grip tightened.
A shadow shifted in the corner of the room. Slowly, it took form — not fully, but enough. His mother's outline stood there, weeping.
Jaden blinked hard, jaw clenched. "You're not her. Don't try."
But the demon knew exactly what it was doing. These things didn't use claws first. They used memories.
"You let me die," the shadow said in her voice.
Jaden lunged forward, blade swinging, but it passed through mist. The figure vanished, replaced by laughter — cold and low.
Then, something hit him from behind. Hard. He hit the ground, rolled, and sprang up fast. The real form of the demon stood before him now — long, serpent-like, with hollow eyes and a voice that echoed from every corner of the room.
"So much pain in you," it hissed. "You're not a slayer. You're a broken child playing warrior."
Jaden didn't respond. He moved quickly, slashing at the demon with the ancient blade Master Shang had given him. It cut deep, and the demon let out a scream that shook the walls.
"You can't kill pain," it screeched.
"No," Jaden said, steady. "But I can kill you."
The final blow came swift. The blade sliced through the demon's throat, and with a wail, it dissolved into black ash. The whispers faded. Silence returned.
But not peace.
Jaden stood there for a while, breathing hard. The fog began to lift, and through a crack in the broken wall, moonlight poured in. He wiped the blade clean and stepped out into the street.
The sky was clear now. Stars visible.
Back at his apartment, he cleaned his arm again. The wound from the last fight was healing slowly. He poured more alcohol on it, gritting his teeth. Then he sat down, opened the demon record book again, and began writing.
One more name off the list.
But his mind wandered.
Mia.
Her words from the other day echoed again.
"I see someone who's survived something."
He wasn't used to that. Someone seeing past the scar. Past the reputation.
He shook the thought away and kept writing.
But deep down, he wondered if Mia would ever show up again — and if next time, he'd let her stay a little longer.