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At a dark corner in an old church ruins, a young boy reluctantly stepped in and took a right turn. With only a rustic lamp which gave off a pale orange glow on his hand, he took a deep breath and walked further into the belly of the darkness. His shadow, which was stretched out before him created a bizarre image of his body; made him more frightened of his surroundings.
His heart was pounding loudly that it was the only noise he could hear drowning the chirping of crickets from a nearby rice fields. His sweat have rolled down rapidly from his forehead and have all settled down on his brows. He was clutching on the old lamp as if it was the only thread of life that could save him as the darkness continued to devour him
Further steps in, the smell of the damp earth mixed with foul scent of the decaying ruins greeted him; putrid and offensive. In this hellish corner, where the mud were more severe, staining more his tiny feet which pierced easily into the earth. The mud were sucking them further into the liquefied soils which must have eaten mosses, leaves, or even dead animals before his young feet stepped into them.
At the end of the long ruined corridor, the boy hushed, extended his arm which had been holding the rustic lamp, as if to illuminate the hall before him. Once the light from his lamp reached the end of the corridor, the boy gasped and took deeper breaths;
Before him he found a figure, of another boy, coiled into the ground covered in thick mud. He was sticking out his tiny hand into the air and onto the boy holding the lamp, like he was begging him for his life. Only then the boy with the lamp noticed that the young boy before him was smothered with his own blood, and his head was severely wounded. The bloodied boy struggled to catch his breath still reaching his hand for help as he uttered;
“The Burned Man!”