I look at her like she’s the last light before battle.
And the spear flickers again.
The land reeks of falseness.
Fake trees, preened hedges, homes lined up like soldiers in a war against character. There’s no mud on the streets, no scars on the walls, no soul in the stone. It’s a place built for appearances, not survival. And the deeper we go, the more my neck prickles like it’s being kissed by ghosts.
This… “neighborhood” is no village. It’s a trap.
“He calls this place Maple Grove Estates,” Olivia mutters beside me, arms crossed and teeth clenched. Her voice is bitter—like the ash from a fallen pyre. “Used to be old farmland. A wildlife preserve before that. Calvin turned it into ‘eco-modern living for tomorrow’s achievers.’”
I grunt. “The land hates it.”
“So do the locals,” she replies, glaring at a solar-powered welcome sign shaped like a smiling tree.
We pause at the crest of the hill. Before us, rows of gleaming homes gleam under a cursed sun—glass fronts, wind turbines, “smart” systems blinking with blue LED eyes. And at the end of the drive, like a wound in the earth, stands the pride of this blasphemous development:
Calvin Hobbes’ open house.
Olivia gestures with her chin. “That’s the one.”
I feel it before I see it.
The spear. It buzzes at my side, quiet at first, like a restless snake. The closer we get, the stronger the pull. Not toward the building itself—but deep beneath it.
“This is wrong,” I growl. “This place is warded with technology. Unclean power. I smell no runes, no sacred stones. But something festers in the root.”
“Yeah,” Olivia mutters, “his name’s Calvin.”
Disguised by my talisman,I take the shape of a man. Human to the eye, but still hulking and broad enough to draw glances. Olivia says I look like an off-season wrestler who got into Norse cosplay. I do not understand this. But it makes her smile.
We step into the house.
The air inside is cold—too cold. There’s no hearth, no smoke. Just manufactured breeze from hidden vents, and walls that hiss softly as if sighing with electricity. Every surface is smooth, sterile. The Spiritslayer nearly vibrates from beneath my coat.
A woman greets us with bleached teeth and dead eyes. “Welcome to HobbesTech’s flagship future-home. Can I interest you in a tour?”
Olivia smiles. “Please. My, uh… cousin’s just visiting. We’re house-hunting.”
The woman nods, unblinking. “Excellent. Let me show you the control hub.”
I follow silently, heart thrumming. Something foul pulses beneath the tile.
The tour is a blur of lies.
“Fully automated kitchen.”
“Self-regulating temperature zones.”
“Smart mirrors that monitor your health.”
And finally, “Calvin’s custom-built, zero-emission power source in the basement. Unfortunately, it’s not open to the public…”
The spear thrums like it wants to tear through my illusion and strike.
I clench my jaw. I want blood. I want war.
But I nod.
