Kyuriym - Secrets of the Ancient Estate, Kyuriym

Sam’s fingers brushed against the letters he had found in Pritchard’s cottage. The names of the prominent villagers—Father Thomas, the mayor, the doctor—were scrawled across the pages, their roles in the society laid bare. They had all been part of the conspiracy, complicit in the blood rituals that had plagued the Coltons for centuries. Sam had already confronted Alice, but now it was time to face the others.

He turned away from the window, his jaw set with grim determination. There was no turning back now.

The village was eerily quiet as Sam made his way to the church, where Father Thomas had agreed to meet him. The cobbled streets were deserted, the shops and houses shuttered as though the entire village was holding its breath. The clouds hung low in the sky, casting a strange, otherworldly light over everything. Sam’s footsteps echoed in the stillness, the weight of the impending confrontation heavy on his shoulders.

When Sam reached the church, the door creaked open to reveal Father Thomas standing near the altar, his head bowed in prayer. The priest’s face was lined with worry, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a palpable tension. As Sam approached, Father Thomas raised his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and resignation.

“Detective McAlister,” Father Thomas said quietly, “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

Sam stepped forward, his voice hard. “I know everything, Father. I know about the society, about the pact, and the blood sacrifices. I know you’ve been part of it all.”

The priest didn’t deny it. He simply sighed, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of his own sins had finally become too much to bear.

“We thought we were protecting the village,” Father Thomas said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The Coltons made the pact centuries ago, and we upheld it. It was our duty. Without the rituals, we believed the village would fall to ruin.”

“And what about the people who died?” Sam snapped, anger bubbling to the surface. “What about the Coltons who were sacrificed to keep your precious village safe? Was their blood worth it?”

Father Thomas flinched at Sam’s words, but there was a flicker of defiance in his eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. The sacrifices were meant to be voluntary. The Coltons knew what was expected of them.”

“Voluntary?” Sam spat. “Is that what you told yourself when you let Lord Andrew disappear? When you stood by and let his family be destroyed?”

The priest’s hands trembled as he turned away from Sam, his gaze fixed on the altar. “I tried to stop it,” he whispered. “But it was too late. The others—the society—they were too powerful.”

Sam stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Who else is involved, Father? I want names.”

Father Thomas was silent for a long moment before finally speaking. “The mayor, the doctor… Graham Pritchard. We all played our part. But it was Alice who took it too far. She believed the blood moon would give her the power to break the curse, to free the village once and for all.”

Sam clenched his fists, his mind racing. Alice had already confessed to her role, but there were still pieces missing—pieces that would lead him to Lord Andrew and the final ritual.

“And where is Lord Andrew?” Sam demanded. “What happened to him?”

Father Thomas shook his head, his expression pained. “I don’t know. He was supposed to be the final sacrifice, but he disappeared before the ritual could be completed. We searched for him, but it was as if he vanished into thin air.”

Sam’s heart pounded in his chest. The blood moon was approaching, and the final ritual was still in play. If he didn’t find Lord Andrew soon, the cycle of death would continue, and the village would be doomed.

“Where’s the ritual supposed to take place?” Sam asked, his voice tight.

Father Thomas hesitated for a moment before answering. “The Colton mausoleum. That’s where it all began, where the original pact was made. If the ritual is going to happen, it will be there.”

Sam turned to leave, but Father Thomas’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Be careful, Detective,” the priest warned. “The society won’t let you stop them. They’ve already sacrificed too much to let the ritual fail now.”

Sam didn’t respond. He already knew the risks. But this wasn’t just about the Coltons anymore—it was about stopping a cycle of death that had claimed too many lives.

And he was running out of time.

The mausoleum stood at the far edge of the estate, a cold, stone structure that loomed over the family graveyard like a monument to the Colton family’s cursed legacy. The trees surrounding the graveyard swayed in the wind, their branches creaking like old bones as the sky darkened, the blood moon only hours away from rising.

Sam approached the mausoleum cautiously, his flashlight cutting through the gloom. He had already confronted Father Thomas, but he knew that the others—the mayor, the doctor, and Pritchard—would be here. They were the remaining members of the society, and they would be desperate to see the ritual through.

The heavy iron doors of the mausoleum creaked open as Sam pushed them aside, the air inside thick with the smell of damp stone and decay. His footsteps echoed as he stepped inside, his heart pounding in his chest. The mausoleum was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of his flashlight as it flickered over the stone sarcophagi that lined the walls.