Kyuriym - Secrets of the Ancient Estate, Kyuriym

As he moved deeper into the mausoleum, Sam heard voices—low, murmuring voices coming from the chamber at the back. He tightened his grip on the flashlight and moved closer, his breath shallow as he approached the source of the sound.

When he reached the chamber, he stopped in his tracks.

The room was lit by dozens of flickering candles, casting long, twisted shadows across the stone walls. In the center of the room stood a stone altar, covered in strange, archaic symbols that Sam recognized from the letters he had found. Standing around the altar were the remaining members of the society—Pritchard, the mayor, and the doctor.

And lying on the altar, his wrists bound and his face pale and gaunt, was Lord Andrew.

Sam’s heart lurched in his chest. He had found him—but he was too late. The society was preparing for the final ritual, and Lord Andrew was their intended sacrifice.

Before Sam could move, Pritchard turned and saw him standing in the doorway. His eyes narrowed, a cold smile spreading across his face.

“Ah, Detective McAlister,” Pritchard said, his voice dripping with malice. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Sam stepped forward, his jaw clenched. “Let him go, Pritchard. This ends now.”

Pritchard’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “You’re too late, Detective. The blood moon is about to rise, and the ritual is already in motion. Lord Andrew’s sacrifice will ensure the village’s survival for another generation.”

Sam’s eyes flicked to Lord Andrew, who lay motionless on the altar, his chest barely rising and falling with each shallow breath. He didn’t have much time.

“This isn’t about the village,” Sam said, his voice low and dangerous. “This is about power. Control. You’re using this curse to keep the village under your thumb, and you’ve sacrificed innocent lives to do it.”

Pritchard’s smile faltered, but his eyes remained cold. “You don’t understand, Detective. The Coltons made a deal, and we’re simply upholding it. Without the ritual, the village would fall into ruin.”

Sam shook his head, his fists clenched at his sides. “No more lies, Pritchard. The society has been manipulating the Colton family for generations, using their wealth and influence to protect yourselves. But it ends tonight.”

Before Pritchard could respond, Sam lunged forward, knocking over one of the candles and sending it crashing to the floor. The flames flickered wildly, casting chaotic shadows across the chamber as Sam grabbed Pritchard by the collar and slammed him against the wall.

“Where’s the key to the restraints?” Sam demanded, his voice a growl.

Pritchard glared at him, but Sam could see the flicker of fear in his eyes. “You can’t stop this, McAlister. The blood debt must be paid.”

Sam tightened his grip on Pritchard’s collar, his voice low and deadly. “Where’s the key?”

Pritchard’s gaze flicked to the altar, where the mayor stood, holding a small, silver key in his trembling hands. Sam turned to face the mayor, his heart pounding. “Give me the key, or this ends with you.”

The mayor hesitated, his face pale with fear. But after a moment, he tossed the key to Sam, his hands shaking. “It’s too late,” he muttered. “The blood moon is rising. The ritual has already begun.”

Sam didn’t respond. He rushed to the altar, quickly unlocking the restraints that bound Lord Andrew to the stone slab. Lord Andrew’s eyes fluttered open, his face pale and gaunt, but he managed a weak smile as Sam helped him to his feet.

“Thank you,” Lord Andrew whispered, his voice hoarse.

But before Sam could respond, a voice echoed through the chamber, cold and venomous.

“You won’t get away with this, McAlister.”

Sam turned to see Pritchard standing behind him, his face twisted with rage. He lunged forward, a knife glinting in his hand as he charged toward Sam and Lord Andrew.

Sam reacted instinctively, grabbing a fallen candleholder and swinging it at Pritchard. The heavy metal connected with Pritchard’s arm, sending the knife clattering to the floor. Pritchard staggered back, clutching his arm in pain, but his eyes were filled with fury.

“You don’t understand!” Pritchard shouted, his voice shaking. “Without the ritual, the curse will never be broken! The village will fall!”

Sam took a step forward, his chest heaving with adrenaline. “There is no curse, Pritchard. It’s all a lie.”

Pritchard’s face twisted with disbelief, but Sam didn’t give him a chance to respond. He turned to Lord Andrew, who was leaning heavily on the altar, his strength fading.

“We need to get out of here,” Sam said urgently, pulling Lord Andrew toward the door.

But as they reached the doorway, Sam felt a sudden, sharp pain in his side. He stumbled, gasping in shock as he looked down to see blood seeping through his shirt. Pritchard stood behind him, the knife still clutched in his hand, his face twisted in a grotesque smile.

Sam’s vision blurred as he fell to his knees, the pain radiating through his body. But even as the darkness closed in, he knew he couldn’t stop. He had come too far to let the society win.