Chapter 122: Death Comes to Collect
Words : 1796
Updated : Jan 4th, 2026
The village chief drew on his dry tobacco pipe, the bowl crackling as his faded eyes fixed on the Black Mist smothering the sky. A chill ran through him in waves, and he shuddered.
"Strange. Why did the fog turn black?"
Their village often had fog, but it was always a thin white veil. When had it ever been as thick and pitch-black as tonight? Never-he had never seen or heard of such a thing.
His thoughts jumped to his son. The boy had drunk himself stupid. With the fog this heavy, what if he stumbled...
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