Prologue - The Sinister Gang


    Now, look beyond the village. Yes, over there, on that rock, where a bonfire burns, casting flickering light into the depths of the night. Do you see it?


    Around it, the gang gathers. Not that they need the warmth—those men don’t feel the cold. Not anymore.


    Can you see them? They scheme, whispering with wicked grins. Some stand, restless, eager to attack the village. They don’t plan on leaving anyone alive. No, that was never part of the plan.


    Look at them—eyes glowing like embers, some with fangs, their faces pale, almost cadaverous. And their leader, even in the dark (because he doesn’t like firelight), is the least human of them all. A wicked thing dressed as a man. Herculano’s eyes burn like two crimson points, almost yellow.


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    You must be wondering why they’re here, aren’t you? They’ve come for a saint. A small golden statue, pure gold. And for that, they wait in the dead of night, biding their time until the unfortunate people of the village below drift off to sleep. Not that the villagers could do anything against Herculano’s gang. Not when they’re thirteen men of the worst kind, armed to the teeth. But even that wouldn’t matter. Because the real horror isn’t what Herculano’s gang is—


    It’s what they no longer are.


    “The time has come, boys,” Herculano says. You can tell, can’t you? There’s something in his voice, in his eyes. Something not human. He won’t lead the charge himself. He lets his men do it instead.


    And so, his men start walking toward Santo Milagre, where the villagers are still fast asleep.


    A shame that this is their fate. But unfortunately, that’s just how things are. So, keep watching. Don’t look away—don’t even blink.


    Because this is where it all begins. The boy, the killer, and even the mule with the famous name.


    And now, it’s only a matter of time before the gang reaches the village…