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The chainsaw's idle buzz filled the room, vibrating through everyone's bones.
The man in the human-skin mask stared at his missed swing. For a brief second, genuine confusion flickered across the face hidden behind the crude stitches.
Moments earlier he had been clumsily butchering meat in the back room. If he worked too slow or made a mess, his brother would beat him over the head with a broom again and call him a useless piece of shit. He hated being hit, so he always tried to do the job right.
Then the front door had opened.
Strangers.
He hated strangers. They always made his brothers angry, and when his brothers got angry they took it out on him. He had expected this to end the same way it always did—another fresh cut of meat for his collection.
But this time the chosen piece had been kicked away.
He turned to look at the man who had done it.
Soren met his gaze without a word.
He flicked his thumb against the guard of the Shura Blade.
Click.
The long blade slid free.
Leatherface.
Without the horror-movie filter, he was just a slow, broken man wearing someone else's face.
Soren's right hand settled on the hilt.
Leatherface sensed the threat. He roared and yanked the chainsaw to life again, bringing it down in a vicious overhead arc straight at Soren's head.
"Soren! Move!" Sally screamed behind him.
She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch what came next.
Shhh.
The sound of air parting.
Leatherface's forward lunge froze. The chainsaw came apart in his hands and clattered to the floor, the spinning blade biting into the wooden boards. The crudely sewn human-skin mask split down the middle, revealing the slack, confused face underneath.
A thin red line ran from his forehead straight down to his crotch.
Bang.
His body came apart in two halves, one falling forward, the other backward. Only then did the blood catch up, spraying across the floor in a hot rush.
Sally opened her eyes just in time to see it.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, stomach heaving.
"Urgh—"
She looked at Soren, already sheathing the blade, then at the steaming pile of organs on the floor and lost whatever was left in her stomach against the doorframe.
Jerry sat where Soren had kicked him, staring blankly. It wasn't until half of Leatherface's corpse landed on his legs that he finally started kicking and scrambling backward like a panicked crab.
"You—you fucking killed him?!"
Soren didn't answer. He stepped over to the body, crouched, and studied it.
Ordinary humans didn't stand a chance against him anymore. Even an upper-class demon would have been carved in half the same way.
What bothered him was the lack of a demon core crawling out like the one that had come out of Michael Myers.
Had the Heretic Coven not run any experiments here?
Sally wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and forced herself to walk closer, one palm braced against the wall.
"What… what are you looking at?" she asked, voice shaking.
Soren didn't turn. "Do you believe in demons?"
"Demons?" Sally gave a weak, broken laugh. "Soren, come on. Those are just movie bullshit."
"We need to get the hell out of here. What if he has friends?"
Soren stood and pulled her up with him.
"Go back to the old house and wait for me. I want to check something."
He remembered the original story. Leatherface hadn't lived alone. He had brothers—twisted, violent men—and a half-dead father somewhere in the house. Most of his kills had been done under their orders.
If Soren was cleaning house, he might as well finish the job.
He stepped over the corpse and moved into the kitchen.
Something thick bubbled in a big pot on the stove. Chunks of meat floated on the surface.
The first floor was simple—kitchen, living room, and one room that looked like a slaughterhouse. A heavy metal table sat in the center, crusted with old blood and bits of flesh. Large freezers lined one wall.
Sally followed him in on shaky legs. She lifted the lid of the nearest freezer.
Neatly butchered cuts of meat stared back at her.
"Fuck—"
Her stomach tried to turn itself inside out again.
Upstairs, the hallway was quiet. Most of the rooms were ordinary bedrooms. One door stood open.
Inside, two chairs faced a window. A gaunt old man sat in a rocking chair, slowly swaying as he looked out at nothing. His face was painted white, eyes milky and unfocused, like a circus clown left out in the rain too long.
A female skeleton sat in the chair beside him, still wearing the remains of an old dress.
"There's someone else here?" Sally whispered.
She started forward, but Soren's voice stopped her.
"Move."
Before she could react, cold light flashed.
The old man and the rocking chair were split cleanly in half.
Sally screamed and stumbled back into the hallway, heart hammering so hard she thought it might break her ribs.
She and Jerry stared at each other, both of them trying to process what they had just seen. Killing the masked butcher had been one thing. This was just… cold.
Then the wet, squelching sound started.
The temperature in the hallway dropped like someone had opened a freezer door. A foul, rotting smell rolled out of the room.
Something covered in twitching tentacles crawled out of the old man's split torso. The tentacles were still buried in the corpse, pumping something dark and viscous back into the body.
"So that's where you were hiding," Soren said quietly.
The Heretic Coven had been busy. Close enough to Maine to run experiments, but smart enough to keep them buried in backwater horror stories. This one had possessed a human, lived among them, even bred.
Leatherface and his brothers hadn't been accidents.
They had been the result.
The mass let out a high, piercing screech. Its body began to swell and multiply, pressing against the ceiling.
Sally and Jerry backed up until they hit the railing, eyes wide.
"What the fuck is that thing?!" Jerry shouted.
Soren didn't answer. Demonic power flooded into the Shura Blade until the steel sang.
Clang.
The blade left the sheath.
A heartbeat later it clicked home again.
To Sally it looked like he had barely moved—just a lazy flick of the wrist.
The demon's massive, growing body suddenly froze.
Then it came apart.
Hundreds of crisscrossing cuts appeared all at once. The creature didn't even have time to roar. It simply disintegrated into wet chunks that hit the floor with heavy, meaty sounds.
The blade energy didn't stop there.
The second-floor walls and ceiling split open like paper. Load-bearing beams sheared through. Half the roof groaned, then collapsed inward with a thunderous crash.
Blood-red sunset light poured through the gaping hole.
Sally stared at the destruction, mouth open.
That had been a real house. Real walls. And Soren had just… cut through it.
Like it was nothing.
"What the hell are you?" Jerry's voice cracked.
Soren turned. The sunset caught in his white hair, turning it gold at the edges.
He looked at the two of them—shaking, pale, covered in someone else's blood—and answered in the same calm tone he used when ordering coffee.
"A monster?"
"I'm just a private detective."
On the floor, what was left of the demon turned to drifting ash.