Puppet

With a crisp sound, the partition in the basement of the small western-style building opened, and a stiff wooden puppet crawled out, patting the sticky blood off its feet onto the tiled floor of the first floor.

The wooden puppet's carved, pallid eyeballs protruded high, only a small piece of wood connecting them to its face, as if they could fall to the ground in the next moment. Nonetheless, they continued to rotate stubbornly, its gaze shifting from the blackboard to the gloomy corner of the small western-style building where the curtains were drawn.

The brush was broken in half, with one half thrown back into the drawer where chalk was stored, and the drawer was slammed shut. The other half was held in the wooden puppet's hand, solemnly adding another stroke to the blackboard.

This marked the one thousand two hundred and forty-third year of the Abyssal Sect's presence in the mortal world. It was also the five hundred and thirty-seventh year of its assignment

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