The raspy, terror-laden voice of Grandfather Haris's shadow in that photo—"Run... before it photographs you"—continued to reverberate violently inside Arya's chest, bouncing off the walls of the cramped, suffocating underground laboratory. That final warning acted like a high-voltage electrical shock that instantly scorched away the remains of his despair, transforming his paralyzing fear into an adrenaline surge urging him to survive.

"No... I refuse to end up like Grandfather! I have to get out of here right now!" Arya screamed hysterically. His voice cracked, screeching raggedly amidst the chilling silence.

Without wasting a single second, the 1995 photographic print slipped from his fingers, fluttering down to land face-down on the concrete floor. Arya vaulted up with legs still shaking violently, charging through the narrow gap between the workbench and the rack of chemical bottles, shooting straight toward the darkroom exit door tucked beneath the stairs.

His steps staggered, his breathing heaving and wheezing like a cocoon starved of oxygen. The metallic stench of blood from his scratched finger mingled with the cold sweat soaking his entire body. Inside his mind, a single absolute goal dominated: escape this subterranean hell before the entity finished him off.

Reaching the front of the small wooden door, Arya slammed his body directly against the panels. His violently trembling right hand gripped the cold iron handle hard, twisting the key in its lock with all his might.

Click.

The mechanism spun freely. Strangely enough, the lock on the outer side was no longer deadbolted shut as it had been before. The mechanical barrier that had caged them all this while seemed intentionally released—not as an act of mercy, but as a cruel psychological game, letting his prey feel a false sense of hope before trapping him deeper in despair.

"It's open... oh, God, it's open!" Arya cried out with a voice on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by a hollow sense of relief.

Without a second thought, he summoned every ounce of remaining strength in his body to haul the wooden door toward him, preparing to bolt outside toward the studio's ground floor.

SCREEECH-CRACK!

The door groaned loudly, drifting open by a few centimeters... then stopping dead.

Arya yanked harder with both hands, engaging every muscle in his arms and back until the veins in his neck strained taut. Yet the door refused to budge an inch further. The panel only opened a single centimeter wide—dangerously narrow, just wide enough to let through a thin wisp of outside air, but completely impossible for a human body to squeeze through.

"Huh? Why is it stuck?! Open! Damn it, open!" he ranted in panic, slamming his shoulder against the half-closed door.

He pressed his face against the narrow gap, trying to peek outside while shoving with all his might. Through that one-centimeter slit, Arya heard the sound of a heavy object scraping across the floor outside—swish... swish... thud! Someone or something out there was shoving a massive pile of heavy items—a weighty wardrobe, stacks of wooden frames, or iron debris—to block and tightly seal off his only exit route from the outside.

"No... no, please don't do this! Who's out there?! Let me out!" Arya screamed hysterically, tears streaming profusely to wet his dry, chapped lips. He shoved the door with his bleeding fists until his skin scraped raw and stung intensely, but his efforts were entirely in vain. The door felt as heavy as solid rock, pinned down by a massive weight purposefully arranged to bury him alive inside the darkroom.

An overwhelming sense of despair shattered every bone in his body. Arya's breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening as though struck by a sledgehammer. He staggered backward away from the door, his hands slipping limply to his sides while muffled sobs broke out to fill the room.

I'm trapped. Truly trapped. There's no way out, his mind wept pitifully, surrendering to the grim fate creeping closer.

Yet amidst that hopeless wailing, just as Arya slumped downward with a blank gaze fixed on the floor... an anomaly defying the boundaries of sanity and freezing the remaining blood in his veins unfolded right before his eyes.

From behind the door gap opened a mere centimeter wide, a freezing, bone-chilling draft suddenly seeped inward, carrying with it the intensely concentrated stench of dead, rotting flesh.

And right amid that narrow slit of darkness outside, a faint, dim glint of light shifted.

Arya raised his head slowly, dragged upward by terror creeping along his nape. His breathing stopped completely.

From behind that slightly cracked door, a pair of pupil-less white eyes suddenly appeared, peering sharply straight into the darkroom.

Those eyes were massive, pressing right against the wooden crack, darting wildly to locate Arya's position. And without blinking once, that hollow, white gaze stared straight, piercing directly into Arya's pupils, as though whispering that his prey was now fully within the reach of its lens's gaze.