Visit's Naomi's Village

The village lay hushed under the weight of night, its wooden houses crouched low, their thatched roofs glistening with dew as Naomi’s body moved with eerie precision along the dimly lit path. Baby guided her bare feet silently against the cool earth, her discarded kimono trailing like a ghost behind her. The scent of burning wood and simmering broth wafted from her modest home—a single room bathed in the amber flicker of a hearth, the air thick with the warmth of charred logs and rising steam. Naomi’s mother stood by the fire, a stout woman with gray-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun, humming softly as she stirred a pot with a wooden spoon. The crackle of the flames masked his approach, and Baby felt a thrill coil in Naomi’s chest—anticipation, sharp and sweet, like the edge of a blade pressed to flesh. She was oblivious, content in her simple life, with no idea what was about to happen.

He didn’t hesitate. With a fluid step, he closed the distance, Naomi’s slender hand flashing out like a viper to seize the woman’s throat. His energy surged through her, a dark current amplifying the fragile frame, and he hoisted her effortlessly into the air, her feet kicking helplessly above the ground. The mother’s scream tore through the room, shrill and jagged, her spoon clattering into the fire as broth hissed against the logs. “N-Naomi—!” she choked, her voice strangled with confusion and terror, hands scrabbling at the iron grip crushing her windpipe. “Stop! Let me go, child, please!” Baby tilted Naomi’s head, her deep, glowing red eyes locking onto the woman’s, and a slow, cruel smile curled her lips. The firelight danced across her face, casting shadows that twisted her beauty into something feral, something other.

“Naomi?” he echoed, his voice slithering from her throat, richer than hers alone—smooth as silk, sharp as broken glass, laced with something alien, something inhuman. He leaned in close, tightening his hold just enough to feel the pulse flutter beneath his fingers, savoring the heat of her fear, the way it spiced the air with a tang of sweat and desperation. “Naomi’s gone, darling,” he purred darkly. The mother’s gasp turned to a whimper, her body trembling as his words sank in, her eyes wide with the dawning horror of what her daughter had become. Naomi had never possessed such strength, but with Baby’s essence surging through her, this body was a conduit of his power—a vessel for his will, and now, his vengeance.