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The son of wealthy landowners Max Thompson Sr. and Evelyn Thompson, this unnamed boy was an unwanted child born to savage parents. Hideously disfigured, he was shut away from society. So ashamed of their son, they bricked him off into a room and fed him through a hole in the wall. When the boy escaped, he took his revenge savagely and terribly, slaughtering the parents that had tortured him instead of raising him.
After the deed was done, he continued to live his life at the farm, taking out his deranged violence on the animals that were allowed to run free. As he finally broke free from his shackles he ran through the cornfields, chasing and slaughtering whatever he could find. They never found the bodies of Max and Evelyn, but they did find tortured and disembowelled animals all over the farm.
Coldwind Farm was quickly settled and the land split up and sold off. There was never a buyer for the farmhouse. Perhaps it was the sound of the chainsaw you could hear throughout those hot summer nights.

Evan MacMillan idolised his father. It wasn't just that he was heir to a great fortune, it was the way he ran the estate. Raised under his firm hand, Evan had taken to running the workforce with an iron hand. Production was always high and the MacMillan Estate prospered under father and son.
As Archie MacMillan's mental health slowly disintegrated, Evan protected him from the herd who wanted a piece of the fortune. No matter what his father asked of him, Evan would do.
When Archie MacMillan finally snapped, Evan became his enforcer in what would become known as the worst mass murder in modern history. They never proved that Evan lead over a hundred men into those dark tunnels before detonating the explosives and sealing them to their fate. The tale of the MacMillan Estate is a tale of wealth and power gone very wrong.
How many victims fell to the hands of father and son is unknown. No record is ever made of what became of Evan MacMillan. His father is another unsolved puzzle, found trapped in the locked basement of his own warehouse - starved and abandoned.

Philip Ojomo came to this country without anything than hope for a new beginning. He was happy as he got offered a job at Autohaven Wreckers. A small scrap yard where bribed cops turned a blind eye for the somewhat shady business that took place.
Ojomo didn't care. He had seen criminal activity up close in his homeland and as long as he didn't get involved, he let things be. He just fixed cars and handled the crusher. Something he did really well. A car went in and a small, metallic cube came out.
It was not until one gloomy day that he, just by accident, saw some blood coming from one of the un-crushed cars. As he opened the trunk he found a young man, gagged and with tied hands with panic filled eyes. Ojomo freed the man who managed to run ten feet before Ojomo's boss stopped him and slit his throat. As Ojomo demanded answers he got explained to him that he'd been nothing more than a simple executioner as more or less every car had a soul in them as this was a "service" the scrap yard provided to certain "clients".
Ojomo snapped and went ballistic. He threw his boss in the crusher and let it slowly compress, as the head stuck out, Ojomo grabbed it and pulled head and spine out of the body. Then he left and was never seen again.

Sally Smithson came to town with dreams of children's feet and laughter in a wooden home built by her husband Andrew. But life came not with smiles but with plans of destruction. Andrew worked as a lumberjack - a job with its perils. One day, Andrew's foreman had to pay Sally a visit, forever changing her life. She was alone.
Without food on the table and no other option, Sally had to find a way, but the only employment she could get was at the Crotus Prenn Asylum. Nobody sought employment there unless they were in dire need. Just like Sally. Without any education, she started at the bottom, doing the hard night shift.
Over the years, her mind had reached its limits, two decades of seeing horrid things that violate the eyes. Memories that are re-played every night. Being abused verbally and physically, by people without limits. Sally saw insanity from the outside, just to catch it herself.
Finally she could not take it any more and concepts of purification emerged inside her. She did what she felt was necessary. As the morning staff arrived one day in September - they found over fifty dead patients, lifeless, in their bed along four staff members, also dead.
Only Sally had survived the night, but her mind was gone, rocking back and forth non-stop. Exactly what happened is only known by her, but it seems that some of them had been choked as they had marks around their necks. They got her into an ambulance, but that ambulance never reached the hospital. It was found crashed in a nearby wood, all the staff dead and Sally nowhere to be found.

Lisa Sherwood grew up in a quiet village, mainly isolated from the rest of civilisation. The people of the hamlet were kind and the elders kept old traditions alive, often keeping the peace by personally settling the ever-rare disputes. Lisa was particularly fond of the charms they taught her to draw for safety and good fortune. One night, as she was walking home through the woods, a terrible storm struck without warning. Howling winds whipped at her hair as she stumbled through the swamp, her rain-drenched dress plastered to her skin. In the slick, wet mud she lost her footing, careening backwards and striking her head against rock. Slipping in and out of consciousness, she strained to identify the dark shapes approaching her from between the trees. That's the last thing she could remember.
Her kidnappers kept her chained to the wall in a flooded cellar. Though dimly lit, she could see others whose large open wounds swarmed with flies. It took merely a day before they returned, carving chunks from the prisoners' bodies with rusted blades, consuming their very flesh down to the bone. Most she saw did not survive long once the cannibals targeted them but somehow, deep within, Lisa persisted. Starved, infected, and mutilated after several weeks of torture, her gaunt arms became loose in their shackles. She pulled hard, the metal tearing through skin and muscle until she was free. Her flesh oozed viscous yellow pus and bones were visible beneath gangrenous wounds. She could go no further. Delirious, she thought of home; she thought of the elders. With her dying breath, she etched the symbols they had taught her into the floor using what remained of her fingers. Almost in response, a dark hunger stirred inside her. It yearned for blood. In oath, she chose vengeance.
The village's search party eventually brought them to an old shack in a swamp. Inside, its previous inhabitants had been viciously dismembered and devoured by an unidentifiable animal. In the cellar, amid rotting corpses and disconnected flesh, the elders' charms were scrawled in blood on the floor. Lisa's body was not among the bodies and was never found. The village was never the same again.

Showing exceptional aptitude in psychology, Herman was handpicked for special training in an advanced neuroscience program located in a secret black site facility in Illinois known as Léry's Memorial Institute, really a front for the CIA.
This is where Herman met Dr Otto Stamper, where under his guidance, Herman began to use strange and ever increasingly vicious methods to extract information from prisoners sent to the institute, which was also a covert prison and re-education cenre for whoever was the USA's current nemesis. His liberal use of violent electroshock therapy revealed dramatic results and several threats to national security were uncovered.
Over the years, Herman became known as The Doctor and no one ever questioned if he had even held a medical certificate or even what happened to the prisoners after they had given up their information. It was only after Léry's Memorial Institute went silent for a week that the true horror was finally discovered. The personnel, patients, and prisoners were all found dead with all types of head trauma. All personnel and prisoners' bodies were accounted for, including Dr Stamper, but no sign of Herman "The Doctor" Carter.

As soon as Anna was able to walk, her mother started teaching her how to survive a harsh, solitary life in the northern woods. Living in such an extremely remote and dangerous area required skill and resilience. When sunlight became too dim for productive activities, they would take refuge in their house, a sturdy old cabin constructed to resist the toughest winters. Close to the hearth's warmth, Anna would rest in her mother's arms, surrounded by the few wooden toys and masks she had crafted for her. Drifting off to sleep with stories and lullabies, she dreamt happy dreams, ignorant of the events that would soon change everything.
Anna and her mother were stalking a great elk through the woods. They knew it was dangerous prey, but it had been a particularly difficult winter and they were almost out of food. The spectre of starvation frightened them more than any forest creature. Without warning, the elk reared, bellowed and charged at Anna. She was paralysed with fear as the whole world seemed to shake under the immense beast's pounding hooves. The elk was close enough for Anna to see the murderous fury in its eyes when her mother threw herself in its path, axe in hand. A blood-curdling scream escaped from her lips as the elk impaled her upon its antlers and hoisted her into the air. With all her strength, she brought her axe down on its head again and again while it tried to shake her loose. With a sickening crack, the antlers snapped and Anna's mother was free. The beast collapsed.
Anna was too small to move her mother's broken body, so she sat with her in the clearing where she had fallen. To distract her from the dying elk's cries, Anna's mother held her and hummed her favourite lullaby. They stayed like that, the huntress and the elk getting quieter and colder, until Anna was alone in the silent forest. Eventually she stood up and started the long walk back home.
Still a child, she knew just enough about life in the frozen forest to survive. She followed her instincts and became one with the wild. She got older and stronger and practised her hunt. As she grew into a dangerous predator, her humanity became a half-remembered dream.
She widened her territory and lived off her hunts. She worked her way up through squirrels, hares, mink and foxes. Eventually she grew tired of them and hunted more dangerous animals like wolves and bears. When unsuspecting travellers came through her woods, she discovered her new favourite prey: humans. Unlucky souls who strayed into her territory were slaughtered like any other animal. She liked to collect their tools and colourful garments and especially toys when there were little ones. But she could never bring herself to kill the little girls.
Girls she would take back to her house, deep in the woods. They were precious, and looking at them woke up something deep in her heart. She craved the closeness of a loved one, a child of her own. Among the pillaged wooden toys, dolls and story books she couldn't read, the girls would be tied by the neck with a rough and chafing rope fastened firmly to the wall. She couldn't let them wander off, or they would surely die outside.
Every time, the girls would waste away and die of cold or starvation or sickness. Every time, it plunged Anna deeper into pain and sorrow and madness. She was compelled to try again, and started raiding the nearest villages to slaughter families and kidnap their daughters. She wore one of the animal masks her mother crafted for her so many years earlier to try to calm the frightened children. Villagers spread the legend of a half-beast lurking in Red Forest: The Huntress, who killed men and ate little girls.
War eventually came to the forest. German soldiers began to pass through, on the march to attack the collapsing Russian Empire. During these dark times, there were no more travellers. The villagers had abandoned their homes, and no more little ones to be found; only soldiers. Many of them were found with violent axe wounds. Whole groups disappeared mysteriously. Once the war was over, the rumours of The Huntress disappeared with it, engulfed by the Red Forest.

Kenneth Chase was born in 1932 by a difficult labour, which his mother wouldn't survive. This event drove a rift between him and his father that never closed. As the boy grew, so did his father's resentment, and his drinking habit. By the time Kenneth was at school, they lived mostly separate lives.
Academically, he was unremarkable, coasting by on his significant athletic prowess. He grew tall and strong, excelling at track events, but shunned any attempts to coax him into team sports.
On his walk home from school, he would often find feathers on the ground and he soon began a collection, keeping them in a cigar box under his bed. With his father either at work or in an alcohol-induced stupor, Kenneth had hours to spend alone, transfixed by the regularity of the feathers' barbs and the feeling of softness as he ran them over his lips. Watching the birds that came to the feeder in his garden, he imagined how soft they must be and resolved to catch one. He ingratiated himself with the local dentist, soon procuring some anaesthetic. Using this, he rigged up a trap on the feeder, that he hoped would knock out a bird long enough that he could touch it.
After a few failed attempts, he managed to trap a robin. As it lay in his hand, he felt a sudden rush, of a life at his mercy. He had planned to release it once it recovered from the anaesthetic. Instead, as its eyes flickered back into consciousness and it began to struggle, his grip remained firm. His fingers slowly tightened around its throat, squeezing until its chest feathers were finally still. He disposed of the body, keeping just a feather, with which he started a new collection, discarding the others as "fake".
By the late 1940s, Kenneth had left school and started working as a busboy at a local diner. He had also escalated to larger prey, like squirrels, raccoons and dogs, becoming skilled at customising the anaesthetic dosage for each.
In early 1954, a young man went missing and the town was turned upside down in the search. A few months later, Kenneth's father, while doing some work in the crawlspace under the house, found a cigar box. He broke it open and saw, to his horror, that it contained feathers, animal paws, and a man's finger.
Returning from work, Kenneth saw his father leaving the crawlspace with a cigar box in his hands. He turned on his heel and never went home again.
After a few weeks of living rough, he encountered a travelling circus and, with his prodigious strength, was hired to work the ropes. He assumed a new name: Jeffrey Hawk.
Suddenly surrounded by a close-knit community, "Jeffrey" had to learn to socialise. He donned a new personality like a disguise, quickly becoming known as charming and helpful, and was welcomed into his new family.
Over the next decade, he stayed with the circus, travelling the length and breadth of the United States. But, with the itinerant life providing few repercussions, he fell into bad habits. Drinks, junk food, drugs, he indulged in all of them to excess. For a time, these vices were enough, but then his old urges returned and his nomadic existence became a cover for him to resume killing. He stole clothes and make-up from performers, fashioning a disguise that would let him get close to his victims before he anaesthetised them, bringing them back to his caravan, where they would awake to find themselves bound and at his mercy. He would finally get to have his fun, mentally and physically torturing them, their screams fuelling him, before being lost in the night.
Once their strength was at its lowest, he would carefully examine their fingers, searching for the prettiest, running them over his tongue to find the tastiest. Once he found the best, he would cut it from their hand and proudly add it to his collection, disposing of the rest of the body as pointless waste.
Men, women, young, old, he didn't care. The essence of a good collection is in the variety, in the memories and stories they evoke.
He removed the costume less and less, shedding his old personality with it, fully embracing the clown, his true self.
With time, he became complacent and sloppy. A victim managed to work free of her bindings while he was sleeping off the drink. She escaped, screaming for help, and he awoke to find the rest of the circus bearing down on him. He whipped his horse and the caravan disappeared into the night.
Since then he has roamed the country, a parasite who could always be found at a carnival or circus, but who would never be seen on any playbill. He lured those brave, or foolish enough, to come near, trapped them and moved on before they could be found missing.
Somewhere along the way, he left the ordinary roads of the United States behind him, travelling through a veil of mist and entering a new realm. It was a place of transience and impermanence, perfectly suiting the life he had chosen to lead. Feeling more at home than he had in his entire life, he set up camp and waited for his first visitor.

Rin was the only child of the Yamaoka family. She was raised in the dusty halls of a traditional house in Kagawa. She studied Education at Takamatsu, a private university, which weighed heavily on her family's shaky finances. Her mother got ill that year and the bills started piling up. Rin worked part-time in a futile attempt to help lighten the load.
Her father faced a debt that grew without end. He started working double-shifts in hopes of obtaining a promotion. That's when he started losing sleep. A dark whisper would keep him awake all night, reminding him of his hopeless situation. Exhausted, he started to lose grasp of reality. Fighting to deny what the voice whispered at night, Rin's father made a desperate move. He met with his superior and explained his situation. He begged for a bonus, an advance, time-off---anything.
His request was denied. The company had launched a defective production line that was costing them dearly. Someone had to be held accountable and Rin's father fitted the bill perfectly. He was fired after twenty-two years of service.
That evening, Rin came home from work. She'd stayed late to entertain customers that lingered at the restaurant. As she parked her bike in the shed, she heard her mother's scream come from the house.
She rushed in, climbing up the stairs to her parents' room. There she found bits and pieces of her mother on the floor. Her limbs were clean-cut, tangled up in an unnatural position. Her breasts were sliced up, revealing her rib cage, which was cracked open. Rin gagged.
A sharp Katana came crashing down. Rin blocked the blade, which bit into her bare forearm. The shock of recognition interrupted her pain: her father was wielding the Katana with a stoic expression. She cried out to make him stop, but he slashed her arm again.
She rushed off and slid on the blood-smeared floor. Using the door frame as support, she raised herself up. The Katana ripped through the wall, cleaving her other arm. She screamed in pain as she limped into the hallway, only to be met by her father's blade.
She stepped back, trembling, as she held together the soft loose flesh of her abdomen. Images of her mother's tangled limbs flashed before her eyes.
Rin charged at her father, making him stumble back. He punched her torn abdomen and she recoiled in pain. As she struggled to get back up, he slashed her thigh, making her collapse on the floor.
As she crawled towards the stairs, he grabbed her hair and yanked her against a partition. The glass shattered on impact and she fell through, landing one floor down.
She heard footsteps somewhere above her. With effort, she moved, worming her way into a sea of broken glass. The shards gnawed at her, ripping her flesh. He had to be stopped. He would not get away with what he'd done to her--with what he'd done to her mother.
Coughing up blood, her chin grazed the glass, adding to the bleeding. A low-pitched heartbeat started to ring in her ears. Her body felt so heavy she could no longer move.
The ground shook with her father's footsteps. She knew she was not going to make it, but she no longer cared. She would make him pay, in this life or the next.
A dark Fog slowly veiled her eyes, but it could not subdue her rage. She would not rest--not yet. The darkness whispered, promising blood and revenge.
An oath was made and Rin closed her eyes.

Frank Morrison was nineteen and had little to show for it. He'd stopped attending school after being kicked out of the basketball team for shoving a referee into the stands. Yet Frank was a man of potential, who could light up a room despite his bleak childhood. At six years old, he'd been taken away from Calgary to start a circuit of foster homes. No matter how many times he'd lashed out, threw tantrums and got into fights, they'd kept moving him to new, unfamiliar houses. His last move had been three years prior when his last foster dad, Clive Andrews, had picked him up from the adoption centre. They'd been on the road for seven hours before reaching a small bungalow in Ormond. It would be the longest time they'd spend together. Clive was too busy trading cheques from Family Services for drinks at the bar.
Ormond was a small, stale place; a remote town of six thousand inhabitants where grey winters drag on for most of the year. Frank did everything he could to get into another adoptive family, but he changed his mind when he caught the attention of Julie, a beautiful girl who was convinced that she deserved better than a life in Ormond, and Frank, as an outsider, was her ticket out. Frank attended the parties she threw where everyone was younger than him and easily impressed, which he liked. He met the impulsive Joey, who liked to show off, and the shy, naïve Susie, who was Julie's best friend.
They would hang out at an abandoned lodge up Mount Ormond. Their time together was the perfect break from the boring conformity of their small, insignificant everyday lives. Frank saw it as an opportunity to shape their lack of experience into something powerful. He lined up nights of debauchery and rampage, testing their limits. Bullying , vandalism, and theft were essentially their weekend plans. It came to a point where they would do anything he asked. Nothing was off-limits when they put their masks on. One evening, Frank dared Joey to vandalise the store that had recently fired him. They snuck inside easily enough, as the building was supposed to be empty after closing hours. But a cleaner who was still there grabbed Julie as soon as she came near. Hearing her stifled cries, a dark impulse took over Frank. He rushed to her aid, knife in hand, and without hesitating, planted the blade into the cleaner's back.
As the group stared at Frank in shock, he ordered them to finish the job. Joey clenched his jaw, grabbed the knife, and stabbed the bleeding man in the ribs. Susie didn't want to do it. Frank shouted at her; they had to finish what they'd started. Julie closed her eyes and slid the knife into the man's chest. She handed the wet blade to Susie: they were all in this together now. Susie stared at Julie in disbelief as Frank grabbed her trembling hands and inserted the knife deep into the man's throat. Frank told them to move fast; they mopped the blood off the floor, stashed the body in the trunk of Joey's car, and drove up Mount Ormond.
All four were digging in the muddy snow to dispose of the body when Frank spotted something moving through the woods. He grabbed his knife and broke from the group to check it out. The Fog thickened around Frank, becoming so dense that he soon could no longer see ahead. He retraced his steps and stumbled onto an ominous trail. He followed the eerie path, as if called by the darkness. Julie, Susie, and Joey finished digging, but Frank was nowhere to be seen. Julie spotted his muddy footsteps in the snow and the three of them followed the trail, which took them deeper into the woods. When Julie, Susie, and Joey did not return home that night, their parents thought they'd run away with Frank. Each family came up with a different theory. The mood in the town changed, however, when a body was found by an abandoned lodge up Mount Ormond.

When she was five years old, Adiris, the youngest of a family of seven, was left on the brick-red burning steps of the Temple of Purgation at the centre of Babylon. To process her shock and sorrow, she held onto the belief that the Gods had a plan for her. Her new life was one of quiet servitude. She would tend to the gardens, prepare ceremonial meals, and polish ceremonial incense burners. At night, she would pray for a sign that would reveal her purpose.
When she came of age, she attended the high-ranking priests during the yearly worshipping of the sea-goat, the God of Water and Creation. Swinging a censer down the great hypo-style hall, she cast thick black fumes that reached the cold towering stone pillars before dissipating. Her worries lifted, and the resulting bliss made her feel closer to the Gods than ever. She worked herself to the bone each day that followed, fulfilling her duties while taking on new ones, as she aided the priests during purification rituals.
The priests were more and more in need of assistance. Cleansings were being performed daily to answer the demand from outside the high temple walls, where a catastrophic plague had resurfaced. Within months, the priests contracted the disease. It did not take long before they became too weak to perform any kind of ritual. Adiris, having assisted many purification rituals, was the only one able to carry on. The swelling panic had to be contained, even if by a novice.
Anxious before her first ceremony, Adiris visited the priests' sanctuary chamber. When she lit the candles, she noticed a narrow opening at the back. Sliding through the gap, she reached a crypt hidden under the sanctuary. The chamber was bare except for the golden statue of a woman, who stood with outstretched hands, her fingers covered in jewels. It was the sign Adiris had been waiting for.
The great hall was packed with followers who bowed down as Adiris entered. She strode to the brick altar and grabbed a ceremonial dagger forged in silver, her ruby ringed fingers wrapping around the blade like claws. The sudden display of luxury intrigued the followers, who were struck already by her youth and beauty.
As she began reciting the Epic of Creation, a woman at the back swooned and collapsed. Adiris rushed to her and noticed the black blisters covering her feet. Without hesitation, Adiris grabbed her sacred blade and swung it at her own foot, severing a toe. Then she offered the bloody part to the Gods, asking them to protect the woman. A silence fell over the followers, who revered Adiris as their new priestess.
Tales of her wealth, beauty, and devotion began to spread across the city as quickly as the disease. Soon, Adiris' followers called her the High Priestess of Babylon.
But her faith was tried when she showed the first signs of infection; her cough became a mix of phlegm and blood, her neck erupted in abscesses, and her four-toed foot darkened. Ashamed of her condition, she began wearing a veiled headpiece and carried a censer that masked the rancid smell of sick that clang to her skin. Hoping to be saved, she kept performing the rituals, offering blessed water and food to her followers.
But no ritual could save her. In a desperate attempt to appease the Gods, Adiris banished herself from the city. She traveled north with a few followers, venturing through the cold woodlands of Urashtu, until it was no longer possible to walk.
They camped in a damp cave, where Adiris lay in a pool of vomit. Her foot, which had turned black, was so swollen she could not go any further. Her followers and she realised the truth in that cave: they were all infected with the plague.
Kneeling among her retching followers, Adiris made one last prayer. The black fumes of incense rose into the damp air before being wiped off by a cold breeze.
Neither the body of Adiris nor those of her followers were ever found. Many told tales of her return, but no one truly knew what fate had befallen the High Priestess of Babylon.

Honouring his family name was never enough for Kazan Yamaoka. He wanted to surpass his father's reputation and end what he saw as the thinning of samurai culture with farmers often posing as samurai. His father tried to turn Kazan's attention to more noble pursuits, but Kazan refused to heed his advice, and borrowing his father's Katana, he embarked on a dark pilgrimage to prove his worth and rid Japan of impostors. Ignoring the code that had been taught to him, Kazan killed impostors in the hills and the valleys, on the beaches and in the woodland. The killings were brutal, cruel and morbid. He humiliated farmers and warriors alike, yanking off their topknots and stripping them of their armour. His rage, bloodlust and perverse sense of honour knew no bounds. Monks believed he was possessed by something dark and otherworldly and cursed him while a noble lord began to call him 'Oni-Yamaoka,' the rageful Samurai, an insult both to Kazan and his family.
Determined to redeem his family's name, Kazan now butchered anyone who dared call him Oni-Yamaoka. The insult confused him. He had defeated the best and he had purified the samurai class by ridding the land of impostors. How could anyone refer to him as an ogre? Had it been because he had marched onto a battlefield to cut down the fiercest warriors. Had it been because he had taken a Kanabo and dashed hundreds of skulls with it? Or had it been because of his need to secure a 'trophy' from his victims. It didn't matter. Being called an ogre was more than he could bear and an ominous voice in his head urged him to strike down the lord who had desecrated his name.
As Kazan made for the lord's town, he suddenly found himself face to face with a samurai standing on a dirt road, blocking his way. Kazan readied his Kanabo. Without a word, the samurai attacked and quickly secured the upper hand. But he hesitated. With a devastating blow, Kazan crushed the samurai's head and cracked his helmet. As Kazan approached the fallen samurai, he saw his father's face and staggered back to his haunches. His father stared at Kazan with mingled shame and regret as he issued his last breath. Kazan closed his eyes and screamed in agony until he could scream no more. When he opened his eyes again... his father was gone. Not only had he killed his father, but he had allowed thieves to steal his body for armour.
Bitter, lost and disillusioned, Kazan roamed the land aimlessly with his father's voice rattling in his head, taunting him, reminding him of his failures, sending him into fits of uncontrollable black rage. One day, walking in the woods, Kazan happened upon an Oni statue. He stopped and stood motionless for a long moment. The weathered and overgrown statue seemed to be ridiculing him, accusing him of being the impostor samurai he had so desperately sought to destroy. Kazan shook the laughing voice out of his head and half remembered the lord who had ridiculed him as 'Oni-Yamaoka.
With renewed anger, Kazan journeyed to a town high up in the snowy mountains where the lord resided. A dozen samurai met Kazan at the gates of the town. A dozen samurai fell to his Kanabo. His speed and strength were unmatched. His rage was incomprehensible. Covered in blood and gore, Kazan battled through the town and soon found the lord hiding in a villa. He dragged him out of a cabinet, sliced his tendons to immobilise him and watched him beg and squirm like a dog. Without hesitation, he thrust his fist into the lord's mouth and yanked out the wicked tongue that had desecrated his name.
Satisfied, Kazan exited the villa to find himself surrounded by dozens of farmers wielding rusted scythes, sharp pitchforks, and heavy clubs. He survived the first few assaults, but there were too many attackers coming from every direction. Within moments Kazan was on the ground staring at a cold, indifferent, darkening sky as farmers took turns stabbing and torturing the 'Oni' who had butchered their beloved lord. The frenzied mob dragged Kazan into a small stone mill to continue the torture and finally left him to die a slow, agonising death. When they returned, the mill was filled with a strange black fog and Kazan's body and the Kanabo were nowhere to be found. It was the beginning of a dark legend about a rageful Oni haunting the town.

After the tragic death of his No Spin bandmates, Ji-Woon Hak was reborn as The Trickster. No longer held back by inferior collaborators, he quickly won audiences worldwide. Adoring crowds chanted his name, but it wasn’t enough. His desire to be immortalized could only be sated through bloodshed. His victims became instruments, played and arranged to bring his twisted vision to life. The sounds of their anguished screams and desperate pleas were music to his ears.