[THE FISHERMAN'S HOUSE]
Flynn walked around the small, dimly lit living room, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath his feet. The room, typical of a Victorian-era working-class home, was modest in size, with walls adorned by faded family portraits and worn furniture.
He made his way towards the rug, where the soft glow of burning candles revealed a small, torn scratch that marred the fabric and continued onto the floor. After comparing the length of the scratch to his finger, Flynn concluded, "This isn't ordinary."
Standing upright, he placed his hands on his hips and thought deeply before whispering, "Ring, I need your help in this situation."
"My Host, a life and death situation?" Ring replied.
"No," Flynn said, scanning the room. "I need to uncover some details. Firstly, can you recognize the scratching marks—"
The red holographic screen appeared in front of the marks, scanned them, and displayed the details:
[Entity known: Cripplegate Reaper.]