ASTERIX HORROR STORY

Once upon a time in a forgotten part of Gaul, where the trees grew too thick and the skies always seemed clouded, lay a village no one dared to speak of anymore. It was once the proud home of Asterix, the brave warrior known far and wide for his cunning and his legendary resistance against the Roman Empire. But now, the village was silent. Overgrown. Abandoned.

And for good reason.

It began years after the fall of the Romans, when peace had finally settled across the land. Asterix had grown older, quieter, and more reclusive. Obelix had mysteriously vanished in the forest one evening, chasing after a strange sound no one else heard. Asterix had searched for him for days, then weeks, but no trace was ever found. That’s when things started to change.

The villagers whispered that Asterix had been seen talking to shadows, wandering the woods late at night, eyes wide and hollow. He no longer laughed. He no longer smiled. And eventually, he too disappeared.

Years passed. Children were told not to go near the old village. Hunters who ventured close would return pale, trembling, and unwilling to speak of what they saw. Some never returned at all.

One day, a historian named Lucien, obsessed with the legends of Asterix and the magic potion that gave him his power, decided to find the truth. With a backpack full of supplies and a journal tucked under his arm, he trekked into the woods.

At first, everything seemed normal. The birds chirped. The wind blew gently. But the deeper he went, the more unnatural everything became. The forest grew darker, even though it was midday. The trees leaned closer together, and an oppressive silence fell.

Finally, he reached the village.

It was just as the stories said—decayed, lifeless, and covered in a strange black moss. Houses had collapsed, tools lay rusted where they had fallen, and the once-proud statue of Asterix stood broken in the center of the square, its head missing.

Lucien made camp in the old druid’s hut, hoping to find some scrolls or artifacts. That night, he heard something.

A voice.

Whispering.

Calling his name.

He stepped outside and froze.

There, standing at the edge of the square, was a figure.

Small, hunched, and wearing a tattered helmet.

It was Asterix. Or what used to be Asterix.

His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, and his mouth was twisted into a permanent grimace. His once-bright clothes were now soaked in grime and dried blood. Lucien backed away slowly, but Asterix moved with him, silently mirroring every step.

“You came for the potion,” Asterix rasped, voice like cracking wood.

Lucien tried to speak, but couldn’t.

“They all come for the potion. They all want the strength… the power. But the price… they never know the price.”

Asterix lunged, but not to attack. He seized Lucien’s arm with terrifying strength and dragged him to the center of the village.

There, in a stone circle, was a cauldron—still warm, still bubbling. The smell was rancid, and the liquid inside was thick and black.

“Drink.”

Lucien shook his head violently.

Asterix leaned in, his face inches away. The skin around his eyes was peeling, revealing something dark beneath.

“Drink!”

Lucien struggled, broke free, and ran.

Through the woods.

Through the darkness.

But the forest had changed. Paths twisted. Trees shifted. The way back was gone.

Everywhere he turned, he saw glimpses of Asterix—sometimes far away, sometimes only a few feet behind. Always silent. Always watching.

Lucien didn’t remember falling. Only waking up. In the cauldron circle.

Tied. Surrounded by villagers. But these weren’t people. They were wrong. Twisted. Faces melted. Eyes glowing.

Asterix stood in front of him.

“Now… you will see.”

The potion was poured into Lucien’s mouth.

Fire.

Pain.

Then nothing.

When he woke again, he was alone. Or so he thought. Until he looked at his hands.

They were too big. Too strong. His reflection in a pool showed a different face. A face not his own.

Asterix’s.

The whispers began again.

And the cycle continued.

They say the village still stands, deep in the forest, covered in moss and rot. And if you’re unlucky enough to find it, you might see a small figure with a helmet, waiting. Waiting for you to ask about the potion.

And once you do…

You never leave.