Chapter 22
Several years later.
In the city of Deodor, within one of its large buildings.
The mansion was silent.
Eerily so.
Not because of danger. Not because of death. But because of something far stranger.
Children sat on the cold floor, cross legged, gathered in a wide circle. Eight years old. Ten. Fourteen. Some even older. All of them surrounded an old woman who had gone completely still.
Too still.
It was as if she had died sitting upright.
A small girl finally tugged at her sleeve.
"Hey, madam."
The old woman stirred.
Her eyes blinked open, unfocused at first, then slowly sharpening as she looked at the child, then at the rest of them staring at her with open curiosity.
"Oh."
She smiled weakly.
She had almost forgotten.
She was supposed to tell them a story. Another tale to ease them into sleep.
She scrambled through her memories, pulling out whatever fairy tale she could still remember and began speaking. Heroes. Battles. Legends she had told too many times already.
The children listened.
But their curiosity did not fade.
After the third story, a girl spoke up, her voice carrying clear dissatisfaction.
"Granny, you already told us the Battle of Drazel and the Giants. And the story of the Gilded Mermaid."
The old woman rubbed her forehead sheepishly.
How was she supposed to tell them she had run out?
They had heard everything she knew. Every tale worth telling.
Just as she was about to admit defeat, something clicked.
Her lips curled into a smile.
"What if I tell you the story of Adam and his ten golden rings?"
The reaction was instant.
Eyes widened. Bodies leaned forward.
All except one boy.
He sat with his arms crossed, face twisted into a scowl.
"That sounds boring," he muttered. "Tell us a scary story."
The old woman looked at him and chuckled.
"Children should not listen to scary stories," she said calmly. "If you do, nightmares will crawl into your sleep. And that is not something I will take responsibility for."
The boy shook his head.
"No, granny. We won't be scared. We promise."
He glanced at the others.
They nodded together, eyes shining.
The old woman hesitated.
Scary stories were not meant to be bedtime lullabies. She was ready to reject them outright.
But then she saw their faces.
She sighed.
"Alright," she said quietly. "Since you all insist."
She leaned forward slightly.
"There is one story scarier than them all."
The children froze.
Their expressions screamed a single thing.
Tell us.
The old woman's gaze hardened as she spoke.
"It is the tale of the Devil."
The room went silent.
"The Devil?" they whispered together.
She nodded.
"The Devil is perhaps humanity's greatest bane. No one knows how he truly came to be. There are many tales. Some say he was born directly from the heavens. Others say he was arrogant. Some claim jealousy consumed him."
She paused.
"Others believe he was simply too chaotic to remain above, so he was cast down into the human world."
The children stared at her in shock.
"So the heavens threw him away?" one of them asked.
"Tell us more, granny."
Her expression grew somber.
"What I believe," she said slowly, "is that he was not cast down for any of those reasons."
She lowered her voice.
"He was cast down because he was vile. Because he was evil."
The word lingered in the air.
"It is said that the very concept of evil was born from him. When he descended into our world, the destruction he caused was beyond what words can describe. Chaos followed him like a shadow."
The children held their breaths.
In fact, it is said that from him, the very concept of evil was born.
When he descended into our world, the destruction and chaos he caused went beyond what words could ever describe. He slaughtered countless humans. Some he did not kill.
Instead, he twisted them.
Turned them into his minions.
Demons.
The children clamped their mouths shut in horror as the old woman continued, describing the Devil in vivid detail. His grotesque form. Sharp, dark claws. A nightmarish face warped beyond recognition. Thick, appalling horns that curved like symbols of damnation.
Their hearts thumped louder with every word.
Even the boy who had demanded a scary story could no longer hide his fear.
"Granny, stop," he pleaded.
But the terror only deepened when she spoke of how the Devil and his minions fed on human flesh and devoured souls.
The old woman blinked, finally noticing the pale faces surrounding her.
Oh.
She had gone too far.
"Granny," a girl whispered, voice trembling, "is it true? Are the Devil and his minions really living among us humans? Does that mean none of us are safe?"
The old woman hesitated.
She believed it. Deep down, she truly did. But telling that truth to children already on the verge of breaking might push them too far.
Before she could answer, a scoff echoed from the entrance of the mansion.
A middle aged man leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He looked at the children, then at the old woman.
"When will you stop being delusional, Mom?" he said. "I've told you many times. There is no such thing as the Devil. And demons? If they existed, why are we all still alive?"
The old woman turned toward him, shaking her head.
She opened her mouth to reply, but he continued.
"Because there are warriors blessed by the gods protecting us, right?"
She nodded solemnly.
The man scoffed again, muttering under his breath.
"Hopeless."
He turned away.
"I'm going to fetch some water. Before a hellish demon evaporates the spring," he added sarcastically as he walked out.
The old woman watched him leave, then sighed quietly and shook her head.
The black haired young man walked through tuhe narrow streets of Deodor, lantern swinging gently at his side. His face was calm, though irritation simmered beneath it.
Why did his granny always scare them with such ridiculous stories?
A horned monster falling from heaven was already absurd enough. Now it could turn humans into demons that fed on flesh and souls?
Bizarre nonsense.
As he turned into a narrow alley, a strange sound came from behind him.
His heart froze.
Slowly, sharply, he turned. His pulse hammered in his chest as he raised his lantern.
The light revealed a black cat staring back at him.
He exhaled hard, relief flooding through him.
"Stupid me," he muttered, clutching his chest. For a moment, he had truly imagined a grotesque creature standing there, ready to devour him.
How ridiculous.
If such things existed, someone would have discovered them long ago.
"Hey, little cutie," he said softly, bending down to pat the cat's head.
The cat stiffened.
Then it screeched.
"Meow. Meow. Meow."
Loud. Panicked.
It staggered back, fur standing on end.
The young man frowned.
"Why are you scared?" he asked.
Then something wet dropped onto his shoulder.
He touched it.
Sticky.
Warm.
Not water.
Slowly, dread crawling up his spine, he raised the lantern toward the rooftop above.
What he saw made his skin crawl.
A creature crouched there, grinning down at him.
Dark claws. Twisted face. Thick horns silhouetted against the night.
Saliva dripped from its mouth.
The young man screamed.
"AHHHHHHH—"
And the alley swallowed the sound whole.