The city was clear to Paul's eyes, a spiritual outline of a beast crouching on the edge of the desert, encapsulating it. As he approached, a thick maroon miasma tainted the air like deep, dense fog. He stood where sand gave way to the cracked asphalt. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, the feeling of being watched poured into his soul.
Countless symbols spun around the streetlamps and traffic lights. Runes carved into metal ran down poles like metaphysical wires, converging at the bottoms and branching off into different areas of the city.
People walked as though nothing was wrong, as what could only be described as demons hung over them. Some were tormented more than others. They attached themselves like leeches. Black tendrils slithered among the crowd, feeding on humans as if they were no more than cattle.
Signs and logos were shifting. Slogans and advertisements momentarily turn into unrecognizable messes before reverting to their original form.
Paul passed beneath a large digital billboard in the middle of a local hot spot. The clean, crew-cut businessman in the center morphed. His nice suit synthesized into his skin, his hair fell like melting ice. His body morphed into some reptilian-human hybrid. The slogan was simple: "Invest Today, Live Tomorrow."
The letters began to blend and scatter, glowing in different colors and brightness levels. Some words Paul could make out. "Debt…Soul…Collateral…" The logo on the billboard corner slithered into a goetic demonic sigil. And just as quickly, everything shifted back.
Similar events were occurring everywhere he looked. Some things were more easily identifiable. Traffic signs shifted from "Yield" to "Submit." Why was this clearer? Intent and hold.
Thoughts and ideas are not always one's own. They gain power with acceptance and indulgence. Possible implications ran through his mind. Was this organized?
Sometimes, nothing would change. He stared at a bank logo across the street. Three owls flying off a ledge. One to the left, one to the right, and the other flying forward. Their eyes were fixed and pronounced, but Paul could not help but think they were glaring at him in particular.
Graffiti in sporadic places shape-shifted into Kabbalistic codes and cryptic phrases. "As above, so below," is the most easily visible on the side of a grocery store.
Paul felt nauseated. This was no fringe conspiracy. This was surgically designed spiritual crowd control hidden in plain sight.
He walked deeper into the city. He took his hood off to blend in more with society, at least as much as he could at the moment. However, the reality in front of him screamed for him to hide and retreat with every step.
The air carried the smell of fast food from different restaurants, but it didn't smell like it had when he crossed this street on his way to the desert. Blood, along with some kind of mystery meat aroma, dominated the block. His suspicion of the source filled his mind with vividly grotesque imagery.
A tall, tan, bald man in an expensive blue suit and sunglasses walked by him, coming from the opposite direction on the crowded sidewalk. A badger-sized demon, taking the shape of a naked, miniature, malnourished version of the man attached itself to the back of his neck.
It was cloaked in ever-shifting shadows. Its arms and legs dangled as it sank its low-number razor-black teeth, spaced apart by significant, comical gaps, deeper into the host. The nails on its hands and feet had no thickness and extended outward by several inches.
Paul noticed an expensive silver bracelet on the man's wrist, taking the form of Ouroboros. He could not tell whether what he saw was the shifted form or the original, but the image did not falter. Then, the demon attached to the bald man's neck pounced at Paul.
The creature lunged. Black tendrils sprouting from the demon's back whipped forward with it as its face almost collided with Paul. Before he could react, the demon's face fell flat into a red barrier that bloomed from nothingness and surrounded Paul in a bubble.
It quickly fell back and reattached itself to its original host, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary occurred. The barrier vanished as fast as it appeared, and the entire instance lasted less than a second.
Paul stood in shock as the crowd moved around him. His eyes drifted to the sigil on his cloak sleeve. Its faint glow is no longer visible, now dark and spent like a burned-out match. His half-baked first attempt at mystic syntax, which he did to test his newfound knowledge, just saved him from a fate he did not wish to know.
He felt like he could now collapse at any moment. Safety must be his new priority. He swiftly moved deeper into the maze of streets, at the same time trying not to attract any more attention from people or entities.
His hotel was now in sight, an elongated concrete box glowing weakly in dark yellow light in the middle of the night. Safety was in sight, at least for now.
Paul quickened his pace to reach the inside. He had survived tonight, but only because the city, or perhaps dumb luck, allowed it.
The feeling of eyes watching him persisted.
Something knew he was here.