Night demon and his sister
In another corner of the city of Zirasia, amidst its narrow alleys, the Night Quarter flourishes with a vibrance that defies its name.
The name does not evoke the stillness or mystery of the night, as one might expect, but instead reflects a complex terrain of stories and faces.
Though Zirasia is the smallest city in the democracy of Elethra, it boasts 25 streets, each darker than the one before, each harboring tales hidden behind doors and windows.
The dilapidated buildings mirrored the state of their inhabitants.
Even the national guards rarely set foot in these areas.
Among the 25 districts that make up the city of Zirasia, nine lie below the poverty line, exempt from taxes and largely forgotten.
In the heights of democracy, the worth of these inhabitants has vanished, their value reduced to that of lifeless walls.
But with just a glance at the women carrying their children on their backs, the elderly seated outside their vintage, timeworn shops, and the children sketching on the walls, it becomes clear that these are humble, impoverished people.
Yet, the tranquility, peace of mind, and quiet simplicity they enjoy are blessings far beyond the grasp of most people's understanding.
It is impossible for anyone to enter the Night District without noticing the palace located in the empty area, surrounded by rusty fences.
It stands with an air of dignity and grandeur rarely seen.
Typically, there are no luxurious houses in the Night District, which consists of twenty five streets, but this building was an exception.
Given its grand size, with three floors and countless windows in each one, the building was evidently residential.
Its exterior was black—not from paint, but from accumulated dirt and moisture that had created dark stains scattered across its façade.
Despite this, it still maintained its foundation, with not a single crack to be seen—a testament to the remarkable quality of the bricks used in its construction.
The building had an open space enclosed by four walls, featuring a wide gate with iron bars that allowed any passerby to glimpse inside and see its expansive courtyard.
Yet, the reason no one dared to approach it was clear: no one was willing to risk losing their life.
A delicate hand, with neatly manicured nails, extended and turned the handle of the iron gate, which opened effortlessly despite its rusted state.
The woman stepped forward, dressed in a flowing white gown, her hair impeccably groomed.
And the rhythmic sound of her heels echoed through the empty courtyard as she walked with grace, exuding elegance and defying every trace of fear.
All the while, the pitiful onlookers outside the gate watched her, their eyes wide with a mix of awe and dread, before quickly retreating—terrified of being spotted by the devil himself.
Her steps led her to the gate, where she paused for a moment before pushing open the rusted door, which creaked loudly as it swung open.
She entered to find two staircases on either side, both leading to the same destination.
She left the lower floor behind, where several pieces of furniture were covered with white sheets.
Ascending to the upper floor, she walked down the wide corridor, where the left side was lined with windows, matching the twenty doors on the right.
Moving quietly, she approached the door at the end of the hall.
With each step closer, her ears caught faint sounds blending with the air—soft cries of distress, as if women were trying to escape. Yet the muffled, weak cries faded with each powerful, unknown strike that seemed to silence them.
Three screams ended with the sound of chains rattling.
She gently opened the door, under the echo of the chains, to witness a scene that resembled a slaughterhouse.
A woman hung by her legs, her body suspended upside down, swaying from side to side as if pulled by an invisible force.
Her heart raced as she saw ten other women, all hung upside down, naked-but the details of their bodies were obscured by bloodied garments that clung to them, red gowns covering their upper bodies, masking everything but their twisted forms.
They resembled slaughtered sheep, their bodies drained of life and dignity.
Although the mysterious chains that held their legs had no specific point of attachment, their existence seemed almost invisible, as if they were controlled remotely. The vast room, aside from the overpowering smell of blood that resembled that of a slaughterhouse, had four walls.
It possessed two openings, one to the east and one to the west, both covered with transparent white veils through which a faint light filtered in.
In this terrifying place, a sharp yet imposing presence filled the air.
The woman could feel it deeply, her legs trembling from the rising cold, a physical manifestation of the fear creeping in.
This was caused by the presence of one being—no, one man—sitting with his hands resting on his knees, his head bowed as he stared at the ground, as though taking a moment of rest.
His silky, medium-length hair hung loosely, swaying gently.
His bare, muscular upper body stood out, dressed only in pants made of black bear hide and dark boots that reached just below his knees.
After taking a slow, quiet breath, his head rose gradually. "When did the princess learn to enter without permission, Luvita?" He spoke, his voice smooth, reverberating through the empty room, as his left blue eye, the only one visible, stared out from his face, which was completely obscured by his hair.
After his greeting, a strange smile filled with fear appeared on her face, evident in the trembling of her lips. "It's been a long time, my brother," she replied, barely able to utter the words, while her ears caught the sound of the constant drip of blood.
He stood up slowly and approached her, stepping between the hanging corpses as she watched each step he took.
He gracefully swept his hair back with his right hand, revealing his handsome face and well-defined chest muscles.
His right jaw bore scars, and his eyes were cold and unyielding.
He stood before her, and she closed her eyes in fear.
He extended his hand to her jaw and gently turned her head to the left, focusing on the dark mark on the left side of her neck.
As she processed the softness of his touch, her eyelids fluttered open slightly, and she saw him fix his cold gaze on her neck.
"What's wrong with your neck?" His tone, though cold, betrayed a deep obsession with the perfect details of his sister, and any flaw was absolutely forbidden.
"This is what I've been waiting for your return for, my dear brother, Gorr." Her eyes filled with tears, and she rushed into his chest, sobbing fiercely as she pleaded, "I was attacked by a soldier." With her head pressed against his chest and her voice trembling with the weight of her sobs, her feminine tone was emotional and haunting, so much so that it altered the mood of the demon, Gorr.
The veins on his face swelled, forming more than ten red lines that traced pathways across his features.
Chains materialized from thin air, wrapping around the hanging corpses of the women, twisting like serpents.
With immense force, they squeezed until the bodies exploded, reducing them to nothing but a cascade of blood.
"Give me his name."