The Encounter With Demons

Dylan had always assumed that survival in this endless, damned labyrinth was a privilege reserved for the few—those like him who had fought through the thick blood of monsters and walked the razor's edge between madness and strength. After facing grotesque creatures, ancient traps, and soul-devouring fogs, the idea that others might still be breathing, fighting, enduring, seemed almost laughable. In his mind, if anyone still lived, they were either hidden away in the darkest corners of this cursed land or had become part of it—lost souls, corrupted by the very environment they were trying to escape.

But then, the campfire.

Warm light flickered through the veil of lingering mist, casting dancing shadows along the jagged cliffs. Around it, he saw figures—actual people. Not illusions. Not phantoms. Real survivors.

Dylan narrowed his eyes. His first instinct wasn't one of camaraderie or hope. It was strategy. He thought: More people to manipulate. I could use them. Trap them. Feed false trust... then take what I need. That was his rhythm. That was survival.

But something in the air shifted.

As he watched from his hidden perch, a creeping realization dawned on him—these weren't ordinary survivors. If they had made it to the Red Valley, past the same nightmares he faced, then they had strength. Not just physical, but willpower, cunning, maybe even abilities. They weren't prey. They were wolves. Just like him.

Or worse—predators wearing human skins.

Suddenly, the thrill of a one-sided hunt turned into something far more unpredictable. Dylan understood one thing clearly: the road ahead wasn't going to get easier. It was going to twist, evolve, and demand everything from him.

The real game had just begun.

**The Blood Moon Feast: A Tale of Terror and the Unholy Four** 

The night was an abyss of dread, the sky painted in the deep crimson hue of a **blood moon**, its glow casting eerie shadows over the skeletal trees that clawed at the heavens like the fingers of the damned. The air was thick with the scent of iron and burning flesh, the crackling campfire illuminating four figures seated in a macabre circle. 

They were feasting. 

Not on game, not on rations—but on **human flesh**. 

The meat sizzled over the flames, the juices dripping into the fire with a hiss. The sound was almost rhythmic, like the slow, deliberate chewing of a predator savoring its kill. Among them, a severed limb—once belonging to a comrade—lay half-devoured, the bones picked clean in some places, the muscle still glistening in others. 

There were **four** in their party. 

And yet, they were eating **one of their own**. 

### **The Unholy Four: A Brotherhood of Monsters** 

#### **1. Lilith – The Jester of Death** 

Lilith lounged lazily by the fire, her **gray hair** catching the flickering light, her **piercing blue eyes** gleaming with amusement. She wore a **black crop top**, a **heart-shaped choker**, and layered necklaces that jingled softly with every movement. Her **loose dark green jacket** slipped off one shoulder, revealing pale skin marked with strange, glowing tattoos—sigils of power. 

She cradled **Tombbreaker**, her monstrous **black shotgun**, across her lap. The weapon pulsed faintly, as if breathing. 

*"Tasty, huh?"* she grinned, tearing into a strip of meat. *"Who knew old Greg had so much flavor?"* 

The others didn't laugh. They simply ate. 

Lilith's humor was as sharp as her gun. **Tombbreaker** was no ordinary firearm—its bullets **hunted** their targets, chasing them relentlessly until nothing remained but **bloody mist**. She once fired a single round into a forest, and minutes later, screams echoed as the bullet **cornered its prey**, tearing through trees and flesh alike. 

#### **2. Tenshin – The Silent Executioner** 

Tenshin sat cross-legged, his **long white hair** tied into a high ponytail, adorned with a **red band and golden ornament**. His expression was unreadable, his movements precise as he skewered a piece of meat with a dagger. 

He was their **archer**, but his arrows were anything but ordinary. 

Each one was **laced with a unique poison**, a living curse. When it struck, the venom **birthed a creature** inside the victim—a **tiny, ravenous thing** that gnawed through organs, growing as it fed. The victim would feel every bite, every squirm, until their body **collapsed inward**, hollowed out. 

Tenshin never missed. 

And his victims **never died quickly**. 

#### **3. Necros – The Architect of Nightmares** 

Necros was the most unsettling of them all. His **pale, almost translucent skin** glowed faintly in the firelight, his **shaggy white hair** obscuring parts of his face. But nothing hid his **glowing red eyes**—two embers of hellfire, promising **madness** to any who met his gaze. 

His **pointed ears** twitched slightly as he chewed, his **white mask** resting beside him. He only removed it to eat. 

Necros didn't need weapons. 

His **mind was the trap**. 

With a glance, he could **rewrite reality** around his victims. He made men see their loved ones **butchered**, their homes **burning**, their own hands **rotting off**. And if they stared too long into his eyes? 

**Darkness. Eternal. Unending.** 

Their sight would **vanish**, replaced by an abyss so complete, they forgot what light even looked like. 

#### **4. Zephyr – The Phantom Sovereign** 

Then there was **Zephyr**. 

The most **terrifying** of them all. 

His **long silver hair** cascaded like liquid moonlight, framing a face so pale it seemed carved from marble. His **crimson eyes** burned with something **older than time**, something that should not exist in this world. 

He didn't eat. 

He simply **watched**, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling around him like a living shadow. 

Zephyr's powers defied reason. 

- **He could move faster than light itself**, appearing and vanishing in the span of a **blink**. 

- **He could explode a man's body with a thought**, then **rewind time** just to do it again. 

- And those were just his **base** abilities. 

No one knew what else he was capable of. 

And no one **wanted** to find out. 

### **The Vanishing** 

Dylan had been watching from the trees, his breath shallow, his fingers trembling around the hilt of his knife. He had followed them for miles, drawn by rumors of their **unspeakable deeds**. 

But now, he regretted it. 

One second, they were there—laughing, eating, **existing**. 

The next? 

**Gone.** 

The fire still burned. The meat still sizzled. 

But the four figures had **vanished**, as if they had never been there at all. 

Dylan's blood ran cold. 

*"What the hell—?"* 

### **The Shadow Behind Him** 

A whisper of movement. 

A chill down his spine. 

Dylan **froze**. 

Something was **behind him**. 

Slowly, he turned— 

And there he stood. 

**Zephyr.** 

Dressed in a **sharp white suit**, a **black tie** neatly knotted at his throat, he looked more like a **corpse groom** than a man. His **red eyes** gleamed with amusement as he took a slow drag from his cigarette. 

*"Hello, stalker,"* he murmured, his voice like **ground glass and honey**. 

Before Dylan could **scream**, before he could **move**— 

**Pain.** 

White-hot, searing, **unbearable**. 

Zephyr's hand was buried in Dylan's stomach, fingers wrapped around something **deep inside**. 

Blood **gushed**, splattering the ground in thick, dark waves. 

Dylan gasped, his vision swimming. 

Zephyr leaned in, his lips brushing Dylan's ear. 

*"I'm Zephyr,"* he whispered. *"Nice to meet you."* 

A wet, tearing sound. 

Dylan's **soul** screamed. 

*"But I have to take everything from you."* 

Zephyr **pulled**. 

And then— 

**Darkness.**