Meeting Him

Haisley

Then, the screens flash to life, pulling us from whatever fragile moments of rest we managed to steal. We don't want to read it. We don't want to acknowledge that this nightmare is still unfolding.

Move to your name on the floor.

The words make my blood run cold. We glance around the room, confused, until slowly, our names appear, etched into the concrete like some twisted brand from hell. We exchange one last look, a fleeting moment of silent understanding, before each of us walks to the spot where our name waits.

My legs feel like they're made of lead, every step heavier than the last. Is this it? Is this the moment we die?

The screen flashes again.

You do not leave the area where your name is. Each demon has one hour to visit their women. Who they visit, when, and for how long is their choice.

A cold sweat breaks out across my skin. God, no. This can't be real. It's like a sick joke, but deep down I know it's not.

The rules appear, one by one, burning into my mind like a branding iron:

1: You do not need to do anything your demon says. But pleasing them will benefit you.

2: This time is yours to gain what you need to survive the game. Your demon can give you gifts throughout, so make an impression.

3: If you move away from your name, you will be punished.

4: Your demon will not touch you without permission.

5: Not everyone will be visited. If you're not, you've failed to impress your demon.

The words sink in, twisting in my gut like a knife. This is sick. Beyond twisted.

I sink to the floor, curling into myself, my body still trembling uncontrollably. I try to calm the shaking, try to catch my breath, but it's useless. I'm praying—hoping—that my demon, Zyraxiel, won't come for me. I don't want to see him, don't want to face that monstrous thing again.

But the reality is worse than anything I could've imagined. Some of us want our demons to come. To impress them, to survive. And in that desperate need, we're all slowly losing what little humanity we have left.

I sit there, silent, waiting in the suffocating darkness, knowing that whether or not my demon comes, there's no escape from this hell. Only the next twisted game, and the next.

Suddenly, there's a shift in the air, a cold, unnatural energy that prickles at my skin. My breath catches in my throat as I watch the portal open. Without thinking, I scoot back, my spine hitting the cold wall behind me. A demon steps out, dark and towering, its form dripping with malice, and it moves toward Megan.

I glance at the screen, seeing her name under Ashurith That's her demon.

Another one follows, this time heading toward Daisy. Then another to Ashleigh. My heart pounds, but for a brief moment, I let out a small, shaky breath of relief. Mine isn't coming. I'm safe.

But the relief is short-lived. The portal swirls again, and there it is—Zyraxiel. His eyes lock onto me, cold and merciless. My stomach lurches, and I feel the familiar wave of terror wash over me. I want to crawl away, disappear into the shadows, but the fear of punishment for moving, for breaking the rules, keeps me rooted to the spot.

He steps closer, each movement slow and deliberate, his dark form looming over me. I shake, harder than before, my body betraying the fear I can't control. My eyes dart around, desperate for anything to ground me. That's when I see Megan. She's smiling, her voice soft, speaking to her demon like it's a normal person, like this situation is anything but horrifying.

How? How can she fake being calm? My mind reels with disbelief, so fixated on her that I don't even notice Zyraxiel until he's sitting directly in front of me, his red eyes boring into mine.

I freeze.

His presence is overwhelming, suffocating. My heart races as his hand moves, and instinctively, I flinch. But instead of violence, a portal opens beside him, and he reaches inside. The next second, he's pulling out a blanket. I blink in confusion as he drapes it over my trembling body, the thick fabric wrapping around me like a shroud.

The action is so jarring, so wrong for the nightmare we're trapped in. This creature—this thing—just stood there and watched Blaze be tortured and murdered, like it was nothing more than entertainment.

I feel nothing but hatred, nothing but fear. And yet, when Zyraxiel's hand brushes against my cheek, something inside me stirs. My instinct betrays me, and I lean into his touch.

The warmth.

It's the first real warmth I've felt since this began, a stark contrast to the bone-deep cold that has gripped me from the start. My body craves it, needing the heat, the comfort. Against my will, I inch closer to his hand, seeking the warmth that I shouldn't want.

I hate him. I should hate him. But the warmth… it's the only thing that feels real in this twisted, freezing hell. And for just a moment, I let myself sink into it, hating every second of how desperately I need it.