Chapter Eight

Selma's eyes blinked open, only to realize she was still sitting in the car. "Well, butter my biscuit, the dream factory closed shop," she quipped to herself. She started pondering who the heck that dream lady was and why she was dropping riddles like a faulty GPS.

And then, out of the blue, like a mischievous radio host hijacking the airwaves, Daniel's voice crackled in her ear, "Welcome back to the land of the conscious."

Selma yelped, practically doing a sit-up like she was auditioning for a fitness video, fixing a death stare on Daniel that could have melted steel

"What's the scoop?" he asked, biting his lip to hold back a laugh.

"Why'd you just pull a Jack-in-the-Box on me?" Selma demanded, her eyebrows staging a protest march against her forehead.

"Who, me?" he replied, looking as innocent as a cat caught red-pawed with the yarn.

"Don't you 'who, me?' me!" Selma fired back, her irritation writing a manifesto on her face.

Rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn behind her hand, she sat upright. A quick glance in Daniel's direction revealed he was still sporting that trademark grin. "This guy smiles like he's the heir to a toothpaste empire," she mentally quipped.

"You're a spitting image of your dad, grin-wise," she pointed out.

"Who else am I supposed to resemble? The neighborhood garden gnome?" he shot back, unbuckling his seat belt with a flourish.

"Oh, you could've taken after your great-grand pappy for all we know," she snapped back with faux seriousness.

"Sure thing, Captain Obvious," he retorted with a mock eye-roll, a hint of playful annoyance on his face.

"Presenting, Team Car Departure!" he announced, swinging the car door open like he'd just discovered pirate treasure.

"But wait, what of dad and mom?" she wondered aloud, scanning the vicinity and realizing they'd gone all Houdini.

"They've apparently booked it to that building over there," he indicated.

"Mom and dad, the stealthy escape artists?"

"You could sleep through a rock concert, it seems."

"Excuse me?"

He flashed her a sly grin, as though he'd just won a "Confuse Selma" jackpot. I was surprised that Selma could talk like this. He always thought she was a shy person.

**************************

In the mysterious land of Dark Demons, where eerie shadows dance and a feeling of malevolence hangs heavy...

A lone man sits upon a throne made of shimmering gold, surrounded by an almost suffocating darkness. This throne is different from the others, which are all made of wood. His face is an unsettling mix of human features on one side and a monstrous, terrifying appearance on the other. His eyes are completely black, like endless voids. He wears a robe, and a red crown rests atop his head, giving him an air of dark authority.

He is the ruler of this strange place, the king of Dark Demons. His palace is a place of utter darkness, everything painted black except for the conspicuous throne.

Another figure enters the scene – This newcomer was unsettling to behold, with horns protruding from their head—one on the right and one on the left. Their face is an eerie shade of green, covered in visible scars from past encounters.

With a respectful bow, the newcomer addresses the ominous ruler, "Your highness, I heard you wanted to see me."

Upon hearing the voice, the king turns his gaze toward the newcomer, his already dark eyes becoming even more intense.

"I need you to find her and bring her here before she realizes the incredible power she possesses. Time is of the essence," his words send shivers down the listener's spine, each word as cold as ice.

"It will be done, your highness," the newcomer bows once again.

"Good," the king responds, his eyes now glowing a menacing shade of red.

***********************************

Selma and Daniel exited the car, their gazes fixating on the imposing building before them – a substantial structure that caught Selma's attention.

A signboard proudly displayed the words "The School of Talent."

Curious, Selma turned to Daniel. "Where are we?"

"It's a training school," Daniel responded.

Impressed, Selma's face lit up with a radiant smile. "I think I'm going to like this place."

Daniel arched an eyebrow. "You're already a fan, and we haven't even stepped inside yet."

As they stood there, a young woman with flowing white hair called out to them. "Hey, Daniel!"

"Abigail!" Daniel's face lit up in response.

Abigail approached and embraced Daniel. "It's been two weeks! Everything alright?"

"Just fine," Daniel assured her. "But I'm really glad to see you again." His dimples made a charming appearance, and they exchanged smiles.

Interrupting their reunion, Daniel introduced Selma. "Abigail, this is my cousin, Selma."

"Hello," Selma greeted with a polite smile playing on her lips.

"Hi there, great to see you," Abigail responded, extending her hand for a handshake.

Speaking with Abigail made Selma uneasy. Something about Abigail triggered a sense of danger within her – an inexplicable feeling that their spirits were not aligned. Suspicion crept in.

Abigail leaned toward Daniel, her admiration evident. "Your cousin is so gentle." Her gaze was fixed on Selma, who met it with her own wary stare.

"Absolutely, she possesses a gentle disposition, but her intelligence is truly sharp and impressive," Daniel responded, a touch of pride evident in his words. Privately, he thought

[gentle indeed]

Abigail's smile brightened, reflecting her genuine appreciation for Selma's qualities.

"I'm drawn to sharp-minded individuals," Abigail commented, her eyes tracing a deliberate path along Selma's figure, a gesture underscored by a subtle gesture of anticipation.

Caught in Abigail's intense scrutiny, Selma's mind churned. A sense of unease gripped her as she pondered, "Why is she observing me this way?" The intensity of the moment churned her stomach, threatening to induce a wave of nausea.

"Stay with Selma, Abigail. I'll be back in a moment," Daniel instructed.

"Sure, just be quick," she replied before turning her attention to Selma.

Selma wasn't pleased that Daniel had left her with Abigail. When Abigail turned towards her, Selma instinctively turned away, focusing on the surroundings instead. The walls were adorned with pictures of famous musicians, football players, and other notable figures.

"Selma," Abigail's voice grated on her nerves, and she sighed inwardly before reluctantly facing her.

'She looks as if something's taken over her,' Selma thought, her irritation growing.

"Why did you ignore me?" Abigail's tone was rude, arms crossed defiantly.

Selma maintained her steady gaze.

"Have you suddenly lost your ability to speak, or are you deliberately being mute?" Abigail's words dripped with disdain.

"I'm not mute," Selma retorted, her anger simmering.

"Oh, so you can speak," Abigail sneered, a wicked grin forming as she played with her hair.

"I don't appreciate being stared at. Are you assuming I'm up to no good?" Abigail continued, her tone mocking.

Selma refused to break eye contact. She preferred staring to wasting her words on Abigail. As she observed, she noticed a fleeting hint of red in Abigail's eyes. Focusing intently, she watched as Abigail's eyes briefly turned red before returning to normal.

A gasp escaped Selma's lips.

"Scared, are you?" Abigail taunted, stepping closer while Selma retreated.

Fear gripped Selma, her chest constricting painfully. "Oh no," she thought, dreading the possibility of being labeled a witch. Whenever that chest pain surfaced, something dreadful followed. Puzzlingly, she realized the people around were seemingly oblivious to their presence. Odd.

Panicked, she tried to flee, but Abigail's grip tightened. "Let go!" Selma screamed, only to be met with a forceful blow to her head, and then darkness engulfed her.

***************************************

Upon awakening, Selma found herself confined in a dimly lit chamber, her hands and legs bound by chains fastened to the wall. It was difficult for her to accept the reality that she was truly in this situation; a thought crossed her mind – could this be a dream?

"Why am I going through this?" Her voice quivered with despair as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Had I been aware, I would have kept my distance from her," she whispered to herself, tears streaming down her face. The moment she laid eyes on that girl, an unsettling unease had gripped her mind.

Tears mixed with her sweaty skin, forming rivulets that traced a path from her forehead to the hollow of her neck. Desperation clawed at her as she struggled to rise, her fingers gripping the cold, unyielding chain. With a raw effort, she managed to pull herself up, the metallic clinks of the chain reverberating in the eerie silence. Her feet dangled, suspended above the floor, hope fleeting like a phantom before reality yanked her downward once again. The impact was harsh, a deep thud that seemed to resonate through her bones, sending waves of searing pain from where her body met the unforgiving ground.

Amidst her cries, a dissonant creak sliced through the air, a whisper from the abyss. Her tears paused as she strained to listen, the abrupt stillness of her cries contrasting with the ominous sound that intruded upon her world of pain. It was a sound born from the depths of dread itself, an unsettling symphony. She held her breath, every nerve drawn tight like a bowstring, her heartbeat filling her ears with its quickening rhythm—an erratic drumbeat of fear. Closer they came, each footfall heavy with impending doom, scratching at the edges of her sanity.

Then, an abrupt calm settled, an anticipatory hush that seemed to freeze the air in her lungs. The darkness was split by a searing light, a blazing beacon that scorched her retinas. Instinctively, she raised her hand to shield her eyes from the blinding illumination. The light was oppressive, obscuring everything beyond its intensity. Gradually, her vision adjusted, revealing a nightmarish scene before her. The figure that stood amidst the brilliance was a grotesque embodiment of her deepest fears.

A cacophony of terror burst from her throat, a high-pitched shriek hanging on the edge of madness. Before her stood a creature as alien as a nightmare. Its entire form was a sickly shade of green, a hue that spoke of decay and corruption. No clothing adorned its emaciated body, leaving it bare and exposed in its otherworldly horror. Horns twisted from its skull, grotesque sentinels of its malevolent countenance. Its gauntness seemed unnatural, its skin stretched taut over bone like parchment. And those eyes—soulless orbs of obsidian that held her gaze, as if piercing through her very essence.

Within her, a twisted dance of terror and fascination unfurled. As the creature moved, a vile cacophony of grunts and repugnant sounds accompanied its eerie footsteps. Each step sent tremors through the floor, the ground seemingly vibrating in response to the sinister presence invading her world. With each deliberate approach, her instincts screamed at her to retreat, and so she did, her body pressing against the cold floor, as if seeking refuge from its touch.

Unmindful of her terror, the creature drew nearer, its presence a visceral intrusion upon her senses. Chains, once instruments of her torment, now moved with malevolent intent, ensnaring her once again. Her desperate cries pierced the air, their futility haunting her as the creature remained unaffected, its grunts forming a discordant symphony of suffering.

"P-please, spare me," her voice trembled, her words quivering like leaves caught in a storm. The creature's grotesque chorus of sounds reverberated, mingling with the stench of terror that saturated the room.

Abruptly, the dissonance ceased, its eerie harmony silenced. She was released, her body crashing to the ground as her captor retreated. A voice, chilling and profound, echoed through the chamber. "Look up, young one."

The air grew colder, a palpable tension thickening it. Trembling, her sweat-soaked head rose, her gaze sweeping across the vast expanse before her. The sight was an assault on her senses, a gathering of the macabre that defied explanation. Figures, as green as the rot that clung to them, stood unclothed in a twisted formation. They bore resemblance to the grotesque creature before her, a collective reminder of her dire situation. Unearthly noises filled the air, an eerie cacophony that wove through her senses, seeping into her very bones. Fear draped around her, constricting her heart, and whispering of horrors beyond comprehension.

"Silence," the authoritative voice commanded, and an immediate hush fell upon the surroundings. Slowly, she turned to locate the source of the spine-chilling utterance. A man stood in a black robe, revealing a glimpse of his chest. Adjacent to a resplendent golden throne, he exuded an air of regal authority. This setting, she guessed, must be a palace, a concept she had only encountered in stories. The man's visage was a striking mix of human and green, split down the middle. His presence emitted an almost suffocating, lethal aura.

In a trembling whisper, she confessed, "I fear my end is near." Visions of gruesome ends plagued her thoughts—dismemberment, flames, and being devoured by these creatures. Perhaps they even indulged in sanguine feasts, like the creatures that had brought her from the dim chamber, their elongated fangs haunting her imagination.

"Welcome into the realm where dark demons reign," intoned the man.

Her gaze fixated upon the man, unflinching as he descended the stairwell that spiraled down from the thrones. With each deliberate step he took toward her, an icy dread compelled her to inch backward across the floor.

"Fear not, young lady," his words oozed out, his smile more unsettling than comforting, as he squatted, his intent gaze fixed upon her countenance.

"Who are you?" Her voice trembled, cracking like fragile glass, her very frame quivering visibly, as if trying to retreat from the abyssal depths of his penetrating black eyes.

"I am the Devil, sovereign ruler of the realm of Dark Demons{DD}" his response came, accompanied by a smirk that seemed to dance at the corners of his lips. His arms stretched wide, a perverse gesture of ownership over the sinister dominion.

However, she persisted in her unwavering stare, ensnared by the scene before her. Her chest rose and fell with palpable unease, a manifestation of the fear that gripped her.

His face bore an unsettling semblance of pride, his eyes reminiscent of coal-black voids, drawing in all light.

"Rita," the king's voice echoed through the chamber.

"Yes, Your Highness," came a swift response from a lady who inclined her head in a bow.

"Have you ensured the readiness of the tools?" the king inquired.

"Indeed, Your Highness," Rita affirmed.

The mention of tools quickened Selma's heartbeat. Her head turned to regard the woman. It was Abigail, the same individual who had forcibly taken her.

"You!" Selma's voice burst forth, her face contorted with a visceral loathing.

Rita's lips curved into a knowing smile.

However, an astonishing transformation ensued.

Rita's form began to shift, a metamorphosis commencing from her legs and coursing upward, overtaking her entire frame. A demon's essence melded with her very being, altering her appearance. She remained in place, her complexion transformed into a vibrant shade of green, and she stood unabashedly nude. Her body was so skinny that you could trace out her whole skeleton, every contour of bone visible through her

"What in the world!" Selma gasped, her eyes widening in sheer astonishment.

'So, she was masquerading as a human, concealing her true demon nature. Her physique is alarmingly frail. She is the most repugnant creature I've ever laid eyes upon,' Selma's mind raced as fear cascaded through her trembling form.

A desire to rise welled within her, only to be thwarted by the unyielding grip of chains that bound her hands and legs.

Two ominous figures, resembling dark demons, entered the palace bearing a large box that bore a resemblance to a coffin. With a resonating thud, they deposited the box and made a swift exit.

"Rita, unseal the box," commanded the king, his voice unwavering.

Rita obeyed, revealing the contents within. An eerie stillness enveloped the surroundings; even the faintest sound, like the drop of a pin, would have shattered the quietude. The onlookers remained hushed, as though anticipating an imminent revelation. Selma, however, found herself fixated on the box, her apprehension deepening as the menacing demons seized her.

"Release me! Let go!" Selma's cry rang out as she struggled against the iron grip of the dark beings. Tears streamed down her face, a testament to her profound understanding that whatever lay within the coffin posed a grave threat.

Her pleas fell on deaf ears as the demons escorted her to the coffin's side. Peering inside, her breath caught as she beheld the sight that awaited her. A female demon's lifeless body lay within, marred by a conspicuous cavity in its chest. Selma's fear escalated, her gaze darting between the two enigmatic creatures.

[What do they intend for me? What purpose does this body serve?]

The chains constricting her wrists and ankles were loosened, and she was pushed to kneel before the ominous assembly.

Presently, another demon entered the scene—a colossal figure, nearly as imposing as the king himself. Adorned with an imposing sword, he exuded an aura of authority.

[Selma's Perspective]

As the king drew nearer, a question escaped his lips, inquiring about what I believed to be absent in the corpse nestled within the coffin. My gaze remained fixed upon the lifeless form, my heart pounding audibly within my chest. An aperture in the chest, a void where a heart should reside, caught my attention.

[But why does he seek this information?]

"Heart," I replied, my voice betraying a trace of anxiety as I swallowed hard.

"Yes, a heart is what we require to mend this void," declared the king, a subtle smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

[What? Need a heart? But, the body is already lifeless.]

A surge of panic coursed through me, my instincts screaming of the peril that loomed. The immense demon's intense gaze intensified my trepidation, casting a long shadow over my fate.

"Damon," the king's voice reverberated through the vast chamber, a command edged with authority.

"Yes, your majesty," the colossal demon rumbled in response, his massive form bowing respectfully in the dim, foreboding light.

"Extract her heart," the king's decree sliced through the air like a chilling gust.

A guttural scream tore from my throat, a desperate cry of protest as I writhed against the immense demon's unyielding grip, his fingers like iron bands around my trembling hands.

"Immediately," the king's voice held an undeniable finality, a decree not to be defied.

The behemoth demon loomed closer, his steps deliberate and ominous, his grip unrelenting as I struggled, my strength a mere whisper against his overwhelming power.

"No, I won't succumb to this fate!" I bellowed, my voice a mix of defiance and terror, my body convulsing in an attempt to break free from his suffocating hold.

"Immediately," the king's order was unwavering.

With a surge of desperation, I slammed my forehead against the demon's towering brow, a raw surge of pain reverberating through my skull as he grunted in surprise, his grip faltering just enough to grant me a precious moment of freedom.

Seizing the opportunity, I tore myself away, heart pounding like a trapped bird's wings, my gasps for air a frantic symphony in the tense atmosphere.

But escape was a mere illusion in this nightmarish tableau, the twisted forms of monstrous creatures closing in around me, their grotesque visages a chorus of horror that mocked my struggle.

[I can't meet my end like this]

Amidst the chaotic scene, a glint of cold steel caught my gaze – a knife, forgotten in the midst of the chaos. I lunged towards it, fingers closing around its hilt, a desperate hope rekindling in my chest.

Whirling to face the colossal demon that pursued me, a wave of revulsion surged within me at his repugnant appearance – his ebony eyes gleaming with malice, his disfigured lips curled into a grotesque mockery of a smile, and his gnarled green skin oozing an otherworldly malevolence.

[Disgusting beyond words]

Summoning every ounce of courage I could muster, I pointed the knife towards him, my hand trembling, a shaky voice issuing from my lips. "One step and I'll strike," I managed to rasp, though the fear in my eyes betrayed the faltering resolve in my words.

Undeterred, the immense demon advanced, his footsteps slow and deliberate, his voice a haunting whisper. "Resistance is futile."

Step by step, I retreated, my back meeting a cold, unforgiving wall. The knife remained my flimsy shield against the advancing nightmare, its blade gleaming with a cold, deadly glint. "Stay back!" I commanded, my voice a quiver in the tense air, the disparity between my words and my courage palpable.

In an instant, a long, stretchy appendage snaked out, snatching the knife from my grasp. It was one of the demons from the horde, its elongated tongue retrieving the weapon. Astonishment washed over me. A macabre display that left me momentarily stupefied.

[Unbelievable, that tongue]

Resignation washed over me like a torrential wave, and I sank to the ground with a bittersweet smile, my eyes closing in preparation for the searing agony that awaited, thoughts of loved ones intertwining with the impending darkness.

************************************

With a slow, deliberate motion, the colossal demon raised his sword, its gleaming edge poised to strike the final blow upon her chest. But in the precipice of that fatal moment, she evaporated into thin air, leaving the sword to collide with the unyielding stone wall.

"What?!" The king's furious bellow pierced the air, an eruption of rage that echoed through the chamber like a thunderous storm.