Billy Black was finally coming home. After a grueling school year, he was eager to see his family again, the thought of home tugging at him like an invisible thread. The familiar streets of Owasso, Oklahoma, passed by in a blur as his Gruber ride navigated through the city. Buildings, old and new, lined the streets, their facades painted with the warm hues of the setting sun. The town still had that quiet, small-city charm, untouched by the chaos of his college life.
After about thirty minutes, the car pulled up in front of a small, weathered house. The paint on the porch railing was peeling, and the front lawn, once neatly trimmed, had patches of unruly grass creeping over the walkway. It wasn't perfect, but it was home.
Billy exhaled, shaking off the weariness of travel as he stepped out onto the familiar yard. Before heading up the short path, he made sure to leave a generous tip through the app. He caught the driver's eye and gave him a grateful nod as the car pulled away, the red taillights fading down the street.
Turning back to the house, he took a deep breath and walked up the few creaky steps to the front door.
Knock! Knock!
The sound barely echoed before the door swung open, revealing a little girl standing with her arms crossed and a deep pout on her face. Her curly brown hair bounced as she huffed, chubby cheeks puffed in exaggerated annoyance.
"You're late!" she declared, her voice filled with childish indignation.
Before Billy could so much as chuckle, she grabbed his wrist with surprising strength and yanked him inside, her small fingers wrapped around his like a vice.
The warmth of home hit him instantly, the faint scent of baked goods lingered in the air, mixed with the distant hum of a television playing some over-the-top drama. Yet, despite the cozy atmosphere, one thing was painfully clear.
His arrival barely registered to his parents.
They sat comfortably in the living room, their attention completely absorbed in showering his little sister with affection, cooing over her as if she were royalty.
Billy stood there, momentarily forgotten, watching as his mother smoothed down his sister's curls and his father chuckled at something she said. The sight was familiar—too familiar.
Home sweet home.
William collapsed onto the old couch, its worn-out cushions groaning beneath his weight. The fabric was torn in places, stuffing peeking out like old wounds left untended. He let out a weary sigh, raking a hand through his hair as he muttered, "What did I expect? Change isn't a thing around here."
He closed his eyes, the distant sound of laughter from his little sister and the murmurs of his parents blending into a dull hum in the background.
Time slipped away.
An hour later, a rich aroma wafted through the house, stirring his stomach into action. The scent of golden, roasted chicken mingled with the buttery warmth of baked potatoes, making his mouth water despite the tight knot in his gut. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different.
Rising to his feet, he followed the scent into the dining room. The sight that greeted him was anything but welcoming.
His parents sat at the table, their attention fixed solely on his little sister, feeding her tender bites of food with the same adoration they had never once shown him. His mother's lips curled slightly when she finally acknowledged his presence, while his father shot him a look of mild annoyance, as if he were some uninvited guest rather than their son.
Wordlessly, his mother gestured to a plate at the far end of the table. His stomach dropped.
It was barely a meal, smaller than what his sister had been given.
William clenched his jaw. He could complain, demand more, but he knew it would be useless. With no money to order food himself, he had no choice but to accept what was given.
Silently, he ate. Each bite was a quiet battle between hunger and resentment.
When he finished, he followed their unspoken rule, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you for the meal," he said, the words empty, mechanical.
His mother barely acknowledged him. His father, on the other hand, watched with an expression that sent a shiver down William's spine.
A sharp dizziness crept up on him.
His vision blurred. His fingers trembled as he set his cup down, but the effort was wasted as it clattered to the floor, spilling its contents.
His mother clicked her tongue. "Tch. Stupid brat made a mess."
William tried to speak, but his tongue felt heavy. His limbs wouldn't move. Panic set in, his heart pounding against his ribs.
What… what's happening to me?
Darkness closed in. The last thing he saw was his father's cold, unfeeling gaze before the world went black.
Consciousness returned in fragments. A distant hum. The scent of something sickly sweet—honey and sulfur.
Then pain.
Burning ropes seared against his wrists and ankles, tied so tightly they bit into his skin.
William's mind fought to catch up, but then he saw it, the sigil. A twisted, grotesque design drawn in blood on the cold basement floor. His body lay at its center like a sacrificial lamb.
His father stood over him, flipping through the pages of an ancient, leather-bound tome. His mother, cradling his little sister in her arms, wore a manic grin, her eyes alight with an unnatural hunger.
"This useless brat will finally be of use to us," his father muttered, stopping on a page where eerie, glowing symbols pulsed.
An illustration spread across the parchment, an ancient demon with draconian features, standing upon a world reduced to ruin.
His mother began to hum, the haunting tune sending shivers down his spine.
Then his father spoke, voice thick with reverence.
"By the darkness of the void, where shadows endlessly toil,I call upon Astaroth, Duke of Hell's infernal soil.From the depths, where dragon wings take flight,Arise, O Duke, in this moonless night.With serpent in hand and fury untold,Grant me your power, as the ancients foretold.Astaroth, I summon thee, answer my plea!"
The air turned heavy.
A violent rift tore open above William's body, jagged cracks forming in the very fabric of reality. Shadows leaked into the room, twisting unnaturally as a single red eye, massive, infernal, and brimming with ancient malice, peered through the breach.
The floor trembled.
His father collapsed to his knees, the weight of the demon's presence reducing him to a quivering wreck. Even his mother, usually so composed, held his little sister tightly, shielding her ears as she trembled in fear.
Then, the voice came.
"SPEAK, WORM. OFFER YOUR SACRIFICE AND RECEIVE WHAT YOU DESIRE."
The very walls of the basement groaned under the force of its words.
His father prostrated himself before the eye, gesturing toward William's bound form. "We offer you our adopted son, Billy. May his suffering be of use to you, Lord Astaroth!"
William's blood ran cold.
"In exchange," his father continued, his voice laced with desperation, "bless our daughter with endless life and luck!"
The eye shifted, its burning gaze falling upon William. He felt it probing his very soul, stripping away his defenses, leaving him raw beneath its scrutiny.
"HMMMM…" the demon mused.
A suffocating silence stretched through the room.
Then, finally—
"DEAL."
The rift pulsed, and a flood of dark energy erupted forth, pouring into his little sister like a river of blackened flame. She went limp in their mother's arms, unconscious.
At the same moment, the ropes binding William turned to ash. But before relief could settle in, dark chains shot up from the sigil, wrapping around his throat and limbs.
A searing, unbearable heat flooded his senses.
"AHAHHHHH!" His screams tore through the basement as the chains tightened, dragging him downward. His skin blistered, his lungs filled with the acrid stench of brimstone and smoke.
"THE DEAL IS CONCLUDED."
The last of the infernal energy seeped into his sister, and the rift began to close. But as it did, something far more horrifying unfolded.
A sound, sharp, wet, like teeth sinking into flesh.
His mother gasped, her body jerking violently.
William's dazed eyes flicked upward just in time to see his little sister, her tiny hands grasping their mother's shoulders, burying her face into her neck.
"CRACK."
With a sickening crunch, the child ripped her mother's throat clean out.
Blood gushed, painting the walls as his mother's body spasmed, then fell limp. His sister let the corpse drop like discarded meat, licking crimson from her lips with an expression that sent pure, undiluted horror through William's veins.
His father barely had time to react before she turned on him. Tiny hands, now brimming with unnatural strength, grasped his head and slammed him into the ground. The impact sent a sickening pop through the air.
Slowly, deliberately, the little girl turned her glowing red eyes onto William, her gaze gleeful.
"Bye-bye, brother," she whispered, her voice eerily sweet.
The ground swallowed him whole.
Pain. Heat. The stench of blood and burning flesh.When William opened his eyes, he was no longer in the basement.
Dark, jagged chains still bound his body, dragging him into an abyss of endless shadow. A deafening roar echoed from above, hundreds, maybe thousands, of voices screaming in chaotic unison.
Then—
"FRESH MEAT!"
A towering demon with jagged horns and a wicked grin unlocked his shackles, grabbing him by the collar.
William struggled, but it was like fighting against steel. The demon barely noticed.
With one cruel shove, he was thrown forward. The sound of an eager, bloodthirsty crowd filled his ears.
"WE HAVE FRESH MEAT, FOLKS!" a booming voice announced. "WHO WANTS TO SEE THIS PIGGY SQUEAL?"
The gates opened.
Waves of searing heat slammed into Billy's skin, forcing him to squint against the unbearable brightness. The acrid stench of sulfur and blood clogged his nostrils as his vision adjusted to the sight before him, a colossal arena, its towering obsidian walls caging in thousands of roaring, howling demons. Their grotesque forms twisted and convulsed in the stands, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as they screeched for carnage.
Billy's stomach churned, fear sinking its claws into his gut, but a brutal kick from a demon guard sent him staggering forward. He barely caught himself before he hit the burning ground, the rough texture scraping against his trembling hands. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he was shoved toward the arena's center, his legs moving on instinct.
"Who wants the honor of carving up this piggy?" The announcer's voice, sharp and taunting, echoed through the arena, inciting a fresh wave of jeers and laughter from the bloodthirsty spectators.
A shadow dropped from the stands with unnatural grace, landing with a predatory crouch. Rising to its full height, a gaunt, hyena-like demon licked its fanged maw, its yellow eyes gleaming with sick anticipation. Its elongated limbs twitched with excitement as it stalked forward, circling Billy like a vulture sizing up a dying carcass.
"I've always wondered…" the creature rasped, its voice dripping with hunger. "What does human flesh taste like?"
Billy barely had time to raise his arms before the demon lunged. Clawed hands snatched his wrists, locking his defense in place. His muscles strained, but the creature's strength was monstrous.
Then—
"SHHK!"
Agony erupted through his shoulder as jagged fangs punctured deep, ripping through sinew and bone with horrifying ease. Billy's scream tore through the arena, his body convulsing as blood fountained from the gaping wound. The hyena demon wrenched its head back, tearing away a chunk of flesh in a wet, meaty rip.
Billy collapsed to his knees, his vision swimming as shock took hold. His fingers twitched uncontrollably, his nearly severed arm dangling by fragile strands of tendon. A crimson spray misted the ground, his life gushing from him in pulsing waves.
"Crunch."
The hyena demon chewed noisily, reveling in the taste. Tendons snapped between its teeth, blood dribbling down its chin as it let out a giddy, wheezing laugh. The crowd, silent for the first time, leaned forward, mesmerized by the raw suffering before them.
Billy's consciousness wavered, pain consuming every inch of his existence. He wanted to beg, to plead, anything to make it stop.
Then, darkness.
A final, unbearable burst of pain shot through his skull as cruel claws plunged into his eye sockets, burrowing deep into his brain. His scream was cut short. His world faded.
And then—
GASP.
Billy's eyes flew open, his body jerking upright in a cold, dark cell. His hands shot to his face, then his shoulder, searching frantically for wounds. His breath came in sharp, uneven gulps. But his skin, his flesh, was whole. Not a single scar remained.
"It wasn't a dream," he thought, his pulse hammering in his ears. "I was there, I felt everything… but I'm still alive?" His fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to comprehend the impossible.
A guttural, mocking laugh shattered his thoughts.
"HAHAHAHA! That was priceless!" The same demon that had dragged him into the arena stood at the cell door, its grin wide with cruel amusement. "Hearing your screams makes this job worth it! What a show! I can't wait for round two!"
Billy's stomach twisted, dread thickening like bile in his throat.
The demon left, its laughter echoing through the cell, leaving Billy alone with his thoughts, and the growing, gnawing hunger in his stomach.
No food. No water. Just time.
Too soon, the gates creaked open once more, and Billy was hauled to his feet. His next opponent loomed before him, a massive pig-like demon with a single jagged horn protruding from its forehead. In its meaty fists, it clutched two heavy clubs, each stained with dried blood.
It snorted, tusks glistening with drool.
This time, Billy knew what was coming.
And this time, he had to survive.