Diego walked through the crowded city streets, headphones in his ears and his hood pulled low over his head. His black hair fell across his face, covering dark eyes sunken beneath heavy shadows. His skin had grown pale, ghostly even, and his hands stayed buried deep in his pockets as he trudged forward, head bowed like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.
Once, Diego had been a burst of life—hope in human form. Now he was silent, unreachable. He hadn't spoken to anyone in weeks—not to his mother, not even to his sister. The only thing he could hear now were the whispers.
"Kill yourself."
"End it."
"You're worthless."
"No one loves you."
They came from nowhere and everywhere. From the cracks in the pavement, from the rustling leaves, from within his own skull. But they weren't his thoughts. They were... something else. Something darker.
And it wasn't just the voices. He could see them too—the creatures. Grotesque, inhuman things, crawling along the ceilings, peeking from sewer grates, grinning from reflections that weren't his. They competed in ugliness as if trying to outdo each other, each more horrific than the last. He found himself wishing for blindness.
It had started two months ago—after the accident at the factory. The chemical spill. The fall. The strange liquid that should've killed him. But it hadn't. Not even a scar.
Only a mark on his back.
One word, burned into his skin: "Ifrit."
Now his life wasn't life at all. It was something worse.
Lost in thought, Diego walked until he reached his apartment. A dead place. Lifeless. Just like him.
He climbed the stairs slowly, the air around him charged and heavy. The creatures, whatever they were, were already there—waiting. Crawling beside him, beneath the floorboards, whispering through the pipes.
He inserted his key into the lock, turned it slowly, stepped inside.
Closed the door.
Took off his hoodie and headphones.
The silence was deafening.
Without thinking, he opened the fridge and grabbed his only companion—beer. He planned to drink until dawn, like every other night. To blur the edges of reality. To forget the creatures he refused to acknowledge. The ones he had started calling… demons.
On his way to the couch, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
Empty.
Wasted.
Soulless.
He sighed, turned away—
And froze.
There was someone on the couch.
A boy, his age, resting his head on one hand and smiling at him as if they'd known each other forever. He wore strange clothing, almost ceremonial, and above his head glowed a faint, violet halo—beautiful, unnatural.
For a moment, Diego thought he was a thief.
But something about him… something off.
He wasn't hideous. Not like the others.
He looked human. Too human.
Diego ignored him and sat down, popping open the bottle of beer with trembling hands.
"You're really ignoring me?" the boy said, his voice smooth and calm, amused even.
Diego stiffened. No demon had ever spoken to him before.
His eyes widened in shock.
The bottle slipped from his hand and rolled onto the floor.
"You… you can talk?"
"Of course I can," the boy replied, smile unshaken. "Do I lookmute to you?"
Diego stared, heart pounding. "What… are you?"
The boy stood and walked casually around the apartment, playing with small objects like a child at home.
"I've gone through a lot of trouble to find you, you know that?" he said lightly.
"Find me? What do you mean? Who are you? And why—"
"Shhh..." The boy raised a finger and placed it gently near Diego's lips. "They're here."
"Who?"
"Them."
And before Diego could even ask another question, his body was lifted into the air.
The boy had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him upward—
—and behind them, the apartment exploded.
A blinding light.
A wave of fire.
And the end of everything Diego thought he knew.