An eight-year-old boy sat on the terrace of his house beside an old man.
Each morning, they shared tea that the old man prepared especially for him. It had a gentle strawberry flavor with minty notes—sweet, fresh, comforting.
They looked toward the horizon while the boy's mother baked a pie inside the house. The scent drifted through the air as grandfather and grandson talked for hours.
Mid-sentence, the boy noticed something change.
The old man's wrinkled face grew serious. Grim.
Then, in less than a heartbeat, he stood up so quickly the child could barely follow his movement. He grabbed the boy by the waist and rushed him toward a hidden hatch in the ground—a place Grandpa had always forbidden him to enter.
He opened it.
"Stay here," the old man said quickly. "No matter what happens. No matter what you hear, smell, or think you understand. Stay here. There's a book in the drawer. Read it. And ignore the smell."
The boy barely had time to process the words before his grandfather threw a porcelain decoration from the kitchen table onto the floor. It shattered.
A foul stench flooded the air.
A strange green-gold liquid spread across the room.
Terrified, the boy descended into the hidden chamber.
Below, there was only a single table in the center. Though there were no visible light sources, the room glowed faintly, and every ray seemed to converge on that table.
He sat, staring at it, unable to think.
Then the screaming began.
Not only screams of fear—but screams of agony.
The sound of collapsing buildings.
And then, his grandfather's voice—unrecognizable, filled with fury:
"Come out, you fucking demons. Today you will regret setting foot in this place."
The boy opened the hatch slightly.
Outside, he saw his grandfather standing in the yard. Opposite him was a pale, reddish figure with blade-like hands.
In the blink of an eye, they vanished.
A heavy impact struck the hatch. Something rolled into the opening space.
It was a severed hand in the shape of a blade, the same one the demon had.
The boy froze as it dissolved into thin air.
He climbed out.
His mother stood nearby, pale and unmoving. His grandfather stood unfazed before a towering, mangled creature layed lifeless on the ground, what was before a demon now was minced meat.
The boy couldn't hold it in—he vomited. He could barely breathe. The air felt dangerous.
His grandfather walked toward him.
"Don't worry. Everything will be oka—"
He vanished mid-sentence.
Warm droplets of blood struck the boy's face.
Across the yard, his grandfather was slammed into a wall, a deep wound across his torso.
But before the boy's eyes, the wound shifted. the place swelled and semed purple. Flesh reconnected. Only a scar remained.
Another figure stood outside the house—a demon wielding a chained scythe.
The old man moved instantly. He grabbed the mother and child and forced them back into the hidden chamber.
Then he did something unthinkable—he twisted both of their ankles.
They screamed.
But the mother understood.
They would not be able to run. They would not leave.
Time passed in pain and swelling. Eventually, the mother forced herself upright. Step by step, dragging herself up the stairs with sheer willpower she couldnt stand doing nothing, she wanted to help.
When she opened the hatch and looked outside, she saw them.
Ten demons surrounded the old man all of different sizes and forms, some tall and some small, each one had a different weapon of some sorts.
He was covered in blood. His legs were gone. His body was torn and wounded—but he was still alive.
He looked at his daughter.
"You motherfuckers will not touch them," he said. "I won't allow it."