DEMON BE NICE

Ciaran's POV I was trapped in a rundown, shadow-filled cabin in the heart of a pitch-black forest, with only the faintest slivers of moonlight filtering through cracks in the wood. Outside, the voices of an angry mob echoed, distorted by the cabin walls and the dense trees, growing louder with every thud against the door. "Burn him down! He’s forbidden!" they chanted, their voices almost ritualistic, thick with hatred and fear. Suddenly, sticks of fire smashed through the windows, filling the space with smoke and turning the room into a hellish blaze. Shadows stretched and twisted as flames licked the walls, devouring everything in sight. Amidst the chaos, whispers surfaced from the small, dark kitchen. "I see a door back here," a young voice whispered urgently, breaking through the madness. Another voice, soft and feminine, hissed, "Open it, quickly." Then, with a dull thud, a flash of light burst into the room. *"Mr! Mr! Mr!"* I jolted awake, a sensation of poking pulling me out of the nightmare. The scene around me snapped into focus — chandeliers, elegant people in tuxedos and gowns, all dressed up in fine silks and glinting jewels. I was in a crowded ballroom at Stellar Inc., where the new gaming console launch was underway, and here I was, CEO of Inner Mind, one of the biggest tech empires in the world. Looking down, I found the culprit: a little boy with big eyes and a Hellboy action figure poking at my forehead. "Greetings! I’m a boy. Welcome back to Earth," he declared, doing the Star Trek Vulcan salute with surprising precision. Was he winding me up? I reined in the urge to glare. *What’s this kid doing in the VIP section?* "Hey, kid, where did you come from? Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk to strangers? And quit poking people with that… thing you’re holding," I snapped, my irritation evident. The boy blinked, holding up his action figure. "Nope, she says it's good to make friends. If you don't talk to strangers, how do you make new friends? Do you even have any friends?" *What a cheeky brat,* I thought, but something in his audacity amused me. "And why would I need friends? What good would friends do for me?" I asked, leaning forward, my tone mocking. He raised an eyebrow. "Well, without friends, your life must be boring." He shrugged, clearly unbothered by the idea of insulting a CEO. The comment hit me differently than it should have, as if this kid had some nerve striking a buried truth. Still, I had my methods of dealing with little annoyances. I reached out, casually touching his hand, and in that brief contact, glimpses of his thoughts and insecurities flooded my mind — playground betrayals, the sting of rejection. Inwardly smirking, I twisted his emotions. "Boring, you say? At least I don’t have to chase after people who leave me out or have to settle for hanging out with people who don’t want me around." My words were sharp, subtly manipulating the fragments of his memories. The boy’s eyes widened, his little confidence faltering. Just then, a woman in a black, sequined gown swooped in, her hand gripping the boy’s shoulder. "There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you," she said, with a smile that masked a hint of annoyance. "I’m so sorry if he’s bothered you," she added, offering a gracious nod. I put on a polished smile, hiding my inner disdain. "Not at all. He’s… quite the character." I inclined my head as they left, watching the boy give me a strangely contemplative look over his shoulder. With them gone, I gathered my composure and made my way to the podium, delivering a practiced speech on the “innovative new era” the console would usher in. Polite applause followed, but my mind was elsewhere. I was eager to escape the scene, to drown myself in the quiet comfort of my car. As I approached the sleek black sedan waiting for me, I glanced back. The boy was watching from his mother’s car, his stare more intent than a kid his age should have. *Odd brat,* I thought, shaking my head as I started the engine. But then, the ring on my finger pulsed a dark red, a deep buzzing hum echoing in my mind. *Red light? Who’s next on the list?* I muttered, feeling that familiar, lurking thrill rise within me. --- *Latona's POV* They say life loses its meaning when you have no one to share it with. For me, that saying hit differently. Six years ago, both my parents vanished into thin air, leaving me, a 13-year-old girl, to fend for myself. I’m nineteen now, and I’ve somehow survived the odds — not through luck, but through stubbornness. Latona Lukyan, redhead delivery girl from Merrimeids Town, Oakland, scraping by while trying to keep my head up. I worked at a little restaurant, handling deliveries and crashing in the storage room most nights. My boss, Becky, was rough around the edges but fair, as long as you didn’t owe her money. “Orders up!” Becky yelled from the kitchen. “Latona, get this one out fast. Address is in the pack.” I yawned, pushing myself off the wall. *Another late-night run. Wonderful.* Grabbing the food bag, I glanced at the address card and grimaced. “Red Water Bridge? Who orders food at a bridge at 10:30 p.m.?” With a sigh, I packed my long red curls under a black cap, threw on a helmet, and mounted my old scooter. The night air was biting as I zipped through the town streets, which were unusually empty. I pulled up under the bridge, where shadows cast strange patterns across the pavement. A figure waved from the bridge, their silhouette barely visible in the dim streetlight. *Fantastic,* I thought, gripping the bag and making my way up the bridge stairs. Just as I reached the top, something blurred past me, almost knocking me off balance. “Did you see that?” I turned, startled, to find a man cloaked in a black hoodie, his face obscured, but his gaze piercing. “Y… yes…” I stammered, taken aback. He stepped closer, extending a hand for the order. But just as I was about to pass it over, I caught the faintest sense of something amiss. Then, out of nowhere, a truck’s headlights blasted into view, barreling toward us at breakneck speed. Panic surged through me, but then everything… froze. I blinked, finding myself somehow down on the ground below, far from the bridge. The truck lay smashed against the railings above, its wreckage spilling onto the road in a twisted, metallic mess. Breathing hard, I scanned my surroundings. Only the faint flicker of a streetlight illuminated the scene. Across the street, under the glow of that single light, a shadowed figure watched me, concealed but unmistakably there. Before I could react, the flap of wings filled the air, a crow soaring above and breaking the spell of silence. Turning back to the bridge, I found no trace of the hooded man or the strange figure. But on the ground where I’d been moments before lay a small object, gleaming faintly in the moonlight. A black ring. I knelt to pick it up, the metal cold against my skin, a strange chill running through me.