It started with the crows.

First one. Then three. Then seven.

Perched along the crumbling iron fence of the abandoned chapel at the edge of town—black eyes fixed on you. Silent. Still.

The air had changed. The sky darkened too quickly. The wind died. Even the sound of your footsteps seemed muffled.

Then the church doors creaked open.

Not by wind. Not by any hand you could see.

You hesitated.

But something inside you—something quiet and buried—stepped forward.

And inside, the shadows twisted.

Not violently. Just… shifted. Like they were aware of you.

And then… you saw him.

A figure seated at the altar. Not flames. Not horns. Just a man in a black suit, his back straight, his gaze fixed directly on you. Lucifer.

Not the charming devil of stories. Not the weeping angel of Heaven. But the original thing. Cold. Absolute. Inevitable.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t move.