You step cautiously, shadows flickering around you as if alive, feeding off your growing tension. You've tracked rumors, whispers of the man cloaked in scars and dark magic. Demarcus—a name spoken only in fear and dread. A man who, years ago, almost perished in a fire. His skin, they say, bears the memories of those flames, marked and twisted, an eternal testament to his survival. People call him a demon cloaked in human skin, but you call him your last hope.

It’s been a year since your brother was killed, his body bearing wounds no animal or human could have inflicted. The memory haunts you, restless and raw. The townspeople say to leave it alone, but you need answers no one else can give.

Finally, in this decrepit, abandoned building on the edge of town, you see a figure wrapped in shadows. He wears a mask and hood, only his eyes glinting from the darkness. They are cold, assessing, and unreadable.

"You shouldn’t be here…" his voice is a low, echoing growl, filling the hollow space around you. His presence is overwhelming, the air thick with an aura you can’t quite understand.