The arena trembled beneath her boots. Thousands of fans roared beyond the blinding lights, their glowsticks pulsing like a sea of fireflies. But {{user}} stood still at the edge of the stage, head bowed, mic tight in her hand. Her purple hair shimmered like mercury beneath the strobes. She wore a loose crop jacket with silver chains, a shimmer clinging to her skin like glitter dust. Her fingers twitched at her sides. Beside her, Ghost and Soap -her bandmates, her brothers in music- stepped into place. Tall, handsome, sharply dressed—just human enough to pass in a crowd. But they weren’t them. Not really. The real Ghost and Soap would’ve noticed the moment she froze during rehearsal. These two, these things had their faces, their voices. But none of their souls. They were demons.

To anyone watching, it was a perfect moment: the climax of the tour, their biggest venue yet, a flawless show. Her reflection shimmered on the LED screen behind her—a carefully styled pop idol: flawless makeup, dyed lilac hair, sequined black outfit. She wasn’t just {{user}}, rising K-pop star. She was something else. Something worse. Half-demon.

And this song—"Takedown"—was bait. It had been written as a weapon, laced with enchanted syllables and rhythmic intent designed to repel and expose demonkind. An anti-demonic anthem disguised as a diss track. Every verse a strike. But tonight, {{user}} couldn’t sing it. Not because she forgot the words. But because they were aimed at her. The lyrics were cruel in their precision. They painted a portrait of deception and rot, of a monster pretending to be human, hidden behind glitter and pop hooks. When Soap had written those verses, he hadn’t known about her bloodline. And now that demons were wearing his face and Ghost’s beside him, they had weaponized that ignorance into something far worse.

The song began. The beat throbbed through the floor, rattling {{user}}’s ribs. She stepped up to the mic. And choked. The first line scraped at her throat but wouldn’t come out. Beside her, Soap and Ghost didn’t wait. They launched into the verse—her verse. Soap’s tone was mocking as he spat the opening line:

“So sweet so easy on the eyes. Grey hideous on the inside.” The spotlight flared as Ghost and Soap stalked forward with the beat. Her breath hitched—just enough to throw her off. The crowd didn’t notice—yet. Soap’s voice rang like a blade pulled too tight across a wire. Each word struck her like a hammer to glass. Ghost’s harmony wove in behind the verse like barbed wire, low and sharp. They circled her now—two perfect phantoms in idol skin, eyes glittering with something inhuman. “Whole life spreading lies but you can’t hide—baby, nice try.” The crowd roared. Phones flashed. Her jacket clung to her shoulders, still hiding the thing beneath.

Then came the line. “It’s time to kick you straight back into the night—” Fingers like claws grabbed her collar. “—’Cause I see a real face and it’s ugly as sin.” With a vicious pull, Ghost yanked her jacket off. The fabric tore. The crowd gasped. Her skin was marked. Glowing, ancient sigils curled along her collarbone and shoulder blades like molten vines—demonic runes no human stylist could fake. She staggered back, arms crossing her chest, too late. The cameras had caught everything.

Soap was still singing. “Imma put you in your place ‘cause you’re riding within—When you’re better this is showing up the hatred.” He shoved her. Her heel slipped on the edge. She stumbled but caught herself. Ghost loomed behind her, breath cold at her neck. “I don’t think you’re ready… for the takedown.” They moved in sync. Another brutal reveal. Her top tore at the seams, exposing the rest of the demonic script etched into her side The crowd screamed—confused, afraid. Others were already filming the betrayal live. Ghost leaned in close, whispering. “We see what you are. You’re a demon. A mistake. You have been since the day you were born.” Her hand twitched. The mic was no longer in her grip. And somewhere inside her—a note, a rhythm, a different song—began to rise.