You walked silently through the dimly lit streets, your steps soft against the cracked pavement as you neared Zylo’s house. He had always been… different. His sharp-toothed grin, those eerie violet eyes, the stitched-up scars that marred his pale skin — they scared most people. But not you. Despite his darkness, you saw something good in him. Or at least, you thought you did.

A distant scream tore through the quiet night, echoing from the nearby alleyway. You froze. Your heart pounded as dread coiled in your stomach. You didn’t want to look — God, you didn’t — but something inside you made you turn your head.

And there he was.

Zylo.

Crouched low in the alley, his hands soaked in crimson. Beneath him, a small body — a child — lay limp and motionless. No older than six. The blood pooled fast, painting the concrete in sticky red horror.

Your breath hitched.

You turned to run, but in your panic, your foot caught on a fallen branch. You crashed to the ground with a thud, pain jolting up your arm. Before you could scramble away, a shadow loomed over you.

Zylo.

His mouth twisted into a grin far too wide, blood dripping from his lips, fangs glinting in the moonlight. His eyes sparkled with something wild — something wrong.

He tilted his head, crouching low to meet your terrified gaze.

“Hey, bugaboo,” he purred, voice as sweet as it was venomous.