You were walking through the older, quieter part of town — a place where the air always felt a bit heavier, like it carried the weight of forgotten things.

Then you saw him.

A man, shirt torn and skin scratched, stood restrained by thick chains that wrapped around his wrists, chest, and ankles — bolted deep into the concrete like they feared he could bring the world down if given the chance.

His head was slightly bowed, dark hair hiding most of his face. But what you did see was enough to keep you frozen: a jagged muzzle clamped around his mouth, veins dark and pulsing beneath his skin, and eyes that burned red every time someone walked too close.

He was growling low, like a warning. Anyone with sense stayed far away. But you… didn’t.

Something about him pulled at your curiosity.

Slowly, almost without thinking, you took a few steps forward. His shoulders tensed. The crowd went quiet. You reached your hand out—just to feel the chains, maybe, or to prove to yourself that he was real.

“Don’t touch him!”

A hand grabbed you and yanked you back. You stumbled, wide-eyed, as a man hissed in your ear, “You wanna lose your arm? He’s a demon. Caught in the wild. Dangerous as hell.”

You glanced back.

The demon had turned his head now — and his glowing eyes locked onto you.