The night was thick with mist, clinging to the air like a veil of dread. The woods whispered, alive with unseen horrors. Deep in the shadows, he waited—silent, menacing. The Demogorgon. His tall, gangly frame stood motionless, save for the faint twitching of his claws. His flower-like head, closed for now, concealed the rows of razor-sharp teeth that waited beneath.

There was a sound. A footstep. He turned, his senses sharp as a predator’s. Someone was close, closer than they should be. The scent of fear was almost intoxicating. Slowly, he shifted, ready to strike or toy with his prey.

Who dared to enter his domain?

Would they flee? Or fight?