Tripping in front of a highway, with strangers stopping to laugh and snap pictures of your graceless face, isn't exactly how anyone wants to start the day.
Worst, a cyclist has rammed his bike against me and sped off like I was nonexistent.
Brushing off the dirt and stuffing my half-dead phone into my pocket, I knelt to grab my cracked glasses. A dent ran through one lens.
"Seriously?" I muttered, wiping the dust off with my sleeve. A cyclist who had rammed past me didn't even bother to apologize. He glanced back with a smirk.
"See ya at school, weirdo!"
I scowled. Trip down the hallway next time, punk.
Oh—right. I haven't introduced myself.
My name is Czarina Frost, eighteen years old and I am an orphan in a small countryside village. I was adopted when I was four.
There's nothing much about me. I'm just a simple girl in a simple neighborhood, with a simple life.
People have always called me unlucky—the black cat of the Frosts. Maybe it's because I never knew my real parents. Maybe it's just an excuse. But despite what people think, my foster family gave me love. A name. A home.
"Loser as always," the cyclist called out as he sped off.
I sighed, ran a hand through my short hair, and peered at my reflection in my lenses.
Do I really look like that much of a loser?
I tried to shake it off.
"Always remember what Mom said," I whispered. "'Even if others wrong you, don't hold a grudge—'"
"AHHHHHHH!"
A scream cut through the air.
I jolted, shoved my glasses on, and sprinted toward the sound.
At first there was a deafening silence, then others came. But the scream wasn't alone—it was followed by more. Dozens. Hundreds.
I stopped at the bridge overlooking the city. The view below made my blood run cold.
The sky was burning..?
A crimson hue stretched across the heavens, the clouds tinged green like sickly flames. The sounds—those screams—weren't human. They weren't animal either. They were something else entirely.
Like souls being torn apart.
My ears rang. My heart pounded. Something ancient, something wrong was stirring in the sky.
The noise was deafening- as if something otherwordly was screaming into my ears itself. I couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from... is it from the skies..?
I ran toward the voice I'd heard earlier—and then I found him.
Hans. The same annoying cyclist from before.
His bike was mangled. His body was... slashed—split from abdomen to chest. But somehow, still together.
His skin was burned, eyes bloodshot. Red scars like claw marks ran up his arms. His uniform was in tatters, soaked in blood and soot.
"Hans! What happened?!"
But Hans didn't respond. There was so much blood.
The sky howled above. I dropped beside him, shaking.
"H-Hans... what happened? What did you see?!"
"Seven... horned... men."
I couldn't understand. But I didn't waste time.
I dialed emergency services, screaming at the phone, praying they'd come in time. I held his body, pressed down on his wounds, trying to keep him conscious.
"You're not dying on me, loser. You still owe me ten dollars at the convenience store, remember?"
He gave a faint chuckle.
Then the sirens came. I signed in relief. But everyone— even the medics paused at the sky. "What the hell is that?" I can hear them whispering to themselves.
I stared up again. That sky wasn't a natural phenomenon.
That was a warning.
I quickly returned home- thinking of nothing much about it. The news about the cloud spread like wildfire. Mom and Dad had to talk all about it during dinner.
Bored, I headed to my room.
Maybe tomorrow it will be better.
__________________________
The sound that woke me wasn't a whisper, or a creak, or even a nightmare.
It was a voice. Deep, smooth, and disturbingly amused.
"Hey. Wake up."
I stirred, groggy. My limbs felt heavy. The air in my room was thicker than usual, like breathing through syrup.
"She's still asleep," another voice muttered—this one higher, with a playful lilt, like someone mocking a child. "Told you she's not ready for us."
I blinked once. Twice.
Then my eyes adjusted to the dim, red-tinged darkness of my room.
There were figures standing around my bed. Seven of them.
I froze.
They weren't silhouettes from a dream. They were real—solid. Shadows that stood too still, too tall, and too wrong to be human.
My mouth went dry.
"Who—who's there?" I rasped, bolting upright. "DAD?!"
A faint chuckle answered me. "We're not your family, little sinner."
Sinner?
I reached for my bedside table and grabbed the only thing I could find—a plastic comb. I held it like a dagger. Ridiculous, I know.
The tall one in front stepped forward. In the darkness, his sharp horns gleamed faintly. His suit was dark emerald green, tailored to perfection. His skin was ashen, and his eyes shimmered with a cold, calculating glow.
"W-What the hell?!"
"You don't need to scream," he said in a low voice. "No one will hear you."
The door behind me was shut. Locked. But I knew I hadn't locked it.
I wanted to run. But my legs wouldn't move.
Then the lights flickered once—and stayed off.
Moonlight streamed through the window, catching their shapes in eerie silver. They weren't just tall. They were unnaturally beautiful. Terrifyingly perfect.
"It's about time we talk, sleepyhead. Though we don't mind watching you sleep for long."
"W-What?! Who the hell are you?!"
"What do you think?"
I gulped.
I-I've heard of these things. Was I kidnapped? About to be sold to an extortion ring?! But wait- I'm still in my room!
"We're not going to harm you, sweetheart." one of them whispered in my ear. "We don't want you to break. At least... not yet."
"J-Just tell me who you are, please."
Despite the darkness, I could see their lustful, hungry eyes glowing menacingly in the dark, and that sinful, gut-wrenching smirk.
"We are the Devil."