He leaped forward, swinging Bloodfang in a deadly arc, severing another of its twisted limbs. The thing shrieked, staggering backward, its eerie, melting grin finally faltering. But it wasn't finished. It reared back, its chest swelling unnaturally, before spewing forth a dark, acidic liquid.
"Move!" Belial shouted.
Raven reacted instantly, throwing himself to the side as the black sludge splattered onto the ground where he had been standing. The stone hissed and melted away, the corrosive substance eating through it like acid.
Panting, Raven pushed himself back to his feet, his body screaming in protest. The creature was weaker now, but it was still dangerous. It wouldn't stop unless they completely destroyed it.
Belial and Raven exchanged a look—one of understanding.
Belial adjusted his grip on Bloodfang. Raven cracked his knuckles, stepping forward once more.
The fight wasn't over.
Not yet.
Belial had a hunch—something nagging at the back of his mind ever since the battle began. It lurked just beneath the surface of his thoughts, elusive yet persistent. The creature lunged, its massive form crashing down with lethal force.
As if reading its intent, Belial sidestepped at the last possible second, his instincts guiding him before his mind could fully catch up. The moment his feet hit the ground, he rolled, narrowly evading the creature's follow-through—a second attack meant to catch him in his retreat.
Then it hit him.
His hunch was right.
A dry, almost eerie smile crept onto his lips. It was not a grin of victory, nor amusement. It was something else entirely—something sinister.
Belial's eyes narrowed as he observed the creature's movements. Each action followed a distinct pattern he couldn't ignore. It was as if he had seen this before—as if he had lived through it time and time again. There was an eerie sense of familiarity, a nagging thought at the back of his mind. Cycles that repeated themselves. And now, after a moment of hesitation, he was sure. His hunch had been correct. This had happened before.
The realization sent a shiver down his spine. He had seen these movements before, not just recently, but long ago—before he even had the words to describe them. A memory stirred, faint but unmistakable, as though it had been buried deep beneath layers of dust and time.
...
Long ago, in the the demon realm, a young, frail boy stood in the arcade, his small hands gripping the joystick as he faced off against other demon children. The room was brightly lit by the glow of arcade machines, flashing in vibrant reds, blues, and greens. The air was thick with the scent of metallic circuits and the faint scent of demons clustered around the machines.
Belial pressed the buttons in rapid succession, his eyes locked onto the screen, unwavering in his determination. His opponent groaned in frustration as the words "GAME OVER" flashed across the screen in bold red letters. Belial grinned, standing triumphantly.
"I am the king of games!" he declared, throwing his arms into the air.
Some kids rolled their eyes, while others clapped. They had seen this before. It was not the first time Belial had claimed victory, nor would it be the last. The boy had a knack for games, It was almost unnatural, how effortlessly he won.
But just as he was about to revel in his latest victory, a shadow loomed over him. A voice, calm yet firm, cut through the murmurs of the arcade.
"You know, your mother will be upset again when she finds out you left home."
Belial's heart nearly stopped. He turned sharply, his breath hitching as his gaze met the figure standing behind him.
A tall man with black hair, shimmering like the night sky, stood there. For some reason His face was blurry, He recalled that some one of the ladies on the street refer to him as 'Sweet on the eyes'—whatever that meant but also had pristine alabaster skin. Though he looked human, something about him was off—his presence was too refined contrasting his Midnight hair, actually he was too perfectly constructed, as if he could deceive anyone into believing he was a really good looking human.
Belial swallowed hard. a single nervous traversed down his forehead.
"Father…"
He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be out this late, and certainly not this far from home.
His father had found him—again.
The walk back was silent.
Belial trudged beside his father, his excitement from winning at the arcade now long forgotten.
Gaming was his only escape, the only thing that made the weight of reality bearable. Even if the games had become too easy, too predictable, too boring, at least they numbed the thoughts clawing at his mind. At least, for a while, he could forget.
The kids at the arcade weren't his friends. They laughed with him, cheered for him, but he knew the truth—they didn't care about him. Even the adults, the ones who nodded in recognition when they saw him, weren't really seeing Belial. They saw her son.
His mother's name carried prestige, a legacy too great to escape. That was all he had ever been—a reflection of her brilliance, a worthless shadow cast by someone else's light. No one looked at him and saw Belial. No one even tried.
Well, except his father.
The streets of the demon realm were dark, illuminated only by floating lanterns and other shops that cast shadows on the black stone sidewalk. Demons of all shapes and sizes moved through the streets, some sparing curious glances at the small boy being escorted home.
Upon reaching their residence, his father guided him inside without a word. Belial braced himself for the inevitable scolding, but instead, his father simply led him to his bed. The boy sat down, watching his father curiously.
"I have a surprise for you in the morning," his father said, his voice unusually soft and slightly somber. He ruffled Belial's hair, a sign of affection his father does quite often. "Sweet dreams, son."
Belial blinked in confusion. No lecture? No punishment? Just… a surprise?
He lay down, his thoughts churning. What could it be? He barely slept that night, his curiosity gnawing at him.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. Belial groggily opened his eyes, still half-dazed from sleep. But as he turned his head, he caught sight of something beside his bed—something that made his heart stop for a moment before it leaped with excitement.
A video game system.
His breath caught in his throat as he sat up, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming. It was real. It was really there. A brand-new gaming console, complete with controllers and several game cartridges stacked neatly beside it.
His hands trembled as he reached out, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the console. He had been begging his parents for one for so long. Every time he wanted to play games, he had to sneak out to the arcade, enduring the risk of getting caught. But now… he had his very own system.
His lips curled into a wide grin.
Without hesitation, he plugged in the console, his fingers moving with eager precision as he inserted the first cartridge. The screen flickered to life, displaying a colorful title screen with bold, pixelated letters. He barely registered the game's name—he was too overwhelmed with excitement.
His father stood at the doorway, watching him silently. Belial, sensing his presence, turned around.
"Did you really get this for me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
His father nodded. "You're always sneaking out just to play. I figured it was time you had one of your own."
Belial stared at him for a long moment before his expression softened into a radiant smile. This gift went against Mother's rules, yet he had gotten it for him anyway. Sure, he wasn't a cruel man—he was actually quite kind. Often distant, always preoccupied with something or another. But this… this was different. It was thoughtful.
"Thank you, Father!"
His father nodded again, turning to leave. But before he stepped out, he spoke once more.
"Just don't let this become too much of an obsession."
Belial barely heard him, too immersed in the game as he navigated the pixelated world before him. The console became an extension of himself, a gateway into a world where he had control, where he could master anything before him.
Months passed, then years. The video game system became his world. Especially one game that had been in the console from the beginning, a strange, almost hypnotic title known as The Black Theatre.
He tried asking people online about the game, but for some reason, no one seemed to know anything about it. No records, no mentions on gaming forums. It was as if it didn't exist. And yet, every time he played, it felt more real than anything else. It was more than just a game—it was a door to something greater, something beyond what he could understand.
And now, as he stood in the present, watching the creature before him, he realized the truth.
He had seen these movements before—not in life, but in the game. The Black Theatre had taught him this. It had shown him what would happen before it even unfolded.
The patterns were real.
And So was Belial's devilish grin.