Dishonor From Nightmares

Chapter 12

Lucifel, an eerie figure cloaked in calm malevolence, approached the circus grounds with a predator's confidence. His senses were attuned to the macabre symphony that hung heavy in the air—composed of the scent of death and the pervasive energy of a nightmarish theater. A sinister smirk curved his lips as his eyes narrowed, capturing the grotesque tableau before him.

Vlad, a loyal companion of darkness, loomed by his side, their dynamic one of silent communication and mutual understanding. As the stench of decay reached his senses, Lucifel's lips curled in a grim expression of amusement. "Smells like death," he mused, his tone a chilling blend of detachment and fascination. His gaze swept over a group of soldiers nearby, their presence noted but dismissed as inadequate prey. A cynical shake of his head underscored his decision. "No, I won't risk that. We need a more pliable target, given my wounds," he confided to Vlad, his voice carrying the weight of experience.

With calculated grace, Lucifel scaled the wall with a fluidity that belied the gravity of his intentions. The thin spikes that crowned the barrier posed no challenge to his skill, and his descent on the other side was as silent as the night itself. A low, almost chilling chuckle resonated through the air as he surveyed the grisly scene that surrounded him. Corpses lay in a macabre tapestry, their forms contorted and broken, a testament to the transpired savagery.

The smirk on his lips grew as he took in the grotesque spectacle. "Definitely a murder scene here," he hummed, a dark amusement lacing his words. His gaze shifted to Vlad, whose boundless enthusiasm and loyalty were as chilling as unwavering. Vlad cleared the wall effortlessly, a canine embodiment of his master's sinister aura.

Lucifel's attention shifted to the lifeless forms before him—the clowns and soldiers who had met their fate amidst this twisted carnival. His demeanor remained eerily composed as he inspected the carnage, his hum of satisfaction contrasting with the brutality surrounding him. "A fun night happened here. But without us? That's a bit shameful," he mused aloud to Vlad, his voice a mix of mockery and self-assuredness.

Vlad's actions were a morbid dance of obedience, the icy dog displaying a chilling blend of loyalty and compliance. He retrieved a severed arm, his canine instincts guiding his actions as he began to gnaw upon his gruesome trophy. Lucifel's laughter, a chilling resonance, melded with the sounds of death that hung in the air. He joined his icy companion on the ground, fingers absently petting the dog's frigid fur as he observed the frostbite's slow claim over the corpses. "Good boy," he murmured, a perverse pride tinting his words.

Yet, the sinister symphony was disrupted by a discordant note—an unfamiliar noise that caught his attention. Lucifel's head tilted his senses sharpening as the scent of fresh blood wafted to him. His grin widened, and his predatory instincts ignited as he sought the source, driven by the primal desire for new, unspoiled prey. Unlike Vlad, who was content with more aged sustenance, Lucifel's appetites leaned towards the present. With purposeful strides, he moved toward the source of the tantalizing aroma. A voice, a blend of impatience and anticipation, pierced the night. "Josh? Come on, fucker, wake up!"

Long, obsidian hair cascaded down his back, curving into two sinister horns from his skull. His features underwent a nightmarish alteration, nose, and mouth vanishing as his eyes gleamed with an unsettling yellow hue. His clothes were ripped away, revealing skin adorned with blood-red tattoos that seemed to pulse with energy.

A tail erupted from his back, its tip a sinister shade of crimson as it swayed with eerie grace. His fingers lengthened into wicked claws, and his lower extremities underwent a grotesque transformation. His toes morphed into claws, feet stained with a morbid hue that matched his hands. A feral growl escaped his lips, a prelude to the malevolence that coursed through him.