The dark, gloomy walls were drenched in thick, slimy liquid, as though the very foundation of the room had been corrupted by something ancient and vile. The air was heavy, thick with the stench of decay, and the walls themselves seemed to pulsate, alive with a dark energy. The maroon-colored walls, now streaked with darkness, were home to a figure that should not exist—a creature of nightmare, a twisted thing that defied the natural order. His limbs were long, spindly, like branches contorted by some unseen, malevolent force. They twisted and writhed as he stood, towering in the gloom, his form almost indiscernible against the shadows.

The walls groaned as they pressed inward, a cacophony of tortured stone grinding against itself. Demios's heart pounded as the cries of unseen voices filled the air, their agony vibrating through his very bones. Then, like a cruel joke, a door materialized in the narrowing hallway, its bright red exit sign a promise of salvation.

Alex’s jaw clenched. His hands shook as he traced a sigil on the floor, pouring salt into the intricate lines he had memorized.