When
Content Warning:
This story is NOT for the faint of heart. It delves into the darkest corners of humanity and supernatural existence. The world within these pages is one of violence, brutality, and suffering. It includes graphic depictions of assault /(SA), human trafficking, and murder, including the tragic and senseless deaths of children. This is a story where humanity is reduced to cattle, manipulated and oppressed by unseen forces. No belief system, no person is spared from the horror and the harsh reality that unfolds.
This is not your typical romantic tale of werewolves, vampires, or fae. This is the dark, gritty underbelly of that world, where the 1% exploit and disappear, leaving the rest to fight for survival. The violence, trauma, and depravity depicted here are raw and unfiltered. It is a dystopian reality that holds nothing back.
To those who may find these themes offensive, triggering, or unbearable, I encourage you to turn back now. There is very litte light in this tale—only darkness, pain, and horror. Not all vampires are romantic princes and billionaires. This tackles the underbelly and takes the rich billionaire genre and monster love...And shows you the dark side of it.
However, if you choose to continue, you do so with the full understanding of what lies ahead. You have been warned. This story will attack every aspect of belief and humanity. It’s meant to challenge, horrify, and push boundaries in the horror-fantasy genre.
Proceed with caution—you’re entering a world where the worst nightmares become reality! (Fans of Hellsing, Spawn, and that one comic book where all the power rangers except one died. This dark book is for you!
The moon hung low in the ink-black sky, its feeble light swallowed by looming storm clouds. A chilling wind whispered through the shattered windows of the old house, carrying with it the metallic scent of blood. A mother’s scream pierced the silence, echoing through the empty corridors like a harbinger of doom.
Amara clutched her hands to her mouth, her fingers trembling as she struggled to stifle the sobs threatening to escape her throat. Crimson stains smeared her palms—a stark contrast against her pale skin—evidence of the horrors unfolding around her. The once cozy living room was unrecognizable; furniture lay overturned, deep gashes marred the walls, and blood splattered like grotesque art adorned every surface.
Her husband, Daniel, gripped her shoulders firmly, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and determination. “You have to hide,” he whispered urgently, his voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. He guided her toward the closet, its door hanging ajar like a gaping maw. “Please, stay quiet. I’m going to find it. The kids will be okay, I swear.”
Tears streamed down Amara’s face, carving paths through the smudges of blood and grime. Her emerald eyes, usually full of warmth, now reflected sheer panic. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came—only a silent plea that hung in the air between them. Daniel pressed a swift kiss to her forehead before gently pushing her into the shadows of the closet.
The door closed with a soft click, plunging her into darkness. Amara pressed her back against the cold wall, every muscle in her body taut with fear. She could hear the ragged breaths escaping her lips, each one a betrayal of her hiding place. Biting down hard, she willed herself to be silent, to become invisible.
Outside, the floorboards creaked under Daniel’s cautious steps. The house seemed to groan, the very foundations aching under the weight of an unseen menace. Amara’s mind raced, fragments of the night’s events flashing before her eyes—the distorted figure emerging from the shadows, the unearthly growls, the blood... so much blood.
A muffled thud echoed from upstairs, followed by a chilling silence. Amara’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands clutched at her chest, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress as if she could steady the frantic beating of her heart. The air inside the closet was thick, suffocating, filled with the scent of cedar and fear.
She strained to hear any sign of Daniel or the children, her senses heightened to every minute sound—the distant dripping of a faucet, the rustling of leaves against a broken window, the slow, deliberate footsteps descending the staircase. Each sound seemed amplified, a deafening cacophony that threatened to drown her.
Amara’s thoughts turned to her children—Amelia and Ele—their innocent faces flashing in her mind. She recalled Amelia’s laughter earlier that day as they baked cookies, Ele’s tight hugs around her legs whenever she sought comfort. A fresh wave of tears welled up, blurring her vision even in the pitch-black closet. The air was thick and stale, pressing against her from all sides. It felt as if the walls were closing in, the darkness wrapping around her like a suffocating shroud.
Her husband’s muffled cries shattered the silence, each one a spike of terror piercing her heart. She couldn’t just hide—not while Daniel faced that... thing alone. Summoning a courage she didn’t know she possessed, Amara pushed the closet door open, the creak swallowed by the cacophony of destruction echoing through the house.
The hallway was a nightmare come to life. Deep gashes marred the walls, and splatters of blood formed a gruesome trail leading downstairs. The metallic scent was overwhelming, mingling with an otherworldly stench that turned her stomach. Clutching a trembling hand to her mouth, she inched forward.
From the foot of the stairs, she saw it—a hulking silhouette shrouded in shadow, its form shifting and flickering like a disturbed apparition. Daniel stood between the creature and the staircase, battered but unyielding.
“Amara, get back!” he shouted, his voice strained yet defiant.
Ignoring his plea, she darted into the living room, grabbing the first object she could find—a heavy ceramic vase. With a desperate cry, she hurled it at the creature. The vase shattered against its back, shards scattering across the floor, but the entity didn’t even flinch.
Panic surged through her. She seized a candlestick, then a framed photo, flinging them one after another. “Leave us alone!” she screamed, her voice cracking.
The creature turned its gaze toward her, eyes like voids drawing in all light. A chilling growl emanated from deep within it, a sound that resonated in her bones. It advanced toward her, each step deliberate and ominous.
Daniel lunged at the monster, driving a kitchen knife into its side. “Run!” he roared. “Now!”
The beast reacted, grabbing him with an inhuman speed and slamming him against the wall. The impact echoed like a thunderclap, and Daniel crumpled to the ground, motionless.
“No!” Amara’s scream tore from her throat. Without thinking, she rushed to her husband, but the creature blocked her path. Despair and rage collided within her. She swung her fists futilely against the darkness, her blows passing through as if striking smoke.
The creature loomed over her, a towering mass of malice. Just as it reached out, Daniel mustered the last of his strength. With a guttural yell, he plunged the knife into the creature’s leg. “Run, Amara!”
Seizing the moment, she stumbled backward, turning and sprinting toward the front door. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each step heavy as if wading through water. “If I can just get help,” she whispered to herself. “Everything will be okay. I hope and I pray everything will be okay...”
Fate had other plans when a searing pain tore through her side. The deafening crack of a gunshot echoed in her ears. She collapsed to the floor, the world tilting around her. Blood seeped between her fingers as she clutched her wound, shock numbing the agony.
Amara’s vision blurred as she dragged herself toward the front door. The pain from the gunshot wound radiated through her body, each breath an agony. Her mind was a haze of desperation, the weight of her family’s loss pressing down on her chest like a crushing boulder.
“If I can just get help, everything will be okay,” she repeated to herself, a prayer she clung to, though she barely believed it anymore. She had to. She had nothing else. “I hope and I pray... everything will be okay.”
The door was so close, just inches away, when a sharp, deafening crack pierced the air. Another gunshot.
Funny... it was only the second shot that she noticed.
Her body jerked, and suddenly she was on the floor, her hands clutching her side as a fresh wave of pain rippled through her. The warmth of her own blood pooled beneath her, soaking into her clothes. She whimpered softly, the sound barely escaping her lips.
Then she heard footsteps. Slow, deliberate. A shadow fell over her, and she froze, every muscle tensing in terrified anticipation.
“Now ain’t that kind of you,” a voice drawled, the tone mocking. “You took my request and left the female.”
Amara’s heart sank, dread twisting in her stomach. She forced herself to look up, her vision swimming as the figure moved closer. The man loomed over her, his face obscured by the dim light. But then, she saw it—the cracked mask, the same mask she’d seen when he’d sold them this house. Her mind struggled to connect the pieces.
“Please... help,” she begged, her voice weak, barely a whisper.
The man crouched down beside her, close enough for her to smell the stench of cheap liquor and cigars on his breath. “Help?” he chuckled, his voice dripping with cruelty. “Oh, sweetheart, I’ll help myself.”
Amara’s breath hitched as the realization hit her like a physical blow. Her family was gone. Her husband was dead. Amelia and Eli... gone. There was no help coming.
The realtor leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice low and venomous. “How is what I want to do to you any different than what you did to your husband and kids? You let them die, after all.”
Her entire body went numb, a cold, hollow feeling sinking into her bones. She wanted to scream, to fight, but the grief, the pain, the hopelessness... it was all too much. She felt empty, her spirit drained, as though every last flicker of life had been extinguished.
She heard the sound of fabric rustling, the metallic click of a zipper. He pressed himself against her, his hands rough and greedy as they tore at her clothes, yanking her blouse down, exposing her bruised skin. His fingers left trails of ice on her body, and Amara whimpered again, barely able to register her own fear. She was drowning in it. Drowning in the numbness.
His hand gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” he sneered, leaning in close enough that his foul breath warmed her face. “We’re gonna have a good time.”
Amara’s body betrayed her. She tried to push him away, her hands weakly batting at his chest, but it was useless. He smacked her hard across the face, the sting snapping her head to the side. Tears welled up in her eyes, but they weren’t just from the physical pain. It was the hopelessness. The reality that she was powerless.
She had lost everything. Her children. Her husband. Her future.
Now, even her dignity was being stripped from her.
He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand, his other fumbling to remove his belt. His weight pressed down on her, suffocating, overwhelming. Amara felt herself slipping further into the void. There was no escape. She could only resign herself to this fate, to the monstrous cruelty of the man who had brought this nightmare upon her family. Her sobs were broken, weak—pleas to a God she no longer believed in.
And then, suddenly, the room grew cold. Not just physically, but in an eerie, unnatural way that sent a ripple of fear through the air. The kind of cold that was alive, that gnawed at the soul.
The shadows in the room shifted. They didn’t just move—they quivered, as if in fear. Amara could feel it, the shift in the air, as though something far worse than this man had entered. Her tears stopped, caught in the paralyzing chill that gripped her.
The realtor froze. His hand hovered in mid-air as the weight of a presence far more dangerous than him filled the space.
A voice, dark and all-consuming, spoke from the shadows. It was deep, like the storm itself, like the very wind that carried the screams of the damned.
“When I came to this home tonight,” the voice growled, sending a shiver down Amara’s spine, “I thought I would only find one bane of humanity.”
The shadows twisted, coalescing in the doorway behind the realtor. His entire body went rigid with fear. He turned slowly, his face paling under the cracked mask as he stared into the darkness.
Standing there, framed by the flickering light from the hallway, was a hulking figure. The darkness clung to him like armor, the air around him heavy with something far more dangerous than any human monster.
The realtor staggered back, his bravado crumbling. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The cold was suffocating now, a presence that demanded submission. Amara’s breath came in shallow gasps, her entire body trembling from the lingering pain and the overwhelming force that had arrived.
