PROLOGUE
“Humanity fears the Devil, the Devil rules Hell, and even Hell harbors horrors of its own—but nothing in all creation is more dangerous than a force that knows neither mercy nor fear.”
Hell didn’t create her. Humanity did.
They call her the Devil.
A demon with a woman’s silhouette, a face carved by unimaginable suffering, and a heart where mercy should have existed.
She doesn’t haunt the living.
She hunts the wicked.
When she arrives, the lights die. The air turns ice-cold. Shadows crawl across the walls, and the darkness begins to breathe.
Then she reveals her face.
Scarred. Bloodstained. Monstrous.
And the moment her victims recognize her, terror consumes them.
They run. They scream. They fall to their knees, begging for forgiveness with trembling lips and tear-filled eyes.
She simply watches.
Then the slaughter begins.
Doors splinter. Bodies are hurled into the darkness. Desperate pleas dissolve into bloodcurdling screams until, one by one, every voice falls silent.
Some try to pray.
Some offer their souls.
Some discover that even death is a mercy they were never entitled to ask for.
She leaves no survivors. No witnesses. Not even a whisper of what happened behind those sealed doors.
The innocent rarely crosses her path. She has no interest in the harmless. Her wrath belongs to the wicked—the guilty who buried their sins and mistook silence for forgiveness.
They always regret it.
But never for long.
No one knows what transformed her into something so merciless. No one knows what terrible truth lies beneath her ruined face.
And somewhere, far away, a young man awakens from a nightmare.
He remembers the darkness.
The inhuman eyes staring through it.
The dreadful certainty that something had found him.
He has never encountered the Devil.
So why does the memory feel like a warning?
The Devil is real.
Her past is buried.
And some evils are unleashed for a reason.
The Devil Has a Face
“Some monsters are born in darkness. Others are fashioned by the very hands that swear they have nothing to fear.”
The night was unnaturally still.
Not a leaf stirred. Not a creature dared disturb the silence. Above the deserted streets, the moon languished behind a shroud of black clouds, casting the world beneath it into a darkness that seemed almost sentient.
Then the lights began to die.
One by one, the streetlamps flickered and perished, surrendering the road to an encroaching blackness. Shadows stretched beyond their natural boundaries, creeping across the pavement as though something unseen were summoning them.
Something was approaching.
There were no footsteps. No rustling garments. No audible breath.
Only the slow, inexplicable descent of the temperature—and the suffocating sensation that the night itself was holding its breath.
Inside an abandoned building, five men sat surrounded by the remnants of a life they had convinced themselves was safely buried. Their laughter faltered when the lights overhead began to flicker.
A faint sound echoed from the corridor.
Tap.
A pause.
Tap.
One of the men turned towards the doorway.
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
He rose, attempting to conceal his unease beneath an expression of irritation.
“I asked you a question!”
The darkness beyond the doorway deepened.
And then she appeared.
A female silhouette emerged from the shadows, her movements unnaturally graceful, almost regal in their dreadful stillness. Tangled strands of hair obscured her face, while the darkness clung to her figure like a second skin.
For several seconds, the men merely stared.
Then the nearest man’s expression changed.
The color drained from his face. His lips parted, but no sound emerged. He staggered backwards, striking the table behind him and sending a glass crashing to the floor.
“No…”
The word escaped him as little more than a breath.
Another man turned towards him.
“What is it? Who is she?”
But the first man couldn’t answer.
He was staring at the figure in the doorway with the paralysing terror of someone watching the dead rise from their grave.
The others followed his gaze.
Recognition passed between them like a contagion.
One dropped the weapon in his hand. Another stumbled backwards into the wall. The oldest among them shook his head repeatedly, his eyes widening with every passing second.
“No. No, this is impossible.”
The figure tilted her head.
A low, fractured laugh drifted from beneath the curtain of her hair.
The sound shattered what remained of their composure.
“Please…” one of them whispered.
She took a single step forward.
All five recoiled.
“Please, listen to us!” another man cried, dropping to his knees. “We didn’t know! We didn’t know this would happen!”
The woman remained silent.
“We’re sorry!” a third begged, his voice breaking.
“Please, we’re sorry! Whatever you want, we’ll give it to you!”
For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing.
Then the woman slowly raised her head.
And revealed her face.
It was a visage carved from suffering and sealed in hatred.
Her skin was hideously scarred, her features grotesquely distorted, and blood stained the ruined contours of her face. Nothing about her appearance belonged to the realm of the living. Her eyes burned with an ancient, merciless fury, devoid of compassion, hesitation, or the faintest suggestion of humanity.
The men stared at her in absolute horror.
One began to sob.
Another pressed himself against the wall, muttering frantic prayers beneath his breath. The man on his knees lowered his forehead to the floor, trembling so violently that he could barely form another sentence.
“Please,” he pleaded. “Please, don’t do this to us.”
Her expression did not change.
She looked at each of them in turn, as though committing their terror to memory—as though their pleading were nothing more than an insignificant echo of something they had long ago chosen to ignore.
Then she smiled.
It was not the smile of a living creature.
It was the dreadful, unnatural expression of something that had crossed beyond suffering and emerged on the other side as pure, unrestrained vengeance.
“You should have feared the monster you created.”
The lights extinguished.
The building erupted into screams.
One man ran towards the staircase, only for an invisible force to drag him backwards into the darkness. Another swung a metal rod wildly, striking nothing before something seized him and flung him across the room.
Their desperate cries overlapped, rising into a cacophony of terror that reverberated through the abandoned structure.
They begged for mercy.
They promised riches, silence, repentance—anything that might purchase another breath.
But mercy had no place in that room.
She moved among them like death given form, relentless and inescapable. Every attempt to flee ended in darkness. Every desperate bargain dissolved into another scream.
One by one, their voices fell silent.
When the lights returned, all five men lay dead.
The woman stood among them, motionless, her bloodstained face illuminated by the flickering bulbs. She looked down at the bodies without satisfaction or remorse.
Whatever had once existed within her was beyond recognition now.
She was no restless spirit searching for peace. No apparition condemned to wander between worlds.
She was a demon.
And those men had finally understood the terrible distinction between fearing death and being forced to face what they had made of it.
She turned towards the doorway.
For one fleeting instant, her grotesque face appeared almost serene.
Then the shadows gathered around her, swallowing her figure until nothing remained but the cold, suffocating darkness.
By sunrise, the building stood silent.
No witness emerged. No ordinary recording captured the figure that had entered that night. The five dead men left behind no explanation that could account for the terror frozen on their faces.
Only an inexplicable cold lingered in the room.
And somewhere beyond that forsaken place, the darkness continued to move.
Far away, a young man jolted awake from a dream.
His breathing was uneven, his heart hammering against his ribs. The room lay in darkness, the curtains motionless, the door firmly shut.
Yet he couldn’t shake the sensation that he hadn’t awakened alone.
He remembered almost nothing of the dream.
Only a shadow.
A pair of eyes burning through the darkness.
And a face so horrifying that even now, with his eyes open, he couldn’t convince himself he’d imagined it.
He reached for the bedside lamp.
The room flooded with light.
Nothing stood beside his bed.
He sat motionless for several seconds, struggling to steady his breathing, before finally forcing himself to look away.
It had been a dream.
It had to be.
Then, from somewhere within the silent room, came a whisper.
So faint that he could scarcely distinguish it from his own imagination.
“Found you.”
🖤 A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR 🥀
And so, the nightmare begins… 🔥
Jay is no ordinary monster, and this is only the beginning of her story. 👀
😈 WHAT DO YOU THINK JAY REALLY IS?
🖤 A Devil born from pure evil🥀 A victim turned into a monster🔥 Something far more dangerous👀 I need to read more before deciding!
The truth behind THE EVIL THEY UNLEASHED is darker than you think… 🩸
Welcome to Jay’s world. Hope you’re ready for what’s coming. 🖤🥀
