The Daily Life of the Demon King-Chapter 344: The Red City That Will Become a Prison for Sinners"

Bison, the newest inhabitant of the Red City, was still consumed by the primal fear that had seeped into the very core of his being. Driven by panic, he sprinted forward blindly, not caring where he was going—his thoughts spun feverishly around one goal: get out of here as fast as possible.

With each passing second, the city pressed down harder, casting a heavy blanket of terror over Bison's mind. In his frantic run, he kept passing the same bus stop where he had first regained consciousness, but he didn't even notice it. He could feel it—something was watching him with every step. The moment he so much as slowed down, the oppressive sense of approaching danger intensified, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Screeches, whispers hiding in the alleys, grew louder and louder. Whenever he tried to stop, the sounds crept closer. Bison tried to catch his breath, to steady himself, but the panic only grew stronger: he was trapped, caught in a hopeless maze.

Every move brought him back to the cursed bus stop. No matter which direction he chose or which street he ran down—it all led back, as if the city itself was mocking his desperate attempts to escape.

But he couldn't stop. He knew he was being hunted. Something unseen, alien, was reaching out to him with clawed hands from the darkness, ready to drag him into one of the alleyways. He could hear his heart pounding like a drum, his lungs burning from lack of air.

And yet, he didn't give up.

Anger and pride slowly began to override the fear. The face of the one who had sent him here kept rising in his thoughts. With every new memory, his rage grew hotter, pushing out the fear, filling his body with a fire of fury.

But the sounds didn't stop. On the contrary—they seemed to be playing with him. Every time Bison turned his head, they fell silent. He spun around like a madman, trying to spot the source of the sickening slurping and scraping noises. His eyes were bloodshot—from exhaustion, rage, and desperation. Even blinking became torture: his eyelids felt like lead, and opening them again took effort.

"I won't die here. I'm a god... I'll become the ruler of the new order once I get out of this damn place..." he growled through clenched teeth.

He didn't yet know that in the Red City, the concept of 'death' did not exist. Everyone who ended up here had already crossed that line. Here, it was impossible to die. The only thing that remained was eternal existence in a loop of fear and madness.

Pushing away the intrusive noises, Bison tried to figure out how to escape this trap. He had already realized that everything kept bringing him back to the beginning—the bus stop. So, he needed to choose a different path, break the loop. A desperate idea formed in his mind. He decided to turn into an alley that even he found disturbing and repulsive—too dark, too dead.

He stepped forward, smothering his terror with anger. He walked without looking back, ignoring the tightening anxiety that gripped his heart with every step. The shadows between the buildings grew thicker, and darkness loomed ahead.

The deeper he went, the more uneasy he became. The light dimmed, and Bison could barely see anything. Until he finally slammed into a tall brick wall.

He stopped. And only then realized—the sounds had vanished.

A suffocating silence settled over everything.

The wall in front of him seemed like an insurmountable barrier. Normally, he could've simply smashed through it with his psychic powers… but now he couldn't feel them. He tried to focus, to summon even a spark of power—but it was all in vain.

"Shit... Shit!.. Why is there a dead end?.. Don't tell me I have to go back again..." Bison growled, clenching his fists.

And then he noticed a strange piece of paper stuck to the wall.

"What the... what the hell is this thing?.."

He stepped closer, squinting to try and read what was written.

Bison's eyes narrowed in fury as he tore the tattered sheet off the brick wall. Glancing at the message, he snorted with contempt:

"Don't look... or it will take you."

Crumpling the paper, he threw it aside. The fear that had gripped him just moments ago had finally receded, giving way to fury directed at Alex.

He hadn't even noticed how everything seemed to change the moment he stepped into the alley. The world became quieter, dimmer, as if reality itself had shrunk. But convincing himself that if he could enter, he could also leave, he turned away from the wall.

And didn't notice how that very piece of paper, the moment it touched the ground, dissolved into the darkness, swallowed by the shadows.

After taking a few steps, Bison heard a whisper. It coiled in his ears like mockery, like a voice... no, a challenge. It begged — no — ordered him to turn around.

And Bison, no longer in control of himself, slowly turned his head.

On the brick wall behind him was cast a tall, broken shadow. It didn't resemble any tree — long, thin, with spindly branches, it looked like the silhouette of a man. A man who couldn't possibly exist.

A chill ran down his spine. His heart clenched. Panic slowly, but relentlessly, began to smother his mind, drowning out the remnants of his rage.

But the worst part was — the shadow was moving.

He knew there were no trees behind him. He knew it. But the branches moved — fluid, alive.

One of them — thin as a dried-up hand — slowly reached forward, as if trying to pierce through the wall itself.

Bison froze. His body refused to obey. He was afraid to blink — it felt like if he closed his eyes, he wouldn't be able to open them again.

His heart pounded, ready to burst from his chest. The shadow kept moving, and fear peaked as the branch suddenly reached out from the wall, now no longer just a shadow — it was real.

Fighting through the terror, Bison turned and bolted toward the safety of the street. But the hand — long and gnarled — lashed out after him, clamping onto his shoulder like a vice.

His heart stopped for a second, then exploded in a wild rhythm. He was being dragged backward, toward the wall.

The noise — that same sound, like a broken television — began to fill the space around him. It grew louder, closer, more unbearable with every second.

Stopping by the wall, Bison — driven by fear — slowly turned his head.

Towering above him stood a faceless, tall, and emaciated creature, staring down at him.

His mind tore apart in panic.

"Aaaaaaaaah!"

A blood-curdling scream burst from his throat, echoing off the walls, rising up to the rooftops.

And the moment he screamed — the "branches" behind the creature came alive. They writhed like tentacles and surged forward.

They pierced him — into his mouth, eyes, ears, and nostrils. Bison felt every touch, every flash of pain.

And the noise... white, hysterical... sounded until the very end, until the final moment, before darkness fell.

He shot up, eyes wide open, gasping for air. His heart raced wildly. He touched his face — eyes, ears, nose — checking if everything was still there, still... alive.

The memory of the tentacles was so vivid, he could almost feel them invading him again. The pain still echoed in his head — not like a memory, but like something real.

He looked around. That same bus stop. Run-down. The one where he had first woken up. But now there was a sheet of notebook paper lying nearby with the words: Can't run.

His eyes filled with rage. He crumpled the note and hurled it away with fury. Was it a dream? A vision? Or a warning of what awaited him if he didn't leave this city?

The noise in his head grew, making it impossible to concentrate. Bison grabbed his hair, trying to hold onto a single clear thought. But everything was foggy. He was starting to forget... Memories of what happened before the bus stop were dissolving, as if the noise was erasing them one by one.

He looked up and stared across the street, into the alley opposite. And froze.

There, in the shadow, it stood. That very creature.

The noise surged, intensifying, filling his entire being. Hopelessness, fear, and despair surged all at once, leaving no room for choice.

And Bison ran. He ran away from the creature. Away from the city. Away from the horror.

At that same moment, on the edge of a rooftop not far from the bus stop where Bison had just fled, sat Alex, Zhang Ya, Göndul, and Reginleif. They had been watching his every move all this time — even his death at the hands of Slenderman.

Alex watched the scene unfold with an amused grin, realizing that he no longer needed to waste time on elaborate interrogations or torture. Now, he could simply send every unworthy villain to the Red City — a place where there was no death, no mercy, and no escape from the nightmares that dwelled within.

One thought kept circling in his mind: just how many urban legends had Zhang Ya devoured before they met? That mystery gnawed at him. Depending on the number of entities she'd consumed, he was considering adding more to their ranks — creating his own world of nightmares, a personal hell for people like Bison.

"What a fascinating creature, that Slenderman... I never would've thought such monsters truly existed in other worlds," Reginleif remarked, adjusting her glasses as she curiously observed the scene below.

"Actually, every scary story parents tell their children turns out to be true in some world or another," Alex replied, holding Zhang Ya's cold, pale hand. "These creatures are born from human fear. Feeding on it, they grow stronger. But now… now they're just cute little pets in Zhang Ya's personal horror zoo. And everyone who ends up here — they're nothing but food for these beasts."

"Darling, did you really decide to turn this world into a dungeon for trash like that Bison?" Göndul asked playfully, swinging her legs as she sat on the rooftop's edge.

"Zhang Ya doesn't mind," Alex replied with a wide smile. "I'm even thinking of expanding the monster collection — to give every 'guest' here something special to play with."

"Alex, sometimes you act worse than any villain you've ever faced," Reginleif sighed.

"Hey! My brother is literally Lucifer. It runs in the family — we both have a thing against sinners," Alex shrugged innocently.

"If you say so... Oh, look, seems like Bison died again. And... yep, he's waking up at the bus stop," Reginleif said, half-believing Alex's words as she turned her attention to the stop where Bison had indeed just regained consciousness — for the third time.

Alex and the girls shifted their gaze to the bus stop. Bison was screaming hysterically, realizing he had ended up in the Red City once more. Alex smirked, imagining just how "fun" things would get with Slenderman. At least until Bison ran into something even worse.

Alex wondered: how many times could Bison keep running before he completely broke? He shared his thoughts with the two Valkyries, curious to hear their take. But like him, they didn't give a clear answer.

As for Zhang Ya — no one bothered to ask. The silent ghost girl wouldn't have responded anyway. She simply didn't care about Bison's fate.

Their thoughts were interrupted by Bison's frantic scream:

"Stop hiding! Come out! I know you're watching me, you coward!"

Alex and the girls looked down again. Bison was roaring like a wounded animal, his face turned to the crimson sky. Alex raised an eyebrow, surprised at how quickly he was breaking down. Even the Valkyries hadn't expected such a weak will from someone who fancied himself a god.

That's when Alex began formulating a plan. He wanted to give Bison false hope, make him keep moving forward. A wicked idea was already taking shape — one that would be truly excruciating.

Reginleif, Göndul, and Zhang Ya looked at him: a grin worthy of a true villain blossomed on Alex's face. The two Valkyries exchanged glances, shook their heads, and vanished into Alex's spiritual space. Zhang Ya cast her empty, cold gaze at him. His shadow spread across the rooftop and wrapped around the girl — and in a moment, the ghost disappeared into her.

Alex remained alone, sitting on the roof and watching as Bison once again screamed into the sky.

"Well then…" he muttered, shrugging. "Time to act."

"I said, come out! Give me back my power! Fight me fair, without your dirty tricks! Stop hiding, coward!" Bison shouted, hoping to provoke his tormentor.

"I wasn't hiding," Alex's mocking voice came from behind him. "You're just too careless to notice me."

Bison heard the voice of the man he hated with every fiber of his being and spun around sharply. His gaze fell on Alex, calmly sitting at that cursed bus stop. Alex was lazily leaning on his elbow, watching him with a smirk, holding a cigarette between his fingers.

Bison's eyes filled with blood. Rage began to flood him, taking over his mind once again. He felt no fear or pain — only the desire to tear Alex apart. In a fury, Bison sprang from his place and lunged forward, determined to kill the one who caused his suffering.

But as soon as he took a single step toward Alex, the latter simply snapped his fingers. At that instant, Bison's body shot up into the air like a cannonball and crashed with a thunderous noise into the side of a building. He fell heavily to the ground — a limp heap of flesh and pain.

Alex slowly rose from the bench, flicked ash off his cigarette, and leisurely walked toward the fallen enemy.

The city fell silent. The white static noise that had previously filled Bison's mind disappeared, leaving only the sound of footsteps — steady, muffled, and terrifying. Lying on the ground, Bison looked up with hatred. Alex stood nearby, taking a drag and exhaling smoke right in his direction.

"So this is how the great leader of 'Shadalu' fell," he said mockingly. "A man who fancied himself a god, dreaming of imposing a new world order… And in the end, he was just a hysterical child afraid of the dark and alleyways."

"Let me out of this place…" Bison hissed through clenched teeth, holding back a scream.

"Alas, I can't," Alex replied calmly. "But you can get out yourself. All you need to do is find the red door. The very one you came through. Do it before you become a permanent part of this world. The longer you hesitate, the less time you have left. The clock is ticking, Bison."

He spoke quietly, without emotion, but every word stabbed into Bison's mind like a knife's blade.

Bison snarled, clenching his fists in rage. He wanted to curse Alex but didn't have time. His body began to vanish, turning transparent until Alex disappeared completely.

Left alone, Bison struggled to stand. The thought of the red door had lodged itself firmly in his mind. He had to find it — immediately.

But he forgot one important detail.

When Alex disappeared, the Red City came back to life.

The rising static noise echoed again in Bison's ears. He didn't have time to react — from the nearest alley, thin, reaching branches burst out. They wrapped around his legs, coiled around his ankles, and pulled him into the darkness.

Bison screamed hysterically, struggling, scratching the asphalt with his hands, trying to grab onto anything. But they dragged him closer and closer into the alley. The noise in his ears grew louder, almost deafening. And when his body completely vanished into the darkness, he saw that creature again...

The very same Slenderman. The one who had already killed him twice. And now, it was time for the third. A hysterical scream came from the darkness of the alley... then faded away.

Meanwhile, Alex stepped out of the red door with a satisfied smile. He found himself in the same place where he had fought Bison before — at the foot of a mountain, which turned out to be a volcano. Alex stretched, deeply inhaling the cool, fresh air.

He raised his eyes to the sky, but there was no serenity in them — only irritation. The one responsible for Bison's appearance here was still free. He was hiding behind the thick walls of his headquarters, weaving his intrigues.

"Derek Clifford Simmons..." Alex muttered with a grim smile. "National Security Advisor... Leader of the 'Family'... Well then. Since you want to play, Simmons... We'll play. Just don't complain later. Let's see if you can last longer than Bison... or if you'll become a crying child too. It's all up to you."

He looked toward America. Toward the National Security Agency's headquarters, where Simmons was located.

The smile on Alex's face twisted. He stopped smiling and, humming a dark melody under his breath, summoned Yamato. With a few swings of his blade, he opened a portal.

Now that Zhang Ya had given him full permission, he could gladly fill the Red City with new inhabitants. He no longer needed to torment his enemies — those who lived in this nightmarish place would take care of that.

Alex stepped into the portal, humming a tune that sounded like a flute. The portal closed behind him, leaving only silence... and a sense of impending horror.

At the same time, Derek Clifford Simmons was in the National Security Agency headquarters. He was dressed in a strict black suit and a light shirt. Now he stood in a room resembling a monitoring station, where all the staff were tensely watching the satellite image of Unimak Island — the place where Alex and Bison had just fought.

Simmons, thoughtfully gazing at the large screen, slowly spun the ring with the emblem of the "Family" organization on his thumb. A smug, almost imperceptible smile played on his face — the smile of a man who believed he had played his hand perfectly and remained the winner while his enemies gnawed each other, distracted from the main goal.

It was Simmons who invited Bison to the secret meeting at headquarters. He skillfully played on the vanity of men like Bison — arrogant, obsessed with power and greatness. Everything went according to plan: Bison attacked the settlement where Alex's group was located. This gave Simmons two immediate benefits — to find out what else the "false savior" was capable of, and to get rid of an overly confident figure who had long become an inconvenient pawn on his chessboard.

"Sir, we've lost Bison's signal. What are the further instructions? Continue surveillance?" asked an employee without taking his eyes off the screen. novelbuddy.cσ๓

"No. I've already got everything I wanted. Stop the surveillance and erase all the data," Simmons answered calmly. "Sherry Birkin... That foolish girl didn't even realize how much she helped us. She told us things we can use against our 'savior.'"

The employees silently nodded. They were loyal servants of the "Family" and followed orders without question. Simmons smirked slightly, turned around, and headed to his office. Since the start of the zombie apocalypse, he had done everything to concentrate power in his hands. And now he was close to his goal.

He walked toward the office where he planned to establish contact with the being he had a deal with. Some time ago, a priest who called himself a messenger of the great Creator had come to him. He offered Simmons eternal life, power, and unlimited possibilities — in exchange for loyalty. The offer was too tempting to refuse. Simmons agreed without hesitation.

He entered the office, unaware that the door behind him began to change shape, turning into a scarlet, bleeding structure. Blood flowed down the floor, and pulsating red veins appeared from beneath the walls, wrapping around the corridor walls like a web. But Simmons didn't see any of it.

He approached the bookshelf, moved aside the necessary volume, and activated a hidden safe. From it, he took a crystal orb — an artifact left by the priest, through which contact could be established. Sitting at the desk, he placed his hand on the orb. Usually, after touching it, activation would follow — a flash of light, the priest's voice, vibrations. But now... nothing.

Simmons frowned. He tried again and again, but the orb remained cold and dead. At that moment, the lights in the office began to flicker, and the computer monitor turned on by itself. Simmons' face darkened with irritation and confusion. He was about to stand up when suddenly he heard a sound — the quiet click of a lighter.

He jerked his head up and saw a silhouette of a man in the shadow of the sofa. The only thing that stood out in the darkness was the crimson ember of a smoldering cigarette.

Simmons lunged for the desk drawer — but it was empty.

"You can stop looking for the gun. It's not there," came a calm voice from the darkness.

Simmons froze. Slowly, he raised his eyes to the man in the shadow. When the cigarette ember moved closer to his face, Simmons recognized him.

Alex.

The very "false savior" whom the priests feared so much and avoided until their time had come. And now he sat in Simmons' office like a master, although just a few minutes ago he had been on the other side of the continent — in Alaska, on Unimak Island.

Alex sat on the leather couch in Simmons' office, calmly smoking a cigarette. Light wisps of smoke drifted up toward the ceiling, while his gaze was fixed on Simmons' face, which showed growing confusion. Alex immediately understood that Simmons was desperately trying to figure out how he had ended up here—after all, just a few minutes ago, Alex had been in Alaska.

"I see you're surprised, Derek Clifford Simmons," Alex said slowly, enunciating each word with a cold, almost mocking tone.

"How did you get here?" Simmons frowned, a note of alarm in his voice.

"That no longer matters. It's all meaningless now. Neither your pact with the underworld priests, nor how you set up Bison," Alex exhaled smoke and leaned forward slightly so that his face became more visible in the darkness. "Yes, I know you sent Bison to a certain death to get him out of the way. You thought I wouldn't find out? Or maybe you hoped I wouldn't come after you? That your pathetic schemes would hide you from my sight?"

He paused for a moment, giving Simmons time to digest every word.

"To some extent, you're right. I wouldn't have come… if I hadn't suddenly found a little free time. Although, to be precise, it's not just me who came."

"What..." Simmons whispered, feeling a cold shiver run down his spine.

From behind him came a rasping sound — a dull, painful, strangled noise, as if made by a person with a broken neck, desperately trying to scream in their death agony. The sound instantly froze Simmons with terror. He knew that rasp. He recognized it.

Slowly, his heart pounding, he turned his head and saw... a woman.

But calling her human was impossible.

Her long black hair fell over her shoulders like a waterfall of night. Her face was pale, gaunt, with deep shadows under her eyes, emphasizing eternal grief and suffering. Her clothes were torn and stained, as if she had just crawled out of a grave. Bones protruded through her skin in places, her body bore signs of violence, decay, and death. And all of it was accompanied by that same eerie, alien rasp.

Horrified, Simmons turned his head back — toward where Alex was sitting. But now he saw only two eyes… empty, glowing iridescent eyes shining in the dark.

He wanted to say something, but never got the chance.

The woman suddenly grabbed his face. Everything plunged into darkness. The last thing Simmons saw was the cold, piercing gaze of those very eyes.

Alex calmly left the office—if it could even still be called an office. The red door he had passed through led straight into the Red City. Closing it behind him, he watched as it disappeared, replaced by an ordinary door, as if nothing had happened.

But for Alex, everything was more than clear—the meeting with Simmons only confirmed his suspicion: Zhang Ya had indeed captured Kayako and settled her in the Red City. This was already the second cult entity from urban legends he had encountered. And he wondered—how many more such "guests" had Zhang Ya swallowed?

He strolled slowly down the corridor of the National Security building, whistling a melody reminiscent of the sound of a flute that played in only one place in the entire multiverse. The light flickered and went out where Alex passed, enveloping his figure in thick darkness. Behind him trailed a barely audible whistle, breaking the oppressive silence.

He thought: what if… he created his own house of horrors—just for fun? To watch people lose themselves, scream, go mad. The idea was starting to appeal to him.

Taking a step into the shadows, Alex vanished.

The corridor lights came back on. Everything looked normal again. Only absolute silence remained—and no one in the building even suspected that Derek Simmons had disappeared… forever, leaving no trace.

To be continued…

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