Page 11 of Daemonium

I tried to recall the map I'd seen earlier, but everything looked so different in reality. If it weren’t for the guys, I’d be completely lost. I wasn’t even entirely sure where we were going. This part of the Playground was as meticulously crafted as the rest of the city, an elaborate stage set for nothing but carnage and riddles. The streets, eerily empty now, held an air of foreboding.

Melantha voiced the question that hung in my mind, "Where did everyone go?"

Ciaran's response was cryptic but certain, "You'll have your answer in about ten minutes."

As if on cue, white pickups and black vans began to sporadically appear.

People clad in what looked like hazmat suits disembarked, a grim clean-up crew in the aftermath of the chaos. Some were tasked with removing bodies, while others sanitized the area with tanks strapped to their backs, sprayers in hand. Each uniform bore the emblem of the Devil's Playground--a triangle with an eye in its center.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Lana muttered under her breath, her tone a mix of disbelief and disdain. “Purgation Inc. Grim’s Cleanup,” she read off the names of the companies that were branded on the vehicles.

"Wait until you see the construction crew," Maverick joked. A reminder that all of this--the destruction, the death--was a prelude to more orchestrated horror.

I should’ve been accustomed to it by now. In curated anarchy, nothing was too extreme or macabre.

I couldn't help but wonder what other twisted surprises lay in wait for us. We weaved through a small park, another eerie imitation of normalcy in the hellish city. I faltered when I spotted a small group of masked kids—freaking children—loitering near a swing set. There was an even smaller child with them, a beautiful little boy with piercing blue eyes and brown skin. No part of me could fathom why he, or any of them for that matter, were here.

When they spotted us, they all abruptly froze, as if they were marionettes and someone had just cut their strings. Their gazes latched onto our group, and for a moment time seemed to warp, stretching thin between two realities. I glanced up at Ky’s masked face. “Why are there kids here?”

“Not all monsters are grown, Sunshine.”

“That’s fucked up. Seriously fucked up,” Melantha breathed out, holding a cramp. “Shouldn’t we—you--be helping them?”

“We aren’t babysitters,” Brody replied, his voice as dry as the pavement, stripped bare of any empathy.

“Ky said it best,” Ciaran added without missing a beat. “Don’t let their ages fool you. Look at what they’re playing with.”

My eyes roamed over the group and for a moment, my brain refused to accept it—a severed head. The eyes were vacant of life, resting beneath the sole of a young boy's shoe as if it were nothing more than a discarded toy. I blanched, anchored only by Ky’s firm grip on my hand.

“I was pretending I didn’t notice that” Lana said.

The child shifted his weight, and the head rolled grotesquely to one side, a mockery of acquiescence to the game they were playing. Dion balked and put more space between himself and the kids. “What kinda twisted Children of The Corn bullshit is that?”

“Some don’t have a choice, but soon... he could be free,” Kyrous stated, his voice low and cryptic.

“Whatever you just said, that doesn’t make it better,” Melantha countered in disgust.

I had so many questions. I wanted to dissect his words, to understand the dark promise beneath them, but the moment slipped away as we exited the small park, leaving the kids behind. I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. I had the urge to turn back and go to them, but then one of our heads could very well be their next kickball if Ciaran’s words were anything to judge by.

We entered a narrow alley and then turned a corner, descending a set of concrete stairs that led to a row of turnstiles. Our pace didn’t slow until we came upon Inferno Transit Hub.

It bore little resemblance to the stations I’d seen on television or in movies. Three trams sat motionless on tracks that disappeared into a dense tree line ahead. Each was a sleek capsule of steel and glass with barred windows.

Blood was everywhere.

It stained the platform in purposeful patterns as if someone had decided to make some impromptu artwork. More concerning than that were the clowns loading bodies into garish, funhouse-style cars, their bright costumes contrasting with the grim task at hand. Four people still remained motionless on the ground, one woman’s head nearly severed entirely. They must have run this way trying to save themselves and instead met with a brutal end.

It took the clowns a moment to notice us. The second they did, they all paused, just like the kids had.

Their masked faces were pure nightmare fuel. Some were streaked with blood, bearing exaggerated features with sinister grins and hollow eyes that seemed to see into your very being.

“Why aren’t they moving?” Dion asked, keeping his voice low.

That was a good question. I shifted backward and a strong arm wrapped around my waist protectively from behind. “They won’t touch you,” Ky promised.

Another group burst in from the opposite direction, stumbling down the stairs, one of them clutching a bleeding arm. The clowns turned their attention to them and this time they didn’t hesitate, dropping the bodies they had been about to load. One feigned left and darted toward Melantha. Dion intercepted, narrowly dodging the curved blade the clown wielded. He punched it in the face hard enough to make it stumble backward.

“Thanks for that,” Mel quipped.

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