"Hahahahaha!"
The girl burst out laughing. Her whole body shook. Her hands clutched her stomach like she'd just heard the world's funniest joke.
Vonjo stood there stiffly, eyes flicking from side to side, clearly regretting all his life decisions. His lips twitched into a nervous smile, but he didn't dare say a single damn word.
"You're telling me," the girl gasped, wiping tears from her eyes, "that you're from another world?!"
She leaned in, her nose inches from his.
"A world just like ours?" she continued, eyes gleaming with amusement. "A world so boring that the best thing your people came up with… is equality?"
"W-Well," Vonjo started, scratching the back of his neck, "not just—"
"HAAHAHAHAHA!!"
Another explosive burst of laughter. She staggered back, almost tripping over the broken leg of a dusty chair leaning against the wall. "Equality! Oh gods, that's what you guys are busy with?! You fight over that? You write books about that?"
Vonjo shifted uncomfortably. His long coat fluttered slightly as a breeze passed through the hallway. He wasn't used to attention—especially not this kind.
"And you're serious? That's what matters most?" she pressed on, still laughing like a lunatic. "You guys have running water, cars, internet, ice cream! and what do you do with all of that? Complain about privileges?"
Vonjo looked down, face red with embarrassment. "It's… more nuanced than that."
"Oh no, no, don't give me that," she said, waving her hand as she chortled. "You're killing me. And then—then you tell me this world we live in is actually HELL?"
She snorted.
"You're saying, this place was punished, long ago," she said, pausing to catch her breath, "and now we're just wandering in a giant dome built by some… fallen angels?"
Vonjo nodded slowly, solemnly.
"And the reason we can't see all the hell creatures is because of some illusion magic made by the Angels?"
Another nod.
"And those weirdos running around calling themselves 'Demon Exorcists'... are actually humans whose ancestors were the traitorous angels who… what, hooked up with humans and left their bloodline behind?"
Vonjo glanced up, meeting her eyes.
"Yes."
She blinked.
Then she burst into full-on wheezing laughter.
"HAAA!! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!! Oh gods—" she leaned against the wall for support, laughing so hard her voice cracked, "you're insane! But you're funny! You really are from another world!"
As she laughed, Vonjo's skin crawled. A strange coldness crept up his spine. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and his instincts screamed that something wasn't right.
Still laughing, the girl finally straightened and wiped her eyes.
"Alright, alright," she said between giggles, "you got me. That was a hell of a comedy act. You know what? I'll accept you."
Vonjo blinked. "Wait, really?"
"Yeah, sure," she said, still smirking. "You can stay. I'll take you in as a tenant."
Vonjo's shoulders slumped with relief. He let out a long breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Thank you. Really."
"No need to thank me," she said with a grin. "You're also really, reeeally handsome, so I'm not even gonna ask where you came from anymore."
A chill ran down Vonjo's back again.
His mouth went dry. His throat locked up.
She was staring at him.
Not just staring.
Undressing him with her eyes.
The woman—plump and sweaty, with frizzy hair clinging to her forehead, a mole the size of a raisin wobbling with every movement, and lipstick that looked like she'd drawn it with a crayon—grinned widely.
Vonjo could only nod. Helplessly.
She waddled closer and handed him a key. Her stubby fingers brushed his hand a little too long.
"That's your door," she whispered, eyes glinting.
Then she turned around, hips swinging dangerously. But just before walking off into the stairwell's shadows, she glanced back at him with a smirk that made his soul recoil.
Vonjo swallowed hard.
The key in his hand was cold.
He looked at it.
666
He turned his head toward the hallway and, sure enough, the last door on the left had that same number carved into it—burnt into the wood like a brand.
"Well," Vonjo muttered. "That's not ominous at all."
He approached the door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.
Creeeeeaaak.
The hinges groaned like they hadn't been moved in decades.
The room smelled like old fabric, overcooked cabbage, and the faint scent of sadness. He stepped in, shutting the door behind him. The sound of the outside world muffled instantly.
The apartment was small. Cramped. A bed that looked like it had scoliosis sat under a single flickering ceiling light. The walls were yellowed, likely from decades of cigarette smoke. A cracked mirror hung above a tiny sink. One rusty fan spun lazily on the ceiling, creaking with each rotation like it was begging to be put out of its misery.
But it was dry. And quiet.
And… somewhat peaceful.
Vonjo sighed and collapsed onto the bed. It made a clunk and a sproing! like it had been waiting to betray someone for years.
He stared at the ceiling.
"All that just to find a place to stay," he mumbled. "Cheap apartment hunting in a hell-wrapped illusion world. My soul is tired."
He turned over, eyes half-lidded.
"Is it near?" he whispered to himself. "Is Judgment Day coming?"
The ceiling fan replied with a half-hearted cree-eeek.
"Can my average strength survive it?" he said, softer this time.
Yes—everything he said earlier was real. As absurd as it sounded, it's not a joke. This world wasn't normal. It looked like Earth, felt like Earth… but it wasn't Earth.
A part of a story.
A dark online novel.
About humanity reaching absolute depravity. But since there is no Messiah to save them this time, the entire human race is sent to hell.
The Angels—once full of love—cast out those who sided with the mortals. Those traitors, the Fallen, fused with humanity and created descendants. Descendants like him.
But to spare the minds of the innocent, the remaining Angels created a vast illusion, shielding humanity from the horrors just beneath the veil.
An illusion of cities. Skies. Parks. Laughter.
But weak demons still lingered. Weak looking monsters roamed the streets, invisible to most.
And only those with Fallen blood could see them. Only Demon Exorcists could fight them.
But even that wouldn't last.
The dome—the great protection spell forged by the Angels—was weakening. The runes were cracking. The magic was failing.
And when Judgment Day came?
The illusion would fall.
And all hell would break loose.
Vonjo closed his eyes for a moment. He remembered his home world—filled with arguments about politics, smartphones, coffee machines, and dancing cats in bowties. It wasn't perfect, but it was safer than this.
Suddenly, a sound made his eyes snap open.
Knock knock.
He froze.
Two knocks that are slow and heavy.
He sat up straight, staring at the door. The hallway outside was dead quiet. He could not hear laughter, nor footsteps. Just the sound of the fan… and that knock.
Vonjo's fingers twitched near his coat pocket.
His heart pounded.
Knock. Knock.
There it was again.
Vonjo stood up slowly.
He didn't say a word.
He walked toward the door with careful steps. He held his breath, and slowly, he reached for the doorknob. Unconsciously, all the hairs on his neck stood up again. Something was on the other side. But he could feel it wasn't human.
Not long, the door creaked open just an inch. Vonjo leaned forward, peeping through the crack with a bead of cold sweat trailing down his temple.
What he saw made his heart sink—and somehow, beat faster at the same time.
"Shit!" He cursed silently.
Standing outside was the same woman. The fat landlord. The one who'd flirted with him earlier. Her frizzy hair stood like a battlefield of wire. Her oversized shirt clung to her rolls like wet tissue. Her chapped lips were frozen in a strange, unnatural smile.
However, there was something strange.
The loud chatter balloon wasn't moving. Not even her usually ragged breathing chest isn't doing her thing.
Vonjo's brow creased. "Why's she not saying anything?"
Slowly, he opened the door wider, just enough to step out—until something wrong hit him in the gut. The air around her felt... fake.
Then—slowly—he watched.
Her head tilted. Slightly. To the right.
But it kept going.
Bit by bit.
Click… click… click…
Her neck didn't seem to resist. It just slid—an unnatural slow-motion droop. Her smile stayed plastered, even as her head tilted a full forty-five degrees. Then fifty. Sixty.
Then—it SNAPPED!
Her head dropped—shhk—slid sharply—and THUD.
It fell clean off, bouncing once on the threshold before rolling out of sight down the dark hall.
Vonjo stood frozen.
Eyes wide. Breath gone.
A scream from his throat wanted to leap from his chest, but instincts kicked in. Survival instincts. His hand shot forward—BAM! He slammed the door. His fingers twisted the lock—click-click! Deadbolt.
He staggered back, gasping.
"What the hell was that—?!"
Then he turned around.
And his knees buckled.
Two men stood inside the room.
Right there. Between the tiny bathroom and the broken stove.
Vonjo fell back, hitting the floor with a thud and a scraped elbow. "W-Who—?!"
They didn't move.
They didn't even flinch.
Just stood.
One had a pale, sharp face, like he'd been sculpted out of marble and bad dreams. His black hair was slicked back, eyes a cold silver.
The other had a rounder face with sunken cheeks, stubble shadowing his jaw like decay, and a long red scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.
They wore matching coats—dark, high-collared, lined with silver runes. Their boots shined unnaturally, almost like obsidian, and the air around them buzzed with faint whispers.
Vonjo's mouth trembled. His palms scraped the floor as he tried to back away, but the room was too small.
Something familiar stirre
d in his chest.
Why… do they look like?
Cutting his thoughts off, the taller one stepped forward, his voice calm and authoritative. "You are Vonjo. Yes?"