Chapter Text
His head hurt.
Not the dull, background sort of ache that he had grown accustomed to from endless late nights and overthinking, but a sharp, throbbing pain that pulsed behind his eyes like fire.
Ray opened them anyway. The first thing that struck him wasn’t the pain but the silence. No soft whispers of children breathing nearby, no crackle of fire in the Grace Field bunker, no Emma tugging his sleeve to wake him up. Just the hush of wind threading through leaves above his head, and the endless stretch of green.
A forest.
Ray blinked, disoriented. The canopy let only a dim wash of fading light filter down, painting the world in shades of grey-green. Damp soil pressed against his palms when he pushed himself upright. His clothes were scuffed with dirt, the hem of his shirt torn. His mouth was dry, and there was a taste of copper on his tongue.
“...Where am I?” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse.
It came back slowly, like smoke dispersing. The gate. The ritual. The portal. Emma’s hand gripping his, Norman’s steady eyes, the terrified yet determined faces of the children as they stepped into the unknown.
The “other world.”
His chest tightened. He forced himself to breathe evenly, forcing panic down. He scanned the trees, sharp eyes flicking from trunk to trunk, shadow to shadow.
No Emma. No Norman. No children.
Nothing but trees and the dim stretch of sky already bruising toward night.
“...Tch.” His hand raked through his hair as he bit down on the rising dread. Calm down. Think. Panicking won’t bring them here.
Ray’s brain clicked into motion automatically, calculation overriding fear.
Hypothesis one: They had all been transported together, but he had been knocked unconscious and left behind.
Hypothesis two: The portal scattered them randomly.
Hypothesis three: Some of them didn’t make it through.
His jaw tightened. The third possibility lingered like poison in his mouth. He pushed it aside for now.
Testable variables. Evidence.
The forest was wild, unstructured — unlike Grace Field’s carefully controlled woods. The air was colder, thinner. He noted the species of plants around him, the thickness of the moss on the trunks, the faint call of unseen birds. All different. Definitely not Grace Field. Definitely not the demon world we knew.
That meant hypothesis two was most likely: separation.
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. All right. That’s workable. Step one: survive long enough to regroup. Step two: locate Emma and Norman. Step three: adapt to this world’s rules.
Rules. That was the key. Every system had them. Grace Field had rules, the demon farms had rules, even the demons themselves had their hierarchy. All Ray had to do was observe and break this world down piece by piece until it made sense.
A faint rustle to his left snapped his attention like a whip.
He froze, body taut, gaze scanning. Not a bird. Too heavy.
He crouched low, moving silently through the undergrowth, slipping behind a thicker tree trunk. The forest had darkened further, shadows stretching long and sharp. The air felt different now — heavier, charged.
Then he smelled it.
Blood.
The stench was metallic and thick, clogging the air. His stomach lurched. Slowly, he edged forward and peered through the branches.
A figure crouched in the clearing ahead.
For a second, his mind rejected it. Too human. Too familiar. Then the details sharpened — skin stretched too tight, eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural gleam, teeth long and stained red as they tore into the flesh of what had once been a human body.
Ray’s hand shot to his mouth before a gasp could escape. His pulse thundered in his ears.
Demons.
But not the same. Not the monstrous beasts with hulking frames and twisted features from his world. This one was leaner, more human-shaped, but with features that twisted humanity into nightmare.
He staggered back behind the tree trunk, heart racing. His breaths came sharp and shallow against his palm.
So even here… demons exist.
The crack of a bone being bitten in half echoed through the clearing.
Ray shut his eyes tightly for a second, grounding himself. Panic wouldn’t save him. He knew that better than anyone. He exhaled, then opened his eyes again, gaze sharp and calculating.
New rules. New demons. Analyze. Observe.
When he risked another glance, he realized the worst: the demon had stopped eating. Its head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring.
It had sensed him.
Ray’s stomach dropped. He pressed his back to the tree.
Of course. Too careless. Should’ve factored scent.
Silence fell in the clearing. Then, the crunch of footsteps — slow, deliberate — moving in his direction.
Ray closed his eyes for a heartbeat. Then he exhaled, slow and steady.
“All right,” he whispered to himself. “Think.”
He scanned the ground at his feet, spotted a rock the size of his fist. He picked it up silently. His mind spun: Blind spots. Distraction. Buy time. Test reactions. Survive until dawn.
He hurled the rock to the far right. It clattered against a trunk. The demon hissed and lunged toward the sound.
Ray moved. He darted left, keeping low, weaving between trees. Every ten seconds, he shifted direction — never predictable. His lungs burned already, stamina stretched thin. He’d never been Emma. His body wasn’t built for this. But his mind — his mind was sharp, sharper than the demon’s hunger.
Another rock. Another diversion. He watched the demon’s speed, its turns, catalogued its reactions. Fast, but not omniscient. Strong, but single-minded.
They’re not invincible. Everything has a weakness.
The chase dragged on. His legs screamed, his chest ached, but he kept running, kept thinking, hypotheses forming and shattering with every heartbeat. No exposed core. No single eye. Sunlight? Holy ground? Weapons?
A low branch whipped his face as he hauled himself into a tree, scrambling upward despite the sting of bark tearing at his hands. The demon slammed into the trunk below, snarling, claws raking wood.
Ray leapt to the next branch, then another. Not graceful, not like Emma’s lithe movements, but desperate, frantic.
Minutes bled into hours. The forest became a blur of black and silver as the moon climbed high.
By the time his body gave out, he was wedged in the fork of a tall tree, chest heaving, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. The demon prowled below, pacing, waiting.
I can’t outrun it forever… His eyes narrowed. But maybe I don’t have to.
So he waited.
Every time exhaustion threatened to drag him under, he reminded himself: Emma. Norman. The kids. Survive. Find them.
The horizon bled pale. A faint line of gold cut through the trees.
The demon stiffened, eyes widening. Then —
Smoke. Sizzle. A shriek.
Ray gaped, disbelief etched across his face as the creature’s flesh blistered, blackened, and with a final scream, it dissolved into ash.
Just like that.
Ray clung to the branch, chest heaving, mind racing.
“…The sun,” he whispered, stunned. They burn in sunlight.
A new rule. The most important one.
He sat frozen until the last trace of ash drifted away. Then, slowly, he climbed down, muscles trembling. His legs almost buckled when he hit the ground.
Exhaustion swamped him, but exhilaration too. He had survived. He had learned. He had a foothold.
And then he froze.
Because he wasn’t alone.
A figure stood at the base of the tree. Silent. Watching. A red mask covered his face, carved into the shape of a fox, its painted eyes blank and staring. His presence was calm, but heavy — like the still surface of water concealing something deep, dangerous.
Ray’s pulse spiked. His mind sharpened instantly.
Not demon. Not quite ordinary human either.
The figure tilted his head slightly.
Ray straightened despite the ache in his body, eyes narrowing. His voice came out rough but steady.
“…Who are you?”