The Daily Life of the Demon King

Inside a shabby, dilapidated apartment, where every corner breathed neglect, a heavyset man lay on a dusty couch, his head lolling limply to the side. Small dark stains of blood dotted his clothing, and a sack, reeking of old, dried blood, covered his head. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, one might have thought he was already dead—after long and brutal torture.

But Zhu Xiu was alive. Physically, he was almost unharmed, apart from finding himself in an unfamiliar and terrifying place. This was the very man responsible for Zhang Ya's death. Lying unconscious, he slowly began to come to.

Suddenly, his body jolted. Panic set in as he realized he couldn't see anything, but feeling the rough fabric over his head, he yanked the sack off. The more he examined his surroundings, the tighter fear gripped his chest. The apartment looked as though no one had lived there for decades: peeling walls, the stench of dust and mold, and a silence so heavy it pressed on his ears.

Memories surged unexpectedly, like an icy wave. And when a name he had tried so hard to forget surfaced in his mind, his heart clenched so painfully it was hard to breathe. Panic and dread overwhelmed him, yet he kept scanning the room in search of answers.

The only thing that stood out in the bleak interior was a black cube on a table thick with dust. It sat there as if waiting for him. Zhu Xiu slowly approached, examining the strange object. Up close, he saw it wasn't just a cube but a box of precise geometry, adorned with tiny magical symbols. Its perfectly straight edges and mysterious appearance drew the eye.

Why hadn't Zhang Ya killed him? Why had that man, who called himself her husband, also let him live? These questions swirled in his mind as he studied the box, though he still didn't dare touch it.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a faint light filtering through the tattered curtains by the window. Pulling them back sharply, he froze: the window had been bricked up completely. Only through a few narrow gaps did weak strips of light seep inside. Squinting, he tried to peer out, but nothing could be seen beyond the wall of bricks.

Realizing the window was no escape, Zhu Xiu turned toward the hallway. After a few steps, he came upon another door. Turning the handle cautiously, he peeked inside—and a fresh wave of panic hit him. It was a bathroom.

Dark stains of grime and mold marred the floor. From the ceiling hung a hook, and caught on it was a lump of something fleshy, stuck together with dried blood and rust. The lightbulb above flickered, on the verge of going out. The bathtub looked as though it had recently been filled with blood, and from the toilet protruded a blood-soaked scrap of sleeve.

He was about to slam the door shut when he noticed one more detail—a strange hole gaping in the wall. It looked either like a mouth ready to snap shut on prey, or a grotesque eye watching his every move.

Torn between fear and a strange, sick curiosity, Zhu Xiu stepped inside, careful not to touch the suspicious stains on the floor.

He moved closer to the hole. Its edges, though rough, looked as if someone had oddly smoothed them from the inside. Surrounding it was an ornate red circle marked with strange symbols, as if drawn in blood.

Suppressing another wave of panic, he decided to take a look inside, though he still feared something alive might be lurking within—something that had turned this bathroom into a place steeped in horror. Leaning in from the side, he peered into the opening and saw nothing but absolute darkness. It was thick, viscous, as if pulling at his gaze, and within it lurked alien, predatory shadows. From the depths came a strange, barely audible whisper, as though someone was speaking both from far away and right next to his ear.

Zhu Xiu jerked back, deciding he needed to leave the bathroom as quickly as possible—and never come back.

Stepping into the hallway, he pressed his back against the door and clutched his chest, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. It pounded so violently that it felt as if it might burst out at any second. He took several deep breaths, but the panic only sank its claws deeper into his thoughts, tearing them into jagged fragments.

Forcing himself to pull together, Zhu Xiu moved on. The narrow hallway led him into a living room combined with a kitchen. But the sight of the room brought a fresh wave of fear. Everything looked as if some monstrous crime had taken place here: the walls and kitchen cabinets were smeared with something that looked like a mix of blood and rust.

His legs felt heavy as lead. He was afraid to take another step. But worse than that was the face, as if embedded directly into the living room wall. It was frozen in a grimace of pain or terror, and its empty eye sockets seemed almost alive.

Without taking his eyes off the grotesque mask, Zhu Xiu edged sideways along the wall until he caught sight of a door in his peripheral vision. It was sealed shut: chains wrapped tightly around the frame, secured with heavy brackets on both sides, and across them a red warning read: "Don't go out!!"

But Zhu Xiu wasn't thinking about the words—he was thinking that beyond that door might be a way out. The first thing he did was try to tear the chains loose. He pulled with all his strength, but they didn't budge, only rattled loudly. Then he began examining the locks that held them. A lock meant a key. And that meant the key had to be somewhere in the apartment.

Hope flared in his chest… and just as quickly died when his eyes drifted back to the living room. He didn't want to touch anything in this place.

Spotting windows covered by curtains, he thought that maybe the bricked-up window in the bedroom had been an exception. Stepping carefully across the sticky floor, which made a sick, wet squelching sound as if he were walking on ground meat, he pulled the curtains aside. But here too—nothing but solid brickwork, letting in not a single ray of light.

Despair crushed him like a slab of stone. Tears welled in Zhu Xiu's eyes.

"Let me out!!!" he screamed. "I'm not responsible for her death! She fell out of the window on her own! I just wanted to scare her! If you want to blame someone, blame those five who asked me to do it! I tried to help her when she was falling! I just… got scared!.."

He shouted until his voice cracked, mumbling excuses, though he knew better than anyone how guilty he was. He just didn't want to die here, entombed in this cursed apartment.

Something in the dead silence shifted. An old TV in the corner of the living room hissed, giving off a crackling sound, and flickered to life. Through the static, a face emerged. A face Zhu Xiu recognized instantly.

Alex smiled, looking straight into the camera.

"Yahoo… You must be awake by now, Zhu Xiu. And I bet you're wondering where you are and how you got here. Hm… The answer's simple: you're locked in the apartment…" he began.

"LET ME OUT!!!" Zhu Xiu roared, shaking the TV.

Alex smirked.

"You're probably yelling right now, crying… maybe even pissing yourself from fear. Too bad I can't see it. I'd love to watch your pathetic fat face covered in tears. But, sadly… I've got more important things to do than watch a sobbing porker." His cheerful voice filled the room, digging into Zhu Xiu's ears like a cruel taunt.

In that moment, the last spark of hope inside Zhu Xiu went out. His heavy body swayed, and he collapsed onto the couch directly across from the old TV, where Alex's face flickered on the screen. He didn't even notice the dark brown stains embedded deep in the upholstery—blood, dried and black as hardened varnish.

Zhu Xiu lowered his head. His empty eyes stared at the screen, where Alex kept smiling—mocking, almost pleased. With each passing second, there was less life left in his gaze; he had nearly accepted the thought that he would die in this sealed apartment. And maybe no one would ever find out where he had disappeared.

A tight lump rose in his throat, and his head spun so badly it felt like he might faint any moment.

"You see…" Alex's voice from the TV sounded surprisingly gentle, "my beautiful wife, Zhang Ya, doesn't like giving anyone a second chance. But I'm different. Like my brother, I enjoy giving people like you a shot at freedom. So I'll give you that chance."

He raised a black box toward the camera, shaped like a carved cube.

"When you woke up, you probably saw it on the table. This is the Lemarchand's Box. It was made by the toymaker Philip Lemarchand. An ancient artifact… if you solve its puzzle, it will open doors. But the most interesting part is the story. Once, I found this box in a cabin in the woods…"

Zhu Xiu was no longer listening. He had heard the only thing that mattered: doors and a key.

Jumping to his feet, he rushed into the room where he had woken up and spotted the box on the table. His fingers clutched its cold edges. He began twisting the movable parts, which clicked softly as they shifted. The puzzle was complex, but he kept working at it stubbornly.

Returning to the living room, he listened for Alex's voice—hoping the man might accidentally give away the next move. Then—an odd, brittle snap. The box's segments slid out, its shape changed, and it seemed to unfold into something entirely different.

Joy lit up Zhu Xiu's face. He turned toward the screen, where Alex's grin still shone.

"As I was saying, the box's story is fascinating," Alex continued. "But the best part is yet to come. Yes, it opens doors… just not to your world. These doors lead to beings that hunt down and torment anyone who solves the puzzle. In truth, the box is a tool for sacrifice. And if you, stupid pig, didn't listen and rushed to open it…" Alex chuckled, "then you're screwed. You've got about five minutes. The chains on the doors aren't just to keep you in… they're to keep out everyone who'd love to take a bite of your flesh."

Zhu Xiu's face turned corpse-white. The panic he had barely been holding back crashed over him again in a freezing wave. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might be a heart attack.

Then—three clear, light knocks on the door.

His heart skipped a beat. He knew—they had come. The creatures. Pressing himself into the couch, he prayed to become invisible, but Alex's voice went on:

"If you opened it, then welcome to the Red City. It's ruled by Zhang Ya. The city swarms with monsters, and the apartment is the only relatively safe place… for a while. Want to get out? Check the bathroom. There's a hole in the wall, and even your fat body will squeeze through. It'll drop you somewhere random in the city, and you can return the same way. But remember: the chains won't hold for long. And if you've already set the mechanism in motion… the hunt will begin. Five minutes, Zhu Xiu. Just five. And if you want to leave the Red City, find the Red Door. Good luck escaping, and may fortune always be with you!"

At his final word, the old TV let out a faint crack, and Alex's smile froze on the screen like a brand.

With Alex's last words, the TV went dark, the screen flickering before melting into black. Zhu Xiu let out a strangled breath and dropped the cursed box. It hit the floor with a dull thud and rolled into the shadows, as if trying to hide on its own.

Something snapped inside Zhu Xiu's chest, and panic surged anew. Then again—three steady, deliberate knocks on the door. The sound rang in his skull like a hammer striking an anvil. On shaking legs, he approached the door, trying to breathe quietly, and, barely daring, he peered into the peephole.

On the other side stood a creature in human form. Its skin was pale, almost bluish, stretched tight over the skull like parchment. The head was completely bald but covered with long, perfectly straight metal pins. The face was thin, angular, with deep-set eyes cold as marble. Thin lips were pressed together, giving the expression a grim finality. It wore a black leather suit, tight against its body.

And then—the gaze. The creature lifted its eyes directly to the peephole, and Zhu Xiu felt as if an icy torrent had crashed over him. He recoiled convulsively, his breath catching.

"What do I do?! Where do I go?!" he muttered under his breath, nearly shouting. "The chains won't hold long… the windows are bricked up… there's no way out… Wait! The hole in the bathroom… He said… That's the only chance… The Red Door…"

A tiny spark of hope ignited in his chest. But along with it came a sticky fear—a fear of the darkness swirling inside that very hole.

He dashed into the bathroom, ignoring the rusty hook dangling from the ceiling, the crusted blood stains, the sickening iron smell. His eyes fixed on the black hole in the wall. It seemed to call him… or lie in wait.

Three knocks on the door—now louder, closer. Time was running out. Trembling, Zhu Xiu squeezed into the opening, feeling cold dust fall onto his face. He crawled forward, and soon darkness enveloped his eyes…

He came to on a cold floor. Above him, a tall stained-glass ceiling framed a sky red as blood. His head throbbed. Zhu Xiu got to his feet, looked around, and saw the hole in the wall beside him.

He was in a museum. Strange exhibits in glass cases—grotesque dolls, organs moving in formaldehyde, masks with empty eye sockets. But one object drew his gaze—a worn ancient book, bound in human-face leather. The face seemed to move slowly.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to look away. He had to find the Red Door. That was the only way.

Quietly stepping on the tiles, he entered the next hall. From floor to ceiling hung a massive painting. It depicted a door chained shut. Red. Exactly like the one in the apartment. On the frame—number 302. But in the painting, the chains were loosely drawn, and the door slightly ajar, as if inviting entry.

"Maybe… this is the door…" he murmured.

But the memory of the real door brought despair back instantly—locks. Chains. No key. Where could it be?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound behind him—a soft shuffle. A cold sweat instantly coated his skin. He didn't want to turn, but an unknown inner voice drew his gaze back…

Slowly, as in a nightmare, he turned his head.

Behind him stood a man in tattered clothes and a horrifying mask, twisted into a grotesque grin. Before Zhu Xiu could scream, the stranger clamped his hand over his mouth and drove a knife into his stomach. Pain exploded inside him. Zhu Xiu looked down—the handle of the knife protruded from his body.

The stranger pulled the blade out and struck again. And again. And again. The metal sank into flesh with a wet sound. The man in the mask didn't blink, continuing to stare directly into his eyes.

After dozens of blows, he pushed the victim away. Zhu Xiu fell to his knees, clutching his stomach as warm blood poured out.

"Spare me…" he croaked, choking on his own blood.

But in response, Zhu Xiu met only the cold, lifeless gaze of the man in the horrifying mask. The next thing the man did was drive the knife sharply into Zhu Xiu's throat. He felt the blade cut off his breath as a powerful gush of blood shot from his mouth. The world began to fade, his body went limp, and just before his eyes closed completely, the man grabbed his head. The last thing Zhu Xiu heard was a sickening crunch, accompanied by a flash of hellish pain that spread throughout his body.

"A-a-a-a-a-a!!!" Zhu Xiu screamed, leaping off the sofa.

He stood there, breathing heavily, frantically feeling himself—his thick stomach, still echoing the blows of the knife, and his neck, where the blade had plunged before it was broken. These memories were too real to be merely a dream. Tears of fear and despair blurred his vision.

Zhu Xiu sank back onto the sofa, trying to convince himself it was just a nightmare. But when he lifted his gaze, he saw the bricked-up window and the table nearby. In the center of the table lay a solitary box. Seeing it made his heart clench and his hands tremble. He began to back away until he fell off the sofa and pressed himself into a corner, keeping his eyes fixed on the cursed object. Now he knew—he had died, somehow returned… and was once again in the same doomed apartment.

Struggling to stand, he trembled as he moved along the wall toward the door. His gaze remained locked on the box as he cautiously turned the handle and stepped into the hallway, stained with blood and rust. There, he approached the bathroom door, preparing himself to suppress the rising terror. Turning the handle, he saw the familiar hole in the wall again. Despair washed over him, and he began to sob like a child.

His sobbing was interrupted by the crackle of the old television in the living room. With an empty, glassy stare, as if controlled by invisible strings, Zhu Xiu returned to the living room and sat on the blood-stained sofa. On the screen, Alex's face appeared again, repeating the same words as the first time.

When the TV turned off, the same three dull, measured knocks sounded at the door. Zhu Xiu knew who was outside, but fear paralyzed him. He had already faced death—and knew he could face it again. Yet his survival instinct took over. He leapt up and ran toward the bathroom, climbing back into the hole.

Darkness closed in around him, and losing consciousness, he awoke on a hospital bed. Above him hung a peeling ceiling, long since untouched by repair. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he noticed a hole in the wall—just like the one in the apartment. Realizing he was in a new location, he understood he was in an abandoned hospital.

Carefully approaching the door, he slightly opened it and peered into the corridor. A long, decaying hallway stretched before him, lit by flickering lamps, with some sections plunged into complete darkness. A long red trail ran along the floor, as if someone had been dragged toward the operating rooms.

There was no choice. With his heart pounding, Zhu Xiu stepped into the corridor, following the bloody trail that led him to massive double doors. Pushing them open, he entered the surgical wing.

The trail continued toward the door marked "Operating Room." Nearby was another door: "Observation Room." Deciding to check there first, Zhu Xiu entered. The room was dark, with light filtering only through a large window that looked into the operating room.

He approached the glass and froze. On the operating table, a man was strapped down, thrashing desperately, trying to break free from the restraints. Suddenly, their eyes met.

"Mmmmm…" the man groaned softly upon seeing Zhu Xiu.

Zhu Xiu understood that the man was asking for help, but he hesitated to intervene—memories of his previous encounter with the man in the horrifying mask still chilled his mind. Yet the captive would not be silenced; he continued to mumble and cry out in silent desperation. Zhu Xiu realized that such noise could attract attention, and after a moment of hesitation, he decided to help.

Carefully, he entered the operating room through the observation room door and approached the restrained man.

"I'll take off your gag first, but don't scream," Zhu Xiu said quietly.

"Mmm," the prisoner murmured, rolling his eyes as if he already understood that noise here would be a fatal mistake.

Zhu Xiu carefully loosened the strap that bound the man's mouth.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Untie me before they come back!" the man hissed sharply, barely freed.

"Who are you? And how long have you been here?" Zhu Xiu asked distrustfully, not rushing to fully release him.

"I'm Derek Simmons. National Security Advisor to the President of the United States," the stranger replied dryly. "And how long I've been here… I don't know. Maybe a day, maybe a week, a month… or a year. Time behaves strangely here. But free me before it's too late. I don't want to meet them again."

"How did you get here?" Zhu Xiu began loosening the straps on Derek's arms.

"Just like you. Messed with that demon—and ended up here. Judging by your face, you're new. A few hours, no more. You'll soon learn that this place is pure hell," Derek said, struggling to move.

"I've already died once. In the museum," Zhu Xiu said grimly.

"Only once? Then you're lucky. Believe me, it will happen a lot more often soon. There are creatures here you can't even imagine. And all of them—masters of killing—and they do it with… a certain elegance," Derek smirked, brushing his hair back and jumping off the operating table.

"Haven't you tried to find the Red Door to get out?" Zhu Xiu asked cautiously, realizing this man might know more.

"The Red Door?" Derek snorted. "If you want to search for it in this endless city—good luck. Every district belongs to its own monsters. Step into another's territory, and you're done. You'll die, and then wake up where you first arrived. And it keeps repeating."

"But there's still a chance, right?" Zhu Xiu grabbed him by the shoulders, looking directly into his eyes.

"All you can do is hide and hope they don't find you," Derek replied coldly. "And remember the most important rule…"

"What rule?"

Derek squinted, and something icy sparkled in his eyes:

"Trust… no one… in this place."

Zhu Xiu wanted to ask what exactly Derek meant, but the moment he opened his mouth, warm blood gushed from his throat. A sharp pain pierced his abdomen. Lowering his gaze, he saw the handle of a scalpel protruding from his body. Lifting his eyes, he met Derek's cold, stone-like stare.

"Why…?" Zhu Xiu croaked, his voice frozen with fear.

"Because…" Derek said slowly. "I already told you: everyone in this place has their own territory. This hospital is no exception. For me to leave, someone has to stay. And it seems the surgeon is returning. Good luck."

With that, he disappeared behind the door leading to the observation room.

Zhu Xiu watched him go in despair, but Derek didn't even glance back. Before he could rise and try to escape, the doors of the operating room burst open. A man in a dirty white coat appeared in the doorway.

His face was covered by a dark leather mask… or perhaps that was his face—horribly disfigured and pulled tight with metal staples screwed directly into his skull.

"Well, well," the doctor rasped as he entered the room. "I step out for a minute to fetch my instrument bag, and a new patient appears while the old one escapes. What a nuisance…"

He placed the worn leather bag on the table beside the operating table.

"Let me go…" Zhu Xiu exhaled, spitting blood.

"Let you go?" the doctor sneered. "But you're injured, my dear. No, no, no—I took the Hippocratic Oath to treat all patients. Which means… time to sew up that little hole in your stomach. And maybe remove some excess fat while we're at it—it's in the way of the organs. Nurse! Help the patient onto the table!"

The doors opened again, and two women in white coats entered the room. Their faces were twisted beyond recognition, as if wearing monstrous masks.

Zhu Xiu tried to resist, but he had no strength. The nurses easily threw him onto the table and strapped him down tightly. Meanwhile, the doctor opened the bag, rifling through the metal instruments as if selecting the perfect knife for the task ahead.

"Oh yes," he said, raising a scalpel. "Where are my manners? My name is Herman Carter, chief surgeon of this place. And now… relax. It will only hurt a little."

Panic filled Zhu Xiu's eyes. He struggled, trying to break free, but the straps held him fast. All he could do was mumble, pleading for mercy. But Herman Carter never spared his patients. Here, everyone received "treatment," whether they wanted it or not.

To be continued…

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