The Heavenly Demon of Terror

The Black Sun Tavern sat at the edge of the city, its neon sign flickering like a dying star.

The kind of place where names didn't matter, where the smell of smoke, whiskey, and bad decisions lingered in the air.

As I stepped inside, the room fell into a heavy silence.

Eyes darted toward me—fear, recognition, and something deeper.

They knew who I was.

Or maybe, they just sensed what I had become.

I didn't stop.

I moved toward the back of the bar, where a lone figure sat, bathed in the dim red glow of an overhead light.

His back was to me, but I knew that posture. That aura of controlled violence.

A man who had walked through death itself and returned.

A man who should have stayed buried.