Submission (#877) Approved

TW for stuff like gore/disturbing concepts and children experiencing traumatic events (the child is unharmed)

BOOM BOOM BOOM
A knock at the door. Likely trick or treaters (however unnaturally strong they seemed for children- with the force of the sound), though few bothered to come this far up through the hills. The terra placed down his book and collected the treat bowl, brimming with full sized chocolate bars and sweet packets for he may as well reward them for making the journey. He braced himself to act welcoming and then scared of their costumes as is tradition. As he swung the door his happy façade was annihilated. Infront of his doorway leered two overbearing figures. Metal gleamed menacingly in the pseudo-light of the hungry night sky. The one on the right in a regal costume with extravagant red and white robes gilt with golden embroidery paired with a Tyrian purple underlayer topped with a worryingly realistic golden crown, embed with precious gemstones. The terra underneath was correspondingly of noble standards, with gold accents across his body, masterfully crafted tattoos slithering across his fur and a crushing sense of authority. On the left in a jesters outfit, red and green striped and patched, a complete juxtaposition to the 8ft ungodly thing of a terra underneath with an unnatural eye glaring from the impossible visor, emitting a phantom blue light which drained away the soul.
“Trick or treat. Either you treat me to the 5000 I expected a week ago or I do this trick where your organs end up sold on the black market.” Cyro’s voice was of pure calculated malice.
“I-I don’t ha-”
“We gave you a warning.”
“I’m sorry just give me another week, I pro-”
Glass shattered and flew like shrapnel. A swift strike from Haima and the terra fell, like a fly. He lay convulsing on the floor, his senses bombarded by the incorrect flurry of information his sensors were screaming at him. Cyro knelt down and removed the visor. He picked up the critter and brought them outside, releasing them into the surrounding area. The visor crumpled and formed into dust under the force of his grasp.
Little did they know, tiny paws cowered at the top of a staircase observing the atrocities being carried out below.
The Night of Collection. Infamous as the time of the Grim Reaper, when he would go knocking door from door, harvesting what has been sown. All Hallow’s eve. Cyro’s syndicate used this night for massacre, daemons hiding in child’s costumes, minions of Mammon continuing his great work. Knock knock knock. A devil’s at the door. But as all of greatest evil does, they hide from public eye. Pools of red under everyone’s noses, there but unseen, just labelled as “missing”.
As they went from house to house Cyro sang quietly to himself, a haunting theme song of their acts:
“In the moon's cold, silvery gleam,
I walk through the Halloween scene,
Masked in laughter, darkness unseen,
A trick-or-treater, part of the dream.
Knock on doors, play the sweet charade,
Trick-or-treater's mask, my dark crusade,
Underneath my costume, I'll evade,
Innocence of night, the game we've played.
Tonight, I blend in with the crowd,
My secrets veiled beneath a shroud,
Trick-or-treat, I'll stay unwound,
In the masquerade of shadows, I'm found.
Knock on doors, play the sweet charade,
Trick-or-treater's mask, my dark crusade,
Underneath my costume, I'll evade,
Innocence of night, the game we've played.”
It drifted cold and clear in the phantasmal winds breathing in and out the night. The whistle of death ringing in the dark as house by house a light snuffed out.
As the night grew old, clouds encroached threatening tempest. The two drove up to Cyro’s mansion, a foreboding building, littered with warding architecture such as gargoyles and sheer walls.
“Good night tonight Boss, a lot of debts cleared.”
“Indubitably, my little red. ‘Twas a night of utmost success.”
The fireplace roared and cackled, light dancing across the room. Cyro observed his trophy wall, watching as his employees added to the display with the fruits of their night’s efforts. Sensors, claws, spikes, a vast collection of ghastly parts shimmering lustrously, stripped from those who crossed him. It always was his favourite night. Suddenly Haima appeared, grabbing his attention.
“Sir, we have a situation.”
A small terra child stood in the doorway, playing with its fur innocently.
“Hello child.”
“Hewwo.”
“Wherefore art thou hither?”
“Huh?” It tilted its head, the critter inside thrown across the visor.
“Apologies, why are you here?”
“Welllll, I was with Daddy at home when I was supposed to be in bed and I was hungry and wanted sweeties and so I was going o go downstairs to ask for some even though daddy would tell me off and you two were at the door twick or tweating so I was a beet spooped and hid behind deh banimintuh and watched as you made Daddy start pouring out juice and you let his cwitteh outside and you stawted making sweets outta Daddy and then you left so I ate the sweets in the bowl but I was still hungry so I followed you hewe. Do you have any sweeties fwom twick or tweating?”
“Come on in child, it’s cold outside. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”