Step through the torn velvet curtain and onto a cursed soundstage where every take ends in terror.
The studio lights flicker, film reels spin in reverse, and a deranged director stalks the set—eager to capture your final close‑up in glorious technicolor gore.

The camera’s rolling. Your death scene is next.

Cross the shattered drawbridge—and abandon hope at the gate.
Deep inside these crumbling walls, a crown‑mad warlord rules the dark, raising an army of the damned with every scream he wrings from trespassers. Torch‑lit corridors twist like catacombs.

Legends say no soul has ever escaped intact.

Welcome to the war‑torn killing fields
where ruthless hunters stalk anything with a heartbeat—and trophy racks are built from human bone. In the blood‑lit arena, the pack’s hooded leader sharpens his blade—each stroke a promise of pain.

In Slayers, mercy died long ago—and you’re next on the chopping block.