Hell’s Scion: My Magical Family Doesn’t Know I’m the Antichrist (Villain Protagonist Isekai)
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24. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 4
Chapter 24: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 4
Sam transformed into a pigeon and flew out the window. He had no interest in seeing Anabelle's clumsy attempts at seduction, much less her succeeding. So if she was still at it, he would leave and enjoy the sensation of flying for a while, he supposed, but what he wanted was to watch that jerk from the air. It was a completely safe way. He couldn't maintain this form forever, but long enough for his purposes.
He didn't know how Anabelle had fared, but he didn't spot the detective on the mansion grounds. Which didn't mean Anabelle had been successful, of course. He could be snooping inside the mansion. This pigeon's body was a perfect espionage tool. There was no possibility that anyone would suspect him.
He could search for him in the mansion too, but decided he wouldn't bother after all. Flying was a pleasant sensation. And feeling so light, because he was. Right now in a body so small it would fit in the palm of a ten-year-old's hand.
An endless number of strange things had happened to him in a short time, but thinking about it was almost enough to make him dizzy.
Well, it was further proof of the power he possessed. The power to make the impossible possible.
The feeling of freedom, moreover, was intoxicating. But he couldn't forget that it was a false freedom. Now he existed as a bird. Therefore, he could fly through the sky. That was all. His world was the sky. It was no different from a human who could only crawl on the ground.
He considered entering the mansion and investigating further. Not everything could be seen from the windows, after all. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth it. Anyway, what did he expect to achieve? No matter how much he said it made no sense, Detective Adams was seriously investigating the case. But no matter how much he snooped, he wouldn't find anything. He had left no trace of his previous murders. Future murders were the only ones that should concern him.
At most he would see if Anabelle had been successful or not. And he didn't want to catch her in the middle of that, no sir.
So he went back the way he came. He entered through the window of his room and detransformed. Every time he changed shape, it was a little less disorienting. With time he would get used to it like anything else.
Sam took a deep breath. He sat on the bed and continued reading one of the books he had brought from the library. Information was power. Information was the only kind of power he desperately lacked, so it was logical to use any free time to acquire it.
——
"I was successful, my lord," said Anabelle. She had arrived, lowering her gaze submissively, to give him the report. There was also the shame of having been sent to throw herself into Adams' arms, he supposed. Well, it wasn't his concern. "Or he played along, I'm not sure. But the fact is I did it. We... slept together."
"I told you I wasn't asking you to do that."
"But not that you didn't want it, my lord."
Sam smiled. It was nice to have the help of someone who not only followed his orders, but knew how to think about them. It bothered him a little that Adams had drooled over his property, but anyway, Anabelle was nothing more than a backup toy. Yes, she was quite attractive. But old.
Maybe it was because of his new body and old hormones, but he felt more attracted to women of his physical age. He would never allow anyone to lay a hand on Christina or Violet, but Anabelle was disposable. That was her only purpose. To use her until he could discard her, probably making her pass as the culprit for everything that had happened, or most of it.
Sending her to interfere with Detective Adams' path, to distract him and spy on him, was mainly for that purpose too. He didn't expect her to find anything special. Still...
"I'm glad to hear that. Whether he knew about your intentions or not, I don't think there's a difference. Did you find or notice anything?"
"Some things. I don't know how useful they can be."
"Tell me and I'll decide."
Sam leaned back a little. He was sitting on the bed, supported by both hands, relaxed.
"Yes, sir. He has traces of burns on his chest."
He supposed that was unusual in a world with healing magic. Assuming was dangerous, but it would be a bit shabby if it was just a replacement for modern medicine, with all its drawbacks. Well, almost all of them, in any case. They had healed the scar on his cheek without problems, but burns were something more dangerous, so he couldn't be sure.
If he was right, Anabelle wouldn't explain it to him. Anyway, it didn't matter. The interesting part could be how he had received those burns.
Asking him directly wasn't an option, neither for him nor for Anabelle. And if it was, then it wouldn't be of any use anyway. Only something he wanted to hide for one reason or another had value. That should be obvious.
"Searching through his wallet, I also saw photos of his family. He's married. He doesn't care much, for obvious reasons and because I saw his wedding ring in the wallet, not on his finger, but he is."
"Still, it might be of some use to me. I don't think he'd like me to expose what he did with you and undoubtedly others. At the very least, his reputation would go down the drain. Besides, you know how men are. Just because he doesn't want her doesn't mean he'd like to see her with another man. Maybe I can threaten him with that."
He was saying that mostly for Anabelle's benefit. If Adams left, Blake Wright would shrug and hire another. It wouldn't do any good. Although maybe it would give him a couple of days while that man tried to find another detective.
In any case, he said it so she would believe she had done something useful. So she wouldn't think too much about the real reason he had sent her after Adams. It was convenient for his servants to be intelligent, but only to a certain point.
"Maybe your father will give up, but it seems more likely to me that he'll hire another, my lord. No offense intended. I'm just trying to serve you as best I can."
"He'll probably hire another, but a few days of peace seem like a good offer to me, given how things are. Besides, at least I'd get rid of that Adams. Anabelle, that man is not only a meddler. He's smart."
"Why does he worry you? If I may ask." Anabelle made another curtsy as if to make sure he wouldn't snap his fingers and make her head explode like a ripe melon. He couldn't do that, but it was fine for her to use exaggerated metaphors. Besides, it would be cool. I wish he could do that.
"If things are as they seem, as Adams himself thinks, nothing will happen, I risk nothing. If they're not, then instead of risking I gain, because if there is a real hidden culprit, that person caused all this. The death of Evelyn and her parents, Jaiden and Ivor, everything. Yes. I understand that you don't understand."
He used the same trick as always to disguise his poor acting skills. Getting up from the bed, turning his gaze away and turning his back to her as he approached the window. She couldn't think his expression looked strange if she couldn't see his expression in the first place.
"But even if it's all advantages, I don't want him snooping around my home. I... would have been much happier if I had never known that Evelyn..."
He was hugged from behind. There was no need to say who had done it. They were the only people in the room. He had tried to seem human and vulnerable, but it hadn't occurred to him that Anabelle would dare to take that step.
Well, it wasn't a bad thing. It actually suited him.
He didn't want to make anyone feel sorry for him, but if the reason for the pity was false, then it was a success on his part. A good manipulation instead of a failure. He could accept it thinking that way.
"I'm sorry if I'm overstepping, my lord, but I thought you could use a hug. I know your mother doesn't do it very often."
Doesn't she? She had done it the last time he had seen her. Well, the circumstances had been anything but ordinary. If Mary Wright wasn't particularly affectionate, he supposed that could explain the aversion Violet felt. It could perfectly be the reason why she had tried to keep her away from him.
So she wouldn't hurt him more in a vulnerable moment.
She could, but she had acted like a model mother when he saw her in person. Sudden regret, thinking about the children she had left, about what she had been missing? It could be. Various explanations and no way to be sure at the moment. Lack of information, as usual.
"Thank you." Sam raised his hands, placing them on Anabelle's forearms as if returning the hug.
Thanks to his theatrical gesture, he found himself in the perfect position at the perfect moment to see a carriage leaving the mansion grounds.
"What's going on? Who are those?"
"Didn't you know? I didn't think you'd be interested, so I didn't tell you, but Mr... I mean, Chris Wright and his family have decided to leave. Your father was very angry and told them not to dare show their faces in front of him again, but Chris was determined."
"Ah. He also believes something is still going on, only Blake cares much less about the danger and his family."
"Well... Yes, my lord."
"Is it inconvenient for you that they're leaving?"
"No, let them do what they want. It's not like I was very close to them or anything."
Sam decided it was time to use his third power. It was too destructive, too obvious, but they had left the mansion. When they were too far away for anyone to think of the mansion's occupants as suspects, he would act.
Maybe he'd even get Detective Adams off his back, giving him some real work to do.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 4: END
Sam transformed into a pigeon and flew out the window. He had no interest in seeing Anabelle's clumsy attempts at seduction, much less her succeeding. So if she was still at it, he would leave and enjoy the sensation of flying for a while, he supposed, but what he wanted was to watch that jerk from the air. It was a completely safe way. He couldn't maintain this form forever, but long enough for his purposes.
He didn't know how Anabelle had fared, but he didn't spot the detective on the mansion grounds. Which didn't mean Anabelle had been successful, of course. He could be snooping inside the mansion. This pigeon's body was a perfect espionage tool. There was no possibility that anyone would suspect him.
He could search for him in the mansion too, but decided he wouldn't bother after all. Flying was a pleasant sensation. And feeling so light, because he was. Right now in a body so small it would fit in the palm of a ten-year-old's hand.
An endless number of strange things had happened to him in a short time, but thinking about it was almost enough to make him dizzy.
Well, it was further proof of the power he possessed. The power to make the impossible possible.
The feeling of freedom, moreover, was intoxicating. But he couldn't forget that it was a false freedom. Now he existed as a bird. Therefore, he could fly through the sky. That was all. His world was the sky. It was no different from a human who could only crawl on the ground.
He considered entering the mansion and investigating further. Not everything could be seen from the windows, after all. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth it. Anyway, what did he expect to achieve? No matter how much he said it made no sense, Detective Adams was seriously investigating the case. But no matter how much he snooped, he wouldn't find anything. He had left no trace of his previous murders. Future murders were the only ones that should concern him.
At most he would see if Anabelle had been successful or not. And he didn't want to catch her in the middle of that, no sir.
So he went back the way he came. He entered through the window of his room and detransformed. Every time he changed shape, it was a little less disorienting. With time he would get used to it like anything else.
Sam took a deep breath. He sat on the bed and continued reading one of the books he had brought from the library. Information was power. Information was the only kind of power he desperately lacked, so it was logical to use any free time to acquire it.
——
"I was successful, my lord," said Anabelle. She had arrived, lowering her gaze submissively, to give him the report. There was also the shame of having been sent to throw herself into Adams' arms, he supposed. Well, it wasn't his concern. "Or he played along, I'm not sure. But the fact is I did it. We... slept together."
"I told you I wasn't asking you to do that."
"But not that you didn't want it, my lord."
Sam smiled. It was nice to have the help of someone who not only followed his orders, but knew how to think about them. It bothered him a little that Adams had drooled over his property, but anyway, Anabelle was nothing more than a backup toy. Yes, she was quite attractive. But old.
Maybe it was because of his new body and old hormones, but he felt more attracted to women of his physical age. He would never allow anyone to lay a hand on Christina or Violet, but Anabelle was disposable. That was her only purpose. To use her until he could discard her, probably making her pass as the culprit for everything that had happened, or most of it.
Sending her to interfere with Detective Adams' path, to distract him and spy on him, was mainly for that purpose too. He didn't expect her to find anything special. Still...
"I'm glad to hear that. Whether he knew about your intentions or not, I don't think there's a difference. Did you find or notice anything?"
"Some things. I don't know how useful they can be."
"Tell me and I'll decide."
Sam leaned back a little. He was sitting on the bed, supported by both hands, relaxed.
"Yes, sir. He has traces of burns on his chest."
He supposed that was unusual in a world with healing magic. Assuming was dangerous, but it would be a bit shabby if it was just a replacement for modern medicine, with all its drawbacks. Well, almost all of them, in any case. They had healed the scar on his cheek without problems, but burns were something more dangerous, so he couldn't be sure.
If he was right, Anabelle wouldn't explain it to him. Anyway, it didn't matter. The interesting part could be how he had received those burns.
Asking him directly wasn't an option, neither for him nor for Anabelle. And if it was, then it wouldn't be of any use anyway. Only something he wanted to hide for one reason or another had value. That should be obvious.
"Searching through his wallet, I also saw photos of his family. He's married. He doesn't care much, for obvious reasons and because I saw his wedding ring in the wallet, not on his finger, but he is."
"Still, it might be of some use to me. I don't think he'd like me to expose what he did with you and undoubtedly others. At the very least, his reputation would go down the drain. Besides, you know how men are. Just because he doesn't want her doesn't mean he'd like to see her with another man. Maybe I can threaten him with that."
He was saying that mostly for Anabelle's benefit. If Adams left, Blake Wright would shrug and hire another. It wouldn't do any good. Although maybe it would give him a couple of days while that man tried to find another detective.
In any case, he said it so she would believe she had done something useful. So she wouldn't think too much about the real reason he had sent her after Adams. It was convenient for his servants to be intelligent, but only to a certain point.
"Maybe your father will give up, but it seems more likely to me that he'll hire another, my lord. No offense intended. I'm just trying to serve you as best I can."
"He'll probably hire another, but a few days of peace seem like a good offer to me, given how things are. Besides, at least I'd get rid of that Adams. Anabelle, that man is not only a meddler. He's smart."
"Why does he worry you? If I may ask." Anabelle made another curtsy as if to make sure he wouldn't snap his fingers and make her head explode like a ripe melon. He couldn't do that, but it was fine for her to use exaggerated metaphors. Besides, it would be cool. I wish he could do that.
"If things are as they seem, as Adams himself thinks, nothing will happen, I risk nothing. If they're not, then instead of risking I gain, because if there is a real hidden culprit, that person caused all this. The death of Evelyn and her parents, Jaiden and Ivor, everything. Yes. I understand that you don't understand."
He used the same trick as always to disguise his poor acting skills. Getting up from the bed, turning his gaze away and turning his back to her as he approached the window. She couldn't think his expression looked strange if she couldn't see his expression in the first place.
"But even if it's all advantages, I don't want him snooping around my home. I... would have been much happier if I had never known that Evelyn..."
He was hugged from behind. There was no need to say who had done it. They were the only people in the room. He had tried to seem human and vulnerable, but it hadn't occurred to him that Anabelle would dare to take that step.
Well, it wasn't a bad thing. It actually suited him.
He didn't want to make anyone feel sorry for him, but if the reason for the pity was false, then it was a success on his part. A good manipulation instead of a failure. He could accept it thinking that way.
"I'm sorry if I'm overstepping, my lord, but I thought you could use a hug. I know your mother doesn't do it very often."
Doesn't she? She had done it the last time he had seen her. Well, the circumstances had been anything but ordinary. If Mary Wright wasn't particularly affectionate, he supposed that could explain the aversion Violet felt. It could perfectly be the reason why she had tried to keep her away from him.
So she wouldn't hurt him more in a vulnerable moment.
She could, but she had acted like a model mother when he saw her in person. Sudden regret, thinking about the children she had left, about what she had been missing? It could be. Various explanations and no way to be sure at the moment. Lack of information, as usual.
"Thank you." Sam raised his hands, placing them on Anabelle's forearms as if returning the hug.
Thanks to his theatrical gesture, he found himself in the perfect position at the perfect moment to see a carriage leaving the mansion grounds.
"What's going on? Who are those?"
"Didn't you know? I didn't think you'd be interested, so I didn't tell you, but Mr... I mean, Chris Wright and his family have decided to leave. Your father was very angry and told them not to dare show their faces in front of him again, but Chris was determined."
"Ah. He also believes something is still going on, only Blake cares much less about the danger and his family."
"Well... Yes, my lord."
"Is it inconvenient for you that they're leaving?"
"No, let them do what they want. It's not like I was very close to them or anything."
Sam decided it was time to use his third power. It was too destructive, too obvious, but they had left the mansion. When they were too far away for anyone to think of the mansion's occupants as suspects, he would act.
Maybe he'd even get Detective Adams off his back, giving him some real work to do.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 4: END
25. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 5
Chapter 25: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 5
Chris sighed as the swaying of the carriage woke him up again. There was no way to sleep, but there was also no way to stay awake for long. He was too tired. It hadn't been an easy decision.
He knew that he had essentially turned his back on his surname and deprived his wife and children of countless privileges. But, with everything that had happened, he didn't want them to become his next victims.
It was common sense. It was natural for the people you loved most, but that hadn't made the decision any easier. However, now it was decided. He couldn't go back even if he crawled before his father and begged with his forehead on the ground, wagging his tail like a dog.
Now he had to face the consequences, good or bad.
It was afternoon. The evening sun still filtered through the windows and between the curtains. Even if night had fallen, it wouldn't have been easier for them to fall asleep. The plural was intentional, of course.
None of them had slept well, especially the little ones. Chris hadn't wanted to take them to the mansion in the first place, but that was the stupid rule of the Wright family conference. There were no exceptions for those who weren't of legal age, although they didn't count for anything anyway. Well, nobody's children participate, but...
It was nonsense and a waste of time. At least he had gotten that out of the way.
He looked into his wife's eyes. They were half-closed; she almost seemed asleep. Almost.
The little ones were in the same compartment, obviously, so it wasn't the best time to ask, to show weakness, doubt. Parents should be a rock for children in difficult times. They had plenty of time to grow up, mature, and realize that they were far from infallible. But...
He couldn't help it.
"Do you think we did the right thing?"
"I think we should have done it a long, long time ago," Valeria replied.
She often made him feel like an idiot by making everything seem so simple with just a few words. Chris sighed. She was right, as usual. This had been the trigger, but they should have left the Wright family a long time ago. He couldn't say it had only brought them problems.
Obviously, the lifestyle he led wouldn't have been possible without the achievements of his father and grandparents, the fortune they had amassed, but...
It was hard to say it had been worth it.
"The only good thing that came out of being born into this family was meeting you," Chris said, reaching out to take Valeria's hand.
She simply smiled, accepting, returning the squeeze.
She looked tired. She looked fed up with everything. She looked fearful, but fortunately that was over; they had left the mansion and all their fears behind. Yes, the only thing to regret was not having done it sooner.
An impact shook the entire carriage. Chris lurched forward. Valeria stopped him, putting a hand on his chest, and grabbed Claire while Chris reached out to prevent Ada from falling off the seat.
A stop too abrupt. What exactly had happened?
"Coachman..."
A horrible scream that chilled his blood shook the afternoon air. It was as if he had been transported to a completely different place that was the same, yet entirely different. In an instant, the light lost its brightness, or the shadows grew darker. In any case, a transformation had occurred that couldn't be undone.
"Be careful."
"Yes, yes. Stay in the carriage."
"Dad..."
"Right now, I'll be right back."
Chris stumbled out of the carriage.
Chris stumbled out of the carriage.
Why were his legs shaking so much? Surely the driver had just crashed into a fallen tree in the middle of the road, maybe he had been distracted, drunk, half-blind from alcohol, maybe just asleep for a moment, losing control, maybe many things but the fact is that nothing had to happen.
But something was happening and the coachman was there but the head was nowhere to be found.
Chris stepped back and crashed into the carriage suddenly as if it had changed places as if he hadn't known from the beginning that it had been there all the time and he had no idea what the coachman's name was another of the bad habits of the Wright family taking servants for granted seeing them as furniture.
Now he was no longer furniture.
He was nothing.
Just a piece of meat.
And they soon...
What?
The shadows had come to life. Three girls approached him. Under the moonlight, one might have believed they were the product of his feverish imagination and indescribable fear. But it wasn't night. It was afternoon and there was still a long time before the sun would set.
They seemed unreal, but in a completely different way. They weren't normal girls, of course, dark, sunken eyes, claws instead of nails.
Dresses made of human skin.
He vaguely understood thanks to the education he had received from the best private tutors in the kingdom.
That was an Acheri, a demon.
That's what countless lessons about demons, about the adversary, about Evil told him.
But Satan was in the cage and the infernal hordes should be sleeping with him, as they had done for the last six hundred years. Common sense told him that nothing made sense. Useless.
"What's happening?"
Was it Valeria's voice, his children's voice, or his own? In this situation, all three would sound equally shrill.
In this situation, he didn't have a solid idea of anything. To be sure his feet were touching the ground, even, he would have to look down.
"Run! Get out of here!"
Of that he was very sure, Chris shouted at the top of his lungs his desperate desire, even knowing, deep in his heart, that it was already too late. That his wife, as usual, was absolutely right. They should have left a long, long time ago, but it was too, too late.
Valeria came out of the carriage, carrying their children. That was the wake-up call Chris needed. He couldn't succumb to fear and despair, his wife didn't have her hands free, so the applications of her magic were limited to a certain extent. It wasn't as if she couldn't defend herself, but still
There was plenty of earth wherever he looked. One of the advantages of his specialty, although with progress it was vanishing, with each forest felled, each city that extended where nature once was, but what mattered is that here and now he was powerful. He wasn't even thinking about surviving, just buying time.
He raised the earth, making it rain on his enemies, to sweep them away, to bury them, to give them no respite.
It served no purpose, not in the least, the Acheri, those damned demons, passed through the earth as if it wasn't there.
One of them went for him, cornering him, the other, of course, went for his wife and children. Chris lamented (too late, like everything about this hell) having paid so much attention to business lessons, when what he should have really focused on were magic lessons.
He wasn't particularly powerful or talented, but maybe he could have changed the situation.
That's what he thought when the Acheri's claws dug into his chest, pushing him against the carriage. Chris opened his mouth to scream and nothing came out, not the slightest sound, only blood falling like a waterfall. Blood was falling from his mouth and the large hole in his chest.
The Acheri raised its other claw to finish the job. Its eyes were black from corner to corner. It had no eyes. Not really.
If he couldn't affect these creatures, at least he could... affect himself. He used magic to create a pillar of earth that shot from the ground, passed through the Acheri before it could finish him off, hitting him right in the chest.
And it moved him.
It made him fly and overturned the carriage, making it fall on one of those monsters. It was as useless as everything he had tried so far. Like a ghost, the upper half of the Acheri protruded from the carriage, and continued walking towards his family as if nothing had happened.
So much effort just to temporarily escape the demon's grip. It was approaching him as he lay on the ground. Because his legs were shaking. His legs were failing him. Even if he managed to get to his feet, he knew he wouldn't last long.
Not with a fucking hole in his chest.
Not when his organs were pressing against the wound, threatening to escape.
Not when there was so much damn blood.
He would slip, even if he managed to get to his feet, to lean on the carriage, he would slip and wouldn't get far.
Like his family now lost in the forest to throw off the demons.
They had gone into a place full of obstacles against enemies who could simply walk through them, after all.
Chris crawled forward, reaching out as if he could touch her, as if he could reach and change what was already written. Valeria was keeping them at bay with her magic, but he knew that wouldn't last long.
They would catch her, tear them all apart.
They had already disappeared into the forest, along with all the demons, except the one that was playing with him, so he wouldn't have to see what would happen. At most he would hear the screams. Although, of course, that was no kind of consolation, neither hot nor cold. The only hope he had left to cling to was to be the first to die, but he couldn't even be sure of that.
That Acheri seemed to want to play with its food.
His suspicions were confirmed in the next instant. Instead of ripping out his heart, cutting his throat, crushing his head, instead of the thousands of ways it could have killed him instantly, what it did was slash his chest again.
The pain almost provided him with the mercy of making him lose consciousness.
Of course, that would be too good to be true. It only left his mind blank for a few seconds. Ironically, in that state where he felt out of his body, he understood everything, the pieces fell into place suddenly, no, as if they had always been there.
Satan was still in his cage, but he wasn't the only monster he had learned about.
If the demons were active again, that had to mean that the Antichrist had risen.
Fear and despair abandoned him. Relief passed through his body like a painkiller, even.
Better to die here than for his family to have to go through a repetition of the dark age spoken of in history books.
They had made a good decision in leaving.
Leaving this world that would soon be ruined, that is.
The Acheri's claw fell like the executioner's guillotine and Chris received it with a smile on his face like the innocent child he was several decades ago.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 5: END
Chris sighed as the swaying of the carriage woke him up again. There was no way to sleep, but there was also no way to stay awake for long. He was too tired. It hadn't been an easy decision.
He knew that he had essentially turned his back on his surname and deprived his wife and children of countless privileges. But, with everything that had happened, he didn't want them to become his next victims.
It was common sense. It was natural for the people you loved most, but that hadn't made the decision any easier. However, now it was decided. He couldn't go back even if he crawled before his father and begged with his forehead on the ground, wagging his tail like a dog.
Now he had to face the consequences, good or bad.
It was afternoon. The evening sun still filtered through the windows and between the curtains. Even if night had fallen, it wouldn't have been easier for them to fall asleep. The plural was intentional, of course.
None of them had slept well, especially the little ones. Chris hadn't wanted to take them to the mansion in the first place, but that was the stupid rule of the Wright family conference. There were no exceptions for those who weren't of legal age, although they didn't count for anything anyway. Well, nobody's children participate, but...
It was nonsense and a waste of time. At least he had gotten that out of the way.
He looked into his wife's eyes. They were half-closed; she almost seemed asleep. Almost.
The little ones were in the same compartment, obviously, so it wasn't the best time to ask, to show weakness, doubt. Parents should be a rock for children in difficult times. They had plenty of time to grow up, mature, and realize that they were far from infallible. But...
He couldn't help it.
"Do you think we did the right thing?"
"I think we should have done it a long, long time ago," Valeria replied.
She often made him feel like an idiot by making everything seem so simple with just a few words. Chris sighed. She was right, as usual. This had been the trigger, but they should have left the Wright family a long time ago. He couldn't say it had only brought them problems.
Obviously, the lifestyle he led wouldn't have been possible without the achievements of his father and grandparents, the fortune they had amassed, but...
It was hard to say it had been worth it.
"The only good thing that came out of being born into this family was meeting you," Chris said, reaching out to take Valeria's hand.
She simply smiled, accepting, returning the squeeze.
She looked tired. She looked fed up with everything. She looked fearful, but fortunately that was over; they had left the mansion and all their fears behind. Yes, the only thing to regret was not having done it sooner.
An impact shook the entire carriage. Chris lurched forward. Valeria stopped him, putting a hand on his chest, and grabbed Claire while Chris reached out to prevent Ada from falling off the seat.
A stop too abrupt. What exactly had happened?
"Coachman..."
A horrible scream that chilled his blood shook the afternoon air. It was as if he had been transported to a completely different place that was the same, yet entirely different. In an instant, the light lost its brightness, or the shadows grew darker. In any case, a transformation had occurred that couldn't be undone.
"Be careful."
"Yes, yes. Stay in the carriage."
"Dad..."
"Right now, I'll be right back."
Chris stumbled out of the carriage.
Chris stumbled out of the carriage.
Why were his legs shaking so much? Surely the driver had just crashed into a fallen tree in the middle of the road, maybe he had been distracted, drunk, half-blind from alcohol, maybe just asleep for a moment, losing control, maybe many things but the fact is that nothing had to happen.
But something was happening and the coachman was there but the head was nowhere to be found.
Chris stepped back and crashed into the carriage suddenly as if it had changed places as if he hadn't known from the beginning that it had been there all the time and he had no idea what the coachman's name was another of the bad habits of the Wright family taking servants for granted seeing them as furniture.
Now he was no longer furniture.
He was nothing.
Just a piece of meat.
And they soon...
What?
The shadows had come to life. Three girls approached him. Under the moonlight, one might have believed they were the product of his feverish imagination and indescribable fear. But it wasn't night. It was afternoon and there was still a long time before the sun would set.
They seemed unreal, but in a completely different way. They weren't normal girls, of course, dark, sunken eyes, claws instead of nails.
Dresses made of human skin.
He vaguely understood thanks to the education he had received from the best private tutors in the kingdom.
That was an Acheri, a demon.
That's what countless lessons about demons, about the adversary, about Evil told him.
But Satan was in the cage and the infernal hordes should be sleeping with him, as they had done for the last six hundred years. Common sense told him that nothing made sense. Useless.
"What's happening?"
Was it Valeria's voice, his children's voice, or his own? In this situation, all three would sound equally shrill.
In this situation, he didn't have a solid idea of anything. To be sure his feet were touching the ground, even, he would have to look down.
"Run! Get out of here!"
Of that he was very sure, Chris shouted at the top of his lungs his desperate desire, even knowing, deep in his heart, that it was already too late. That his wife, as usual, was absolutely right. They should have left a long, long time ago, but it was too, too late.
Valeria came out of the carriage, carrying their children. That was the wake-up call Chris needed. He couldn't succumb to fear and despair, his wife didn't have her hands free, so the applications of her magic were limited to a certain extent. It wasn't as if she couldn't defend herself, but still
There was plenty of earth wherever he looked. One of the advantages of his specialty, although with progress it was vanishing, with each forest felled, each city that extended where nature once was, but what mattered is that here and now he was powerful. He wasn't even thinking about surviving, just buying time.
He raised the earth, making it rain on his enemies, to sweep them away, to bury them, to give them no respite.
It served no purpose, not in the least, the Acheri, those damned demons, passed through the earth as if it wasn't there.
One of them went for him, cornering him, the other, of course, went for his wife and children. Chris lamented (too late, like everything about this hell) having paid so much attention to business lessons, when what he should have really focused on were magic lessons.
He wasn't particularly powerful or talented, but maybe he could have changed the situation.
That's what he thought when the Acheri's claws dug into his chest, pushing him against the carriage. Chris opened his mouth to scream and nothing came out, not the slightest sound, only blood falling like a waterfall. Blood was falling from his mouth and the large hole in his chest.
The Acheri raised its other claw to finish the job. Its eyes were black from corner to corner. It had no eyes. Not really.
If he couldn't affect these creatures, at least he could... affect himself. He used magic to create a pillar of earth that shot from the ground, passed through the Acheri before it could finish him off, hitting him right in the chest.
And it moved him.
It made him fly and overturned the carriage, making it fall on one of those monsters. It was as useless as everything he had tried so far. Like a ghost, the upper half of the Acheri protruded from the carriage, and continued walking towards his family as if nothing had happened.
So much effort just to temporarily escape the demon's grip. It was approaching him as he lay on the ground. Because his legs were shaking. His legs were failing him. Even if he managed to get to his feet, he knew he wouldn't last long.
Not with a fucking hole in his chest.
Not when his organs were pressing against the wound, threatening to escape.
Not when there was so much damn blood.
He would slip, even if he managed to get to his feet, to lean on the carriage, he would slip and wouldn't get far.
Like his family now lost in the forest to throw off the demons.
They had gone into a place full of obstacles against enemies who could simply walk through them, after all.
Chris crawled forward, reaching out as if he could touch her, as if he could reach and change what was already written. Valeria was keeping them at bay with her magic, but he knew that wouldn't last long.
They would catch her, tear them all apart.
They had already disappeared into the forest, along with all the demons, except the one that was playing with him, so he wouldn't have to see what would happen. At most he would hear the screams. Although, of course, that was no kind of consolation, neither hot nor cold. The only hope he had left to cling to was to be the first to die, but he couldn't even be sure of that.
That Acheri seemed to want to play with its food.
His suspicions were confirmed in the next instant. Instead of ripping out his heart, cutting his throat, crushing his head, instead of the thousands of ways it could have killed him instantly, what it did was slash his chest again.
The pain almost provided him with the mercy of making him lose consciousness.
Of course, that would be too good to be true. It only left his mind blank for a few seconds. Ironically, in that state where he felt out of his body, he understood everything, the pieces fell into place suddenly, no, as if they had always been there.
Satan was still in his cage, but he wasn't the only monster he had learned about.
If the demons were active again, that had to mean that the Antichrist had risen.
Fear and despair abandoned him. Relief passed through his body like a painkiller, even.
Better to die here than for his family to have to go through a repetition of the dark age spoken of in history books.
They had made a good decision in leaving.
Leaving this world that would soon be ruined, that is.
The Acheri's claw fell like the executioner's guillotine and Chris received it with a smile on his face like the innocent child he was several decades ago.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 5: END
26. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 6
Chapter 26: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 6
Sam fell back onto the bed, laughing from deep in his throat. He brought both hands to his stomach, shaking his legs up and down.
In short, like a child, but there was no point in holding back.
Life was fun and there was nothing wrong with enjoying it.
Satan, who was watching him as usual from the fireplace, seemed to have a different opinion on the matter. He was looking at him strangely for some reason, even though he should understand his pleasure. They were both demons, weren't they? What the hell was wrong with him?
"What's wrong?" Before he could think better of it, he asked defiantly.
"Nothing. It's just that you enjoy it so much."
"Isn't that normal? I'm of your blood, after all." Although he still wondered if Satan had impregnated his human mommy, or if he had corrupted, replaced, or somehow altered the soul of the child Mary Wright should have had. For him, there was no difference, since he had come to take the place of whatever had come out, however it had come out. But it was interesting to a certain extent.
"Yes, but you haven't even seen or felt what happened."
He had only felt the demons return to hell when they finished their task. That was true, however...
"I guess you can't understand since you're the king of hell and you're used to these things, but for me, simply summoning those beings to do my dirty work was a great high."
So, of course, the impact of the end had been much greater. There was no need to say that out loud, it should be obvious. Satan seemed thoughtful. Then, he believed, he shrugged his shoulders. It was difficult to know when he could only see his face.
"I see. It doesn't really matter anyway. As long as you fulfill your purpose, you can enjoy it as much or as little as you want.
We'll see each other again soon."
"Wait, what are you saying? Father, I've killed those four slippery bastards and I feel it inside me. I feel the power growing. I need..."
"I know what you need, but I already warned you. Creating that illusory space tires me, weakens me. And no, it wouldn't be any easier at all if I took you to a void, that's not how it works. You'll have to manage for now."
"How? Is there any other safe way to test a power I don't know?"
"As I said, figure it out."
"Father!"
The face in the flames disappeared.
Completely ignoring him. Sam, like a petulant child (it had to be admitted), kicked the wall. A useless gesture that did nothing to help him manage his frustration. Rather the opposite.
"You're still better than my other father, but if you keep this up..."
Sam shook his head, falling silent. Anyway, he had to get used to not depending on Satan's help. For now, they were allies with the same purpose, but sooner or later he would cross his path, he had no doubt, and he would be forced to eliminate him.
He had no allies. He had pieces on the board.
The only person he could unquestionably depend on was himself.
"That's not entirely fair," he spoke to the empty room, hoping that speaking aloud would help him put his thoughts in order. "Anabelle is mine. She'll do whatever I want because it's not about her, but about her mother, her brothers and sisters. She's mine, I have her tied hand and foot."
Two people. Only two people who would unquestionably have his back. He'd like to add Christina and Violet to that list soon, that he had slipped between the legs of the former didn't mean he had achieved that and with Violet he hadn't made much progress. Yet.
Regardless of progress, he still couldn't add them to that small list. That's what counted.
Sam started pacing around the room.
Thinking about the next murder, thinking about the power growing inside him, waiting to be discovered. He longed to find out what he could do now so much that it almost hurt. Powers were the keys to dominate and crush his enemies, to get away with it. How could he not crave it with every fiber of his being? How could he not tremble with pleasure thinking about the possibilities that would open up before him, if he achieved this or that?
The third murder had allowed him to obtain the ability to summon demons. Only one type of demon, but still an incredibly powerful ability. It was a bit debatable since telekinesis was the first thing he had achieved, but generally each ability was more powerful than the previous one, more versatile.
Maybe he was rushing too much, turning three points into a pattern, but he kept thinking about it.
A safe way to experiment with his new power.
He just had to think about it. It shouldn't be that hard to figure out. Something like that had to exist, he wasn't going to settle for being patient and waiting for Satan to regain his strength and desire to help him. He would be unable to bear it.
Then something occurred to him and it made him feel like an idiot for not thinking of it before.
It was the first thing that should have occurred to him, the most natural thing really.
There were two people he could unquestionably depend on, so it was obvious who he should turn to.
——
"Are you sure this isn't some kind of sexual game?" Anabelle asked.
She was standing in the middle of her room with a blindfold covering her eyes. Just in case. In case, well, she saw something that might seem more infernal than magical.
He had no interest in the woman's sexual tastes (not this one's or anyone's, he was only interested in his own pleasure), but considering that the first thing she had thought of after being forced to put on the blindfold had been sex, he could get a good idea.
It was an unwanted glimpse into the private life of the housekeeper, especially now, thinking about what she might have done with Adams.
Under his orders, of course. He didn't forget that. It was good that she was an obedient toy, but he didn't want those mental images right now. Maybe in the near future, when Adams was dead and Anabelle was sucking his cock, he could think about that differently.
"I just want to test something. A magic I've been studying."
"Do you really need to be so secretive, sir?"
"Yes. I don't care if you don't understand, the point is I need you, and I also need you to keep your mouth shut."
She nodded.
Sam extended his hand. He extended his inner power, his will, trying to give it shape while drawing out what he carried inside. It was difficult to express in words, but he could clearly feel the difference between all his powers. He knew he was pulling on one he had never used before, without a doubt, pulling it to the surface.
It should become easier with practice. Hopefully, but he couldn't say that. It was like pulling a tooth. The same pain.
But he would do whatever was necessary.
"Sir. I can't see."
"I know, that's for this..."
"No, I'm telling you I can't see." Her voice trembled. If she weren't so scared, she'd be screaming. She took off the blindfold with hands that shook even more. "I can't see."
Her eyes were bulging out of their sockets, tears already burning in them, about to spill. If Anabelle didn't act quickly, she would naturally make a big scene and what he had been doing would probably come to light. It wasn't an obviously demonic ability, after all, so it wasn't a big problem, but he didn't want anyone to know about it either, it would reduce the range of possibilities, to begin with.
The worst of all would be if they caught Anabelle in his room. Adams would know that Sam was the one who had sent her for him. Adams would have good reasons to suspect him, keep him under watch, and everything would get complicated.
Sam crouched in front of her and hugged her, preparing to cover her mouth if she started screaming. Anyone would become hysterical if they suddenly went blind. He'd prefer to be deaf-mute rather than blind by far.
"Calm down, it will pass, it will pass." He had no idea if he was lying or not. It no longer seemed like such a safe way to test his new power, but even in the worst case, he could take her to a healer to recover her sight, right? Blind, she would be practically useless, damn it. "I'm your... your benefactor. I wouldn't hurt you. Right? You know that, right?"
Anabelle hugged him, squeezing him tightly, as if she were adrift clinging to a floating piece of wood. He could almost hear her thinking about the darkness that now dominated her world, as she dug her nails into his back. He felt the tears falling on his cheeks too.
He had said nothing but nonsense, but at least she hadn't started screaming, if it worked, it worked.
After a while that felt eternal, Anabelle broke the hug. And she also stopped digging her nails so hard into him. It was obvious that she had already regained her sight. The difference between her blind eyes, like foggy glass, and the eyes with which she looked at him now. Her eyes bathed in tears excited him.
"You could have warned me." Her voice still trembled, naturally. The time had felt eternal to him, but how long could it have been? Twenty seconds, at most?
In any case, should he tell her the truth?
"I didn't know it was going to happen."
Anabelle made a face. She knew he had been using her as a guinea pig from the start, of course, but not to this extent. He could easily have killed her or worse. He could have left her blind forever. But her opinion of him didn't matter. That woman would cooperate with him as long as her family depended on it. Her mother was getting better, but not enough to find a job. They not only depended on the medical care he financed, but on the extra pay that only he would be willing to provide.
As long as that remained true, Anabelle would belong to him.
And that wouldn't change soon.
Besides, when the massacre in this mansion was over, he would probably have to get rid of her anyway.
In any case, Anabelle looked away. It seemed she was going to say something, but in the end, she bit her tongue. Good, good, kneel before me. And that's what she did, another bow, another show of complete submission, and she left with an apology (not even she would know why) and calling him sir several times.
Sam sighed as soon as she left.
His new power wasn't useless, but it was somewhat disappointing.
Like the power to summon demons, it had limited use in his current situation. He couldn't take advantage of it as much as in a direct fight, for example.
Any person on whom he used this ability would lose their sight for about twenty seconds and he would have to catch them alone, so they couldn't tell anyone, ask for help.
That or use it only on one target.
Otherwise, everyone would know something was happening.
That is, obviously. An epidemic of blindness didn't just happen like that.
"Well, as daddy said," he practically spat, "I'll have to make do. And I already know who will be next."
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 6: END
Sam fell back onto the bed, laughing from deep in his throat. He brought both hands to his stomach, shaking his legs up and down.
In short, like a child, but there was no point in holding back.
Life was fun and there was nothing wrong with enjoying it.
Satan, who was watching him as usual from the fireplace, seemed to have a different opinion on the matter. He was looking at him strangely for some reason, even though he should understand his pleasure. They were both demons, weren't they? What the hell was wrong with him?
"What's wrong?" Before he could think better of it, he asked defiantly.
"Nothing. It's just that you enjoy it so much."
"Isn't that normal? I'm of your blood, after all." Although he still wondered if Satan had impregnated his human mommy, or if he had corrupted, replaced, or somehow altered the soul of the child Mary Wright should have had. For him, there was no difference, since he had come to take the place of whatever had come out, however it had come out. But it was interesting to a certain extent.
"Yes, but you haven't even seen or felt what happened."
He had only felt the demons return to hell when they finished their task. That was true, however...
"I guess you can't understand since you're the king of hell and you're used to these things, but for me, simply summoning those beings to do my dirty work was a great high."
So, of course, the impact of the end had been much greater. There was no need to say that out loud, it should be obvious. Satan seemed thoughtful. Then, he believed, he shrugged his shoulders. It was difficult to know when he could only see his face.
"I see. It doesn't really matter anyway. As long as you fulfill your purpose, you can enjoy it as much or as little as you want.
We'll see each other again soon."
"Wait, what are you saying? Father, I've killed those four slippery bastards and I feel it inside me. I feel the power growing. I need..."
"I know what you need, but I already warned you. Creating that illusory space tires me, weakens me. And no, it wouldn't be any easier at all if I took you to a void, that's not how it works. You'll have to manage for now."
"How? Is there any other safe way to test a power I don't know?"
"As I said, figure it out."
"Father!"
The face in the flames disappeared.
Completely ignoring him. Sam, like a petulant child (it had to be admitted), kicked the wall. A useless gesture that did nothing to help him manage his frustration. Rather the opposite.
"You're still better than my other father, but if you keep this up..."
Sam shook his head, falling silent. Anyway, he had to get used to not depending on Satan's help. For now, they were allies with the same purpose, but sooner or later he would cross his path, he had no doubt, and he would be forced to eliminate him.
He had no allies. He had pieces on the board.
The only person he could unquestionably depend on was himself.
"That's not entirely fair," he spoke to the empty room, hoping that speaking aloud would help him put his thoughts in order. "Anabelle is mine. She'll do whatever I want because it's not about her, but about her mother, her brothers and sisters. She's mine, I have her tied hand and foot."
Two people. Only two people who would unquestionably have his back. He'd like to add Christina and Violet to that list soon, that he had slipped between the legs of the former didn't mean he had achieved that and with Violet he hadn't made much progress. Yet.
Regardless of progress, he still couldn't add them to that small list. That's what counted.
Sam started pacing around the room.
Thinking about the next murder, thinking about the power growing inside him, waiting to be discovered. He longed to find out what he could do now so much that it almost hurt. Powers were the keys to dominate and crush his enemies, to get away with it. How could he not crave it with every fiber of his being? How could he not tremble with pleasure thinking about the possibilities that would open up before him, if he achieved this or that?
The third murder had allowed him to obtain the ability to summon demons. Only one type of demon, but still an incredibly powerful ability. It was a bit debatable since telekinesis was the first thing he had achieved, but generally each ability was more powerful than the previous one, more versatile.
Maybe he was rushing too much, turning three points into a pattern, but he kept thinking about it.
A safe way to experiment with his new power.
He just had to think about it. It shouldn't be that hard to figure out. Something like that had to exist, he wasn't going to settle for being patient and waiting for Satan to regain his strength and desire to help him. He would be unable to bear it.
Then something occurred to him and it made him feel like an idiot for not thinking of it before.
It was the first thing that should have occurred to him, the most natural thing really.
There were two people he could unquestionably depend on, so it was obvious who he should turn to.
——
"Are you sure this isn't some kind of sexual game?" Anabelle asked.
She was standing in the middle of her room with a blindfold covering her eyes. Just in case. In case, well, she saw something that might seem more infernal than magical.
He had no interest in the woman's sexual tastes (not this one's or anyone's, he was only interested in his own pleasure), but considering that the first thing she had thought of after being forced to put on the blindfold had been sex, he could get a good idea.
It was an unwanted glimpse into the private life of the housekeeper, especially now, thinking about what she might have done with Adams.
Under his orders, of course. He didn't forget that. It was good that she was an obedient toy, but he didn't want those mental images right now. Maybe in the near future, when Adams was dead and Anabelle was sucking his cock, he could think about that differently.
"I just want to test something. A magic I've been studying."
"Do you really need to be so secretive, sir?"
"Yes. I don't care if you don't understand, the point is I need you, and I also need you to keep your mouth shut."
She nodded.
Sam extended his hand. He extended his inner power, his will, trying to give it shape while drawing out what he carried inside. It was difficult to express in words, but he could clearly feel the difference between all his powers. He knew he was pulling on one he had never used before, without a doubt, pulling it to the surface.
It should become easier with practice. Hopefully, but he couldn't say that. It was like pulling a tooth. The same pain.
But he would do whatever was necessary.
"Sir. I can't see."
"I know, that's for this..."
"No, I'm telling you I can't see." Her voice trembled. If she weren't so scared, she'd be screaming. She took off the blindfold with hands that shook even more. "I can't see."
Her eyes were bulging out of their sockets, tears already burning in them, about to spill. If Anabelle didn't act quickly, she would naturally make a big scene and what he had been doing would probably come to light. It wasn't an obviously demonic ability, after all, so it wasn't a big problem, but he didn't want anyone to know about it either, it would reduce the range of possibilities, to begin with.
The worst of all would be if they caught Anabelle in his room. Adams would know that Sam was the one who had sent her for him. Adams would have good reasons to suspect him, keep him under watch, and everything would get complicated.
Sam crouched in front of her and hugged her, preparing to cover her mouth if she started screaming. Anyone would become hysterical if they suddenly went blind. He'd prefer to be deaf-mute rather than blind by far.
"Calm down, it will pass, it will pass." He had no idea if he was lying or not. It no longer seemed like such a safe way to test his new power, but even in the worst case, he could take her to a healer to recover her sight, right? Blind, she would be practically useless, damn it. "I'm your... your benefactor. I wouldn't hurt you. Right? You know that, right?"
Anabelle hugged him, squeezing him tightly, as if she were adrift clinging to a floating piece of wood. He could almost hear her thinking about the darkness that now dominated her world, as she dug her nails into his back. He felt the tears falling on his cheeks too.
He had said nothing but nonsense, but at least she hadn't started screaming, if it worked, it worked.
After a while that felt eternal, Anabelle broke the hug. And she also stopped digging her nails so hard into him. It was obvious that she had already regained her sight. The difference between her blind eyes, like foggy glass, and the eyes with which she looked at him now. Her eyes bathed in tears excited him.
"You could have warned me." Her voice still trembled, naturally. The time had felt eternal to him, but how long could it have been? Twenty seconds, at most?
In any case, should he tell her the truth?
"I didn't know it was going to happen."
Anabelle made a face. She knew he had been using her as a guinea pig from the start, of course, but not to this extent. He could easily have killed her or worse. He could have left her blind forever. But her opinion of him didn't matter. That woman would cooperate with him as long as her family depended on it. Her mother was getting better, but not enough to find a job. They not only depended on the medical care he financed, but on the extra pay that only he would be willing to provide.
As long as that remained true, Anabelle would belong to him.
And that wouldn't change soon.
Besides, when the massacre in this mansion was over, he would probably have to get rid of her anyway.
In any case, Anabelle looked away. It seemed she was going to say something, but in the end, she bit her tongue. Good, good, kneel before me. And that's what she did, another bow, another show of complete submission, and she left with an apology (not even she would know why) and calling him sir several times.
Sam sighed as soon as she left.
His new power wasn't useless, but it was somewhat disappointing.
Like the power to summon demons, it had limited use in his current situation. He couldn't take advantage of it as much as in a direct fight, for example.
Any person on whom he used this ability would lose their sight for about twenty seconds and he would have to catch them alone, so they couldn't tell anyone, ask for help.
That or use it only on one target.
Otherwise, everyone would know something was happening.
That is, obviously. An epidemic of blindness didn't just happen like that.
"Well, as daddy said," he practically spat, "I'll have to make do. And I already know who will be next."
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 6: END
27. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 7
Chapter 27: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 7
Sam bolted out of the room just minutes after Anabella left it.
He didn't want them to be seen together, or even too close. Paranoid behavior, perhaps, but it was justified, with that little bastard roaming the hallways.
If only he could kill him.
If he killed him, he'd just be replaced. By someone less intelligent, surely, but what worried him was that Blake might decide to end the family conference. Too risky.
"Hello, Rose."
She was sitting on a couch and didn't even look up from her book to answer him.
"It's strange that you're looking for me specifically. Are you sick or something?"
"Oh, I wanted to tell you something." Sam sat down next to her. Not too far, but not too close either. A respectful distance.
"Well, spit it out and get out of my sight."
"We're like cat and dog, oil and water, huh? I don't know why, but I don't care. I think we have a common enemy."
"You're talking about the detective." It wasn't a question.
"Yes. I want you to help me get rid of him."
Rose closed the book. She put it aside on the couch and looked him in the eyes for the first time since he arrived. Progress, however small it seemed. His older sister frowned. Something about that angry expression never failed to turn him on.
"I don't like that Adams guy snooping around the mansion and I don't agree with the decision to hire him. But that doesn't mean I'm going to kill him."
Sam laughed. Sincerely. Of course he'd like to bury him with his own hands, but he had gone over the reasons why it was a bad idea countless times. There was even one more reason. It would be too many deaths in too little time. Sam had been careful to link each death, so that it could be seen as a single incident. The obvious consequences. Evelyn had been murdered. Ivor, who loved her, had gone mad with tragic consequences. And Evelyn's mother had put an end to it all.
Of course, he had been doing it on the fly. It's not like he had planned it all from the beginning.
There was no way to connect detective Adams to all of that. And the news of Chris's death and his family's hadn't reached here yet.
If he killed Adams, that would be a new horror. While the murders so far had been more like a continuous beating. That's why he thought it was better to slow down a bit, despite having an ideal time limit.
He wouldn't kill him unless he was forced to. He hadn't come here for this. And if he intended to, he wouldn't have sought Rose's help. He couldn't trust her.
"Who said anything about killing him? I just want to get him out of the mansion and make sure father doesn't hire another idiot afterwards."
"Why me? Why not ask your favorites for help? You wouldn't have to convince them."
Good question. He was already prepared with excuses.
"I know you don't like me. The feeling is mutual after so long, but being a bad bitch isn't always a bad thing, sister."
How had she reacted to his words? Was it exactly what she wanted to hear, as he had thought? In any case, she didn't let it show on her face.
"Do you have a plan?" Rose asked. Lowering her voice. They were alone but that could change at any moment.
"Something like that, but I'd rather you share your thoughts first."
"You must have a lot of faith in me."
"Let's not pretend you just started thinking about it now."
Rose smirked.
"Fake a death," she said without blinking, "and reveal the truth when Adams takes the bait."
A public and definitive humiliation. Blake would definitely lose all confidence in his detective skills. He doubted very much that he would want to try his luck again.
"I like how you think."
"Not bad for a bad bitch, I guess. You're a little bastard too."
"Yeah, yeah. But will you help me?"
Rose pretended to think about it, but Sam was sure she had made a decision since they started talking about the detective. She was just playing hard to get. And so it was.
"Okay. When do we start?"
"You tell me. It's up to you to fake the corpse, I don't even know where to start. Who and when, of course."
"Who is obvious. Me. It was what I was thinking of doing from the beginning because I know I can't trust anyone."
"But you can trust me?"
"Don't let it go to your head. I know you'd screw me over without thinking twice, but not on this."
Sam smiled. Yeah, I'd screw you without thinking twice, he thought.
"As for when and how..."
"It depends on how long it takes me. I'll let you know."
Sam nodded. He wasn't particularly patient, but he could wait. As long as he got what he wanted, he could do anything.
"See? It's not so hard to put up with me."
Rose frowned. She had been doing it from the beginning, but she found a way to frown even more.
"Don't think this is going to change anything between us. You're not even capable of apologizing."
Interesting. Did the other Sam have something to really apologize for or was she blowing things out of proportion or context? In any case, he had to decide how to react quickly without knowing a shit about it.
"Would it make any difference if I did? Especially after so long."
"How am I supposed to know? You haven't even tried."
Sam looked away. He had to be careful with this. He couldn't admit or apologize for something he didn't know about, but if he overdid it Rose might become stubborn. He needed her cooperation. It would make things easier.
"Look, you're my sister and I love you. Even though you don't make it easy sometimes. You know that, right?"
Rose snorted.
"Don't give me that crap. Come on, get out of here. I'll let you know when we can get started. Or maybe you'll know when you hear someone scream."
He thought he might have to convince her, but she didn't give a shit who might or might not be worried about her death. Convenient. And that she hadn't insisted that he be the one to play the victim. He didn't want to do that to Christina. If he did that to her shortly after sleeping with her, there probably wouldn't be a second time. Maybe he didn't have to get old. He wasn't even human. Perhaps he could dream of immortality.
Maybe, but all in due time.
"Okay, I'll leave you alone. If you need help with anything..."
"I'll call you, of course. I'm not so proud that I don't know when to ask for help."
But proud enough to take an offer of help as an attempt to insult you, he thought as he walked away.
He didn't think he could fix a problem that went back years and he didn't even know about. Sooner or later he had to kill her. Rose had had the same idea as him.
Everyone would see the fake corpse. Rose would reveal the truth as soon as Adams took the bait, humiliating him and getting him kicked out of the mansion.
And then, Sam would turn the lie into truth.
Rose would help him cover up her own death. Without knowing it. It was hilarious.
——
Rose was a bitchy and uncooperative bad bitch, but at least she had warned him. That his first warning would be the screams. Sam started running. Christina and Violet followed closely behind.
They weren't the only ones, but others soon overtook him. Adults with longer legs. He thought he'd rather be in a hurry to hide, just in case.
When he arrived, the living room doors were already open. As well as the windows, letting in the early morning sunlight. It served as a spotlight for the corpse lying on the table.
Rose. He didn't know how the hell she had done it, but it was incredibly realistic. The body. The wounds, the blood that stained the metal and napkins red. Maybe too much blood, but he doubted anyone would notice such a small detail.
Certainly if he didn't know the truth, he would never have suspected that this wasn't a corpse. Well done, he thought. I hope you've hidden yourself just as well. Don't screw up what should be the easiest part.
"Why? Why over and over again?" Violet asked quietly.
Christina couldn't say anything. Her jaw was trembling and her eyes were full of tears. He supposed that even though they didn't get along, Rose was still her sister. Besides, no normal person found it pleasant to see a corpse. Yes, he admitted that he wasn't normal. There was nothing wrong with that. Quite the contrary.
The star of the show made his appearance shortly after, with heavy footsteps and his trench coat billowing. He looked as if all this was a stage prepared for him. He couldn't suspect that was the truth. He glanced at the corpse while smoking his pipe. It was the first time he had seen him smoke, but it fit his image. Blame Sherlock Holmes and his addictions. Blame his own addiction to mystery novels, but that was another matter.
"What a shame," Adams said. His tone was so dry that anyone would realize that he actually didn't give a damn about the girl. So dry that for some reason he wasn't even trying to hide it.
The detective would have his methods, but Sam didn't understand it. Maybe he thought there was no point in pretending to care when he was in the middle of a nest of vipers like this. Maybe. But still making enemies wouldn't make his investigation easier. Because there were exceptions. There were for Evelyn, Ivor and the other Sam.
Anyway that was the least of it. Rose and Sam were about to shatter his reputation. He would never work in this mansion again, but not outside either. He would be finished.
"It's not a shame, it's fucking negligence!" a man shouted. "Is this what we pay you for?"
"Lord Wright pays me, not you."
There was no answer to that. Adams approached the fake body, avoiding stepping on the blood. Sam's heart sped up slightly. He hoped he wouldn't notice. He didn't want to have to revise his plans. He didn't want to be the one humiliated. More than ninety percent of the people he would be embarrassed in front of would be dead before the end of the month, but it was a matter of principle.
"Hey, calm down." He put his arms around Violet and Christina's shoulders, pulling them close. He made sure his voice was barely audible. "I have to tell you something. Okay?"
He pulled them away from the living room. No one noticed their absence, except perhaps Adams.
It wasn't ideal, but they would be upset enough that he had lied to them about something like this. The longer he prolonged it, the worse the reaction would be. And he desired them. Especially Christina, because he had already had her in his power. He wasn't going to let her slip away over a trifle like this.
"Rose and I were talking about this yesterday. It's a fake corpse. Yes, I should have told you before, but that bitch didn't warn me. I'm sorry."
They were relieved, but not completely relaxed. As if they thought he would lie to make them feel better when the truth would soon become evident.
"Are you sure?" asked Violet. "It seems so real..."
"Yes, I have no idea how she managed it. As I told you, she didn't bother to warn me. But I swear to you, I talked to her about this yesterday. It's just a plan."
"To get rid of the detective," Christina murmured. It wasn't a question. "But if it's so realistic, it's not surprising that even he doesn't realize it."
"He must have seen many corpses. It's not the same. The fact is that Rose is alive."
In the end, he convinced them.
They became more at ease, and the three returned to the living room. The only one who had noticed their absence was Adams. He gave him an interesting look. That's why he would have preferred to wait for Rose, but he had his priorities.
The sisters' affection was important. He wanted them to adore him, not fear him.
But Rose didn't make an appearance. Why was she dragging it out so long, damn it?
It wasn't necessary. Adams had already taken the bait. If she kept this up, the relatives would leave before she appeared. The news would spread quickly anyway, but it wouldn't have the same impact. It had to be something public. Blake wasn't here, and his decision was the most important, but still, it had to be something public.
"You seem very relaxed," Adams suddenly said, piercing him with his gaze like a sword. "I've heard you didn't get along well with Rose, but you're not even showing the instinctive aversion humans have to corpses. Horror, disgust. Whatever."
His heart raced. He tried not to show it. Not just his face, but his whole body. He interlaced his hands behind his back to hide a slight tremor.
"Are you saying Samuel is guilty?" asked one of the adults.
"The opposite, as much as it pains me," Adams replied, sighing. "He was my main suspect. What a pain in the ass."
"Then what are you getting at, Adams?" Sam took a step forward.
The detective took another drag.
"That you believe it's a fake corpse, right? That you were going to play me well. But it's not like that, boy. It's real. Rose is dead."
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 7: END
Sam bolted out of the room just minutes after Anabella left it.
He didn't want them to be seen together, or even too close. Paranoid behavior, perhaps, but it was justified, with that little bastard roaming the hallways.
If only he could kill him.
If he killed him, he'd just be replaced. By someone less intelligent, surely, but what worried him was that Blake might decide to end the family conference. Too risky.
"Hello, Rose."
She was sitting on a couch and didn't even look up from her book to answer him.
"It's strange that you're looking for me specifically. Are you sick or something?"
"Oh, I wanted to tell you something." Sam sat down next to her. Not too far, but not too close either. A respectful distance.
"Well, spit it out and get out of my sight."
"We're like cat and dog, oil and water, huh? I don't know why, but I don't care. I think we have a common enemy."
"You're talking about the detective." It wasn't a question.
"Yes. I want you to help me get rid of him."
Rose closed the book. She put it aside on the couch and looked him in the eyes for the first time since he arrived. Progress, however small it seemed. His older sister frowned. Something about that angry expression never failed to turn him on.
"I don't like that Adams guy snooping around the mansion and I don't agree with the decision to hire him. But that doesn't mean I'm going to kill him."
Sam laughed. Sincerely. Of course he'd like to bury him with his own hands, but he had gone over the reasons why it was a bad idea countless times. There was even one more reason. It would be too many deaths in too little time. Sam had been careful to link each death, so that it could be seen as a single incident. The obvious consequences. Evelyn had been murdered. Ivor, who loved her, had gone mad with tragic consequences. And Evelyn's mother had put an end to it all.
Of course, he had been doing it on the fly. It's not like he had planned it all from the beginning.
There was no way to connect detective Adams to all of that. And the news of Chris's death and his family's hadn't reached here yet.
If he killed Adams, that would be a new horror. While the murders so far had been more like a continuous beating. That's why he thought it was better to slow down a bit, despite having an ideal time limit.
He wouldn't kill him unless he was forced to. He hadn't come here for this. And if he intended to, he wouldn't have sought Rose's help. He couldn't trust her.
"Who said anything about killing him? I just want to get him out of the mansion and make sure father doesn't hire another idiot afterwards."
"Why me? Why not ask your favorites for help? You wouldn't have to convince them."
Good question. He was already prepared with excuses.
"I know you don't like me. The feeling is mutual after so long, but being a bad bitch isn't always a bad thing, sister."
How had she reacted to his words? Was it exactly what she wanted to hear, as he had thought? In any case, she didn't let it show on her face.
"Do you have a plan?" Rose asked. Lowering her voice. They were alone but that could change at any moment.
"Something like that, but I'd rather you share your thoughts first."
"You must have a lot of faith in me."
"Let's not pretend you just started thinking about it now."
Rose smirked.
"Fake a death," she said without blinking, "and reveal the truth when Adams takes the bait."
A public and definitive humiliation. Blake would definitely lose all confidence in his detective skills. He doubted very much that he would want to try his luck again.
"I like how you think."
"Not bad for a bad bitch, I guess. You're a little bastard too."
"Yeah, yeah. But will you help me?"
Rose pretended to think about it, but Sam was sure she had made a decision since they started talking about the detective. She was just playing hard to get. And so it was.
"Okay. When do we start?"
"You tell me. It's up to you to fake the corpse, I don't even know where to start. Who and when, of course."
"Who is obvious. Me. It was what I was thinking of doing from the beginning because I know I can't trust anyone."
"But you can trust me?"
"Don't let it go to your head. I know you'd screw me over without thinking twice, but not on this."
Sam smiled. Yeah, I'd screw you without thinking twice, he thought.
"As for when and how..."
"It depends on how long it takes me. I'll let you know."
Sam nodded. He wasn't particularly patient, but he could wait. As long as he got what he wanted, he could do anything.
"See? It's not so hard to put up with me."
Rose frowned. She had been doing it from the beginning, but she found a way to frown even more.
"Don't think this is going to change anything between us. You're not even capable of apologizing."
Interesting. Did the other Sam have something to really apologize for or was she blowing things out of proportion or context? In any case, he had to decide how to react quickly without knowing a shit about it.
"Would it make any difference if I did? Especially after so long."
"How am I supposed to know? You haven't even tried."
Sam looked away. He had to be careful with this. He couldn't admit or apologize for something he didn't know about, but if he overdid it Rose might become stubborn. He needed her cooperation. It would make things easier.
"Look, you're my sister and I love you. Even though you don't make it easy sometimes. You know that, right?"
Rose snorted.
"Don't give me that crap. Come on, get out of here. I'll let you know when we can get started. Or maybe you'll know when you hear someone scream."
He thought he might have to convince her, but she didn't give a shit who might or might not be worried about her death. Convenient. And that she hadn't insisted that he be the one to play the victim. He didn't want to do that to Christina. If he did that to her shortly after sleeping with her, there probably wouldn't be a second time. Maybe he didn't have to get old. He wasn't even human. Perhaps he could dream of immortality.
Maybe, but all in due time.
"Okay, I'll leave you alone. If you need help with anything..."
"I'll call you, of course. I'm not so proud that I don't know when to ask for help."
But proud enough to take an offer of help as an attempt to insult you, he thought as he walked away.
He didn't think he could fix a problem that went back years and he didn't even know about. Sooner or later he had to kill her. Rose had had the same idea as him.
Everyone would see the fake corpse. Rose would reveal the truth as soon as Adams took the bait, humiliating him and getting him kicked out of the mansion.
And then, Sam would turn the lie into truth.
Rose would help him cover up her own death. Without knowing it. It was hilarious.
——
Rose was a bitchy and uncooperative bad bitch, but at least she had warned him. That his first warning would be the screams. Sam started running. Christina and Violet followed closely behind.
They weren't the only ones, but others soon overtook him. Adults with longer legs. He thought he'd rather be in a hurry to hide, just in case.
When he arrived, the living room doors were already open. As well as the windows, letting in the early morning sunlight. It served as a spotlight for the corpse lying on the table.
Rose. He didn't know how the hell she had done it, but it was incredibly realistic. The body. The wounds, the blood that stained the metal and napkins red. Maybe too much blood, but he doubted anyone would notice such a small detail.
Certainly if he didn't know the truth, he would never have suspected that this wasn't a corpse. Well done, he thought. I hope you've hidden yourself just as well. Don't screw up what should be the easiest part.
"Why? Why over and over again?" Violet asked quietly.
Christina couldn't say anything. Her jaw was trembling and her eyes were full of tears. He supposed that even though they didn't get along, Rose was still her sister. Besides, no normal person found it pleasant to see a corpse. Yes, he admitted that he wasn't normal. There was nothing wrong with that. Quite the contrary.
The star of the show made his appearance shortly after, with heavy footsteps and his trench coat billowing. He looked as if all this was a stage prepared for him. He couldn't suspect that was the truth. He glanced at the corpse while smoking his pipe. It was the first time he had seen him smoke, but it fit his image. Blame Sherlock Holmes and his addictions. Blame his own addiction to mystery novels, but that was another matter.
"What a shame," Adams said. His tone was so dry that anyone would realize that he actually didn't give a damn about the girl. So dry that for some reason he wasn't even trying to hide it.
The detective would have his methods, but Sam didn't understand it. Maybe he thought there was no point in pretending to care when he was in the middle of a nest of vipers like this. Maybe. But still making enemies wouldn't make his investigation easier. Because there were exceptions. There were for Evelyn, Ivor and the other Sam.
Anyway that was the least of it. Rose and Sam were about to shatter his reputation. He would never work in this mansion again, but not outside either. He would be finished.
"It's not a shame, it's fucking negligence!" a man shouted. "Is this what we pay you for?"
"Lord Wright pays me, not you."
There was no answer to that. Adams approached the fake body, avoiding stepping on the blood. Sam's heart sped up slightly. He hoped he wouldn't notice. He didn't want to have to revise his plans. He didn't want to be the one humiliated. More than ninety percent of the people he would be embarrassed in front of would be dead before the end of the month, but it was a matter of principle.
"Hey, calm down." He put his arms around Violet and Christina's shoulders, pulling them close. He made sure his voice was barely audible. "I have to tell you something. Okay?"
He pulled them away from the living room. No one noticed their absence, except perhaps Adams.
It wasn't ideal, but they would be upset enough that he had lied to them about something like this. The longer he prolonged it, the worse the reaction would be. And he desired them. Especially Christina, because he had already had her in his power. He wasn't going to let her slip away over a trifle like this.
"Rose and I were talking about this yesterday. It's a fake corpse. Yes, I should have told you before, but that bitch didn't warn me. I'm sorry."
They were relieved, but not completely relaxed. As if they thought he would lie to make them feel better when the truth would soon become evident.
"Are you sure?" asked Violet. "It seems so real..."
"Yes, I have no idea how she managed it. As I told you, she didn't bother to warn me. But I swear to you, I talked to her about this yesterday. It's just a plan."
"To get rid of the detective," Christina murmured. It wasn't a question. "But if it's so realistic, it's not surprising that even he doesn't realize it."
"He must have seen many corpses. It's not the same. The fact is that Rose is alive."
In the end, he convinced them.
They became more at ease, and the three returned to the living room. The only one who had noticed their absence was Adams. He gave him an interesting look. That's why he would have preferred to wait for Rose, but he had his priorities.
The sisters' affection was important. He wanted them to adore him, not fear him.
But Rose didn't make an appearance. Why was she dragging it out so long, damn it?
It wasn't necessary. Adams had already taken the bait. If she kept this up, the relatives would leave before she appeared. The news would spread quickly anyway, but it wouldn't have the same impact. It had to be something public. Blake wasn't here, and his decision was the most important, but still, it had to be something public.
"You seem very relaxed," Adams suddenly said, piercing him with his gaze like a sword. "I've heard you didn't get along well with Rose, but you're not even showing the instinctive aversion humans have to corpses. Horror, disgust. Whatever."
His heart raced. He tried not to show it. Not just his face, but his whole body. He interlaced his hands behind his back to hide a slight tremor.
"Are you saying Samuel is guilty?" asked one of the adults.
"The opposite, as much as it pains me," Adams replied, sighing. "He was my main suspect. What a pain in the ass."
"Then what are you getting at, Adams?" Sam took a step forward.
The detective took another drag.
"That you believe it's a fake corpse, right? That you were going to play me well. But it's not like that, boy. It's real. Rose is dead."
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 7: END
28. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 8
Chapter 28: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 8
His heart raced even more. He didn't believe Rose was really dead, it was just that... How the hell had he guessed? Adams was still convinced the corpse was real, but he hadn't expected him to even suspect the plan. You look very relaxed, you must have planned to deceive me with a fake corpse. He hadn't said it exactly like that, but come on. What an absurd leap of logic!
"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Adams mocked.
"Okay. You're right, we planned to humiliate you that way."
"We planned. I just told you, she's dead. It's not a fake corpse, how many times do I have to tell you?"
Sam frowned, thoughtful. Was it possible he was right? It was certainly strange that Rose hadn't appeared yet, revealing the farce for what it was. There had been no reason to prolong that moment from the beginning. But then who had killed her?
Because, for once, he hadn't been the culprit.
I should be the only murderer in the building, fucking hell, he thought.
If another killer was on the loose, a killer who had gotten rid of Rose for unknown reasons, that significantly complicated things for him. A crazy, dangerous person had exposed the corpse in such a way to ensure everyone would see it right away.
Her position on the table, the cut on her neck, the contrast between her blood and all the white on the table that was being stained red.
Everything was prepared to maximize the impact with a cold-bloodedness that would be admirable if the son of a bitch in question hadn't ruined his plans.
"You have to be out of your mind to plan to fake your own death, for God's sake," one of the adults muttered.
It was heard clearly anyway since no one seemed to have the guts to confront Adams, so they were quiet as schoolchildren and barely moving from their spots. Waiting, observing.
"I know I said before that I had ruled you out as a suspect, but that wasn't entirely true. Any good detective doesn't discard a possibility so easily. But now I'm pretty sure. You're not pretending, you're not acting your surprise, your pain. You're not that good at it. Well, what can you do? At least now you have a motivation to help me find the real killer instead of getting in my way with tasteless pranks."
For a moment Sam seriously considered accusing Adams of having killed her.
Insisting, making it sound convincing, even though he knew it was pure nonsense and at most would only make him sweat a little. Tempting, but he dismissed the idea immediately. There were better ways to waste time.
"Don't you care at all that she's dead?" Violet asked, almost shouting. "That you failed to protect her?"
Adams shrugged.
"Of course it's a shame that someone so young had to die like this, but I'm here to do my job. And she's not my family."
Violet immediately turned her back and ran away.
"What do you think, Samuel?" Adams asked. "Am I some kind of monster or something?"
"What I think is that you should have left this job a long time ago."
A diplomatic response and also true. Obviously it hadn't done him any good. Adams himself was a worn-out corpse. Did he work to live or live to work? He didn't think he knew how to answer him, so he wouldn't bother asking the question. Besides, he didn't give a damn.
"True, true, but I'm a useless guy. I have no other way to earn my bread, you know? It is what it is."
Sam looked at Rose one last time, swallowing hard. Then he looked around, wondering which of the gathered adults was the killer. They hadn't even had breakfast and had gone through a roller coaster of emotions, first the horror of seeing the corpse, another corpse, then, he imagined, a brief margin of hope as they debated between Adams' explanation and his own.
He tried to see which face hadn't changed, who had known from the beginning, and it was useless. He hadn't been paying attention to the adults. He had been rubbing his hands, thinking that another plan had gone perfectly, with a certain pride as if Rose hadn't done it all.
And now...
Sam shook his head and left without saying anything to anyone. The crowd parted to let him pass at first. Most remained as if frozen by another tragedy, he had to avoid them or push them out of the way. Any of them could be the killer. How the hell could he find him? He needed time to think, to elaborate another plan. It would be difficult because he didn't even have a starting point. Once again the lack of information biting him in the ass.
Violet, Christina and Anabelle might know more, who could have wanted to do this to Rose. No, the killer didn't have to have a special motive or connection to her.
Like him.
He killed for the sake of killing, in an order decided by the opportunities that presented themselves or simple whim. That was a serious problem. He couldn't even imagine the motive for the murder, so how did he expect to find him, let alone get rid of him? Damn, damn, he thought. There's no room in this mansion for two killers, fucker. I'll rip your guts out.
He wasn't going to let anyone intrude on his territory.
Footsteps behind him, close. He turned around quickly and almost collided with Christina. Ah, yes. He had forgotten about her. He had to pay attention to her feelings, even if it was somewhat boring. Ignoring her at a time like this would create a rift in their relationship. The other Sam had done most of the work, so it would be a shame to ruin it now when he had just started to reap its fruits.
"I'm sorry I gave you false hope." From the surprise, his voice trembled as if he really regretted it. As if he were repressing his inner pain, he realized. Everything had its advantages. He would take advantage of what he could to give authenticity to his charade and compensate for his poor acting skills.
"Maybe Adams..." She gave up soon, sighing deeply. "I never liked Rose. She never made it easy for me, but that doesn't mean I wanted to see her like this. Slaughtered like a..."
She fell silent and stumbled forward, seeking refuge in his arms. Of course, she was his little sister, she had no qualms about being vulnerable in front of her big brother. Rather, she was used to it. The pride of the older sister was another story.
"When will this nightmare end?"
Well, there's still quite a bit to go, little sister, he thought as he hugged her. We are a large family.
"I'll do what I can. No, we'll do what we can."
He could recruit the help of both sisters. After all, it wasn't like they were looking for him. You could say he had greater freedom of movement. It didn't make up for the great unknown of another killer roaming the same hallways, the unknown of whether he could be the next target, but it was true.
The hunter becomes the hunted.
Ha, he wasn't going to let that happen. He wasn't fighting for something as insignificant as the inheritance of a human who had probably just inherited it in turn from his old bastard of a father.
He was here to sit on the throne of hell, to obtain powers beyond human comprehension.
Therefore, he couldn't allow the mysterious killer to be more than a small stone in the path.
His ascent had only just begun. No plan, but he still had many cards to play. Sooner or later he would tear him from the shadows and let him wither under the light.
Besides, maybe it was just what he needed.
It could serve as the perfect scapegoat. Adams had stopped suspecting him. For the moment, at least, but if he handed him a culprit on a silver platter it would end forever. Case closed.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 8: END
His heart raced even more. He didn't believe Rose was really dead, it was just that... How the hell had he guessed? Adams was still convinced the corpse was real, but he hadn't expected him to even suspect the plan. You look very relaxed, you must have planned to deceive me with a fake corpse. He hadn't said it exactly like that, but come on. What an absurd leap of logic!
"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Adams mocked.
"Okay. You're right, we planned to humiliate you that way."
"We planned. I just told you, she's dead. It's not a fake corpse, how many times do I have to tell you?"
Sam frowned, thoughtful. Was it possible he was right? It was certainly strange that Rose hadn't appeared yet, revealing the farce for what it was. There had been no reason to prolong that moment from the beginning. But then who had killed her?
Because, for once, he hadn't been the culprit.
I should be the only murderer in the building, fucking hell, he thought.
If another killer was on the loose, a killer who had gotten rid of Rose for unknown reasons, that significantly complicated things for him. A crazy, dangerous person had exposed the corpse in such a way to ensure everyone would see it right away.
Her position on the table, the cut on her neck, the contrast between her blood and all the white on the table that was being stained red.
Everything was prepared to maximize the impact with a cold-bloodedness that would be admirable if the son of a bitch in question hadn't ruined his plans.
"You have to be out of your mind to plan to fake your own death, for God's sake," one of the adults muttered.
It was heard clearly anyway since no one seemed to have the guts to confront Adams, so they were quiet as schoolchildren and barely moving from their spots. Waiting, observing.
"I know I said before that I had ruled you out as a suspect, but that wasn't entirely true. Any good detective doesn't discard a possibility so easily. But now I'm pretty sure. You're not pretending, you're not acting your surprise, your pain. You're not that good at it. Well, what can you do? At least now you have a motivation to help me find the real killer instead of getting in my way with tasteless pranks."
For a moment Sam seriously considered accusing Adams of having killed her.
Insisting, making it sound convincing, even though he knew it was pure nonsense and at most would only make him sweat a little. Tempting, but he dismissed the idea immediately. There were better ways to waste time.
"Don't you care at all that she's dead?" Violet asked, almost shouting. "That you failed to protect her?"
Adams shrugged.
"Of course it's a shame that someone so young had to die like this, but I'm here to do my job. And she's not my family."
Violet immediately turned her back and ran away.
"What do you think, Samuel?" Adams asked. "Am I some kind of monster or something?"
"What I think is that you should have left this job a long time ago."
A diplomatic response and also true. Obviously it hadn't done him any good. Adams himself was a worn-out corpse. Did he work to live or live to work? He didn't think he knew how to answer him, so he wouldn't bother asking the question. Besides, he didn't give a damn.
"True, true, but I'm a useless guy. I have no other way to earn my bread, you know? It is what it is."
Sam looked at Rose one last time, swallowing hard. Then he looked around, wondering which of the gathered adults was the killer. They hadn't even had breakfast and had gone through a roller coaster of emotions, first the horror of seeing the corpse, another corpse, then, he imagined, a brief margin of hope as they debated between Adams' explanation and his own.
He tried to see which face hadn't changed, who had known from the beginning, and it was useless. He hadn't been paying attention to the adults. He had been rubbing his hands, thinking that another plan had gone perfectly, with a certain pride as if Rose hadn't done it all.
And now...
Sam shook his head and left without saying anything to anyone. The crowd parted to let him pass at first. Most remained as if frozen by another tragedy, he had to avoid them or push them out of the way. Any of them could be the killer. How the hell could he find him? He needed time to think, to elaborate another plan. It would be difficult because he didn't even have a starting point. Once again the lack of information biting him in the ass.
Violet, Christina and Anabelle might know more, who could have wanted to do this to Rose. No, the killer didn't have to have a special motive or connection to her.
Like him.
He killed for the sake of killing, in an order decided by the opportunities that presented themselves or simple whim. That was a serious problem. He couldn't even imagine the motive for the murder, so how did he expect to find him, let alone get rid of him? Damn, damn, he thought. There's no room in this mansion for two killers, fucker. I'll rip your guts out.
He wasn't going to let anyone intrude on his territory.
Footsteps behind him, close. He turned around quickly and almost collided with Christina. Ah, yes. He had forgotten about her. He had to pay attention to her feelings, even if it was somewhat boring. Ignoring her at a time like this would create a rift in their relationship. The other Sam had done most of the work, so it would be a shame to ruin it now when he had just started to reap its fruits.
"I'm sorry I gave you false hope." From the surprise, his voice trembled as if he really regretted it. As if he were repressing his inner pain, he realized. Everything had its advantages. He would take advantage of what he could to give authenticity to his charade and compensate for his poor acting skills.
"Maybe Adams..." She gave up soon, sighing deeply. "I never liked Rose. She never made it easy for me, but that doesn't mean I wanted to see her like this. Slaughtered like a..."
She fell silent and stumbled forward, seeking refuge in his arms. Of course, she was his little sister, she had no qualms about being vulnerable in front of her big brother. Rather, she was used to it. The pride of the older sister was another story.
"When will this nightmare end?"
Well, there's still quite a bit to go, little sister, he thought as he hugged her. We are a large family.
"I'll do what I can. No, we'll do what we can."
He could recruit the help of both sisters. After all, it wasn't like they were looking for him. You could say he had greater freedom of movement. It didn't make up for the great unknown of another killer roaming the same hallways, the unknown of whether he could be the next target, but it was true.
The hunter becomes the hunted.
Ha, he wasn't going to let that happen. He wasn't fighting for something as insignificant as the inheritance of a human who had probably just inherited it in turn from his old bastard of a father.
He was here to sit on the throne of hell, to obtain powers beyond human comprehension.
Therefore, he couldn't allow the mysterious killer to be more than a small stone in the path.
His ascent had only just begun. No plan, but he still had many cards to play. Sooner or later he would tear him from the shadows and let him wither under the light.
Besides, maybe it was just what he needed.
It could serve as the perfect scapegoat. Adams had stopped suspecting him. For the moment, at least, but if he handed him a culprit on a silver platter it would end forever. Case closed.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 8: END
29. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 9
Chapter 29: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 9
Blake Wright gently closed his eyes. Another meeting at the annual family conference, another session of dozens of voices rising to say the same thing. Lately they spent more time discussing recent unfortunate events than truly relevant matters.
He had never liked the family conference.
Not when he had attended as just another member, and even worse when he started being at the center. Who would want to be the corpse that all the vultures drooled over?
"Perhaps we should end the family conference for this year. There are always problems, conflicts, but so many deaths, one after another..."
This topic was becoming more frequent, more dangerous.
But Blake knew that no one would do anything. Few had the balls of Chris, who had sacrificed everything for what he believed was right. Blake thought he had been wrong, but respected that.
If the people who whined had his same determination, they would be on their way home, not weakly protesting here.
Still, he had to crush this rebellion before it got out of hand. Everything was under control. The detective would catch the killer or one of them would, all experienced mages. He couldn't remain in the shadows forever. Execute everything to perfection, leaving no trace.
Sooner or later someone would stop him.
There was no point in panicking. To begin with, if those who had died so far had had better control of themselves, both outside and inside the fights, none of this would have happened.
Most of the victims were children, in the first place. Powerless brats. They shouldn't be trembling in their boots because of a killer who dedicated himself to going after children. Assuming the killer was involved in anything more than Rose's murder, and so he believed.
Blake struck the floor with his cane.
As always, the chatter ended immediately. It was good for his mental health to have an off switch.
"Nothing is going to end."
"Lord Wright," protested some idiot, he wasn't even sure who, to be honest. Too many people in a relatively small room. More importantly, too many people who were interchangeable to him. Same clothes, same faces, same motives.
Two of the people who should be present in this room had died violently and two others had left without looking back, but nothing had really changed for him. How could he worry about the deaths so far when all of them couldn't wait for him to finally kick the bucket?
"But nothing. I've made it clear countless times. The family conference is vital for the functioning of the Wright empire, nothing is going to end because of a few unfortunate accidents."
"But anyone could be next!" protested someone else.
"I've had enough. I'm not preventing anyone from leaving. You can go whenever you want, under the same conditions as Chris."
He only said it because he believed no one would dare, or at least an insignificant number of people. As much as it pained him, he needed these vultures for the sake of continuing the family legacy. Sooner or later he would leave this world and would have to leave the future of the Wright name in the hands of the right person.
Or not. What good was it to him for the Wright empire to continue shining, growing? Worms would be eating his corpse while someone else enjoyed the fruits of his effort. Not only a great inherited fortune, but a perfect growth situation almost impossible to ruin.
Guaranteed success, while he had inherited a ruin full of debts.
Yes, what the hell did he care, deep down. But it was his role. He would play his part until the end.
As expected, no one took his generous offer.
"If you believed that ending the family conference is best, you'd already be on your way to the front door. You've demonstrated the firmness of your beliefs. So at least don't make me waste time with empty words. We're here to build the future, ladies and gentlemen."
What kind of future would the Wright name have with any of these pusillanimous in charge? None good. They would ruin the mission to which he had dedicated his life. Only Samuel. Only he had what it took, he was convinced. The boy had always had something different from the others.
Something that reminded him of himself.
Maybe he was wrong or just saw what he wanted to see. Time would tell. In any case, it couldn't be worse than these guys.
He would bet that Samuel would go after Rose's killer himself, instead of complaining and waiting for someone to solve their problems. Instead of running and hiding.
His son would make him proud. He wasn't interchangeable, just another piece on the board. He had a special spark. He knew it. He knew it.
He wondered what he was doing now. What plans he already had.
Maybe he hadn't needed to hire anyone, after all.
——
"I'll get straight to the point. Do you know who killed Rose?"
"I didn't know anyone had killed her until you told me," Satan replied.
Sam frowned.
"Is that true?" The answer was, of course, useless. If he told him the truth, he was offending him. If he intended to lie to him for some reason, asking him wouldn't make him give in.
And Sam didn't know him well enough to read anything in response.
Even if he did, he was talking to the famous prince of lies, after all.
If he wanted to deceive him, he would. Bitter pill, but it was time he swallowed it, otherwise in the future he would choke.
"Of course it's true. Look, I didn't want to tell you this, but the legends are true. I'm caged. My ability to observe, let alone influence, the outside world is quite limited. That's why you should believe me. Your success is the only way to end six hundred years of confinement. Any help I can give you I would do gladly."
"So all this is not just to make me stronger, so they don't discover me and I can take Blake Wright's inheritance, as well as the throne of hell. It's for you."
"Not only," he repeated without thinking twice, "but that's what any good business is about. Mutual benefit."
And mutual dissatisfaction, he added in his thoughts. If someone is completely happy with an agreement it's because they've come out winning. Therefore the other will feel cheated. The loser.
Sam swallowed, clenched his jaw.
He could deceive him, but he wasn't going to let him screw him, no sir. That was another story.
"Thank you, father. I understand."
——
"I want you to go back home," Sam said.
Anabelle slowly returned his gaze. Processing what she had just heard. For a moment she looked scared, as if she thought he was firing her. But only for a moment.
"Are you sure, my lord?"
Well no, he thought, the truth is not entirely. But I have to try something.
"Don't worry, you'll continue receiving your salary every month, even more."
"That's not what I meant, but thank you, sir."
He handed her a bag of money.
"Here's an advance."
"Take good care of yourself, please. I don't know how I'm going to repay you for everything you do for me."
With your death, maybe. Depending on how things turn out.
"I'll try." He spontaneously gave her a hug. "I'm sorry I forced you to you know what. That Adams made me nervous and now even more. You're not safe here, it's clear. No one will be until I catch that miserable son of a bitch."
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 9: END
Blake Wright gently closed his eyes. Another meeting at the annual family conference, another session of dozens of voices rising to say the same thing. Lately they spent more time discussing recent unfortunate events than truly relevant matters.
He had never liked the family conference.
Not when he had attended as just another member, and even worse when he started being at the center. Who would want to be the corpse that all the vultures drooled over?
"Perhaps we should end the family conference for this year. There are always problems, conflicts, but so many deaths, one after another..."
This topic was becoming more frequent, more dangerous.
But Blake knew that no one would do anything. Few had the balls of Chris, who had sacrificed everything for what he believed was right. Blake thought he had been wrong, but respected that.
If the people who whined had his same determination, they would be on their way home, not weakly protesting here.
Still, he had to crush this rebellion before it got out of hand. Everything was under control. The detective would catch the killer or one of them would, all experienced mages. He couldn't remain in the shadows forever. Execute everything to perfection, leaving no trace.
Sooner or later someone would stop him.
There was no point in panicking. To begin with, if those who had died so far had had better control of themselves, both outside and inside the fights, none of this would have happened.
Most of the victims were children, in the first place. Powerless brats. They shouldn't be trembling in their boots because of a killer who dedicated himself to going after children. Assuming the killer was involved in anything more than Rose's murder, and so he believed.
Blake struck the floor with his cane.
As always, the chatter ended immediately. It was good for his mental health to have an off switch.
"Nothing is going to end."
"Lord Wright," protested some idiot, he wasn't even sure who, to be honest. Too many people in a relatively small room. More importantly, too many people who were interchangeable to him. Same clothes, same faces, same motives.
Two of the people who should be present in this room had died violently and two others had left without looking back, but nothing had really changed for him. How could he worry about the deaths so far when all of them couldn't wait for him to finally kick the bucket?
"But nothing. I've made it clear countless times. The family conference is vital for the functioning of the Wright empire, nothing is going to end because of a few unfortunate accidents."
"But anyone could be next!" protested someone else.
"I've had enough. I'm not preventing anyone from leaving. You can go whenever you want, under the same conditions as Chris."
He only said it because he believed no one would dare, or at least an insignificant number of people. As much as it pained him, he needed these vultures for the sake of continuing the family legacy. Sooner or later he would leave this world and would have to leave the future of the Wright name in the hands of the right person.
Or not. What good was it to him for the Wright empire to continue shining, growing? Worms would be eating his corpse while someone else enjoyed the fruits of his effort. Not only a great inherited fortune, but a perfect growth situation almost impossible to ruin.
Guaranteed success, while he had inherited a ruin full of debts.
Yes, what the hell did he care, deep down. But it was his role. He would play his part until the end.
As expected, no one took his generous offer.
"If you believed that ending the family conference is best, you'd already be on your way to the front door. You've demonstrated the firmness of your beliefs. So at least don't make me waste time with empty words. We're here to build the future, ladies and gentlemen."
What kind of future would the Wright name have with any of these pusillanimous in charge? None good. They would ruin the mission to which he had dedicated his life. Only Samuel. Only he had what it took, he was convinced. The boy had always had something different from the others.
Something that reminded him of himself.
Maybe he was wrong or just saw what he wanted to see. Time would tell. In any case, it couldn't be worse than these guys.
He would bet that Samuel would go after Rose's killer himself, instead of complaining and waiting for someone to solve their problems. Instead of running and hiding.
His son would make him proud. He wasn't interchangeable, just another piece on the board. He had a special spark. He knew it. He knew it.
He wondered what he was doing now. What plans he already had.
Maybe he hadn't needed to hire anyone, after all.
——
"I'll get straight to the point. Do you know who killed Rose?"
"I didn't know anyone had killed her until you told me," Satan replied.
Sam frowned.
"Is that true?" The answer was, of course, useless. If he told him the truth, he was offending him. If he intended to lie to him for some reason, asking him wouldn't make him give in.
And Sam didn't know him well enough to read anything in response.
Even if he did, he was talking to the famous prince of lies, after all.
If he wanted to deceive him, he would. Bitter pill, but it was time he swallowed it, otherwise in the future he would choke.
"Of course it's true. Look, I didn't want to tell you this, but the legends are true. I'm caged. My ability to observe, let alone influence, the outside world is quite limited. That's why you should believe me. Your success is the only way to end six hundred years of confinement. Any help I can give you I would do gladly."
"So all this is not just to make me stronger, so they don't discover me and I can take Blake Wright's inheritance, as well as the throne of hell. It's for you."
"Not only," he repeated without thinking twice, "but that's what any good business is about. Mutual benefit."
And mutual dissatisfaction, he added in his thoughts. If someone is completely happy with an agreement it's because they've come out winning. Therefore the other will feel cheated. The loser.
Sam swallowed, clenched his jaw.
He could deceive him, but he wasn't going to let him screw him, no sir. That was another story.
"Thank you, father. I understand."
——
"I want you to go back home," Sam said.
Anabelle slowly returned his gaze. Processing what she had just heard. For a moment she looked scared, as if she thought he was firing her. But only for a moment.
"Are you sure, my lord?"
Well no, he thought, the truth is not entirely. But I have to try something.
"Don't worry, you'll continue receiving your salary every month, even more."
"That's not what I meant, but thank you, sir."
He handed her a bag of money.
"Here's an advance."
"Take good care of yourself, please. I don't know how I'm going to repay you for everything you do for me."
With your death, maybe. Depending on how things turn out.
"I'll try." He spontaneously gave her a hug. "I'm sorry I forced you to you know what. That Adams made me nervous and now even more. You're not safe here, it's clear. No one will be until I catch that miserable son of a bitch."
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 9: END
30. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 10
Chapter 30: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 10
Annabelle left quickly.
After all, she wasn't leaving anything behind, just a job. And they were going to keep paying her anyway. There was nothing to miss. She didn't even notify Blake Wright about this.
It seemed she had internalized that she was his servant, not that guy's.
Good, Sam thought.
More than anything else, he needed control. Only he should be able to put the pieces where he wanted. He needed to have control or happiness would slip through his fingers again. Now the main obstacle was the unknown killer. This probably wouldn't work, but it was better to try than to sit idly by. And then regret that it could have worked.
He wouldn't even have to do most of the work.
He had summoned an Acheri, pulling it out of hell. Apparently, the fewer he summoned, the stronger the remaining ones would be. But he didn't need it for a fight.
He had asked if it could do something more subtle and it had said yes, referring to him as prince at all times. He supposed it would sound flattering if his goal wasn't to become an absolute monarch.
What was this more subtle task about?
Following Annabelle, of course. Following her among the shadows, in case the killer took the bait. In case he decided to kill her opportunistically, as he had done with Chris and his family. He couldn't be sure that he would even bother because Annabelle wasn't a Wright. He didn't know the killer's motives in the first place.
The only thing he knew was that Rose had died after he had approached her with a plan.
It didn't necessarily mean anything. It might have nothing to do with it, but that's why he considered Christina, Violet, and Annabelle as possible next targets. Apart from himself, of course.
He hadn't even gotten along with Rose, as everyone knew, so the three of them were in much greater danger.
In theory.
He wanted to keep his sisters close and he wasn't going to move an inch, so Annabelle had been the only option.
Good bait, in theory.
So, as he was saying, the Acheri would follow her from the shadows. Waiting for the killer to attack, if he did. If it turned out that it couldn't do more subtle things and was discovered and hunted, it wouldn't betray him. It couldn't. And no one could link him to the demon.
He wasn't taking any risks.
Satan had assured him of that. Literally, it couldn't betray him due to his blood. If it tried, it would burn until there was no trace left. Neither on earth nor in hell.
A perfect plan.
Except for the very low chances that it would do any good. Meanwhile, he could try something with Violet and Christina. Not that kind of something, as tempted as he was to destress. Priorities. He spoke with them to meet in his room and in the end they met in Violet's room, which was closer.
Anyway, it was as private a place as his own, the point is that it was a room.
Christina sat demurely on the bed, smoothing her skirt, and discovered that she wasn't the only one thinking about the topic. It wasn't her bed, but it was a bed, and she was too red to be thinking about more normal things.
Oh, how cute, he thought. How can I not want to eat her whole?
She had thrown herself at him without thinking twice because of the shock of Rose's death, but now shame was getting the better of her. I took her first time, her first kiss. It was a distinct feeling of power, but not at all unpleasant.
I need control, he thought. Not for the first or last time.
Then the two of them sat down too. Violet looked strangely at Christina, but didn't say anything about it. At least for now. He wondered what explanation she had found for it, if she had. She couldn't imagine the truth in a million years. He smiled imagining the surprised face she would make when she knew the truth, it was only a matter of time. Smiling thinking that she would be more jealous than surprised.
"Well, any ideas?" Sam started this.
"Not exactly, but have you considered that Rose might have betrayed you?" Violet asked. "Telling everything to the detective, staging the farce with his help."
"Yes, I don't know why you asked her for help in the first place," Christina said. "I... I mean, we. We would do anything for you."
Stop messing up or Violet will start to suspect something's going on, for God's sake. He couldn't even convey that message with a look or she would definitely realize, however.
"I considered it, Violet. But I think it's obvious that it's a real corpse. Something went wrong. Someone really killed her. I don't see why Adams would play along."
"You didn't answer my question," Christina protested.
"Well, I asked for her help... precisely because Rose is Rose. If we got caught, the only important person to me who would have to face the consequences would be myself." He forced himself to frown. "Although, of course, I never suspected these would be the consequences."
"There has to be some way to catch the killer," Violet said. "And I wish I could say it's about letting the detective work. Clearly we can't trust him."
He hadn't been able to protect Rose, so everyone had lost some of the confidence they might have had in Adams, if not all. Rose's death had been a setback, but it hadn't only brought disadvantages.
"We don't know the killer's motives, we don't have any clues," Christina said. "It seems the only realistic plan is to wait for him to act again."
"Risking someone else dying?" Sam asked. "That we'll be next?"
"I didn't say I liked it, big brother."
"Yeah."
He couldn't say she was completely wrong, but there had to be a better way. He couldn't rest in peace until the killer was six feet under.
"You really can't think of anything?" Sam asked, insistently. "Any relative who might have wanted to get rid of her? Come on, we're talking about Rose. If she was kind to some people I never saw it."
He was taking a risk, saying something that might or might not be true, since he could shield himself by saying it was a joke, a mere exaggeration, if it turned out he was wrong.
"Quite the opposite," Christina murmured. "There are too many who might have wanted to... get rid of her, to climb a few more steps up the ladder."
Too many suspects was basically the same problem as having none.
That is, they didn't even know where to start.
After a relatively long discussion with many twists and turns, they came to the conclusion that they really couldn't do much more than wait for the killer to act again and be careful.
They agreed to sleep with him even without him having to convince them, for greater safety. In fact, they were excited. Even Christina. Her eyes sparkled at sharing the bed like in the old days, not like they had done a few days ago. As brother and sister.
He wouldn't be thinking of such innocent things, but well. Christina was a child. Even Violet was a child. He wasn't.
As for the killer, he wasn't willing to accept something so frustrating. Christina and Violet were absolutely right. They couldn't do anything until the killer acted, but what if he could force him to act? And he could. Only he could do it.
Rose's body was in the chapel while preparations were being made for another funeral.
He only had one chance.
Rose burst into the room suddenly.
A few adults fainted as soon as they saw her. Others chose to run away. Adams, on the other hand, looked at her as if she were the most interesting thing he had seen in his life. Would he believe she had risen from the dead? Could he accept it, even if he naturally resisted at first?
In any case, the important thing was the killer's reaction.
"I've come back to take revenge on my killer."
Sam had already used this trick. He didn't like having to resort to the same thing, but well...
Why fix what isn't broken, right?
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 10: END
Annabelle left quickly.
After all, she wasn't leaving anything behind, just a job. And they were going to keep paying her anyway. There was nothing to miss. She didn't even notify Blake Wright about this.
It seemed she had internalized that she was his servant, not that guy's.
Good, Sam thought.
More than anything else, he needed control. Only he should be able to put the pieces where he wanted. He needed to have control or happiness would slip through his fingers again. Now the main obstacle was the unknown killer. This probably wouldn't work, but it was better to try than to sit idly by. And then regret that it could have worked.
He wouldn't even have to do most of the work.
He had summoned an Acheri, pulling it out of hell. Apparently, the fewer he summoned, the stronger the remaining ones would be. But he didn't need it for a fight.
He had asked if it could do something more subtle and it had said yes, referring to him as prince at all times. He supposed it would sound flattering if his goal wasn't to become an absolute monarch.
What was this more subtle task about?
Following Annabelle, of course. Following her among the shadows, in case the killer took the bait. In case he decided to kill her opportunistically, as he had done with Chris and his family. He couldn't be sure that he would even bother because Annabelle wasn't a Wright. He didn't know the killer's motives in the first place.
The only thing he knew was that Rose had died after he had approached her with a plan.
It didn't necessarily mean anything. It might have nothing to do with it, but that's why he considered Christina, Violet, and Annabelle as possible next targets. Apart from himself, of course.
He hadn't even gotten along with Rose, as everyone knew, so the three of them were in much greater danger.
In theory.
He wanted to keep his sisters close and he wasn't going to move an inch, so Annabelle had been the only option.
Good bait, in theory.
So, as he was saying, the Acheri would follow her from the shadows. Waiting for the killer to attack, if he did. If it turned out that it couldn't do more subtle things and was discovered and hunted, it wouldn't betray him. It couldn't. And no one could link him to the demon.
He wasn't taking any risks.
Satan had assured him of that. Literally, it couldn't betray him due to his blood. If it tried, it would burn until there was no trace left. Neither on earth nor in hell.
A perfect plan.
Except for the very low chances that it would do any good. Meanwhile, he could try something with Violet and Christina. Not that kind of something, as tempted as he was to destress. Priorities. He spoke with them to meet in his room and in the end they met in Violet's room, which was closer.
Anyway, it was as private a place as his own, the point is that it was a room.
Christina sat demurely on the bed, smoothing her skirt, and discovered that she wasn't the only one thinking about the topic. It wasn't her bed, but it was a bed, and she was too red to be thinking about more normal things.
Oh, how cute, he thought. How can I not want to eat her whole?
She had thrown herself at him without thinking twice because of the shock of Rose's death, but now shame was getting the better of her. I took her first time, her first kiss. It was a distinct feeling of power, but not at all unpleasant.
I need control, he thought. Not for the first or last time.
Then the two of them sat down too. Violet looked strangely at Christina, but didn't say anything about it. At least for now. He wondered what explanation she had found for it, if she had. She couldn't imagine the truth in a million years. He smiled imagining the surprised face she would make when she knew the truth, it was only a matter of time. Smiling thinking that she would be more jealous than surprised.
"Well, any ideas?" Sam started this.
"Not exactly, but have you considered that Rose might have betrayed you?" Violet asked. "Telling everything to the detective, staging the farce with his help."
"Yes, I don't know why you asked her for help in the first place," Christina said. "I... I mean, we. We would do anything for you."
Stop messing up or Violet will start to suspect something's going on, for God's sake. He couldn't even convey that message with a look or she would definitely realize, however.
"I considered it, Violet. But I think it's obvious that it's a real corpse. Something went wrong. Someone really killed her. I don't see why Adams would play along."
"You didn't answer my question," Christina protested.
"Well, I asked for her help... precisely because Rose is Rose. If we got caught, the only important person to me who would have to face the consequences would be myself." He forced himself to frown. "Although, of course, I never suspected these would be the consequences."
"There has to be some way to catch the killer," Violet said. "And I wish I could say it's about letting the detective work. Clearly we can't trust him."
He hadn't been able to protect Rose, so everyone had lost some of the confidence they might have had in Adams, if not all. Rose's death had been a setback, but it hadn't only brought disadvantages.
"We don't know the killer's motives, we don't have any clues," Christina said. "It seems the only realistic plan is to wait for him to act again."
"Risking someone else dying?" Sam asked. "That we'll be next?"
"I didn't say I liked it, big brother."
"Yeah."
He couldn't say she was completely wrong, but there had to be a better way. He couldn't rest in peace until the killer was six feet under.
"You really can't think of anything?" Sam asked, insistently. "Any relative who might have wanted to get rid of her? Come on, we're talking about Rose. If she was kind to some people I never saw it."
He was taking a risk, saying something that might or might not be true, since he could shield himself by saying it was a joke, a mere exaggeration, if it turned out he was wrong.
"Quite the opposite," Christina murmured. "There are too many who might have wanted to... get rid of her, to climb a few more steps up the ladder."
Too many suspects was basically the same problem as having none.
That is, they didn't even know where to start.
After a relatively long discussion with many twists and turns, they came to the conclusion that they really couldn't do much more than wait for the killer to act again and be careful.
They agreed to sleep with him even without him having to convince them, for greater safety. In fact, they were excited. Even Christina. Her eyes sparkled at sharing the bed like in the old days, not like they had done a few days ago. As brother and sister.
He wouldn't be thinking of such innocent things, but well. Christina was a child. Even Violet was a child. He wasn't.
As for the killer, he wasn't willing to accept something so frustrating. Christina and Violet were absolutely right. They couldn't do anything until the killer acted, but what if he could force him to act? And he could. Only he could do it.
Rose's body was in the chapel while preparations were being made for another funeral.
He only had one chance.
Rose burst into the room suddenly.
A few adults fainted as soon as they saw her. Others chose to run away. Adams, on the other hand, looked at her as if she were the most interesting thing he had seen in his life. Would he believe she had risen from the dead? Could he accept it, even if he naturally resisted at first?
In any case, the important thing was the killer's reaction.
"I've come back to take revenge on my killer."
Sam had already used this trick. He didn't like having to resort to the same thing, but well...
Why fix what isn't broken, right?
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 10: END
31. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 11
Chapter 31: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 11
If her appearance transformed into Rose was like an earthquake, then her declaration caused the aftershocks. Not all the adults were gathered here, but many had already run out of the room. The news would spread soon, and the usual crowd of NPCs would gather to point fingers, whisper, and enjoy another unusual event as if it had nothing to do with them.
Sam wasn't exactly a saint, so he supposed he had no right to judge them. He didn't care that people were bad or selfish. It was the natural state of any living being. What bothered him was hypocrisy. Surely those who acted as mere spectators believed themselves to be good people, victims, just that and nothing more. As if they didn't contribute to the hostile atmosphere that enveloped the mansion all day, every day. As if they couldn't do anything. As if all the victims were nothing more than part of a show.
Of course, the truth was that recent events had nothing to do with the struggle for Blake Wright's inheritance. But as far as they knew, that was exactly what was happening. The hostility was finally exploding, as this was surely the last family conference before Blake chose an heir. Not to take charge of things right away, perhaps, but at least to enter, putting an end to everyone's dreams and hopes except for one.
Anyway, it was a useless reflection. But he felt justified, somehow. Killing these hypocritical parasites couldn't be so bad. In fact, he was doing the world a favor, haha.
Adams took another drag.
"Well? If you're here for that, ghost or whatever you are, say the name."
He didn't seem convinced, even now. He didn't have to be. What the detective believed or thought had ceased to matter. The only thing that counted was the reaction of Rose's killer. He wondered if they were already among the crowd or still had to appear.
"I can't," Sam said. It was strange to hear a woman's voice when he spoke. Uncomfortable. "I wish I could, but I can only give clues."
"Oh, really?"
"The dead... can't interfere so much in the world of the living. This is a special privilege. I don't even have much time."
"Make the most of it, then," Adams said. "I won't complain about receiving divine help or something like that, making my job easier, for a change."
"What madness!"
An adult in the crowd stepped forward.
"As Samuel said, after all, this kid faked her corpse. Enough. This is a damn circus. You're not seriously..."
The man, whose name he didn't know (one of many), looked around as if seeking support. He didn't find it. At least not explicit, verbal. People didn't know what to do, what to say. Sheep waiting for a shepherd to show them the way. Sam had to be the shepherd. Control the narrative, push things in the direction that suited him.
"The same to you," Adams said. "Enough, there's a limit to incredulity. Everyone saw the corpse. I'm telling you it's a corpse, the healer who came also. What more do you need? I don't know exactly what's going on here, but Rose is definitely dead."
The guy found no answer. He retreated to the safety of the crowd, backing down, muttering under his breath, but no more. The gallery of maniacs was irritating, but at least they weren't too loud. They knew their place, with the occasional exception.
"Well, Rose or whatever you are," Adams repeated. "Give me your clues. I'm a pretty smart guy, although it's bad for me to say it. If they're good clues, your murder will be avenged right away and we can all go home."
Sam let irritation show on his face. The weirdest thing would be not to seem angry after the guy clearly wasn't taking it seriously at all, if he was what he claimed to be.
He didn't have anything concrete about the killer. That's why he was doing this in the first place, but he had certain general assumptions. Something that could work like the fool-proof methods of people who called themselves fortune-tellers. It wouldn't work with Adams, he was no fool, but the killer might feel cornered. Maybe they would feel the need to act somehow, to finish the job, silence her forever.
"It's difficult. I haven't had much time to organize my thoughts, I still haven't processed the fact that I've died, you asshole."
Adam smiled. It was a very bitter smile full of self-contempt.
"It was a woman. We didn't talk, not really. I'm almost sure she killed me out of possessiveness."
"Towards you?" Adams asked. "Another woman and not a man? Well, I guess these things happen."
"Let me finish. Towards Samuel, obviously."
You're a stranger, so I doubt you've noticed, but anyone with half a brain and our age could see the way he looked at me.
Of course, Christina chose that moment to enter. She seemed more angry than surprised or horrified. Speaking of possessiveness and jealousy, huh? It was nice to see. Christina didn't want anyone to come between them. She wanted more than he had given her. But it wasn't the time to think about that. He didn't have to mix business with pleasure.
"I can't believe it," Christina muttered. Violet wasn't far away, of course. The age difference wasn't big, but it was obvious. Even so, more than older sister and younger sister, they looked like twins. Waist to waist, elbow to elbow. Always stuck together.
Adams raised an eyebrow.
"Despite being, or having been, his sister? I guess that happens often too. Maybe one of your sisters felt jealous?"
"No. The one who killed me was an older woman. What better way to climb the social ladder than to let Samuel, the favorite to win the inheritance, put it between your legs?"
A shot in the dark. It was a considerable risk. If he was completely wrong, the mysterious killer wouldn't feel threatened. Worse still, they would know it wasn't Rose, just someone posing as her.
But if he only said things that were too vague, safe, there would be no chance of the plan working at all.
"It seems you don't share the same opinion," Adams said. "You talk as if you hate him. Well, I guess I don't blame you. He never saw you as his family, why would you be fond of him?"
As if his words had been directed at Christina, a knife slid between the girl's ribs and pierced her heart.
If it was a dramatic metaphor, that was because Christina's expression was also extremely dramatic. It didn't suit him for her to start doubting. He believed that love was love, period, but it seemed that not everyone shared the same opinion.
"Of course I hate him, but that happened long before he started showing interest in me."
"Oh really? Well, it's not like I care much. Back to the point, miss, the truth is that your clues are a bit vague. At least you could tell me if your killer is in this room."
"Yes," Sam said without thinking twice, with great naturalness.
It was a safe bet. The killer, and it was probably a female killer, would have been the first to come running as soon as the news spread. If they hadn't been in the room from the beginning, of course.
Anyone would want to make sure that their terrible secret didn't come to light. It could ruin years, maybe decades of effort, after all. It depended on how old the woman was.
If his speculations about the motive were completely wrong, the killer could be a man, for all he knew. This wasn't exactly a great plan. He could admit it. He just hadn't wanted to sit still. Impatience. He would have to work on that in the future. But for now, it didn't matter as long as he got away with it.
He heard a click. Sam looked down and saw that his wrist was handcuffed to the table. It wasn't a real handcuff, or rather, it wasn't made of steel. It seemed to be woven, well, of magical energy.
"What are you doing?"
"You said something about not having much time. Well, I know what happens when time runs out. I don't want you to slip away before that."
He was handcuffed, and the killer hadn't reacted yet. Had he been completely wrong? Had it been a stupid idea from the beginning? Useless questions, it was too late to regret it.
"Let me go," Sam snapped.
"Why such a hurry? You're here to avenge your death, aren't you? And you have me right in front of you, the detective. Where else would you want to go?"
"I said let me go or I'll do it myself."
"Oh. Interesting. You're dead, but you can still use magic, that is, life energy. Right? Because I don't think you're telling me you can break the shackle with your physical strength."
"Release my daughter!"
Mama Wright made her appearance.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 11: END
If her appearance transformed into Rose was like an earthquake, then her declaration caused the aftershocks. Not all the adults were gathered here, but many had already run out of the room. The news would spread soon, and the usual crowd of NPCs would gather to point fingers, whisper, and enjoy another unusual event as if it had nothing to do with them.
Sam wasn't exactly a saint, so he supposed he had no right to judge them. He didn't care that people were bad or selfish. It was the natural state of any living being. What bothered him was hypocrisy. Surely those who acted as mere spectators believed themselves to be good people, victims, just that and nothing more. As if they didn't contribute to the hostile atmosphere that enveloped the mansion all day, every day. As if they couldn't do anything. As if all the victims were nothing more than part of a show.
Of course, the truth was that recent events had nothing to do with the struggle for Blake Wright's inheritance. But as far as they knew, that was exactly what was happening. The hostility was finally exploding, as this was surely the last family conference before Blake chose an heir. Not to take charge of things right away, perhaps, but at least to enter, putting an end to everyone's dreams and hopes except for one.
Anyway, it was a useless reflection. But he felt justified, somehow. Killing these hypocritical parasites couldn't be so bad. In fact, he was doing the world a favor, haha.
Adams took another drag.
"Well? If you're here for that, ghost or whatever you are, say the name."
He didn't seem convinced, even now. He didn't have to be. What the detective believed or thought had ceased to matter. The only thing that counted was the reaction of Rose's killer. He wondered if they were already among the crowd or still had to appear.
"I can't," Sam said. It was strange to hear a woman's voice when he spoke. Uncomfortable. "I wish I could, but I can only give clues."
"Oh, really?"
"The dead... can't interfere so much in the world of the living. This is a special privilege. I don't even have much time."
"Make the most of it, then," Adams said. "I won't complain about receiving divine help or something like that, making my job easier, for a change."
"What madness!"
An adult in the crowd stepped forward.
"As Samuel said, after all, this kid faked her corpse. Enough. This is a damn circus. You're not seriously..."
The man, whose name he didn't know (one of many), looked around as if seeking support. He didn't find it. At least not explicit, verbal. People didn't know what to do, what to say. Sheep waiting for a shepherd to show them the way. Sam had to be the shepherd. Control the narrative, push things in the direction that suited him.
"The same to you," Adams said. "Enough, there's a limit to incredulity. Everyone saw the corpse. I'm telling you it's a corpse, the healer who came also. What more do you need? I don't know exactly what's going on here, but Rose is definitely dead."
The guy found no answer. He retreated to the safety of the crowd, backing down, muttering under his breath, but no more. The gallery of maniacs was irritating, but at least they weren't too loud. They knew their place, with the occasional exception.
"Well, Rose or whatever you are," Adams repeated. "Give me your clues. I'm a pretty smart guy, although it's bad for me to say it. If they're good clues, your murder will be avenged right away and we can all go home."
Sam let irritation show on his face. The weirdest thing would be not to seem angry after the guy clearly wasn't taking it seriously at all, if he was what he claimed to be.
He didn't have anything concrete about the killer. That's why he was doing this in the first place, but he had certain general assumptions. Something that could work like the fool-proof methods of people who called themselves fortune-tellers. It wouldn't work with Adams, he was no fool, but the killer might feel cornered. Maybe they would feel the need to act somehow, to finish the job, silence her forever.
"It's difficult. I haven't had much time to organize my thoughts, I still haven't processed the fact that I've died, you asshole."
Adam smiled. It was a very bitter smile full of self-contempt.
"It was a woman. We didn't talk, not really. I'm almost sure she killed me out of possessiveness."
"Towards you?" Adams asked. "Another woman and not a man? Well, I guess these things happen."
"Let me finish. Towards Samuel, obviously."
You're a stranger, so I doubt you've noticed, but anyone with half a brain and our age could see the way he looked at me.
Of course, Christina chose that moment to enter. She seemed more angry than surprised or horrified. Speaking of possessiveness and jealousy, huh? It was nice to see. Christina didn't want anyone to come between them. She wanted more than he had given her. But it wasn't the time to think about that. He didn't have to mix business with pleasure.
"I can't believe it," Christina muttered. Violet wasn't far away, of course. The age difference wasn't big, but it was obvious. Even so, more than older sister and younger sister, they looked like twins. Waist to waist, elbow to elbow. Always stuck together.
Adams raised an eyebrow.
"Despite being, or having been, his sister? I guess that happens often too. Maybe one of your sisters felt jealous?"
"No. The one who killed me was an older woman. What better way to climb the social ladder than to let Samuel, the favorite to win the inheritance, put it between your legs?"
A shot in the dark. It was a considerable risk. If he was completely wrong, the mysterious killer wouldn't feel threatened. Worse still, they would know it wasn't Rose, just someone posing as her.
But if he only said things that were too vague, safe, there would be no chance of the plan working at all.
"It seems you don't share the same opinion," Adams said. "You talk as if you hate him. Well, I guess I don't blame you. He never saw you as his family, why would you be fond of him?"
As if his words had been directed at Christina, a knife slid between the girl's ribs and pierced her heart.
If it was a dramatic metaphor, that was because Christina's expression was also extremely dramatic. It didn't suit him for her to start doubting. He believed that love was love, period, but it seemed that not everyone shared the same opinion.
"Of course I hate him, but that happened long before he started showing interest in me."
"Oh really? Well, it's not like I care much. Back to the point, miss, the truth is that your clues are a bit vague. At least you could tell me if your killer is in this room."
"Yes," Sam said without thinking twice, with great naturalness.
It was a safe bet. The killer, and it was probably a female killer, would have been the first to come running as soon as the news spread. If they hadn't been in the room from the beginning, of course.
Anyone would want to make sure that their terrible secret didn't come to light. It could ruin years, maybe decades of effort, after all. It depended on how old the woman was.
If his speculations about the motive were completely wrong, the killer could be a man, for all he knew. This wasn't exactly a great plan. He could admit it. He just hadn't wanted to sit still. Impatience. He would have to work on that in the future. But for now, it didn't matter as long as he got away with it.
He heard a click. Sam looked down and saw that his wrist was handcuffed to the table. It wasn't a real handcuff, or rather, it wasn't made of steel. It seemed to be woven, well, of magical energy.
"What are you doing?"
"You said something about not having much time. Well, I know what happens when time runs out. I don't want you to slip away before that."
He was handcuffed, and the killer hadn't reacted yet. Had he been completely wrong? Had it been a stupid idea from the beginning? Useless questions, it was too late to regret it.
"Let me go," Sam snapped.
"Why such a hurry? You're here to avenge your death, aren't you? And you have me right in front of you, the detective. Where else would you want to go?"
"I said let me go or I'll do it myself."
"Oh. Interesting. You're dead, but you can still use magic, that is, life energy. Right? Because I don't think you're telling me you can break the shackle with your physical strength."
"Release my daughter!"
Mama Wright made her appearance.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 11: END
32. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 12
Chapter 32: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 12
"Mrs. Wright," Adams said impassively, "I would greatly appreciate if you did not interfere with the investigation."
Mary Wright stood before the detective, facing him down. She had come to his room once and at least bothered to feign affection, unlike Blake Wright, with whom he had spoken only once. Perhaps the affection wasn't feigned. Who knows. There were so many things he didn't know.
Like this.
I've become impatient and put my foot in it, he thought.
How could he get out of this?
No, that was the wrong question. There was no right question, he had already gotten out of this. Adams was trying hard to appear impassive, but he didn't have the balls to challenge Blake Wright's wife. He would never find work in the kingdom again if she so wished.
He could easily imagine that bastard had that kind of influence.
Rather, he wasn't super rich if he couldn't do at least that. Wealth was its own kind of influence and with it, he could buy all the others.
He had no doubt that Blake was involved in everything. To secure his empire.
He had been close, but the danger had passed. He believed that firmly.
"Mrs. Wright, that's not your daughter," Adams said. "I don't know what or who she is, but your daughter is dead."
He was trying, but he wouldn't get anywhere.
Maternal instinct was a wonderful thing. If she was a half-decent mother, she would be more blinded by love for her children than Violet and Christina were blinded by their love for him.
"Rose is very talented," Mary replied. "She must have faked the corpse, fooling you and the healer."
"That's very unlikely, ma'am."
"Then how do you explain this?" Mary gestured with her arm, glaring at Adams, not taking her eyes off him for a moment. "She's right there. She's right in front of us, alive."
You've just shown that you can do some magic at least, so tell me, what magic can do that? There's magic that can help you fake a corpse, pretend your death, but what kind of magic can do that?
Her voice gradually rose. By the end, she was shouting at the top of her lungs.
And she had big ones, that's for sure. So she really cared, not just about Sam, the other Sam, but about Rose. About all of them. She was a half-decent mother.
That was...
Something unimportant. She would die screaming like everyone else.
"I don't know how to explain it, but..."
"But what? Am I going to insist on whatever I want? That the explanation is something demonstrably impossible? Some detective you are. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Isn't that practically your motto?"
So Sherlock Holmes exists in this world too, or some similar character, he thought, although it was the least of his concerns. Well, it wasn't stranger than other similarities. Like the Bible. Like God and Satan.
"I suppose so, ma'am, something like that. The problem is, to begin with, in defining the impossible and the improbable. A healer who can't detect a fake corpse. How would you explain that, that Rose paid him for it? How would she know who her husband would contact?"
"She wouldn't know, Detective Adams, but I think you're gravely misinterpreting the situation. I'm not suggesting anything to you. I've given you an order. Release her."
The room was emptying. The NPCs had seen more than enough, they more or less understood the situation, and didn't want to get in the middle of the conflict between those two. Adams might never work in the kingdom again. The family members could lose much more, if they attracted her attention and her anger.
Basically, justified or not, they had no balls.
That was all.
Adams...
He did have them, although only to a certain point. It was obvious that he didn't want to risk too much, but he wouldn't give in with just one push. He kept insisting.
"Please, Mrs. Wright. You have to understand that this is too strange."
He wasn't convincing her, but Adams, of course, was right.
Mary should understand that.
She should have her suspicions. Such unconditional support... Okay, she believed she was her mother or at least family, if she had considered the possibility that it wasn't Rose in the first place, but could there be some hidden motive?
Maybe not.
Maybe he was overthinking it, as usual. Although he was in this situation for thinking too little, for once. Letting his anxiety take the reins, rising to a pace that for now he seemed unable to bear.
Mary pushed the detective aside without saying anything else, rage carved on her face like the sculpture of a Shura, and broke the shackle.
She didn't even touch it, she just had to snap her fingers.
Sam gets up, rubbing his sore wrist. Well, it didn't hurt that much, but since he had the appearance of a beautiful young woman, he had to take advantage of it while he could to evoke pity. To make Adams look like the bad guy in the story.
He made a mental note to learn how to do that. Whatever Mary had done.
He wasn't entirely satisfied. Mom had literally had to bail him out, but it wouldn't happen again. Not only because he would be more cautious, because now he had a good example to remember of the importance of patience, everything in due time.
But because the next time he ended up handcuffed, he would know how to get out of it on his own. He swore it to himself.
Although, obviously, the ideal was not to find himself in a situation like this in the first place.
"Your husband hired me to put an end to these tragedies," Adams said. Did the detective really understand people so well? If he expected Mary to step aside for fear of what her husband might think or do, submitting, he was very wrong. Sam didn't know her well. He didn't know her at all, but it should be obvious just by looking at her face once. Well, he supposed that now that Adams was cornered, he had to try something, haha. "I can't do anything if you put so many obstacles in my way."
"If you can't solve the case without tying a girl to the table because you feel like it, maybe you're not a good detective," Mary replied without thinking twice.
Very good, and now fire this son of a bitch. Come on.
"What's the problem, ma'am?"
"Haven't you heard me? Stop testing my patience. I can end you forever. You'll never find work anywhere, ever."
Very good, very good.
He didn't feel satisfied because it hadn't been due to his own effort... ah, who was he kidding! Who didn't wish everything would go smoothly with minimal effort? Effort was overrated, results were what mattered! He hadn't known it, but he had had a strong card to play up his sleeve all this time. And now he would take advantage of it as much as he could. A much stronger card than the toy he had thrown aside, sending her back to her house. How satisfying! Seeing Adams' face twist with rage and frustration, how could he not be excited, regardless of his effort or not!
"I understand, I'm just humbly asking for an explanation, for God's sake."
Adams bowed before her, grimacing, gritting his teeth.
Hahahaha! kukikikikikakkakakakhhyahhhyaaaaah! He could barely contain his laughter. Ah, patience, yes, patience, now he knew the virtue of patience, hahahaha.
"In the worst case," Adams continued, what a stubborn bastard, he should learn that he had lost, good try, but victory had slipped through his fingers, "she was going to stay tied to a table for a few more minutes. It's not like I had tightened the shackle too much or anything. I wasn't going to do her any harm..."
Oh, shut up already!
It's obvious she doesn't care, you're just wasting oxygen, you fool.
"Or is there? Is there any reason why it doesn't suit her for time to run out, Cinderella's magic? Do you perhaps know who is impersonating her, Mrs. Wright?"
Those were all good questions. He would make sure to talk to Mary in private another day and find out the answer to each and every one of them.
To what extent he could take advantage of her maternal instinct, or whatever was pushing her to go so far for him, her, the person she believed him to be.
The whole world was against him.
It would be, if they knew of his existence. So he had to cling with all his might to everything he could.
Sam decided he had heard enough and took the opportunity to run out of the room. No one tried to stop her, they even stepped aside, as if they were afraid of her. Well, after all, she was supposed to be a ghost.
Losing Rose's form in front of everyone wouldn't reveal him as Satan's son. It wouldn't end this game.
But Adams was too smart for his liking. He would undoubtedly realize who had provided the supposedly buried truth for so many years to Evelyn's mother. He might even realize that it wasn't truth at all.
And that would be just as bad, more or less.
The whole house of cards could collapse.
Sam didn't get as far as he would have liked. He tripped, falling to the floor, a few inches from the door. But what the hell? What had just happened? What had he tripped over?
He glanced back.
A thin blue cord, almost invisible. The blue of magical energy. It looked like the shackle Adams had made, come on.
And, obviously, only he could be responsible for this.
"When did he have time to..."
Sam fell silent quickly.
Because he realized that the others had too, too much silence.
Because he realized that he had heard his own voice.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 12: END
"Mrs. Wright," Adams said impassively, "I would greatly appreciate if you did not interfere with the investigation."
Mary Wright stood before the detective, facing him down. She had come to his room once and at least bothered to feign affection, unlike Blake Wright, with whom he had spoken only once. Perhaps the affection wasn't feigned. Who knows. There were so many things he didn't know.
Like this.
I've become impatient and put my foot in it, he thought.
How could he get out of this?
No, that was the wrong question. There was no right question, he had already gotten out of this. Adams was trying hard to appear impassive, but he didn't have the balls to challenge Blake Wright's wife. He would never find work in the kingdom again if she so wished.
He could easily imagine that bastard had that kind of influence.
Rather, he wasn't super rich if he couldn't do at least that. Wealth was its own kind of influence and with it, he could buy all the others.
He had no doubt that Blake was involved in everything. To secure his empire.
He had been close, but the danger had passed. He believed that firmly.
"Mrs. Wright, that's not your daughter," Adams said. "I don't know what or who she is, but your daughter is dead."
He was trying, but he wouldn't get anywhere.
Maternal instinct was a wonderful thing. If she was a half-decent mother, she would be more blinded by love for her children than Violet and Christina were blinded by their love for him.
"Rose is very talented," Mary replied. "She must have faked the corpse, fooling you and the healer."
"That's very unlikely, ma'am."
"Then how do you explain this?" Mary gestured with her arm, glaring at Adams, not taking her eyes off him for a moment. "She's right there. She's right in front of us, alive."
You've just shown that you can do some magic at least, so tell me, what magic can do that? There's magic that can help you fake a corpse, pretend your death, but what kind of magic can do that?
Her voice gradually rose. By the end, she was shouting at the top of her lungs.
And she had big ones, that's for sure. So she really cared, not just about Sam, the other Sam, but about Rose. About all of them. She was a half-decent mother.
That was...
Something unimportant. She would die screaming like everyone else.
"I don't know how to explain it, but..."
"But what? Am I going to insist on whatever I want? That the explanation is something demonstrably impossible? Some detective you are. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Isn't that practically your motto?"
So Sherlock Holmes exists in this world too, or some similar character, he thought, although it was the least of his concerns. Well, it wasn't stranger than other similarities. Like the Bible. Like God and Satan.
"I suppose so, ma'am, something like that. The problem is, to begin with, in defining the impossible and the improbable. A healer who can't detect a fake corpse. How would you explain that, that Rose paid him for it? How would she know who her husband would contact?"
"She wouldn't know, Detective Adams, but I think you're gravely misinterpreting the situation. I'm not suggesting anything to you. I've given you an order. Release her."
The room was emptying. The NPCs had seen more than enough, they more or less understood the situation, and didn't want to get in the middle of the conflict between those two. Adams might never work in the kingdom again. The family members could lose much more, if they attracted her attention and her anger.
Basically, justified or not, they had no balls.
That was all.
Adams...
He did have them, although only to a certain point. It was obvious that he didn't want to risk too much, but he wouldn't give in with just one push. He kept insisting.
"Please, Mrs. Wright. You have to understand that this is too strange."
He wasn't convincing her, but Adams, of course, was right.
Mary should understand that.
She should have her suspicions. Such unconditional support... Okay, she believed she was her mother or at least family, if she had considered the possibility that it wasn't Rose in the first place, but could there be some hidden motive?
Maybe not.
Maybe he was overthinking it, as usual. Although he was in this situation for thinking too little, for once. Letting his anxiety take the reins, rising to a pace that for now he seemed unable to bear.
Mary pushed the detective aside without saying anything else, rage carved on her face like the sculpture of a Shura, and broke the shackle.
She didn't even touch it, she just had to snap her fingers.
Sam gets up, rubbing his sore wrist. Well, it didn't hurt that much, but since he had the appearance of a beautiful young woman, he had to take advantage of it while he could to evoke pity. To make Adams look like the bad guy in the story.
He made a mental note to learn how to do that. Whatever Mary had done.
He wasn't entirely satisfied. Mom had literally had to bail him out, but it wouldn't happen again. Not only because he would be more cautious, because now he had a good example to remember of the importance of patience, everything in due time.
But because the next time he ended up handcuffed, he would know how to get out of it on his own. He swore it to himself.
Although, obviously, the ideal was not to find himself in a situation like this in the first place.
"Your husband hired me to put an end to these tragedies," Adams said. Did the detective really understand people so well? If he expected Mary to step aside for fear of what her husband might think or do, submitting, he was very wrong. Sam didn't know her well. He didn't know her at all, but it should be obvious just by looking at her face once. Well, he supposed that now that Adams was cornered, he had to try something, haha. "I can't do anything if you put so many obstacles in my way."
"If you can't solve the case without tying a girl to the table because you feel like it, maybe you're not a good detective," Mary replied without thinking twice.
Very good, and now fire this son of a bitch. Come on.
"What's the problem, ma'am?"
"Haven't you heard me? Stop testing my patience. I can end you forever. You'll never find work anywhere, ever."
Very good, very good.
He didn't feel satisfied because it hadn't been due to his own effort... ah, who was he kidding! Who didn't wish everything would go smoothly with minimal effort? Effort was overrated, results were what mattered! He hadn't known it, but he had had a strong card to play up his sleeve all this time. And now he would take advantage of it as much as he could. A much stronger card than the toy he had thrown aside, sending her back to her house. How satisfying! Seeing Adams' face twist with rage and frustration, how could he not be excited, regardless of his effort or not!
"I understand, I'm just humbly asking for an explanation, for God's sake."
Adams bowed before her, grimacing, gritting his teeth.
Hahahaha! kukikikikikakkakakakhhyahhhyaaaaah! He could barely contain his laughter. Ah, patience, yes, patience, now he knew the virtue of patience, hahahaha.
"In the worst case," Adams continued, what a stubborn bastard, he should learn that he had lost, good try, but victory had slipped through his fingers, "she was going to stay tied to a table for a few more minutes. It's not like I had tightened the shackle too much or anything. I wasn't going to do her any harm..."
Oh, shut up already!
It's obvious she doesn't care, you're just wasting oxygen, you fool.
"Or is there? Is there any reason why it doesn't suit her for time to run out, Cinderella's magic? Do you perhaps know who is impersonating her, Mrs. Wright?"
Those were all good questions. He would make sure to talk to Mary in private another day and find out the answer to each and every one of them.
To what extent he could take advantage of her maternal instinct, or whatever was pushing her to go so far for him, her, the person she believed him to be.
The whole world was against him.
It would be, if they knew of his existence. So he had to cling with all his might to everything he could.
Sam decided he had heard enough and took the opportunity to run out of the room. No one tried to stop her, they even stepped aside, as if they were afraid of her. Well, after all, she was supposed to be a ghost.
Losing Rose's form in front of everyone wouldn't reveal him as Satan's son. It wouldn't end this game.
But Adams was too smart for his liking. He would undoubtedly realize who had provided the supposedly buried truth for so many years to Evelyn's mother. He might even realize that it wasn't truth at all.
And that would be just as bad, more or less.
The whole house of cards could collapse.
Sam didn't get as far as he would have liked. He tripped, falling to the floor, a few inches from the door. But what the hell? What had just happened? What had he tripped over?
He glanced back.
A thin blue cord, almost invisible. The blue of magical energy. It looked like the shackle Adams had made, come on.
And, obviously, only he could be responsible for this.
"When did he have time to..."
Sam fell silent quickly.
Because he realized that the others had too, too much silence.
Because he realized that he had heard his own voice.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 12: END
33. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 13
Chapter 33: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 13
Whispers.
Since Mary had made her appearance, there hadn't been so many spectators; the number of children and adults alike had been considerably reduced. Even so, there were too many for his taste, watching his public humiliation.
If only he had noticed the rope. Although it was almost invisible even now that he was looking at it directly. Although he hadn't known that a single blow would break the transformation. What had Adams called it? Ah, yes. Cinderella's magic, the fucking bastard. It had nothing to do with it, but oh, god, god!
"This kid is crazy," one of the adults muttered. "Always causing trouble lately, so much privilege has gone to his head."
"And all because he happened to be born on the first day of the family conference. As if God had sent an heir. Yeah, some heir."
Sam clenched his fists; his expression must have been like that of a wild animal.
Although undoubtedly one that was cornered.
"So it was you. Of course, how could it not be?" Adams muttered, approaching, while Sam remained on the ground. Mary wasn't far behind. Sam realized that the woman didn't seem surprised at all. If he had done it, Adams surely had too. That was interesting, but he had other things to worry about right now.
Violet and Christina also set off, approaching, but not too close.
He wondered what they were thinking.
Was he losing them? Had this been too much for them?
Pretending to be Rose, even though they didn't even appreciate her? No, it couldn't be. It was just that they didn't know what to do, what to say, how to get in the middle of this. People tended to prefer being observers. That was all.
Acting was a risk, it cost...
It had cost him...
No!
"I suppose other more studious and curious people would want to know how," Adams said, "but I've always preferred why?"
"You already know why!" Sam spat. "Do you think anyone wants you snooping around here? Not a single person? It's just that I've been the only one with the balls to put into practice what we've all been thinking. Some plan, some way to get you out of here, to stop you from getting in the way! This family doesn't need any bloodhound coming around sniffing for its secrets."
That speech had been improvised and fake, but Sam hit the ground with both fists with real rage.
A rage that seemed petulant rather than imposing. Yes, he knew that perfectly well. So what?
Mary extended a hand to help him up. For a moment Sam considered slapping it away. Rather, he felt an impulse that almost took over him. A stupid and petty impulse. Controlling himself, he grasped her hand, standing up, one hand on his new mother's shoulder.
What face was he making? Sam Wright was considerably more attractive than Sam had been, just Sam, but it couldn't be anything less than a horrible grimace.
To what extent had she realized, how many pieces had she put together? Could he still save this situation?
"Samuel, get out of here," Mary said.
"No, the boy shouldn't go anywhere," Adams said.
"You're fired. Okay? It's over. We won't pay you another cent, and you'll never work in this kingdom again. I'll destroy your future."
Adams' expression changed. His eyes shone and Sam thought it was as if he was seeing him for the first time.
"I'm not doing this for money. And I won't force him to stay, but I think he'll want to."
"Oh, really?" Mary said.
"Yes." Adams, however, only had eyes for him. "Because right now I'm going to the chapel."
A chill ran from his neck to the tips of his toes. What had he said? What the hell had he said? But he already knew, he just didn't want to accept it. He would go to the chapel. He would open the coffin, and then he would see that Rose was missing her heart. Although they didn't know exactly how his powers worked, it was obviously demonic, something no normal person would do. Things would get much worse when he inevitably investigated Evelyn's corpse. He hadn't covered his tracks properly. It wouldn't change anything, even if he had, incinerated her body or something. Anyone would realize the reason. You didn't need to be intelligent. Everything would end if he saw the missing heart.
What the hell could he do to prevent it?
Adams set off, heading towards the exit. The relatively few spectators who remained followed him as if they were tied to him by invisible strings, being dragged rather than following, that is.
Even Violet and Christina did it. They passed by him without saying anything, although at least they looked at him. They didn't know what to think.
Without saying anything directly, Adams was painting a very ugly picture. The picture of the truth.
There was nothing more horrible. People could spend their lives running from the truth, after all.
Sam decided to go after Adams. He still hadn't thought about what to do, how the hell he could fix this, but he had to move. Time was running out.
It was his own fault that he was in this situation, but that damned bastard, how did he realize things so quickly? If messing with a corpse was abnormal, what could you call someone who immediately jumped to the conclusion that that was what had happened, as if it were common sense?
He dragged himself towards the chapel of destiny, following the crowd that wouldn't stop whispering. Sam heard everything, although he didn't want to. Although he needed to concentrate.
"Detective Adams," Mary said, "you're not going to enter the chapel. I have no idea what you're trying to do, but you'll stay away from my daughter's body. Who do you think you are? You can't do whatever you please!"
Adams ignored her, kept walking towards the chapel. What a guy, he absolutely didn't care that his head was on the guillotine. He had to admit, he had balls.
I'd better cut them off, he thought.
Sam became increasingly tense, like a panther about to pounce on its prey. He had to do something and soon. When Adams stepped on the first of the steps, he flew about ten meters and fell hard on the grass. He coughed, writhing on the ground, trying to catch his breath. Needless to say, but Mary was responsible.
"I warned you too many times. So you can only blame yourself for your stupidity."
Mary advanced towards the fallen detective.
"Mom!" Violet shouted, but the woman turned a deaf ear.
Had the impact really been that hard? Adams looked like he couldn't stand up even if his life depended on it. Sam connected the dots, but too late for it to mean anything.
He opened his mouth to warn her, but only the first syllable came out. Then Adams threw dust in her face, momentarily blinding her, and like the rat he was, he slipped towards the doors of the chapel.
Sam tried to use his telekinesis to stop him.
However, it had no effect.
It didn't surprise him that people in this world could resist magic to some extent, it would be half the point of receiving training, and Adams had obviously been expecting some attack on his part...
But it was still fucking inconvenient.
He wasn't fast enough. Adams forced the chapel doors open.
Screams.
Some protested what Adam had done, others offered to help Mary. Still others entered the chapel along with Adam, who didn't hesitate to throw off the lid of the coffin.
Exposing the girl's pierced chest.
The bloody void inside.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 13: END
Whispers.
Since Mary had made her appearance, there hadn't been so many spectators; the number of children and adults alike had been considerably reduced. Even so, there were too many for his taste, watching his public humiliation.
If only he had noticed the rope. Although it was almost invisible even now that he was looking at it directly. Although he hadn't known that a single blow would break the transformation. What had Adams called it? Ah, yes. Cinderella's magic, the fucking bastard. It had nothing to do with it, but oh, god, god!
"This kid is crazy," one of the adults muttered. "Always causing trouble lately, so much privilege has gone to his head."
"And all because he happened to be born on the first day of the family conference. As if God had sent an heir. Yeah, some heir."
Sam clenched his fists; his expression must have been like that of a wild animal.
Although undoubtedly one that was cornered.
"So it was you. Of course, how could it not be?" Adams muttered, approaching, while Sam remained on the ground. Mary wasn't far behind. Sam realized that the woman didn't seem surprised at all. If he had done it, Adams surely had too. That was interesting, but he had other things to worry about right now.
Violet and Christina also set off, approaching, but not too close.
He wondered what they were thinking.
Was he losing them? Had this been too much for them?
Pretending to be Rose, even though they didn't even appreciate her? No, it couldn't be. It was just that they didn't know what to do, what to say, how to get in the middle of this. People tended to prefer being observers. That was all.
Acting was a risk, it cost...
It had cost him...
No!
"I suppose other more studious and curious people would want to know how," Adams said, "but I've always preferred why?"
"You already know why!" Sam spat. "Do you think anyone wants you snooping around here? Not a single person? It's just that I've been the only one with the balls to put into practice what we've all been thinking. Some plan, some way to get you out of here, to stop you from getting in the way! This family doesn't need any bloodhound coming around sniffing for its secrets."
That speech had been improvised and fake, but Sam hit the ground with both fists with real rage.
A rage that seemed petulant rather than imposing. Yes, he knew that perfectly well. So what?
Mary extended a hand to help him up. For a moment Sam considered slapping it away. Rather, he felt an impulse that almost took over him. A stupid and petty impulse. Controlling himself, he grasped her hand, standing up, one hand on his new mother's shoulder.
What face was he making? Sam Wright was considerably more attractive than Sam had been, just Sam, but it couldn't be anything less than a horrible grimace.
To what extent had she realized, how many pieces had she put together? Could he still save this situation?
"Samuel, get out of here," Mary said.
"No, the boy shouldn't go anywhere," Adams said.
"You're fired. Okay? It's over. We won't pay you another cent, and you'll never work in this kingdom again. I'll destroy your future."
Adams' expression changed. His eyes shone and Sam thought it was as if he was seeing him for the first time.
"I'm not doing this for money. And I won't force him to stay, but I think he'll want to."
"Oh, really?" Mary said.
"Yes." Adams, however, only had eyes for him. "Because right now I'm going to the chapel."
A chill ran from his neck to the tips of his toes. What had he said? What the hell had he said? But he already knew, he just didn't want to accept it. He would go to the chapel. He would open the coffin, and then he would see that Rose was missing her heart. Although they didn't know exactly how his powers worked, it was obviously demonic, something no normal person would do. Things would get much worse when he inevitably investigated Evelyn's corpse. He hadn't covered his tracks properly. It wouldn't change anything, even if he had, incinerated her body or something. Anyone would realize the reason. You didn't need to be intelligent. Everything would end if he saw the missing heart.
What the hell could he do to prevent it?
Adams set off, heading towards the exit. The relatively few spectators who remained followed him as if they were tied to him by invisible strings, being dragged rather than following, that is.
Even Violet and Christina did it. They passed by him without saying anything, although at least they looked at him. They didn't know what to think.
Without saying anything directly, Adams was painting a very ugly picture. The picture of the truth.
There was nothing more horrible. People could spend their lives running from the truth, after all.
Sam decided to go after Adams. He still hadn't thought about what to do, how the hell he could fix this, but he had to move. Time was running out.
It was his own fault that he was in this situation, but that damned bastard, how did he realize things so quickly? If messing with a corpse was abnormal, what could you call someone who immediately jumped to the conclusion that that was what had happened, as if it were common sense?
He dragged himself towards the chapel of destiny, following the crowd that wouldn't stop whispering. Sam heard everything, although he didn't want to. Although he needed to concentrate.
"Detective Adams," Mary said, "you're not going to enter the chapel. I have no idea what you're trying to do, but you'll stay away from my daughter's body. Who do you think you are? You can't do whatever you please!"
Adams ignored her, kept walking towards the chapel. What a guy, he absolutely didn't care that his head was on the guillotine. He had to admit, he had balls.
I'd better cut them off, he thought.
Sam became increasingly tense, like a panther about to pounce on its prey. He had to do something and soon. When Adams stepped on the first of the steps, he flew about ten meters and fell hard on the grass. He coughed, writhing on the ground, trying to catch his breath. Needless to say, but Mary was responsible.
"I warned you too many times. So you can only blame yourself for your stupidity."
Mary advanced towards the fallen detective.
"Mom!" Violet shouted, but the woman turned a deaf ear.
Had the impact really been that hard? Adams looked like he couldn't stand up even if his life depended on it. Sam connected the dots, but too late for it to mean anything.
He opened his mouth to warn her, but only the first syllable came out. Then Adams threw dust in her face, momentarily blinding her, and like the rat he was, he slipped towards the doors of the chapel.
Sam tried to use his telekinesis to stop him.
However, it had no effect.
It didn't surprise him that people in this world could resist magic to some extent, it would be half the point of receiving training, and Adams had obviously been expecting some attack on his part...
But it was still fucking inconvenient.
He wasn't fast enough. Adams forced the chapel doors open.
Screams.
Some protested what Adam had done, others offered to help Mary. Still others entered the chapel along with Adam, who didn't hesitate to throw off the lid of the coffin.
Exposing the girl's pierced chest.
The bloody void inside.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 13: END
34. The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 14
Chapter 34: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 14
"Good God." Someone doubled over and vomited violently. Sam didn't see it, not even out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't take his eyes off Rose's corpse, and Adams standing over the body with a triumphant expression. Surely he wasn't doing this for money, but it was clear that the truth mattered to him far more than people. He wasn't even looking at him, but his face said: I've won.
"I noticed something strange about you from the beginning," Adams said. For some reason, he still dared to turn his back on him. Good. Sam wasn't the only one who had made a grave mistake. "I don't want to know exactly what you did with the heart, but that's how you managed the miracle of taking Rose's form, right? And Evelyn's."
His heart froze.
He had realized. Of course, how could he not? His true mistake in all of this hadn't been impatience, but underestimating him, thinking he could get away with it anyway.
"I'm sure that if I had her body exhumed, her heart would be missing too. You pushed Kyrie to kill her husband, didn't you? Because the poor sexually abused girl told you about it?"
"What are you insinuating?" Christina asked, practically screaming.
Adams, ignoring her, said it loud and clear for everyone present.
"Or did you tell her a lie, knowing she would believe you no matter what, since for her you were her daughter?"
His frozen heart started beating again, accelerating to a thousand miles per hour. Both things were painful.
"Oh, don't bother answering, boy. I don't need your words anymore. The answers are in Evelyn's grave. Some might say the evidence is quite... circumstantial, but the truth will come out sooner or later. You're finished."
Nothing is over, he thought, clenching his fists.
"Of course it's circumstantial evidence!" Violet shouted, taking a step forward, placing herself in front of him, just like Christina. Perhaps they were becoming convinced that Adams was right, but they resisted. Love had not yet died in their hearts. They wanted to protect him. They wanted to believe in him. "How can you just assume all that? Something so horrible. Evelyn had feelings for Sam, everyone knew that, and Sam cared for her too. I understand you think he'd want to get revenge on her... her... on that man, he has no right to call himself a father. But lie about her sexual abuse, all so that both would die horribly? What kind of monster do you think he is? Nothing you're saying makes sense! Show me one piece of evidence!"
Violet was on the verge of hysteria, barely able to contain herself enough not to break down. Her eyes were brimming with tears and her voice trembled with indignation. Maybe he could get away with it if he played his cards right. Maybe it wasn't too late.
"I already told you, I can't. The answers are in Evelyn's grave," Adams said very calmly. "If I'm right, what do you think he used her heart for if not that?"
"And if you're wrong? And why the hell do you think the heart has anything to do with this? What do you think, huh? That he sacrificed it, burned it? Ate it? What are you talking about?"
Adams shrugged.
"Somehow he must have achieved the impossible, and the heart is the center from which magical energy flows. I don't see what's strange about taking something from a person or thing you want to turn into. It shouldn't be possible with a human being, too big, too complex, but as you must know there are ways to transform into animals that work similarly."
"Stop talking to me like I'm stupid!" Violet spat. "You're the one not saying anything but nonsense, it doesn't hold up, your theories don't have a leg to stand on."
Adams stared back at her in silence.
"Give me one reason. Tell me what he would gain by doing all that."
"I can't know that."
Mary entered the chapel, at last, rubbing her eyes. Followed by the few adults who had stayed behind to help her rub her eyes, removing the sand, and express their support instead of rushing to the chapel, driven by simple morbid curiosity.
"That's something only the killer can know. However, it's the only theory that made sense. The only one that puts all the pieces together."
It was time to stop playing.
Violet and Christina could resist all they wanted, but he already knew what awaited at the end of the road. He couldn't do anything to hide what he had done to Evelyn, the disappearance of the corpse would be the same as confirming Adam's theories and it's not like he could give her a fake heart and regenerate the damage he had done with the shovel.
So he could only do one thing.
His mission was to kill the Wrights. Massacre most of the family, not all, he could keep some toys if he felt like it.
The traps, the deceptions, the stealth.
It had been the most convenient option, but it had never been the only option.
He wasn't going to waste his second chance. He wouldn't let anyone stand in his way. Filled with determination, Sam stood up straight.
He stepped forward, his hand sliding inside his jacket.
"Sam?" Christina raised her voice, scared.
Otherwise Adams wouldn't have noticed. He was looking elsewhere, as if distracted, as if he already considered him dead and buried. How naive. He supposed he was used to the fight ending when he closed the case, but the real world didn't work like that. He would give him a taste of the real world.
With a quick movement, Sam pulled out the kitchen knife he had hidden in his jacket and brandished it. Adams had resisted his powers once, even if only for long enough to reach the chapel, opening it. Better to play it safe.
He had stashed this days before, of course. He thought it would come in handy in an emergency and he had turned out to be right.
He didn't pierce his chest. His blade didn't reach the damn detective's heart.
But he buried it up to the handle pretty close, and blood flowed abundantly. Adams grabbed the knife, putting his hand over Sam's. His face contorted with effort. He didn't win the struggle, in fact Sam made him stagger backward. A pool of blood was forming at the detective's feet, which wouldn't help him keep his balance.
Sam couldn't lose the struggle, that was clear from the first second, but he couldn't win it either. At least not quickly enough for it to matter. Sooner rather than later someone would intervene on the detective's behalf, physically or with magic, in any case he would be screwed. He would be an easy target, and he would have achieved nothing.
So Sam used his telekinesis, trusting that this time his magic would take effect.
Because of the pain, because of the distraction, because it was an extra effort when he was fighting for his life.
And so it was. He threw him away, like a sack of potatoes, through the chapel window, one of many. He fell outside followed by a deafening explosion of glass. With a bit of luck and the force of the impact, he hoped, the knife would have buried itself deeper into that son of a bitch's chest. Just enough to kill him.
"Sammy?"
The voices of his sisters, almost in unison, behind him. Hollow voices.
Incredulous.
Sam turned around slowly. Feeling a power growing inside him, confirming what he expected. Detective Adams had solved the mystery and paid for it with his life. The chapel was full of people who had to die.
"Sammy?"
He let his demonic eyes burn yellow.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 14: END
"Good God." Someone doubled over and vomited violently. Sam didn't see it, not even out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't take his eyes off Rose's corpse, and Adams standing over the body with a triumphant expression. Surely he wasn't doing this for money, but it was clear that the truth mattered to him far more than people. He wasn't even looking at him, but his face said: I've won.
"I noticed something strange about you from the beginning," Adams said. For some reason, he still dared to turn his back on him. Good. Sam wasn't the only one who had made a grave mistake. "I don't want to know exactly what you did with the heart, but that's how you managed the miracle of taking Rose's form, right? And Evelyn's."
His heart froze.
He had realized. Of course, how could he not? His true mistake in all of this hadn't been impatience, but underestimating him, thinking he could get away with it anyway.
"I'm sure that if I had her body exhumed, her heart would be missing too. You pushed Kyrie to kill her husband, didn't you? Because the poor sexually abused girl told you about it?"
"What are you insinuating?" Christina asked, practically screaming.
Adams, ignoring her, said it loud and clear for everyone present.
"Or did you tell her a lie, knowing she would believe you no matter what, since for her you were her daughter?"
His frozen heart started beating again, accelerating to a thousand miles per hour. Both things were painful.
"Oh, don't bother answering, boy. I don't need your words anymore. The answers are in Evelyn's grave. Some might say the evidence is quite... circumstantial, but the truth will come out sooner or later. You're finished."
Nothing is over, he thought, clenching his fists.
"Of course it's circumstantial evidence!" Violet shouted, taking a step forward, placing herself in front of him, just like Christina. Perhaps they were becoming convinced that Adams was right, but they resisted. Love had not yet died in their hearts. They wanted to protect him. They wanted to believe in him. "How can you just assume all that? Something so horrible. Evelyn had feelings for Sam, everyone knew that, and Sam cared for her too. I understand you think he'd want to get revenge on her... her... on that man, he has no right to call himself a father. But lie about her sexual abuse, all so that both would die horribly? What kind of monster do you think he is? Nothing you're saying makes sense! Show me one piece of evidence!"
Violet was on the verge of hysteria, barely able to contain herself enough not to break down. Her eyes were brimming with tears and her voice trembled with indignation. Maybe he could get away with it if he played his cards right. Maybe it wasn't too late.
"I already told you, I can't. The answers are in Evelyn's grave," Adams said very calmly. "If I'm right, what do you think he used her heart for if not that?"
"And if you're wrong? And why the hell do you think the heart has anything to do with this? What do you think, huh? That he sacrificed it, burned it? Ate it? What are you talking about?"
Adams shrugged.
"Somehow he must have achieved the impossible, and the heart is the center from which magical energy flows. I don't see what's strange about taking something from a person or thing you want to turn into. It shouldn't be possible with a human being, too big, too complex, but as you must know there are ways to transform into animals that work similarly."
"Stop talking to me like I'm stupid!" Violet spat. "You're the one not saying anything but nonsense, it doesn't hold up, your theories don't have a leg to stand on."
Adams stared back at her in silence.
"Give me one reason. Tell me what he would gain by doing all that."
"I can't know that."
Mary entered the chapel, at last, rubbing her eyes. Followed by the few adults who had stayed behind to help her rub her eyes, removing the sand, and express their support instead of rushing to the chapel, driven by simple morbid curiosity.
"That's something only the killer can know. However, it's the only theory that made sense. The only one that puts all the pieces together."
It was time to stop playing.
Violet and Christina could resist all they wanted, but he already knew what awaited at the end of the road. He couldn't do anything to hide what he had done to Evelyn, the disappearance of the corpse would be the same as confirming Adam's theories and it's not like he could give her a fake heart and regenerate the damage he had done with the shovel.
So he could only do one thing.
His mission was to kill the Wrights. Massacre most of the family, not all, he could keep some toys if he felt like it.
The traps, the deceptions, the stealth.
It had been the most convenient option, but it had never been the only option.
He wasn't going to waste his second chance. He wouldn't let anyone stand in his way. Filled with determination, Sam stood up straight.
He stepped forward, his hand sliding inside his jacket.
"Sam?" Christina raised her voice, scared.
Otherwise Adams wouldn't have noticed. He was looking elsewhere, as if distracted, as if he already considered him dead and buried. How naive. He supposed he was used to the fight ending when he closed the case, but the real world didn't work like that. He would give him a taste of the real world.
With a quick movement, Sam pulled out the kitchen knife he had hidden in his jacket and brandished it. Adams had resisted his powers once, even if only for long enough to reach the chapel, opening it. Better to play it safe.
He had stashed this days before, of course. He thought it would come in handy in an emergency and he had turned out to be right.
He didn't pierce his chest. His blade didn't reach the damn detective's heart.
But he buried it up to the handle pretty close, and blood flowed abundantly. Adams grabbed the knife, putting his hand over Sam's. His face contorted with effort. He didn't win the struggle, in fact Sam made him stagger backward. A pool of blood was forming at the detective's feet, which wouldn't help him keep his balance.
Sam couldn't lose the struggle, that was clear from the first second, but he couldn't win it either. At least not quickly enough for it to matter. Sooner rather than later someone would intervene on the detective's behalf, physically or with magic, in any case he would be screwed. He would be an easy target, and he would have achieved nothing.
So Sam used his telekinesis, trusting that this time his magic would take effect.
Because of the pain, because of the distraction, because it was an extra effort when he was fighting for his life.
And so it was. He threw him away, like a sack of potatoes, through the chapel window, one of many. He fell outside followed by a deafening explosion of glass. With a bit of luck and the force of the impact, he hoped, the knife would have buried itself deeper into that son of a bitch's chest. Just enough to kill him.
"Sammy?"
The voices of his sisters, almost in unison, behind him. Hollow voices.
Incredulous.
Sam turned around slowly. Feeling a power growing inside him, confirming what he expected. Detective Adams had solved the mystery and paid for it with his life. The chapel was full of people who had to die.
"Sammy?"
He let his demonic eyes burn yellow.
The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 14: END
35. Cold as Hell, Part 1
Chapter 35: Cold as Hell, Part 1
Sam wasn't sure yet what his new power consisted of; he wouldn't be until he brought it to the surface. But he knew one thing for certain, by an instinct bordering on precognition. He would use it to finish what he had started, to gut all the sons of bitches who would stand in his way. Of that, he had no doubt.
"Was he right?" Violet asked, gradually backing away, her eyes widening. "Was that son of a bitch right? Sammy, what's going on here?"
She knew very well what was happening here; it was just that she didn't want to admit it. But she wouldn't blame herself for not realizing it earlier or for not being able to stop him. Sam wanted to take her with him once it was all over, still, just like Christina. He was greedy. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too.
"You... you are..." Christina murmured, her teeth chattering.
A demon? Anything but my brother?
A loud noise. At first, he thought it was a shotgun, but firearms didn't exist in this world. Why would they bother designing those primitive devices if anyone could learn magic, after all?
The sound was a heavy wooden door closing.
Mary had locked the chapel door. She hadn't trapped them inside; they could exit through the window as she had forced Detective Adams to do, but still, the adults who bravely turned and fled with their tails between their legs didn't welcome this new development with open arms. For them, it was a most unpleasant surprise.
"I didn't ask to be born this way," Sam said. Maybe he wouldn't be able to fool his sisters and get away with it again, but he had to at least try.
It wasn't even him who had done most of the work, so it would be a waste, simply a waste, to let them escape like this.
"Die, demon!"
One of the family members present stepped forward, acting as if he believed himself to be the protagonist of some story. And if it occurred to him to kill, well, a demon, with fire of all things. A lot of fire, to be fair, which shot out from the palms of his hands like twin flamethrowers.
Sam tensed, preparing to propel himself away with his own telekinesis, the only safe way to dodge so much and such fast fire.
But in the end, he didn't have to do anything.
Violet got in the middle.
Not to take the attack for him, of course; she wasn't that stupid. Although she would have done it if something had gone wrong. Anyway, instead of that, she formed a shield of water that extinguished the flames almost instantly.
Perhaps out of fear, perhaps from the effort that required, Violet's breathing accelerated.
Sam returned her gaze, trying to pretend he was grateful. Well, and he was, that they hadn't turned him into a barbecue.
"Are you going to betray your family, humanity? You see what he is; he's a demon. I won't tolerate...!"
Mary screamed.
No, it wasn't a scream at all. It's just that a cloud of black smoke came out of her mouth very loudly. Shot, of course, towards the man who had tried to kill him. A great column of black smoke and fast on top of that.
Ah, he thought. So that's why she had so much interest in protecting me.
He wouldn't have had time to dodge, probably, but he didn't even try. Like a suicide looking at the lights of the approaching train to stop at the station, he stood staring at the column of black smoke with his mouth open. Like a fucking idiot.
So it easily dragged him and crushed him against a wall with enough force to kill him, though not to burst him like a piñata. Something that the guy, whatever his name was, would have appreciated. Because Sam never said it was an instant death.
With his broken ribs, punctured lung, and mouth full of blood, he would slowly agonize, drowning like a fish out of water.
"What the hell?" asked another family member.
"We're going to die here..."
"I wish I could wake up," said a fourth, huddled in a corner.
How naive. Only he could fix his own problems. How had he become an adult without knowing that no one would come to wake him from the nightmare? Sam took two more steps forward, extending his arms to the sides like crucified Jesus, smiling, unsteady steps, but not insecure at all, quite the opposite, he was again full of confidence and power.
Ice burned in his hands in a way that made him feel as if he were invoking electricity instead, like a damn thunder god. Because it was something alive, almost. And it was simply looking for an excuse to explode.
Another family member launched an attack, but Sam deflected it in a very simple and direct way, so it only made a hole in the ceiling. It wasn't fire or water, just pure magical energy, like a great mace. In any case, it had been useless.
In what way did he deflect it?
Well, by shooting a dozen or more icicles at the little son of a bitch, impaling him against the bench, making the wood explode.
That bastard would also take his time dying.
"Sammy, this doesn't have to..." Christina said.
What?
End like this? Of course it does! She should understand that they wouldn't stop no matter what happened, that the rest of the family wasn't like them. Not even Mary or whatever that thing was.
"I'm fighting for my life! So you're either with me or against me." He saw the girl's mouth opening again. "No buts, Christina, if they discover me they'll execute me at the stake. You know it. No buts."
The column of black smoke coiled around him like a huge snake, though without actually touching him, not even grazing him. It did so in a protective manner.
Satan hadn't wanted to inform him for whatever reason that he had a woman. Right now that didn't matter to him, of course. He needed all the help he could get.
"A demon, a true demon."
He must look imposing, with ice burning in his hands, demonic eyes burning all the time, and that great monster of black smoke lying at his feet like a great beast waiting for its master's orders.
"May God have mercy on us."
They were in a chapel, but it didn't seem to be the house of the Lord. Either He was too far away for their voices to reach Him...
Or He wasn't listening, hahaha.
"Satan? Could it be... Satan? No, it has to be..."
"The Antichrist."
The murmur spread quickly. It became a chant that resonated above the screams of pain and fear.
His head was exploding, and not just from the tension.
Being in sacred places like this didn't sit well with him. The funerals had been torture too. He had enjoyed the pain, the crying, the coffins being gradually covered with earth. The people he had crushed disappearing into darkness forever.
But it hadn't been easy to simply be there. Rather, that pleasure was like finding a piece of wood floating after a shipwreck.
Lost in the reflection of the endless blue sky. Extending to the horizon, beyond the horizon.
Seeming to cover the entire world.
He shook his head slightly.
"Violet, Christina. It's not my fault our mother slept with the wrong guy or whatever happened." He wasn't sure he wanted to know the details, for a change. "You can't let them kill me. I'm just defending myself, you know that..."
Sam fell to the ground.
No, he was thrown. The black smoke threw him to the ground, behind the coffin, so that a gust of wind passed a tenth of a second later where he had been.
He sensed that the attack would have blown his head off like a watermelon if it had connected.
He clicked his tongue and jumped back to his feet.
In any case, his path had been decided since he arrived in this world. It could never have ended any other way. It would have been extremely unlikely that he could have killed those necessary without raising suspicions, without complications.
From the beginning, everything had to end in a brutal, direct, and merciless massacre.
It had simply happened sooner and therefore there were more obstacles.
More lives on the other side of the scale. That was all, but regardless...
The Wright surname had been destined to burn in the flames of hell from the beginning.
Flames as cold as vengeance.
Cold as Hell, Part 1: FIN
Sam wasn't sure yet what his new power consisted of; he wouldn't be until he brought it to the surface. But he knew one thing for certain, by an instinct bordering on precognition. He would use it to finish what he had started, to gut all the sons of bitches who would stand in his way. Of that, he had no doubt.
"Was he right?" Violet asked, gradually backing away, her eyes widening. "Was that son of a bitch right? Sammy, what's going on here?"
She knew very well what was happening here; it was just that she didn't want to admit it. But she wouldn't blame herself for not realizing it earlier or for not being able to stop him. Sam wanted to take her with him once it was all over, still, just like Christina. He was greedy. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too.
"You... you are..." Christina murmured, her teeth chattering.
A demon? Anything but my brother?
A loud noise. At first, he thought it was a shotgun, but firearms didn't exist in this world. Why would they bother designing those primitive devices if anyone could learn magic, after all?
The sound was a heavy wooden door closing.
Mary had locked the chapel door. She hadn't trapped them inside; they could exit through the window as she had forced Detective Adams to do, but still, the adults who bravely turned and fled with their tails between their legs didn't welcome this new development with open arms. For them, it was a most unpleasant surprise.
"I didn't ask to be born this way," Sam said. Maybe he wouldn't be able to fool his sisters and get away with it again, but he had to at least try.
It wasn't even him who had done most of the work, so it would be a waste, simply a waste, to let them escape like this.
"Die, demon!"
One of the family members present stepped forward, acting as if he believed himself to be the protagonist of some story. And if it occurred to him to kill, well, a demon, with fire of all things. A lot of fire, to be fair, which shot out from the palms of his hands like twin flamethrowers.
Sam tensed, preparing to propel himself away with his own telekinesis, the only safe way to dodge so much and such fast fire.
But in the end, he didn't have to do anything.
Violet got in the middle.
Not to take the attack for him, of course; she wasn't that stupid. Although she would have done it if something had gone wrong. Anyway, instead of that, she formed a shield of water that extinguished the flames almost instantly.
Perhaps out of fear, perhaps from the effort that required, Violet's breathing accelerated.
Sam returned her gaze, trying to pretend he was grateful. Well, and he was, that they hadn't turned him into a barbecue.
"Are you going to betray your family, humanity? You see what he is; he's a demon. I won't tolerate...!"
Mary screamed.
No, it wasn't a scream at all. It's just that a cloud of black smoke came out of her mouth very loudly. Shot, of course, towards the man who had tried to kill him. A great column of black smoke and fast on top of that.
Ah, he thought. So that's why she had so much interest in protecting me.
He wouldn't have had time to dodge, probably, but he didn't even try. Like a suicide looking at the lights of the approaching train to stop at the station, he stood staring at the column of black smoke with his mouth open. Like a fucking idiot.
So it easily dragged him and crushed him against a wall with enough force to kill him, though not to burst him like a piñata. Something that the guy, whatever his name was, would have appreciated. Because Sam never said it was an instant death.
With his broken ribs, punctured lung, and mouth full of blood, he would slowly agonize, drowning like a fish out of water.
"What the hell?" asked another family member.
"We're going to die here..."
"I wish I could wake up," said a fourth, huddled in a corner.
How naive. Only he could fix his own problems. How had he become an adult without knowing that no one would come to wake him from the nightmare? Sam took two more steps forward, extending his arms to the sides like crucified Jesus, smiling, unsteady steps, but not insecure at all, quite the opposite, he was again full of confidence and power.
Ice burned in his hands in a way that made him feel as if he were invoking electricity instead, like a damn thunder god. Because it was something alive, almost. And it was simply looking for an excuse to explode.
Another family member launched an attack, but Sam deflected it in a very simple and direct way, so it only made a hole in the ceiling. It wasn't fire or water, just pure magical energy, like a great mace. In any case, it had been useless.
In what way did he deflect it?
Well, by shooting a dozen or more icicles at the little son of a bitch, impaling him against the bench, making the wood explode.
That bastard would also take his time dying.
"Sammy, this doesn't have to..." Christina said.
What?
End like this? Of course it does! She should understand that they wouldn't stop no matter what happened, that the rest of the family wasn't like them. Not even Mary or whatever that thing was.
"I'm fighting for my life! So you're either with me or against me." He saw the girl's mouth opening again. "No buts, Christina, if they discover me they'll execute me at the stake. You know it. No buts."
The column of black smoke coiled around him like a huge snake, though without actually touching him, not even grazing him. It did so in a protective manner.
Satan hadn't wanted to inform him for whatever reason that he had a woman. Right now that didn't matter to him, of course. He needed all the help he could get.
"A demon, a true demon."
He must look imposing, with ice burning in his hands, demonic eyes burning all the time, and that great monster of black smoke lying at his feet like a great beast waiting for its master's orders.
"May God have mercy on us."
They were in a chapel, but it didn't seem to be the house of the Lord. Either He was too far away for their voices to reach Him...
Or He wasn't listening, hahaha.
"Satan? Could it be... Satan? No, it has to be..."
"The Antichrist."
The murmur spread quickly. It became a chant that resonated above the screams of pain and fear.
His head was exploding, and not just from the tension.
Being in sacred places like this didn't sit well with him. The funerals had been torture too. He had enjoyed the pain, the crying, the coffins being gradually covered with earth. The people he had crushed disappearing into darkness forever.
But it hadn't been easy to simply be there. Rather, that pleasure was like finding a piece of wood floating after a shipwreck.
Lost in the reflection of the endless blue sky. Extending to the horizon, beyond the horizon.
Seeming to cover the entire world.
He shook his head slightly.
"Violet, Christina. It's not my fault our mother slept with the wrong guy or whatever happened." He wasn't sure he wanted to know the details, for a change. "You can't let them kill me. I'm just defending myself, you know that..."
Sam fell to the ground.
No, he was thrown. The black smoke threw him to the ground, behind the coffin, so that a gust of wind passed a tenth of a second later where he had been.
He sensed that the attack would have blown his head off like a watermelon if it had connected.
He clicked his tongue and jumped back to his feet.
In any case, his path had been decided since he arrived in this world. It could never have ended any other way. It would have been extremely unlikely that he could have killed those necessary without raising suspicions, without complications.
From the beginning, everything had to end in a brutal, direct, and merciless massacre.
It had simply happened sooner and therefore there were more obstacles.
More lives on the other side of the scale. That was all, but regardless...
The Wright surname had been destined to burn in the flames of hell from the beginning.
Flames as cold as vengeance.
Cold as Hell, Part 1: FIN
36. Cold as Hell, Part 2
Chapter 36: Cold as Hell, Part 2
There was no turning back, no possibility of fixing things.
The Antichrist enveloped the chapel in a snowstorm, and the black smoke monster set out. It had to be a demon, like him, like Satan. Could he do that too? Not now, but eventually, when his power grew? He supposed so. But maybe not. After all, he was only half demon.
"Leave Christina and Violet alone," he ordered. It should have been clear, whatever it was, but just in case. Better not to take risks. "Get out of here. Come on, let's go!"
His sisters looked between him and their relatives dying violently. They were shaking, but as much anger as they felt in their hearts, it would be mainly from the cold. It was affecting even him.
The burning of ice reaching a temperature below zero. The sudden change in temperature.
The least one could expect was some kind of immunity to his own powers. A safety net. If he had it, it wasn't complete immunity. The cold reached his bones just like everyone else. Well, not just like everyone else. The ice spears literally reached the bones, and were fired with enough force to make them crunch or break.
Violet and Christina finally decided, leaving through the hole that was all that remained of the window. After throwing Adams through there, only a few shards of glass remained hanging from the frame. Soon the girls disappeared from his sight. The only thing he didn't see was the detective's corpse.
How far had that bastard flown?
Well, it wasn't his concern anyway. This new power confirmed that the detective would no longer be a problem.
That was enough for him. Now that the only people he cared about at all, even if only for their bodies, were out of his way, there was no reason to hold back. Sam advanced through the rows of wooden benches, unleashing his powers.
The fire of hell ran through his veins, and came out of his palms as ice.
The Wrights continued to resist, but they should have thrown in the towel. They should have accepted the only thing he could give them, a quick death. If it were him, he would enjoy it a little, but he had to take out the trash quickly. He couldn't let even one escape.
Taking the mansion would be the real challenge. Not only because of the number of bastards left in the mansion, but because he was willing to bet that the most dangerous ones were there. People with better things to do. Like the damn Blake Wright.
He had no doubt that killing his father would be quite a challenge. In the physical sense, of course. Hahaha!
Sam dispatched one after another without breaking a sweat. Raising one arm, he blocked attacks with his telekinesis or by quickly forming ice. With the other arm, he returned the attack. For example, he used his telekinesis to grab one of those annoying insects and propel them against the ceiling.
The bastard in question was reduced to a large dark red stain. His organs rained from the ceiling. A grotesque crimson rain.
With each passing second, Sam felt stronger and stronger. His heart was beating so fast that it felt like it would explode, unable to contain the flame burning inside him. His temples hurt. His head throbbed like a second heart.
But he had never felt so alive, so powerful. So many games. Schemes, acting from the shadows. Deep down he had been wasting time, hadn't he?
This was how a demon should be. The center of an ice storm. A fucking horror movie made flesh.
Any gap that might have been in his offensive was covered by the black smoke monster, sometimes with too much zeal. He saw it charge against a corpse until it burst more than once, when it could have continued on its way. He supposed it helped in terms of intimidation, but there came a point where the glass was full and not a drop more could fit.
In this way, Sam tore his relatives to pieces and reached the other side of the chapel. It had become an unrecognizable place. The corpses were wrapped in ice, like grotesque statues. The ice also climbed up the pillars and had gotten into the windows. And the blood, of course. Blood and guts everywhere.
It really looked like a completely different place.
The black smoke re-entered Mary through her mouth. Into Mary's corpse. It became obvious that it wasn't possessing a living person, whatever demon it was. Since when it entered, she started breathing again.
Mary stood up. Mary or whoever it was, without his help.
"My lord."
"Who are you?"
The woman squirmed under his gaze like some kind of love-struck schoolgirl. She had completely abandoned the air of a mother. Well, it had been nothing but an act in the first place. Although the affection hadn't been entirely feigned.
It wasn't hard to guess that he was looking into the eyes of Rose's killer.
"Belphegor, my prince. The humble servant of your... satanic majesty."
"Yes... Right."
For a moment he thought about punishing her for complicating things. If she hadn't gotten rid of Rose, things wouldn't have ended this way, since he wouldn't have felt obliged to go so far.
What would he gain from that? Nothing, so he quickly discarded the idea. He had other things to worry about. Sam opened the doors of the chapel, leaving behind that frozen hell full of corpses.
He immediately saw that Christina and Violet hadn't gone far. The sisters had stopped shortly after starting and now looked at him, with Mary following him like his own shadow, stupefied and terrified.
More importantly...
Adams' corpse was nowhere to be seen.
"Have you seen him?" Sam asked.
"Huh?" Christina stammered.
"Adams!"
Just what he needed, exactly what he needed.
That damn son of a bitch couldn't be alive, could he?
He had stabbed him with the knife.
He had thrown him out the window, giving him an extra push with his telekinesis.
The knife should have been deeply embedded, enough to take his life, and the appearance of his new power seemed to confirm it.
The rules were clear.
One murder, one new power. A clear progression that hadn't been broken until now. So how could he be alive? However, no one would have bothered to move his corpse either. There was no other explanation.
From his position, Sam should be able to see the corpse on the grass, if it had flown over the walls, on the other side of the heavy door.
Of course, there was nothing.
If there was something, even an arm, he wouldn't be so uneasy.
Even though if he had survived he couldn't do much, he didn't like having unknown factors running loose.
Adams was a clever bastard and he didn't fully know his magical capabilities. In fact, maybe he could do something. For all he knew, he knew healing magic and had healed the wound in the time it had taken him to massacre all the Wrights in the chapel.
Magic was incredible, but it also made everything more irritating.
Unpredictable.
"No, we haven't seen anyone come out. Except you," Christina added, again.
Victoria kept silent and stared at him. He wondered what she was thinking. Did he still have her or was it time to throw in the towel and treat them like those he had left behind?
Sam silently advanced towards the mansion, without a drop of blood on his clothes, somehow he had managed to come out of that carnage intact. Of course, his new admirer followed him closely obediently. He advanced, but kept looking at them out of the corner of his eye, just in case. He wouldn't enjoy it. It sounded strange coming from him, but it was true. Still, he would do what he had to do. Any enemy would be destroyed without exceptions.
He couldn't survive in this world full of people who wanted him dead (and for great, completely justified reasons) any other way. Well, he had never had much in terms of mercy, decency and morality.
That's why he had become a businessman.
"Wait, Sam!" Christina shouted, her hand on her heart. For her it must be especially painful. Well, it wasn't his concern. "You're going to go in there and what, just kill them all? I know we've never been very close to the rest, on the contrary, the family always pushed us to fight among ourselves. But they're your family after all. No, they're people. Human beings like..."
You and me.
But she couldn't say that, choking on her words. Yes, he wasn't a human being. Sam didn't mind at all.
It would have been different if he couldn't have led a normal life, fully enjoyed his riches.
But he basically looked like any other human being, so for him there was no practical difference. Christina with her bulging and innocent eyes was probably having some internal monologue about how sad the loss of his humanity was or something like that, but how could something like that be quantified?
He had never been one of those humans who believed in something like the soul, in the first place.
A spiritual person.
Mainly Sam was Sam, regardless of the container he was placed in, so to speak.
But of course, after seeing the black smoke monster, Belphegor's true form (probably), he couldn't blame her for thinking it meant more than it really did.
She kept looking at him with those teary eyes, as if...
Ah, of course. He hadn't given her an answer.
He had to seem human. Likeable. He had to seem, well, the person they had known.
"It's not easy for me either, Christina. After all, they are my family. Those I love and those I hate, they are, no one can change that. But..."
Being physically identical to him had helped him a lot to go unnoticed. Even if a person suddenly stopped acting like themselves, no one would jump to the conclusion that it wasn't really that person as a first or even third explanation. That's not how things worked.
But now?
With his demonic eyes burning, standing next to Belphegor, a terrifying monster that submitted to him?
Yes, he surely didn't look so much like the Sam of their memories right now.
Sam forced himself to swallow, as if he were struggling with his own emotions.
"You know very well that they'll hang me, that they'll burn me at the stake. For them I'm nothing but a monster. Even you... now you look at me with fear."
"No!" Christina protested immediately. "I love you."
One thing doesn't negate the other, he thought, but of course, that wasn't a convenient answer.
"Let's run away," Victoria suddenly said. "The three of us together, we can take a carriage and leave all this behind. Change our identities, go to a far-off place where no one knows us."
Where no one would know they were siblings. Tempting, in more ways than one.
Belphegor had killed Rose for some reason, and he doubted it was following Satan's orders. He would probably have to get rid of the demon so she wouldn't feel jealous and tempted to repeat her mistake.
If they remained by his side.
Because of course, he couldn't accept their proposal. He had a mission to fulfill.
"This is inevitable."
He turned his back on them and approached the main door of the mansion. The true horror-filled blood tour began now.
Cold as Hell, Part 2: END
There was no turning back, no possibility of fixing things.
The Antichrist enveloped the chapel in a snowstorm, and the black smoke monster set out. It had to be a demon, like him, like Satan. Could he do that too? Not now, but eventually, when his power grew? He supposed so. But maybe not. After all, he was only half demon.
"Leave Christina and Violet alone," he ordered. It should have been clear, whatever it was, but just in case. Better not to take risks. "Get out of here. Come on, let's go!"
His sisters looked between him and their relatives dying violently. They were shaking, but as much anger as they felt in their hearts, it would be mainly from the cold. It was affecting even him.
The burning of ice reaching a temperature below zero. The sudden change in temperature.
The least one could expect was some kind of immunity to his own powers. A safety net. If he had it, it wasn't complete immunity. The cold reached his bones just like everyone else. Well, not just like everyone else. The ice spears literally reached the bones, and were fired with enough force to make them crunch or break.
Violet and Christina finally decided, leaving through the hole that was all that remained of the window. After throwing Adams through there, only a few shards of glass remained hanging from the frame. Soon the girls disappeared from his sight. The only thing he didn't see was the detective's corpse.
How far had that bastard flown?
Well, it wasn't his concern anyway. This new power confirmed that the detective would no longer be a problem.
That was enough for him. Now that the only people he cared about at all, even if only for their bodies, were out of his way, there was no reason to hold back. Sam advanced through the rows of wooden benches, unleashing his powers.
The fire of hell ran through his veins, and came out of his palms as ice.
The Wrights continued to resist, but they should have thrown in the towel. They should have accepted the only thing he could give them, a quick death. If it were him, he would enjoy it a little, but he had to take out the trash quickly. He couldn't let even one escape.
Taking the mansion would be the real challenge. Not only because of the number of bastards left in the mansion, but because he was willing to bet that the most dangerous ones were there. People with better things to do. Like the damn Blake Wright.
He had no doubt that killing his father would be quite a challenge. In the physical sense, of course. Hahaha!
Sam dispatched one after another without breaking a sweat. Raising one arm, he blocked attacks with his telekinesis or by quickly forming ice. With the other arm, he returned the attack. For example, he used his telekinesis to grab one of those annoying insects and propel them against the ceiling.
The bastard in question was reduced to a large dark red stain. His organs rained from the ceiling. A grotesque crimson rain.
With each passing second, Sam felt stronger and stronger. His heart was beating so fast that it felt like it would explode, unable to contain the flame burning inside him. His temples hurt. His head throbbed like a second heart.
But he had never felt so alive, so powerful. So many games. Schemes, acting from the shadows. Deep down he had been wasting time, hadn't he?
This was how a demon should be. The center of an ice storm. A fucking horror movie made flesh.
Any gap that might have been in his offensive was covered by the black smoke monster, sometimes with too much zeal. He saw it charge against a corpse until it burst more than once, when it could have continued on its way. He supposed it helped in terms of intimidation, but there came a point where the glass was full and not a drop more could fit.
In this way, Sam tore his relatives to pieces and reached the other side of the chapel. It had become an unrecognizable place. The corpses were wrapped in ice, like grotesque statues. The ice also climbed up the pillars and had gotten into the windows. And the blood, of course. Blood and guts everywhere.
It really looked like a completely different place.
The black smoke re-entered Mary through her mouth. Into Mary's corpse. It became obvious that it wasn't possessing a living person, whatever demon it was. Since when it entered, she started breathing again.
Mary stood up. Mary or whoever it was, without his help.
"My lord."
"Who are you?"
The woman squirmed under his gaze like some kind of love-struck schoolgirl. She had completely abandoned the air of a mother. Well, it had been nothing but an act in the first place. Although the affection hadn't been entirely feigned.
It wasn't hard to guess that he was looking into the eyes of Rose's killer.
"Belphegor, my prince. The humble servant of your... satanic majesty."
"Yes... Right."
For a moment he thought about punishing her for complicating things. If she hadn't gotten rid of Rose, things wouldn't have ended this way, since he wouldn't have felt obliged to go so far.
What would he gain from that? Nothing, so he quickly discarded the idea. He had other things to worry about. Sam opened the doors of the chapel, leaving behind that frozen hell full of corpses.
He immediately saw that Christina and Violet hadn't gone far. The sisters had stopped shortly after starting and now looked at him, with Mary following him like his own shadow, stupefied and terrified.
More importantly...
Adams' corpse was nowhere to be seen.
"Have you seen him?" Sam asked.
"Huh?" Christina stammered.
"Adams!"
Just what he needed, exactly what he needed.
That damn son of a bitch couldn't be alive, could he?
He had stabbed him with the knife.
He had thrown him out the window, giving him an extra push with his telekinesis.
The knife should have been deeply embedded, enough to take his life, and the appearance of his new power seemed to confirm it.
The rules were clear.
One murder, one new power. A clear progression that hadn't been broken until now. So how could he be alive? However, no one would have bothered to move his corpse either. There was no other explanation.
From his position, Sam should be able to see the corpse on the grass, if it had flown over the walls, on the other side of the heavy door.
Of course, there was nothing.
If there was something, even an arm, he wouldn't be so uneasy.
Even though if he had survived he couldn't do much, he didn't like having unknown factors running loose.
Adams was a clever bastard and he didn't fully know his magical capabilities. In fact, maybe he could do something. For all he knew, he knew healing magic and had healed the wound in the time it had taken him to massacre all the Wrights in the chapel.
Magic was incredible, but it also made everything more irritating.
Unpredictable.
"No, we haven't seen anyone come out. Except you," Christina added, again.
Victoria kept silent and stared at him. He wondered what she was thinking. Did he still have her or was it time to throw in the towel and treat them like those he had left behind?
Sam silently advanced towards the mansion, without a drop of blood on his clothes, somehow he had managed to come out of that carnage intact. Of course, his new admirer followed him closely obediently. He advanced, but kept looking at them out of the corner of his eye, just in case. He wouldn't enjoy it. It sounded strange coming from him, but it was true. Still, he would do what he had to do. Any enemy would be destroyed without exceptions.
He couldn't survive in this world full of people who wanted him dead (and for great, completely justified reasons) any other way. Well, he had never had much in terms of mercy, decency and morality.
That's why he had become a businessman.
"Wait, Sam!" Christina shouted, her hand on her heart. For her it must be especially painful. Well, it wasn't his concern. "You're going to go in there and what, just kill them all? I know we've never been very close to the rest, on the contrary, the family always pushed us to fight among ourselves. But they're your family after all. No, they're people. Human beings like..."
You and me.
But she couldn't say that, choking on her words. Yes, he wasn't a human being. Sam didn't mind at all.
It would have been different if he couldn't have led a normal life, fully enjoyed his riches.
But he basically looked like any other human being, so for him there was no practical difference. Christina with her bulging and innocent eyes was probably having some internal monologue about how sad the loss of his humanity was or something like that, but how could something like that be quantified?
He had never been one of those humans who believed in something like the soul, in the first place.
A spiritual person.
Mainly Sam was Sam, regardless of the container he was placed in, so to speak.
But of course, after seeing the black smoke monster, Belphegor's true form (probably), he couldn't blame her for thinking it meant more than it really did.
She kept looking at him with those teary eyes, as if...
Ah, of course. He hadn't given her an answer.
He had to seem human. Likeable. He had to seem, well, the person they had known.
"It's not easy for me either, Christina. After all, they are my family. Those I love and those I hate, they are, no one can change that. But..."
Being physically identical to him had helped him a lot to go unnoticed. Even if a person suddenly stopped acting like themselves, no one would jump to the conclusion that it wasn't really that person as a first or even third explanation. That's not how things worked.
But now?
With his demonic eyes burning, standing next to Belphegor, a terrifying monster that submitted to him?
Yes, he surely didn't look so much like the Sam of their memories right now.
Sam forced himself to swallow, as if he were struggling with his own emotions.
"You know very well that they'll hang me, that they'll burn me at the stake. For them I'm nothing but a monster. Even you... now you look at me with fear."
"No!" Christina protested immediately. "I love you."
One thing doesn't negate the other, he thought, but of course, that wasn't a convenient answer.
"Let's run away," Victoria suddenly said. "The three of us together, we can take a carriage and leave all this behind. Change our identities, go to a far-off place where no one knows us."
Where no one would know they were siblings. Tempting, in more ways than one.
Belphegor had killed Rose for some reason, and he doubted it was following Satan's orders. He would probably have to get rid of the demon so she wouldn't feel jealous and tempted to repeat her mistake.
If they remained by his side.
Because of course, he couldn't accept their proposal. He had a mission to fulfill.
"This is inevitable."
He turned his back on them and approached the main door of the mansion. The true horror-filled blood tour began now.
Cold as Hell, Part 2: END
37. Cold as Hell, Part 3
Chapter 37: Cold as Hell, Part 3
Sam was riding the wave.
He had never wasted time with things for subhuman retards like drugs, but he imagined that the high must feel similar, albeit much lesser, to hook so many people.
But a question still lingered, disturbing his high.
It wasn't about how he had unlocked the power over ice if Adams wasn't dead after all; don't look a gift horse in the mouth. The real problem was what he would get after killing everyone else. The flame inside him was like a great bonfire.
He had no doubt that he would draw a strong card. His powers hadn't disappointed him so far. Even blindness, which had been inconvenient when his plan was to act stealthily, would be critical to directly massacring all the Wrights, which he should have done from the beginning.
No, not from the beginning, but now that he had become so strong, what was the point of hiding and acting from the shadows?
He could end all of this now, and he would.
He probably didn't need anything else, but he was simply wondering...
When he killed Ivor and... What was the other one's name? Some name starting with J or something. Well, it didn't matter. He had killed two people, although Jaiden had been an indirect murder. However, he had only received one power in return.
Satan had given him the hypothesis that this was because he had considered it as a single mission. He didn't think he was lying. Satan had good reasons to want his success, at least until he got out of the cage, and he had even planted one of his demons inside to help him (although all Belphegor had done was complicate things).
In that case, how many powers would the people he had killed in the chapel count for? Surely it wouldn't be a one-to-one ratio.
Anyway.
There was no point in speculating, he would find out as he went along.
It had worked well for him so far.
He encountered one of the Wrights in the middle of the hallway. Even without the commotion of the resurrected Rose appearing, today's meeting would have already ended. They would be scattered throughout the mansion, thinking about their things, plotting. Not knowing that the devil was coming to drag them to hell.
That suited him much better than if they had barricaded themselves in Blake Wright's office, all experienced mages with the best tutors in the realm in charge of their education.
"Samuel?"
Then this man, whoever he was, noticed his eyes.
"Dem...!"
He didn't get to shout his warning, or perhaps to curse him. Sam fired more than a dozen icicles. The ice lances separated him from the floor with the force of the impact and made him fly like a straw doll. He ended up impaled against the wall, a grotesque decoration like all the corpses in the chapel.
A woman stopped in the middle of the stairs. She had chosen a bad time to start going down the stairs, she recognized it, and a tenth of a second later she turned around, running back up again.
Still too late.
Sam summoned ice under her feet, making her trip. He had always known it would be a possibility, but he felt disappointed when the fall was what killed her.
He hadn't had time to torment her and make her suffer like the demon he was. Well, in any case, he had a mission. He shouldn't waste time on unnecessary things.
"You're incredible, my prince," Belphegor said almost breathlessly. "And to think that you're practically a newborn, that it hasn't been a month since your powers awakened."
He had almost forgotten she was there, following him like his own shadow. Almost.
"You might become more powerful than Satan himself."
Oh? That was interesting.
"You think so?"
"Without a doubt, sir, you are magnificent. I am eternally grateful for the glory of being in your presence."
She was either a fanatic or exceptionally good at kissing ass. In any case, it fed his ego, so Belphegor wasn't so annoying after all.
He still hadn't thoroughly searched the first floor, but he felt like going up the stairs now. Step on the blood of the woman he had just killed and finish off anyone who might have come out to see what the hell was happening.
And there was no reason not to do it.
"Stay here," he ordered. "Make sure no one escapes."
"Yes, my prince."
Part of him didn't want to take his eyes off her in case she did something to Violet and Christina, if they hadn't already left the mansion grounds, if they were waiting out there, wondering what they should do.
But he recognized that this was the best decision.
"Someday you'll call me king!" Spitting out those somewhat careless words, although he doubted Satan wasn't aware of his ambition, Sam went up the stairs.
They gave him a warm welcome as soon as he reached the top of the stairs, after, of course, doing what he wanted (trampling on the blood of his most recent victim). Another genius who had had the idea of trying to kill a demon with flames.
He probably could die from that, not that he had immunity to fire just for coming from hell, but it sounded counterproductive. And it was, although for a completely different reason. With these powers, it was very easy to put out the fire. The pathetic flames were consumed by his ice in the blink of an eye.
The ice lance left the bastard on his knees, destroying his right leg. He fell groaning in pain, spitting blood from his mouth.
The man, whatever his name was, had the guts to laugh at the end of his life.
"What is this? Blake Wright's heir, sent by the heavens themselves. And in reality, you're nothing but a demon." He laughed bitterly. "Are you... Are you Satan himself? Am I going to burn in hell?"
"Hell is nothing more than a prison for the devil too." He approached the guy, prostrated before him, and put his hand on his head. "I very much doubt he controls who goes where, but what do I know? I'm just his son."
The man's eyes widened, perhaps wondering if he also had demon blood in his veins, if his brothers and sisters, his relatives would have it. How far this nightmare reached.
Then his eyes exploded, along with the rest of his head, flying away. The contents of his skull spilled onto the carpet.
He had come out of the massacre in the chapel spotless, not a single drop had stained him, but now he couldn't avoid being bathed, naturally.
Well, actually, he didn't mind. He liked the feeling of blood on his skin and clothes. A scarlet rain he would never tire of. Maybe it was in his blood or maybe he had just never had the opportunity to do something like this in his old life, too worried about the consequences. Of spending the rest of his life behind bars.
He didn't know and didn't care. As far as he was concerned, that life was nothing. Less than a shadow. He felt much more real, much more alive, here and now.
Three Wrights came out into the hallway. Two women and a man... No, more like half a man. One of the children.
They didn't hesitate to attack him although they surely didn't understand the situation yet.
He didn't know who had done what, but Sam ended up flying backward. His back hit the railing, he almost flew over it, returning to the starting square. Telekinesis, it had to be. There weren't many possibilities. It could be wind magic, but he hadn't felt a gust before it happened.
Sam got up, leaning with one hand on the railing, and discovered a piece of it in his hand as he stepped forward.
He had torn it off without realizing it.
Either the impact had loosened it too much or one of the powers he had obtained in the chapel was super strength. Perfect. It had been one of his problems from the beginning. Being a teenager again, smaller, thinner. A clear disadvantage. Now that he could kill people with his mind, it wasn't such a big deal anymore, but it was still good to cover that gap. He opened a hole in the chest of the woman who had done this to him, probably, by throwing the piece of railing at her.
Or that was the intention, but the woman tried to dodge, so instead of that, he cut her in half. Too bad for her. All she had gained with her efforts was a slower and more painful death. If she had stayed still, if she had stopped fighting, she would already be on her way to the eternal pit.
There was no healing magic that could snatch her from the clutches of death. None that would take effect before she bled out, in any case. Not to mention that from the little he had been able to read about it, the image of healing was exceptionally complicated, requiring a perfect mental image of the entire body and great concentration. How was she going to concentrate being cut in half?
Yes, he was thinking too much about useless things. It was obvious that he had killed her, but he was still affected by Adams' disappearance and what could have happened to him.
Chasing shadows, so to speak.
The child...
He had disappeared, hiding again in his room. And the other woman...
Sam raised an arm. As a result, the knife stuck in his forearm instead of his head. It had been close.
He thought the danger had passed, that he could lower his arm and kill her as if she were an insect. Crush her that easily. He was wrong. An explosion of pain. The knives multiplied in an instant. In the blink of an eye, he had identical knives from his wrist to his elbow.
Sam gritted his teeth, almost biting his tongue.
He swung his arm against the wall.
The knives broke in a crystalline shower that disappeared before touching the ground. They weren't crystals, but magical energy.
It didn't matter, they were real enough to pierce his skin. He killed the woman by making her fly over his head, doing somersaults. Her scream only ceased when she reached the ground. He could imagine her head bursting so vividly that he didn't need to move back and take a look. Evelyn had given him plenty of experience in that regard.
Sam pulled out the knife in his forearm, the only one that remained, and licked his own blood from the blade.
Besides, as he had said before, he had priorities.
"Come to die, come!"
He was the eye of an ice storm. The ice not only came out when he attacked, but it was spreading across the floor and walls. He could hear window crystals cracking as the spikes dug deep.
Surely the Wright family deserved to burn in the flames of hell, but instead, they would have the completely opposite death, but deep down not so different. Sam touched the ice on a piece of the wall as he passed. As he pulled his hand away, his fingertips burned. Satan was absolutely right. Ice could burn.
"And you will burn," Sam said.
In a low, sinister voice, without the expectation that anyone could hear him.
Promises to himself. He felt a movement nearby and reacted before the door opened. The door flew off its frame along with a dozen ice lances, and it hid the corpse that collapsed against the floor after hitting the wall. All he could see were his boots and the blood dripping from the holes in the wood.
He was the perfect killing machine.
How easy. So much caution at the beginning, but how damn easy it was turning out to be.
He wouldn't say stupid things like things were only worth it if they posed a challenge. That was the trivial desire of people who had nothing better to worry about. The lack of difficulty was the best. The key ingredient, of course, was that he had earned it the hard way, so they weren't completely off track.
More Wrights came out to meet him. They had prepared some kind of trap at the end of the hallway. They jumped as soon as he was about to turn the corner and he had to admit, they surprised him. But it didn't matter.
He broke the magical construction without giving it the chance to trigger its effect.
To be exact, a semi-transparent wall of blue color and honeycomb pattern.
He considered stopping to let it do something, since he had no fucking idea what it could be. And he almost did, almost.
"Shit." The resigned exclamation of one of them. The same message could be seen on the faces surrounding him.
Now that he had broken through that magical construction, they were basically defenseless.
Sam smiled.
He fired ice lances in a circle. They killed the Wrights not by piercing them, but by exploding on impact, which caused their broken fragments to scatter everywhere.
All of them, without exception, died before touching the ground.
Cold as Hell, Part 3: END
Sam was riding the wave.
He had never wasted time with things for subhuman retards like drugs, but he imagined that the high must feel similar, albeit much lesser, to hook so many people.
But a question still lingered, disturbing his high.
It wasn't about how he had unlocked the power over ice if Adams wasn't dead after all; don't look a gift horse in the mouth. The real problem was what he would get after killing everyone else. The flame inside him was like a great bonfire.
He had no doubt that he would draw a strong card. His powers hadn't disappointed him so far. Even blindness, which had been inconvenient when his plan was to act stealthily, would be critical to directly massacring all the Wrights, which he should have done from the beginning.
No, not from the beginning, but now that he had become so strong, what was the point of hiding and acting from the shadows?
He could end all of this now, and he would.
He probably didn't need anything else, but he was simply wondering...
When he killed Ivor and... What was the other one's name? Some name starting with J or something. Well, it didn't matter. He had killed two people, although Jaiden had been an indirect murder. However, he had only received one power in return.
Satan had given him the hypothesis that this was because he had considered it as a single mission. He didn't think he was lying. Satan had good reasons to want his success, at least until he got out of the cage, and he had even planted one of his demons inside to help him (although all Belphegor had done was complicate things).
In that case, how many powers would the people he had killed in the chapel count for? Surely it wouldn't be a one-to-one ratio.
Anyway.
There was no point in speculating, he would find out as he went along.
It had worked well for him so far.
He encountered one of the Wrights in the middle of the hallway. Even without the commotion of the resurrected Rose appearing, today's meeting would have already ended. They would be scattered throughout the mansion, thinking about their things, plotting. Not knowing that the devil was coming to drag them to hell.
That suited him much better than if they had barricaded themselves in Blake Wright's office, all experienced mages with the best tutors in the realm in charge of their education.
"Samuel?"
Then this man, whoever he was, noticed his eyes.
"Dem...!"
He didn't get to shout his warning, or perhaps to curse him. Sam fired more than a dozen icicles. The ice lances separated him from the floor with the force of the impact and made him fly like a straw doll. He ended up impaled against the wall, a grotesque decoration like all the corpses in the chapel.
A woman stopped in the middle of the stairs. She had chosen a bad time to start going down the stairs, she recognized it, and a tenth of a second later she turned around, running back up again.
Still too late.
Sam summoned ice under her feet, making her trip. He had always known it would be a possibility, but he felt disappointed when the fall was what killed her.
He hadn't had time to torment her and make her suffer like the demon he was. Well, in any case, he had a mission. He shouldn't waste time on unnecessary things.
"You're incredible, my prince," Belphegor said almost breathlessly. "And to think that you're practically a newborn, that it hasn't been a month since your powers awakened."
He had almost forgotten she was there, following him like his own shadow. Almost.
"You might become more powerful than Satan himself."
Oh? That was interesting.
"You think so?"
"Without a doubt, sir, you are magnificent. I am eternally grateful for the glory of being in your presence."
She was either a fanatic or exceptionally good at kissing ass. In any case, it fed his ego, so Belphegor wasn't so annoying after all.
He still hadn't thoroughly searched the first floor, but he felt like going up the stairs now. Step on the blood of the woman he had just killed and finish off anyone who might have come out to see what the hell was happening.
And there was no reason not to do it.
"Stay here," he ordered. "Make sure no one escapes."
"Yes, my prince."
Part of him didn't want to take his eyes off her in case she did something to Violet and Christina, if they hadn't already left the mansion grounds, if they were waiting out there, wondering what they should do.
But he recognized that this was the best decision.
"Someday you'll call me king!" Spitting out those somewhat careless words, although he doubted Satan wasn't aware of his ambition, Sam went up the stairs.
They gave him a warm welcome as soon as he reached the top of the stairs, after, of course, doing what he wanted (trampling on the blood of his most recent victim). Another genius who had had the idea of trying to kill a demon with flames.
He probably could die from that, not that he had immunity to fire just for coming from hell, but it sounded counterproductive. And it was, although for a completely different reason. With these powers, it was very easy to put out the fire. The pathetic flames were consumed by his ice in the blink of an eye.
The ice lance left the bastard on his knees, destroying his right leg. He fell groaning in pain, spitting blood from his mouth.
The man, whatever his name was, had the guts to laugh at the end of his life.
"What is this? Blake Wright's heir, sent by the heavens themselves. And in reality, you're nothing but a demon." He laughed bitterly. "Are you... Are you Satan himself? Am I going to burn in hell?"
"Hell is nothing more than a prison for the devil too." He approached the guy, prostrated before him, and put his hand on his head. "I very much doubt he controls who goes where, but what do I know? I'm just his son."
The man's eyes widened, perhaps wondering if he also had demon blood in his veins, if his brothers and sisters, his relatives would have it. How far this nightmare reached.
Then his eyes exploded, along with the rest of his head, flying away. The contents of his skull spilled onto the carpet.
He had come out of the massacre in the chapel spotless, not a single drop had stained him, but now he couldn't avoid being bathed, naturally.
Well, actually, he didn't mind. He liked the feeling of blood on his skin and clothes. A scarlet rain he would never tire of. Maybe it was in his blood or maybe he had just never had the opportunity to do something like this in his old life, too worried about the consequences. Of spending the rest of his life behind bars.
He didn't know and didn't care. As far as he was concerned, that life was nothing. Less than a shadow. He felt much more real, much more alive, here and now.
Three Wrights came out into the hallway. Two women and a man... No, more like half a man. One of the children.
They didn't hesitate to attack him although they surely didn't understand the situation yet.
He didn't know who had done what, but Sam ended up flying backward. His back hit the railing, he almost flew over it, returning to the starting square. Telekinesis, it had to be. There weren't many possibilities. It could be wind magic, but he hadn't felt a gust before it happened.
Sam got up, leaning with one hand on the railing, and discovered a piece of it in his hand as he stepped forward.
He had torn it off without realizing it.
Either the impact had loosened it too much or one of the powers he had obtained in the chapel was super strength. Perfect. It had been one of his problems from the beginning. Being a teenager again, smaller, thinner. A clear disadvantage. Now that he could kill people with his mind, it wasn't such a big deal anymore, but it was still good to cover that gap. He opened a hole in the chest of the woman who had done this to him, probably, by throwing the piece of railing at her.
Or that was the intention, but the woman tried to dodge, so instead of that, he cut her in half. Too bad for her. All she had gained with her efforts was a slower and more painful death. If she had stayed still, if she had stopped fighting, she would already be on her way to the eternal pit.
There was no healing magic that could snatch her from the clutches of death. None that would take effect before she bled out, in any case. Not to mention that from the little he had been able to read about it, the image of healing was exceptionally complicated, requiring a perfect mental image of the entire body and great concentration. How was she going to concentrate being cut in half?
Yes, he was thinking too much about useless things. It was obvious that he had killed her, but he was still affected by Adams' disappearance and what could have happened to him.
Chasing shadows, so to speak.
The child...
He had disappeared, hiding again in his room. And the other woman...
Sam raised an arm. As a result, the knife stuck in his forearm instead of his head. It had been close.
He thought the danger had passed, that he could lower his arm and kill her as if she were an insect. Crush her that easily. He was wrong. An explosion of pain. The knives multiplied in an instant. In the blink of an eye, he had identical knives from his wrist to his elbow.
Sam gritted his teeth, almost biting his tongue.
He swung his arm against the wall.
The knives broke in a crystalline shower that disappeared before touching the ground. They weren't crystals, but magical energy.
It didn't matter, they were real enough to pierce his skin. He killed the woman by making her fly over his head, doing somersaults. Her scream only ceased when she reached the ground. He could imagine her head bursting so vividly that he didn't need to move back and take a look. Evelyn had given him plenty of experience in that regard.
Sam pulled out the knife in his forearm, the only one that remained, and licked his own blood from the blade.
Besides, as he had said before, he had priorities.
"Come to die, come!"
He was the eye of an ice storm. The ice not only came out when he attacked, but it was spreading across the floor and walls. He could hear window crystals cracking as the spikes dug deep.
Surely the Wright family deserved to burn in the flames of hell, but instead, they would have the completely opposite death, but deep down not so different. Sam touched the ice on a piece of the wall as he passed. As he pulled his hand away, his fingertips burned. Satan was absolutely right. Ice could burn.
"And you will burn," Sam said.
In a low, sinister voice, without the expectation that anyone could hear him.
Promises to himself. He felt a movement nearby and reacted before the door opened. The door flew off its frame along with a dozen ice lances, and it hid the corpse that collapsed against the floor after hitting the wall. All he could see were his boots and the blood dripping from the holes in the wood.
He was the perfect killing machine.
How easy. So much caution at the beginning, but how damn easy it was turning out to be.
He wouldn't say stupid things like things were only worth it if they posed a challenge. That was the trivial desire of people who had nothing better to worry about. The lack of difficulty was the best. The key ingredient, of course, was that he had earned it the hard way, so they weren't completely off track.
More Wrights came out to meet him. They had prepared some kind of trap at the end of the hallway. They jumped as soon as he was about to turn the corner and he had to admit, they surprised him. But it didn't matter.
He broke the magical construction without giving it the chance to trigger its effect.
To be exact, a semi-transparent wall of blue color and honeycomb pattern.
He considered stopping to let it do something, since he had no fucking idea what it could be. And he almost did, almost.
"Shit." The resigned exclamation of one of them. The same message could be seen on the faces surrounding him.
Now that he had broken through that magical construction, they were basically defenseless.
Sam smiled.
He fired ice lances in a circle. They killed the Wrights not by piercing them, but by exploding on impact, which caused their broken fragments to scatter everywhere.
All of them, without exception, died before touching the ground.
Cold as Hell, Part 3: END
38. Cold as Hell, Part 4
Chapter 38: Cold as Hell, Part 4
Although he didn't want to do it, Blake Wright more or less understood the situation.
Or rather the disaster that was happening beyond the doors of his office, the safety that his sanctuary offered.
This was because the mansion was part of his own body. Sam was not being very subtle at first, but he knew it was Sam only because he could extend the tentacles of his consciousness through the hallways and see with the eyes of the walls. He was watching him now, effortlessly killing everyone who got in his way.
His inhumane yellow eyes, always burning in the midst of the massacre, told the whole story.
It was a bitter pill, but he'd better swallow it before he choked on it.
"My predestined heir, his birth a message from heaven, was actually the work of the devil himself." Blake laughed bitterly, alone in his office.
From the devil or whatever had replaced Mary. How many nights had he been sleeping next to a demon? And worse things.
He shuddered just to imagine it. What told him he had ever known the true Mary in the first place?
Surely she had been replaced at some point before Sam's birth, because the others had not turned out like him and he was massacring them without a second thought, he had done it from the beginning, there was his killer. But as unlikely as it was, the idea tormented him.
This conspiracy, how far did it go and why had the devil chosen his family to ruin, his bloodline to stain?
Whether he survived this day or not, he would surely never have answers to those questions.
Blake laughed again as if he was losing his mind. It would be easier if he could just lose it like that.
He didn't move an inch. He had no reason to leave his office. The prodigal son had turned out to be the seed of the destruction of his lineage and although he loved his wife with all his soul, it was obvious that he had lost her a long time ago, without even having a chance to mourn her.
At least not at the most opportune moment. The tears were already welling up in his eyes. Blake rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He had always been taught that he should not show weakness. There was no one who could see him, but that didn't matter.
Even so...
He intensely wished he had given her a better life.
He wished, of course, that he had saved her, although it was something unpredictable. But above all, he wished he had given her a better life. He couldn't help but look back, wondering if she had always been as sure as he was of how much he loved her.
He thought he couldn't say that and felt deeply ashamed.
It was too late for regret, the only thing he could do to fix the situation was sit and wait for Sam to come here. He didn't need to take a single step out of the office. Sooner or later he would come to him, and this was the best place to face him.
Blake crossed his legs on the desk and also leaned his cane, which was at the same time a conductor for his magic, on it.
Seventy-two.
His office was protected by nothing more and nothing less than seventy-two traps, protections, seals and other things, which made it an impenetrable fortress.
He was no longer young enough to believe that if the devil came out, he could put him back in his cage.
But how would he do it against the devil's son?
That remained to be seen.
"I should have known, really," Blake spoke to the empty room as if Samuel could hear him. "That's why you were so suitable to be my heir. It takes a kind of demon to succeed in business. Come and I suppose we'll see who the real demon is... my son."
Blake laughed as if this were the materialization of the day he had dreamed of so much. The day when he would pass his burden on to someone else, being able to leave this world once and for all, or at least live for himself.
He laughed until he had no breath left, alone in the fortress of his dark office, while his family died 'burned'.
——
He was untouchable. Unstoppable.
He had been from the beginning, but the more Wrights fell, the greater the gap between the devil's son and his enemies. Sam could feel a wide variety of powers within him, wanting to explode outward, wanting him to let them loose, and he responded to their desires with a smile on his face.
He blinded people to steal their most important sense before killing them with ease, as helpless as newborn babies. Even a few seconds of blindness were more than enough for him to make his move.
He took advantage of his super-strength to tear off arms and legs. He killed one with the leg of another, in fact, hitting his head until he discovered what was the hardest. Unfortunately, the first thing to explode was the leg, not his skull.
He discovered a power to create illusions. It wasn't too powerful, or maybe he still didn't control it properly, but at least he was able to create illusions. Making enemies think they were lurking that he was in another place so he could then attack them from behind.
Without voice, without noise, without movement, but enough to deceive them in a moment of tension.
All he needed was a moment.
He discovered a power to pass through walls like a ghost, and that was undoubtedly a key power for the ambushes, which were necessary for his survival. He was strong, but that didn't mean he could act carelessly against such a quantity and variety of enemies. Charging blindly against the Wrights when he had no idea of their specific magical abilities would be suicide.
It may have given him a boost, but that didn't mean he was stupid.
And...
A wide variety of things.
Of course, he continued as before, shaping the ice he conjured and using it as projectiles. The ice was inexorably spreading in his wake. He was leaving the mansion as an unrecognizable frozen world.
No one could stop him now. No one.
They couldn't escape, so they had to try, but it was obvious.
Meanwhile, Belfegor would have the first floor under control. If any Wrights escaped the massacre, they would be few, and it would not really matter. Satan had made it clear from the beginning more or less that he didn't have to kill each and every one of them. Just the majority.
He didn't trust a demon and even less a being he didn't know in general, but he did trust that he would do his best to fulfill his purpose. And his black smoke form had shown him that he was capable of fulfilling it.
But, although he justified it, that was not the real reason. The truth is that he didn't care. He was still riding the crest of the wave and the only thing Sam could think about was how to keep riding it.
At least, he managed to reach the doors of Blake's office in this way. He had only seen them once, but that was enough. Among his many talents was an excellent memory and a sense of direction that had never failed him.
He could have moved to any other part of the mansion. He could be outside, for all he knew. After making so much commotion, he could have destroyed the body of the snake, but let the head escape.
However, Sam was certain that Blake was on the other side.
It had nothing to do with any of his new powers or one of his many natural talents.
He just sensed it. It was not something he could explain.
But he had no doubt either.
Sam advanced down the hallway. There were surely some obstacles in the way, but they would be keeping out of his way, hiding.
Normally he would look for them, drag them back into the light (or what passed for light in the mansion's hallway now, consumed in ice, all the lights stifled, and a storm approaching and roaring in the sky) and crush them like the insects they were. However, now that he had the "objective" right in front of him, he had no intention of taking any more detours. He could only go straight ahead.
Satan's son knocked down the doors of his human father's office.
At that very moment...
A variety of traps converged on him. The office was illuminated by a blue light so intense that it burned the retinas. On the other side of the desk, sitting with his legs crossed, Blake Wright was smiling at him smugly.
Sam returned the smile a tenth of a second before the chaos began.
Cold as Hell, Part 4: END
Although he didn't want to do it, Blake Wright more or less understood the situation.
Or rather the disaster that was happening beyond the doors of his office, the safety that his sanctuary offered.
This was because the mansion was part of his own body. Sam was not being very subtle at first, but he knew it was Sam only because he could extend the tentacles of his consciousness through the hallways and see with the eyes of the walls. He was watching him now, effortlessly killing everyone who got in his way.
His inhumane yellow eyes, always burning in the midst of the massacre, told the whole story.
It was a bitter pill, but he'd better swallow it before he choked on it.
"My predestined heir, his birth a message from heaven, was actually the work of the devil himself." Blake laughed bitterly, alone in his office.
From the devil or whatever had replaced Mary. How many nights had he been sleeping next to a demon? And worse things.
He shuddered just to imagine it. What told him he had ever known the true Mary in the first place?
Surely she had been replaced at some point before Sam's birth, because the others had not turned out like him and he was massacring them without a second thought, he had done it from the beginning, there was his killer. But as unlikely as it was, the idea tormented him.
This conspiracy, how far did it go and why had the devil chosen his family to ruin, his bloodline to stain?
Whether he survived this day or not, he would surely never have answers to those questions.
Blake laughed again as if he was losing his mind. It would be easier if he could just lose it like that.
He didn't move an inch. He had no reason to leave his office. The prodigal son had turned out to be the seed of the destruction of his lineage and although he loved his wife with all his soul, it was obvious that he had lost her a long time ago, without even having a chance to mourn her.
At least not at the most opportune moment. The tears were already welling up in his eyes. Blake rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He had always been taught that he should not show weakness. There was no one who could see him, but that didn't matter.
Even so...
He intensely wished he had given her a better life.
He wished, of course, that he had saved her, although it was something unpredictable. But above all, he wished he had given her a better life. He couldn't help but look back, wondering if she had always been as sure as he was of how much he loved her.
He thought he couldn't say that and felt deeply ashamed.
It was too late for regret, the only thing he could do to fix the situation was sit and wait for Sam to come here. He didn't need to take a single step out of the office. Sooner or later he would come to him, and this was the best place to face him.
Blake crossed his legs on the desk and also leaned his cane, which was at the same time a conductor for his magic, on it.
Seventy-two.
His office was protected by nothing more and nothing less than seventy-two traps, protections, seals and other things, which made it an impenetrable fortress.
He was no longer young enough to believe that if the devil came out, he could put him back in his cage.
But how would he do it against the devil's son?
That remained to be seen.
"I should have known, really," Blake spoke to the empty room as if Samuel could hear him. "That's why you were so suitable to be my heir. It takes a kind of demon to succeed in business. Come and I suppose we'll see who the real demon is... my son."
Blake laughed as if this were the materialization of the day he had dreamed of so much. The day when he would pass his burden on to someone else, being able to leave this world once and for all, or at least live for himself.
He laughed until he had no breath left, alone in the fortress of his dark office, while his family died 'burned'.
——
He was untouchable. Unstoppable.
He had been from the beginning, but the more Wrights fell, the greater the gap between the devil's son and his enemies. Sam could feel a wide variety of powers within him, wanting to explode outward, wanting him to let them loose, and he responded to their desires with a smile on his face.
He blinded people to steal their most important sense before killing them with ease, as helpless as newborn babies. Even a few seconds of blindness were more than enough for him to make his move.
He took advantage of his super-strength to tear off arms and legs. He killed one with the leg of another, in fact, hitting his head until he discovered what was the hardest. Unfortunately, the first thing to explode was the leg, not his skull.
He discovered a power to create illusions. It wasn't too powerful, or maybe he still didn't control it properly, but at least he was able to create illusions. Making enemies think they were lurking that he was in another place so he could then attack them from behind.
Without voice, without noise, without movement, but enough to deceive them in a moment of tension.
All he needed was a moment.
He discovered a power to pass through walls like a ghost, and that was undoubtedly a key power for the ambushes, which were necessary for his survival. He was strong, but that didn't mean he could act carelessly against such a quantity and variety of enemies. Charging blindly against the Wrights when he had no idea of their specific magical abilities would be suicide.
It may have given him a boost, but that didn't mean he was stupid.
And...
A wide variety of things.
Of course, he continued as before, shaping the ice he conjured and using it as projectiles. The ice was inexorably spreading in his wake. He was leaving the mansion as an unrecognizable frozen world.
No one could stop him now. No one.
They couldn't escape, so they had to try, but it was obvious.
Meanwhile, Belfegor would have the first floor under control. If any Wrights escaped the massacre, they would be few, and it would not really matter. Satan had made it clear from the beginning more or less that he didn't have to kill each and every one of them. Just the majority.
He didn't trust a demon and even less a being he didn't know in general, but he did trust that he would do his best to fulfill his purpose. And his black smoke form had shown him that he was capable of fulfilling it.
But, although he justified it, that was not the real reason. The truth is that he didn't care. He was still riding the crest of the wave and the only thing Sam could think about was how to keep riding it.
At least, he managed to reach the doors of Blake's office in this way. He had only seen them once, but that was enough. Among his many talents was an excellent memory and a sense of direction that had never failed him.
He could have moved to any other part of the mansion. He could be outside, for all he knew. After making so much commotion, he could have destroyed the body of the snake, but let the head escape.
However, Sam was certain that Blake was on the other side.
It had nothing to do with any of his new powers or one of his many natural talents.
He just sensed it. It was not something he could explain.
But he had no doubt either.
Sam advanced down the hallway. There were surely some obstacles in the way, but they would be keeping out of his way, hiding.
Normally he would look for them, drag them back into the light (or what passed for light in the mansion's hallway now, consumed in ice, all the lights stifled, and a storm approaching and roaring in the sky) and crush them like the insects they were. However, now that he had the "objective" right in front of him, he had no intention of taking any more detours. He could only go straight ahead.
Satan's son knocked down the doors of his human father's office.
At that very moment...
A variety of traps converged on him. The office was illuminated by a blue light so intense that it burned the retinas. On the other side of the desk, sitting with his legs crossed, Blake Wright was smiling at him smugly.
Sam returned the smile a tenth of a second before the chaos began.
Cold as Hell, Part 4: END
39. Cold as Hell, Part 5
Chapter 39: Cold as Hell, Part 5
Adams was dead.
He knew it, and the worst part was that it had been his own fault. Despite everything, he had underestimated Samuel. Too accustomed to everything ending when he solved the case, tying up the loose ends with a nice bow, he had turned his back.
He had believed him to be a piece already off the board. By the time he reacted, it was already too late.
Stabbed in the chest, tossed aside like a rag doll.
The dagger had sunk into his heart. He wasn't dying. He was dead, there was nothing that could save him. He understood that.
And he couldn't even go to the other world with the assurance that at least the homicidal maniac would end up behind bars.
His vision had almost completely darkened, however, his hearing was working perfectly. He vaguely remembered something about this in medical books. That hearing was the last thing to go. So, the last thing he would have of the world was the agonizing screams of animals being massacred.
A horrible way to die, but it fit with the rest of his life. He hadn't expected any less. He always knew he wouldn't die peacefully in bed, surrounded by people who loved him. There wasn't even one to begin with. Not a single one.
Did his work, the thing he had dedicated his entire life to, even mean anything?
He suspected the answer. So many crimes stopped, so many criminals he had seen come and go, but now that true evil had arrived, he couldn't do anything at all.
Yes.
This wasn't work for a detective. The pure and hard truth. He had been careless, but one way or another he would have always ended up broken on the floor, bleeding out, because he wasn't made for this. He just wasn't, period.
In reality, that wasn't an excuse, nor a cold comfort, just the cold, hard, and crushing reality...
I wish my heart were made of stone, he thought.
His last thought?
No.
Because then light appeared in his world completely painted in darkness, and a voice pierced through him. A voice clear as a bell. A pure voice, with a single question.
Adams coughed, spitting blood.
He had no oxygen or strength to speak, but he moved his lips, giving his answer.
A yes, of course. He had nothing to lose anyway. Nothing except his life.
——
It ended in an instant.
No living being could dodge the seventy-two traps he had prepared. He hadn't been completely sure due to Samuel's infernal powers, but it seemed that demons were no exception. He had lost his chance to win by opening the door.
Because he had only realized he needed to be careful when they were activated.
As a result, the little demon was on the floor, his clothes covered with burn marks and blood.
Red blood, like humans'.
He didn't remember seeing him bleed before, so it vaguely surprised him. He supposed he believed he would have black blood like ichor in his veins, but how could it be anything but red? That's not how the world worked. Evil didn't show itself to the naked eye, even under the skin. Otherwise, he would have recognized what he was much earlier.
He grabbed Sam by the hair, pulling him, dragging him across the floor as if he were a sack of potatoes.
He would have smashed his head the very day he was born.
It's still not too late to rectify my mistakes, he thought, and be able to say that at least I tried at the gates of heaven.
If someone like me still deserves that.
In any case, Blake Wright concentrated his magical power to erase his biggest mistake from the face of the earth.
But then...
"Wait, I'm not your son," Sam muttered, coughing blood.
"I know."
"That's not what I mean."
He knew it had to be some kind of deception, some kind of trap, but despite himself, Blake stopped, giving him time to do whatever he was planning.
Because he suspected what he was going to say.
It was his secret hope.
That's precisely why it couldn't be true.
Hope is the last thing to be lost. That's why the road to hell was paved with hope.
Although of course, without really having hope, he had ended up in the depths of hell before he realized it, anyway.
Maybe all roads led to hell.
"Then speak, and quickly," Blake spat. "Before I change my mind."
"I'm not your son," he repeated, as if to waste time. He considered squeezing until his head burst. "I entered him three days before his eighteenth birthday. I know you're not exactly father of the year, but you must have noticed I'm not the same as always."
He wasn't father of the year.
But the monster was right, Sam had started doing things that seemed out of character for him.
It was obvious that Samuel was in love with Evelyn.
Which hadn't pleased him at all, as obvious as his false grief at the funeral had been.
Maybe not for most, but for him, yes.
However, once again, he wasn't father of the year. Maybe it just meant he didn't know his son as well as he thought.
But...
Hope. Damn hope.
"So what? What do you expect from me?"
"Maybe you can bring him back." Samuel, or whoever he was, smiled with blood-stained lips. "Maybe your legacy hasn't come to an end yet. Huh? Aren't you rushing?"
Blake considered it for a moment.
"Strange way to beg. Disappear from this world, monster."
He said it like a judge passing sentence, with palpable finality. However, it was too late. It had been since the demon opened his mouth and let him keep talking. He had known from the beginning, but he had wanted to cling to hope.
He thought his father had beaten all those childish things out of him, but it seemed that the legendary Blake Wright had his weaknesses.
He still remembered the day Sam had come into the world.
He clearly remembered being the first person to hold the baby, apart from the doctors, of course.
Even before his mother.
It was the first and only one of his children for whom he had done that.
A divine message.
God's will.
Maybe it was.
Blake fell to his knees. A red curtain spread under his feet. The demon had easily broken his left leg, although he had moved away quickly enough not to let him grab it well. Too confident that the fight would end as soon as he opened the door, he hadn't observed the enemy enough to know he had that kind of monstrous strength.
Shit.
Fucking shit.
The demon was smiling.
Even with his life at stake, he seemed happier to have tricked and hurt him than the fact that he had survived at least a little longer. A being of pure evil.
Maybe he had even told him the truth. What better way to hurt someone than with the stake of truth?
But it didn't matter, in any case, there wasn't a trace of his son in this world.
If it hadn't been evident before, it became so when looking at that smile.
There was more inhumanity there than in his burning eyes.
"You fucking bastard. I'm going to enjoy wringing your neck."
Sam responded by laughing, showing blood-stained teeth. His own injuries didn't seem to matter to him. A high tolerance for pain.
He was completely prepared for what he did next.
Ice, the magic he had relied on to get this far. Too fast, too powerful, and apparently inexhaustible. He had used it more times than he could count and it didn't seem to be an impediment.
Of course.
The limits of human beings had nothing to do with the limits of demons.
If he was the son of Satan himself, according to legend, he must have an inexhaustible source of magical energy like his father. Drawing strength from hell itself. The shadow of humanity, the dumping ground of human malice. Something as inexhaustible as the divine light of heaven.
But he stopped him.
Blake formed a barrier of magical energy in an instant, covering him from head to toe.
That wasn't the impressive part, but that it held despite having been built with that speed. There wasn't even a single crack.
He had only stopped them, however. The ice spears were still there, stuck in the magical energy barrier. He could fix that, however.
Blake hit the ground with his staff and they exploded at the same time. Which didn't harm the demon, but it didn't harm him either.
"Don't think I'm just a businessman, cockroach."
The monster stood up. Ice manifested around him, floating in the air. Spears waiting to be fired. His smile was twisted in a strange way, as if he were missing some muscles in his face.
Not literally, of course.
What I mean is that he was putting on an expression that seemed impossible with a human face. Simply impossible.
"Cockroach?"
Sam frowned. He fired the spears.
"I am a god!"
Blake felt a chill.
The son of the devil, that is, the antichrist. The name itself said it. His mere existence spat on the divine grace of the heavens, but it still chilled his blood that he had declared himself an all-powerful being that should be worshipped so casually.
So convinced. As if it were a matter of time before he reigned over the ashes of the world.
Not if I can help it, he thought.
The demon continued firing ice spears at him tirelessly, but he gained no ground. On the contrary. He was backing away as he fired, soon he would leave the office, going out into the hallway.
That was the right decision for his adversary.
Surely with that monstrous strength, he could break the barrier as if it were nothing, but that would be all.
He wasn't capable of killing him in one blow, so Sam would be the one who ended up destroyed if he got close.
Not that it was a great strategic move or anything, but it surprised him that this arrogant pup kept a cool head.
Maybe he had learned his lesson from almost losing the fight as soon as he opened the door by not taking precautions before.
In any case, Blake would emerge victorious at this rate.
Slowly but surely he was cornering him.
They crossed the threshold, Sam walking backward. Ice spears rained down on him from the ceiling. Blake wasn't the only one who could set traps, but he had foreseen it, so he reacted perfectly without effort.
All the icicles evaporated before even grazing the magic barrier. He heard the demon click his tongue.
Did he really believe such a simple trick could work on him? He thought that, since he had a good reason to back away, it wouldn't occur to him that he was doing it for another reason. Yes, he was nothing but an arrogant pup after all.
Blake was prepared for the final blow as well.
He wasn't so arrogant as to be convinced it would be the end, like the boy, but he really expected it.
After all, he wasn't sure he would have a second chance.
No, a third.
This was his second chance. He should have ended it all when the seventy-two traps left him broken on the floor.
As he had always known, even a spark of hope could cost you everything.
One way or another, Blake knew the fight would end before they reached the end of the hallway.
Cold as Hell, Part 5: END
Adams was dead.
He knew it, and the worst part was that it had been his own fault. Despite everything, he had underestimated Samuel. Too accustomed to everything ending when he solved the case, tying up the loose ends with a nice bow, he had turned his back.
He had believed him to be a piece already off the board. By the time he reacted, it was already too late.
Stabbed in the chest, tossed aside like a rag doll.
The dagger had sunk into his heart. He wasn't dying. He was dead, there was nothing that could save him. He understood that.
And he couldn't even go to the other world with the assurance that at least the homicidal maniac would end up behind bars.
His vision had almost completely darkened, however, his hearing was working perfectly. He vaguely remembered something about this in medical books. That hearing was the last thing to go. So, the last thing he would have of the world was the agonizing screams of animals being massacred.
A horrible way to die, but it fit with the rest of his life. He hadn't expected any less. He always knew he wouldn't die peacefully in bed, surrounded by people who loved him. There wasn't even one to begin with. Not a single one.
Did his work, the thing he had dedicated his entire life to, even mean anything?
He suspected the answer. So many crimes stopped, so many criminals he had seen come and go, but now that true evil had arrived, he couldn't do anything at all.
Yes.
This wasn't work for a detective. The pure and hard truth. He had been careless, but one way or another he would have always ended up broken on the floor, bleeding out, because he wasn't made for this. He just wasn't, period.
In reality, that wasn't an excuse, nor a cold comfort, just the cold, hard, and crushing reality...
I wish my heart were made of stone, he thought.
His last thought?
No.
Because then light appeared in his world completely painted in darkness, and a voice pierced through him. A voice clear as a bell. A pure voice, with a single question.
Adams coughed, spitting blood.
He had no oxygen or strength to speak, but he moved his lips, giving his answer.
A yes, of course. He had nothing to lose anyway. Nothing except his life.
——
It ended in an instant.
No living being could dodge the seventy-two traps he had prepared. He hadn't been completely sure due to Samuel's infernal powers, but it seemed that demons were no exception. He had lost his chance to win by opening the door.
Because he had only realized he needed to be careful when they were activated.
As a result, the little demon was on the floor, his clothes covered with burn marks and blood.
Red blood, like humans'.
He didn't remember seeing him bleed before, so it vaguely surprised him. He supposed he believed he would have black blood like ichor in his veins, but how could it be anything but red? That's not how the world worked. Evil didn't show itself to the naked eye, even under the skin. Otherwise, he would have recognized what he was much earlier.
He grabbed Sam by the hair, pulling him, dragging him across the floor as if he were a sack of potatoes.
He would have smashed his head the very day he was born.
It's still not too late to rectify my mistakes, he thought, and be able to say that at least I tried at the gates of heaven.
If someone like me still deserves that.
In any case, Blake Wright concentrated his magical power to erase his biggest mistake from the face of the earth.
But then...
"Wait, I'm not your son," Sam muttered, coughing blood.
"I know."
"That's not what I mean."
He knew it had to be some kind of deception, some kind of trap, but despite himself, Blake stopped, giving him time to do whatever he was planning.
Because he suspected what he was going to say.
It was his secret hope.
That's precisely why it couldn't be true.
Hope is the last thing to be lost. That's why the road to hell was paved with hope.
Although of course, without really having hope, he had ended up in the depths of hell before he realized it, anyway.
Maybe all roads led to hell.
"Then speak, and quickly," Blake spat. "Before I change my mind."
"I'm not your son," he repeated, as if to waste time. He considered squeezing until his head burst. "I entered him three days before his eighteenth birthday. I know you're not exactly father of the year, but you must have noticed I'm not the same as always."
He wasn't father of the year.
But the monster was right, Sam had started doing things that seemed out of character for him.
It was obvious that Samuel was in love with Evelyn.
Which hadn't pleased him at all, as obvious as his false grief at the funeral had been.
Maybe not for most, but for him, yes.
However, once again, he wasn't father of the year. Maybe it just meant he didn't know his son as well as he thought.
But...
Hope. Damn hope.
"So what? What do you expect from me?"
"Maybe you can bring him back." Samuel, or whoever he was, smiled with blood-stained lips. "Maybe your legacy hasn't come to an end yet. Huh? Aren't you rushing?"
Blake considered it for a moment.
"Strange way to beg. Disappear from this world, monster."
He said it like a judge passing sentence, with palpable finality. However, it was too late. It had been since the demon opened his mouth and let him keep talking. He had known from the beginning, but he had wanted to cling to hope.
He thought his father had beaten all those childish things out of him, but it seemed that the legendary Blake Wright had his weaknesses.
He still remembered the day Sam had come into the world.
He clearly remembered being the first person to hold the baby, apart from the doctors, of course.
Even before his mother.
It was the first and only one of his children for whom he had done that.
A divine message.
God's will.
Maybe it was.
Blake fell to his knees. A red curtain spread under his feet. The demon had easily broken his left leg, although he had moved away quickly enough not to let him grab it well. Too confident that the fight would end as soon as he opened the door, he hadn't observed the enemy enough to know he had that kind of monstrous strength.
Shit.
Fucking shit.
The demon was smiling.
Even with his life at stake, he seemed happier to have tricked and hurt him than the fact that he had survived at least a little longer. A being of pure evil.
Maybe he had even told him the truth. What better way to hurt someone than with the stake of truth?
But it didn't matter, in any case, there wasn't a trace of his son in this world.
If it hadn't been evident before, it became so when looking at that smile.
There was more inhumanity there than in his burning eyes.
"You fucking bastard. I'm going to enjoy wringing your neck."
Sam responded by laughing, showing blood-stained teeth. His own injuries didn't seem to matter to him. A high tolerance for pain.
He was completely prepared for what he did next.
Ice, the magic he had relied on to get this far. Too fast, too powerful, and apparently inexhaustible. He had used it more times than he could count and it didn't seem to be an impediment.
Of course.
The limits of human beings had nothing to do with the limits of demons.
If he was the son of Satan himself, according to legend, he must have an inexhaustible source of magical energy like his father. Drawing strength from hell itself. The shadow of humanity, the dumping ground of human malice. Something as inexhaustible as the divine light of heaven.
But he stopped him.
Blake formed a barrier of magical energy in an instant, covering him from head to toe.
That wasn't the impressive part, but that it held despite having been built with that speed. There wasn't even a single crack.
He had only stopped them, however. The ice spears were still there, stuck in the magical energy barrier. He could fix that, however.
Blake hit the ground with his staff and they exploded at the same time. Which didn't harm the demon, but it didn't harm him either.
"Don't think I'm just a businessman, cockroach."
The monster stood up. Ice manifested around him, floating in the air. Spears waiting to be fired. His smile was twisted in a strange way, as if he were missing some muscles in his face.
Not literally, of course.
What I mean is that he was putting on an expression that seemed impossible with a human face. Simply impossible.
"Cockroach?"
Sam frowned. He fired the spears.
"I am a god!"
Blake felt a chill.
The son of the devil, that is, the antichrist. The name itself said it. His mere existence spat on the divine grace of the heavens, but it still chilled his blood that he had declared himself an all-powerful being that should be worshipped so casually.
So convinced. As if it were a matter of time before he reigned over the ashes of the world.
Not if I can help it, he thought.
The demon continued firing ice spears at him tirelessly, but he gained no ground. On the contrary. He was backing away as he fired, soon he would leave the office, going out into the hallway.
That was the right decision for his adversary.
Surely with that monstrous strength, he could break the barrier as if it were nothing, but that would be all.
He wasn't capable of killing him in one blow, so Sam would be the one who ended up destroyed if he got close.
Not that it was a great strategic move or anything, but it surprised him that this arrogant pup kept a cool head.
Maybe he had learned his lesson from almost losing the fight as soon as he opened the door by not taking precautions before.
In any case, Blake would emerge victorious at this rate.
Slowly but surely he was cornering him.
They crossed the threshold, Sam walking backward. Ice spears rained down on him from the ceiling. Blake wasn't the only one who could set traps, but he had foreseen it, so he reacted perfectly without effort.
All the icicles evaporated before even grazing the magic barrier. He heard the demon click his tongue.
Did he really believe such a simple trick could work on him? He thought that, since he had a good reason to back away, it wouldn't occur to him that he was doing it for another reason. Yes, he was nothing but an arrogant pup after all.
Blake was prepared for the final blow as well.
He wasn't so arrogant as to be convinced it would be the end, like the boy, but he really expected it.
After all, he wasn't sure he would have a second chance.
No, a third.
This was his second chance. He should have ended it all when the seventy-two traps left him broken on the floor.
As he had always known, even a spark of hope could cost you everything.
One way or another, Blake knew the fight would end before they reached the end of the hallway.
Cold as Hell, Part 5: END
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40. Cold as Hell, Part 6
Chapter 40: Cold as Hell, Part 6
Blake Wright was one dangerous son of a bitch.
But Sam had managed to escape alive, and this time, for a change, by telling the truth. He was retreating, which might make it seem like he was losing the fight, but in reality, Sam held all the cards.
Everything would end before he backed up to the other end of the hallway. One way or another, there was no doubt about that.
He was slightly worried that a surviving Wright might choose this moment to leap out of hiding. Not because he couldn't react in an instant and crush them like a cockroach, but because Blake would take full advantage of that split-second opening.
But he could handle it.
He would give it his all and crush the last obstacle in his path to victory.
Twenty seconds, maybe less.
By then, everything would be over, and he had to come out on top.
Ninety percent or more of the hallway was covered in ice, so the magical barrier must have been protecting Blake, even from the temperature.
That's why, when Sam finally made his move, it would be twice as shocking.
Sam stopped abruptly.
He couldn't put it into words, but he had a bad feeling. Although Blake saw him hesitate, he didn't stop. No, it wasn't strange that he didn't stop, but not even for a second had he wondered why Sam had stopped right now? Was it a trap?
Yes, he had a bad feeling, and as usual, he was right.
First, he noticed a low-intensity vibration.
Like his ears were just ringing… at first.
Then came the light.
There was a magic circle on the ground behind him. He'd almost stepped on it. He hadn't read much about these in the library, but he'd read and seen enough fantasy stories to recognize a damn magic circle.
He didn't know what to do about it, but in any case, it was bad news.
What luck.
Luck? No, this was too much luck. Had he gained some sort of perception power?
The magic circle activated anyway; still, it surely would've been more devastating and impossible to escape from if it had triggered when he stepped on it.
His heart leaped into his throat.
How had Blake had time to prepare that?
His office, his sanctuary, Sam understood that. It was the first place anyone in his position would fortify, but here, in the middle of the hallway? Why?
The magical energy gathered, twisting like something alive. Something about to explode.
Had Blake placed it there with his mind in a second?
What did it matter? Sam had a feeling that if he didn't dodge, it wouldn't matter what happened next. But he wouldn't be able to; he realized with despair. At this point, it was too late. With or without power, he'd realized it too late.
But it would be a terrible mistake to assume that meant he had no other options. If he couldn't get out of the way, then maybe…
He could remove the way.
Sam punched the floor, following it up with another barrage of ice spears.
And that was enough; it was just wood, after all.
That is, they fell to the floor below.
The hole provided a nice view. Sam saw the surge of magical energy sweep through the hallway, presumably destroying the office.
Ha, serves him right.
As for them, nothing changed, only the setting. He hoped Blake couldn't pull that trick again until it worked. He wasn't sure how he could counter it next time.
That is, there wouldn't be many floors left, to begin with.
"Slippery bastard," Blake spat.
"Look who's talking, like father like son."
"You just told me you're not my son."
Don't be so literal, Sam thought.
"You're trying to crush your only chance to save him with your own hands!"
While this exchange of useless words was happening, neither of them stopped moving, of course. Blake attacked relentlessly and overwhelmingly like the tide, and his enemy could do nothing but defend.
"Enough, I'm not stupid enough to let you trick me again."
Sam smiled at the irony. Blake didn't believe him, but for once, he was telling the truth. He didn't know if the real Sam could be saved or if it would even be better for him (after all, he was the true son of Satan, not born of pure evil, but made that way), but maybe…
Maybe a part of him was still buried deep in his consciousness.
Sam had come to take his place, so that kid must've gone somewhere else. The only question was where.
But even if he told Blake the truth, the whole truth, it wouldn't convince him, wouldn't make him lower his guard. It was a shame, but he'd squeezed all he could out of that truth. He couldn't use it as a weapon again.
Not against this guy, but soon, he'd be dead anyway.
"You're going to die, you know that. It's only a matter of time before I break through that barrier. Leave you defenseless like a puppy. Die with dignity, Blake Wright."
Blake was silent.
Sam doubted he was considering the offer; he'd probably just decided to stop wasting oxygen. So Sam would do the same. There was no point in talking to someone who didn't want to listen.
That magic circle had probably been Blake's last trick, an ace up his sleeve. So Sam's victory was inevitable if things kept going as they were. And there was no reason for that to change.
A Wright appeared, trying to launch a surprise attack. He wasn't very smart, announcing his arrival with a scream to expel the fear that dominated him. With a sidelong glance, Sam used his telekinesis to drop the chandelier on the son of a bitch, crushing him.
The Wright didn't manage to strike or even distract Sam enough for Blake to take advantage of a moment of weakness.
Seeing he was cornered, Blake attacked seriously. Up until now, he'd just been biding his time, waiting for Sam to step into the circle, but now he was returning every single blow.
Almost as fast as Sam, Blake countered his ice spears with fire. Was that this family's specialty or something? Sam hadn't read or heard anything like it.
Yes, it made sense to use it to melt the ice, but why did so many people know how to use fire magic? Except him, ironically, the son of the king of hell.
But Blake didn't stop there.
He hurled compressed balls of dirt, generating them out of nowhere. Christina had used the fountain's water to attack Ivor, but Sam guessed that was a lack of experience. That or a damned limitation of water magic.
He should've spent more time in the library, but the massacre had been too much fun.
But nothing had changed, not really. All he had to do to make sure Blake didn't hit him was keep attacking as he had been. The ice spears would split and deflect the streams of flames or knock down the balls of dirt. Blake couldn't use both at the same time for obvious reasons.
And there was one thing Sam had learned from his brief study sessions with the books from the library.
Human mages couldn't sustain that kind of power expenditure for long. Sam, however, felt like he had no limits. He felt like he could keep going until someone killed him.
Something that simple is what decided the fight in the end. Blake's attacks became weaker, slower.
Sam's didn't. That simple.
He saw Blake's right leg fly through the air, followed by blood. He saw the last obstacle collapse as if bowing at his feet. The barrier, of course, was shattered, but even if Blake managed to get up again through the pain and massive blood loss, Sam would just tear it down again.
Sam moved closer, smiling like a shark.
Running. He wouldn't make the same mistake Blake had.
He wouldn't give him the chance to turn the tables.
Then someone grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall. His nose bent, and he felt the blood flow. Bent, not broken, but that was the least of his worries. He struggled at first in the grip of the newcomer but froze when he saw their face out of the corner of his eye.
"Adams?"
He hadn't seen his body, but not only wasn't Adams dead, he was ready to fight? He looked better than fine, in fact. Sam had tried and hadn't been able to break free from his grip, somehow.
"I am an angel of the Lord," the being said.
He placed a hand on Sam's forehead, and then Sam began to scream.
Cold as Hell, Part 6: END
Blake Wright was one dangerous son of a bitch.
But Sam had managed to escape alive, and this time, for a change, by telling the truth. He was retreating, which might make it seem like he was losing the fight, but in reality, Sam held all the cards.
Everything would end before he backed up to the other end of the hallway. One way or another, there was no doubt about that.
He was slightly worried that a surviving Wright might choose this moment to leap out of hiding. Not because he couldn't react in an instant and crush them like a cockroach, but because Blake would take full advantage of that split-second opening.
But he could handle it.
He would give it his all and crush the last obstacle in his path to victory.
Twenty seconds, maybe less.
By then, everything would be over, and he had to come out on top.
Ninety percent or more of the hallway was covered in ice, so the magical barrier must have been protecting Blake, even from the temperature.
That's why, when Sam finally made his move, it would be twice as shocking.
Sam stopped abruptly.
He couldn't put it into words, but he had a bad feeling. Although Blake saw him hesitate, he didn't stop. No, it wasn't strange that he didn't stop, but not even for a second had he wondered why Sam had stopped right now? Was it a trap?
Yes, he had a bad feeling, and as usual, he was right.
First, he noticed a low-intensity vibration.
Like his ears were just ringing… at first.
Then came the light.
There was a magic circle on the ground behind him. He'd almost stepped on it. He hadn't read much about these in the library, but he'd read and seen enough fantasy stories to recognize a damn magic circle.
He didn't know what to do about it, but in any case, it was bad news.
What luck.
Luck? No, this was too much luck. Had he gained some sort of perception power?
The magic circle activated anyway; still, it surely would've been more devastating and impossible to escape from if it had triggered when he stepped on it.
His heart leaped into his throat.
How had Blake had time to prepare that?
His office, his sanctuary, Sam understood that. It was the first place anyone in his position would fortify, but here, in the middle of the hallway? Why?
The magical energy gathered, twisting like something alive. Something about to explode.
Had Blake placed it there with his mind in a second?
What did it matter? Sam had a feeling that if he didn't dodge, it wouldn't matter what happened next. But he wouldn't be able to; he realized with despair. At this point, it was too late. With or without power, he'd realized it too late.
But it would be a terrible mistake to assume that meant he had no other options. If he couldn't get out of the way, then maybe…
He could remove the way.
Sam punched the floor, following it up with another barrage of ice spears.
And that was enough; it was just wood, after all.
That is, they fell to the floor below.
The hole provided a nice view. Sam saw the surge of magical energy sweep through the hallway, presumably destroying the office.
Ha, serves him right.
As for them, nothing changed, only the setting. He hoped Blake couldn't pull that trick again until it worked. He wasn't sure how he could counter it next time.
That is, there wouldn't be many floors left, to begin with.
"Slippery bastard," Blake spat.
"Look who's talking, like father like son."
"You just told me you're not my son."
Don't be so literal, Sam thought.
"You're trying to crush your only chance to save him with your own hands!"
While this exchange of useless words was happening, neither of them stopped moving, of course. Blake attacked relentlessly and overwhelmingly like the tide, and his enemy could do nothing but defend.
"Enough, I'm not stupid enough to let you trick me again."
Sam smiled at the irony. Blake didn't believe him, but for once, he was telling the truth. He didn't know if the real Sam could be saved or if it would even be better for him (after all, he was the true son of Satan, not born of pure evil, but made that way), but maybe…
Maybe a part of him was still buried deep in his consciousness.
Sam had come to take his place, so that kid must've gone somewhere else. The only question was where.
But even if he told Blake the truth, the whole truth, it wouldn't convince him, wouldn't make him lower his guard. It was a shame, but he'd squeezed all he could out of that truth. He couldn't use it as a weapon again.
Not against this guy, but soon, he'd be dead anyway.
"You're going to die, you know that. It's only a matter of time before I break through that barrier. Leave you defenseless like a puppy. Die with dignity, Blake Wright."
Blake was silent.
Sam doubted he was considering the offer; he'd probably just decided to stop wasting oxygen. So Sam would do the same. There was no point in talking to someone who didn't want to listen.
That magic circle had probably been Blake's last trick, an ace up his sleeve. So Sam's victory was inevitable if things kept going as they were. And there was no reason for that to change.
A Wright appeared, trying to launch a surprise attack. He wasn't very smart, announcing his arrival with a scream to expel the fear that dominated him. With a sidelong glance, Sam used his telekinesis to drop the chandelier on the son of a bitch, crushing him.
The Wright didn't manage to strike or even distract Sam enough for Blake to take advantage of a moment of weakness.
Seeing he was cornered, Blake attacked seriously. Up until now, he'd just been biding his time, waiting for Sam to step into the circle, but now he was returning every single blow.
Almost as fast as Sam, Blake countered his ice spears with fire. Was that this family's specialty or something? Sam hadn't read or heard anything like it.
Yes, it made sense to use it to melt the ice, but why did so many people know how to use fire magic? Except him, ironically, the son of the king of hell.
But Blake didn't stop there.
He hurled compressed balls of dirt, generating them out of nowhere. Christina had used the fountain's water to attack Ivor, but Sam guessed that was a lack of experience. That or a damned limitation of water magic.
He should've spent more time in the library, but the massacre had been too much fun.
But nothing had changed, not really. All he had to do to make sure Blake didn't hit him was keep attacking as he had been. The ice spears would split and deflect the streams of flames or knock down the balls of dirt. Blake couldn't use both at the same time for obvious reasons.
And there was one thing Sam had learned from his brief study sessions with the books from the library.
Human mages couldn't sustain that kind of power expenditure for long. Sam, however, felt like he had no limits. He felt like he could keep going until someone killed him.
Something that simple is what decided the fight in the end. Blake's attacks became weaker, slower.
Sam's didn't. That simple.
He saw Blake's right leg fly through the air, followed by blood. He saw the last obstacle collapse as if bowing at his feet. The barrier, of course, was shattered, but even if Blake managed to get up again through the pain and massive blood loss, Sam would just tear it down again.
Sam moved closer, smiling like a shark.
Running. He wouldn't make the same mistake Blake had.
He wouldn't give him the chance to turn the tables.
Then someone grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall. His nose bent, and he felt the blood flow. Bent, not broken, but that was the least of his worries. He struggled at first in the grip of the newcomer but froze when he saw their face out of the corner of his eye.
"Adams?"
He hadn't seen his body, but not only wasn't Adams dead, he was ready to fight? He looked better than fine, in fact. Sam had tried and hadn't been able to break free from his grip, somehow.
"I am an angel of the Lord," the being said.
He placed a hand on Sam's forehead, and then Sam began to scream.
Cold as Hell, Part 6: END
41. Cold as Hell, Part 7
Chapter 41: Cold as Hell, Part 7
There wasn't a single spark of fire, but his entire body was burning anyway. Melting from the inside.
An angel of the Lord, he had said. If Satan and demons like him existed, it was natural that their counterpart would exist too, but he had never expected to encounter an angel. And now, what? Would it crush him like an insect? Would it annihilate him, just like that?
Without him having the chance to resist?
Without him being able to see it coming, without being able to do anything to avoid it? Unfairly?
No, things couldn't end like this. Otherwise, his second chance would have no meaning.
Sam closed his eyes and searched within himself, trying to ignore the divine grace or whatever was burning him from the inside. He still had a chance. A storm of power was twisting inside him, he hadn't yet exhausted all the new powers obtained in this massacre, there had to be something he could do.
Meanwhile, however, he tried his luck with ice. Creating ice spears behind him, above both their heads. He fired. He could barely open his eyes, let alone turn his head, but if they had done anything, it wasn't much. The being's grip didn't even loosen.
His legs were shaking. Sam fell to his knees shortly after realizing this fact. No. No, no, unacceptable! He had power now. He was power. He wasn't going to bow down to anyone again.
Relax. Relax.
He had escaped Blake's trap by destroying the floor, since he couldn't do anything against the magic circle. Neither dodge it, nor disable it somehow.
Similarly, if he couldn't do anything against the angel and its vessel, not right now, perhaps he could...
Do this.
Sam destroyed the ceiling with ice, and the debris fell on the angel. It didn't kill him, didn't even seriously hurt him, surely. But it made him loosen his grip, made him step back, more surprised than hurt, it didn't matter.
It was his chance.
To slip away with his tail between his legs. To practically crawl on the ground, just like Blake, whom he had left without a leg.
Like a worm leaving a trail of blood.
Like a beaten animal.
His teeth chattered. Frustrating. It was so frustrating. Another obstacle, one he couldn't have predicted or avoided.
I've won, he thought, however, when he reached Blake. He tried to defend himself with the cane, of course, but they were blind blows, easily dodgeable.
He lifted him off the ground, using him as a human shield.
"If you move, I'll kill him," Sam said.
If the difference between their powers was so great at the moment, he had to take advantage of that very thing. The difference. He was an angel, a force of good, but he was a demon without any scruples.
He didn't suffer the inconvenience of worrying about the lives of others.
The angel took two steps forward.
"Didn't you hear me?" He put an arm around Blake's neck and squeezed.
"You... you do it," Blake muttered, pleading. Sam squeezed harder, hoping he would ignore him and like a good boy scout put the life of a relatively innocent human above his mission.
An explosion of pain in the center of his chest.
His vision blurred, for a second he thought it would go out.
Sam fell backward, spitting blood from his mouth.
Without his consent, his arms relaxed and released Blake, but the man was also falling, he wasn't going anywhere. No, of course not, he had torn off one of his legs.
But it was more than that.
He could see Adams, the angel, through Blake's body. Because there was a huge hole where his torso should be. Sam fell with his arms spread out over a puddle of his own blood mixed with the blood of his human father.
His legs were shaking. No, his whole body was shaking. And suddenly he was hot.
Hot, in this hallway that was like a frozen tundra. In this mansion that he had tried to drown under ice.
Hot.
His blood, his life escaping him, was definitely very hot.
But above all...
His insides were now literally burning. He hadn't seen what had happened, but he must have fired "something". Maybe because he didn't care about human lives and had made the mistake of assuming that because he was an angel he had to be benevolent, maybe because the victim himself had given him permission to get him out of the way.
In any case, he had shot him with something that was still destroying him.
The angel approached, stepping on his blood. Crushing the ice.
Sam crawled backward.
Back to where this had started. To Blake's office.
No, what was he saying?
They had fallen to another floor. What was behind him was just another room.
In any case...
As if it meant anything.
As if he could gain some time by closing the doors. He had already tested his physical strength in the flesh. The creature would tear down the thin wooden doors with just a breath.
He couldn't run and anyway he had nowhere to hide.
But he crawled.
He hadn't come this far to die, not now or ever.
"You didn't hesitate. Don't you care at all about human lives? And what's right? Yes, my father is Satan, but I... I didn't choose this. It's been less than a month since I know what I am. I never had a choice."
The angel stopped and looked at him with something akin to pity. He couldn't think of a worse thing to see in anyone's gaze.
"That won't work on me, creature. No one can blame you for your birth, but no one forced you to do any of this."
"Yeah, sure. As soon as someone discovered me I would end up at the stake. My birth decided everything for me."
"I wonder if you believe your own lies."
The angel touched his forehead again, bending down.
"Get your hands off me!"
And he began to burn again. The attack that the angel had launched still hadn't finished taking effect, so the impact was twice as big. He thought he was going to faint from the pain. In fact, maybe he did... and the pain woke him up a few seconds later.
His pain threshold had never been particularly high. He had been born in a modern, normal society, he had never had the need to fight for his life.
But still it was by far the worst pain he had experienced in his life.
He tried to get him off in the same way as the previous time. Then he hadn't been able to see anything, but now he was in the perfect position. He didn't know what kind of powers this angel had, but each and every one of the icicles evaporated an instant before sinking into his skin.
Was there nothing he could do to harm him?
If he hadn't hurt him yet, despite his maximum effort, killing him was a dream.
Ah, shit.
Shit, how frustrating.
It wasn't fair. He had tried, he had prepared and dedicated himself to make the most of his second chance. It couldn't end this way.
Sam punched him.
His punch went cleanly through the angel's chest.
Too cleanly.
There were no entrails in between. No ribs, no heart, no other organs. Adams was dead without a doubt, this being was just using him as a wrapper.
"Well, and you think you're the good guy in this story."
The angel didn't bother to respond.
I guess he saw me as a damn cockroach, he had already wasted too much time and effort talking to him, of course, it was natural. Fucking bastard.
A strong wind. Roaring.
No.
It wasn't a simple gust of wind. The black smoke monster came roaring to save him. He didn't know to what extent the angel had observed the situation, but it seemed to surprise him even though he had seen and heard it coming.
Belphegor took him head-on, dragging him to the other side of the hallway, crushing him against the wall.
The wall, of course, was the first to give way.
He fell to the other side along with the debris.
Surprised, but not worried, not scared.
Or even hurt.
The angel grabbed the smoke as if it were something with physical form.
The smoke writhed in his grip without, of course, any success. Sam tried to get up to help Belphegor. He needed all the help he could get. But his legs gave way and he also slipped on the ice, oh fuck.
A second later he had to throw himself down, with his arms crossed to protect his head from the spikes. Because the angel wielded the smoke through the hallway, destroying the walls, tearing down the floor, even reaching the rooms on the other side of the doors, stirring them up, making the windows explode. A great chaos. In the midst of that, the ice also shattered into a thousand pieces and flew through the air. The cacophony made his ears ring, his head hurt.
What a mess. And it wasn't over, the angel wielded the black smoke again, this time, of course, in the opposite direction.
Sam crawled over the ice, using his arms to protect his head from the debris. By that he meant the pieces of ceiling and ice that were flying as they broke and could end up falling on him.
Until he wielded the smoke against the ground, he only had to cover the upper part of his head.
He could only protect one thing, so obviously the head was the most important.
While he was busy killing Belphegor or trying to, maybe he could give the angel the coup de grace. Maybe the demon had been useful, for a change, providing a distraction at the most critical moment.
Well, and saving his life a moment ago.
He had to admit it.
Sam kept getting closer. The angel didn't seem to be paying attention to him, but he wouldn't assume such a thing.
He was an inhuman being after all.
Nothing told him that he depended only on the five senses, that he could only see with his eyes.
The mansion had already been unrecognizable in itself, but using Belphegor as a mace had practically decapitated it, so to speak. It was this close to being left without a roof. Or collapsing on their heads, whichever happened first.
When the distance between them was reduced enough, Sam launched himself at the angel like a panther.
He jumped over the black smoke, touched the angel on the chest and discharged his energy violently and with more force than ever. Channeling it into ice once again. Hundreds of spikes bloomed in the angel's chest, throwing him against and through the wall.
Without really intending to, this made the smoke impact him as the angel fell, releasing it.
So Sam fell too.
He flew against the wall and found himself in free fall before he realized it.
His chest was nothing but pain.
He surely had several broken ribs. His throat was blocking with his own blood. He had to concentrate if he wanted to survive this, but it was so painful.
He couldn't even breathe.
But he had to make it.
He was inhuman, but he wasn't invincible. If he impacted the ground, he would die. He would end up as nothing more than a large dark red stain. His organs would fly out in the same way as the ice through the hallway and everything else.
In the same way as the dozens of people he had massacred without mercy.
He wasn't going to die miserably like a background character.
He managed to transform into a pigeon before crashing into the ground, saving his life by a hair's breadth, but what mattered was that he had succeeded. The angel didn't fall far. The black smoke...
It had retreated, entering the house again.
He supposed it was looking for his body. For Mary.
The angel was trying to get up. His chest was open and covered in ice. At least something had hurt him, between the fall, the smoke, and his attack.
Because it was costing him.
Not as much as it should, not by far, considering how serious such a wound should be, but at least it was a sign that he could hurt him.
But he would have no problems approaching and finishing the job.
Cold as Hell, Part 7: END
There wasn't a single spark of fire, but his entire body was burning anyway. Melting from the inside.
An angel of the Lord, he had said. If Satan and demons like him existed, it was natural that their counterpart would exist too, but he had never expected to encounter an angel. And now, what? Would it crush him like an insect? Would it annihilate him, just like that?
Without him having the chance to resist?
Without him being able to see it coming, without being able to do anything to avoid it? Unfairly?
No, things couldn't end like this. Otherwise, his second chance would have no meaning.
Sam closed his eyes and searched within himself, trying to ignore the divine grace or whatever was burning him from the inside. He still had a chance. A storm of power was twisting inside him, he hadn't yet exhausted all the new powers obtained in this massacre, there had to be something he could do.
Meanwhile, however, he tried his luck with ice. Creating ice spears behind him, above both their heads. He fired. He could barely open his eyes, let alone turn his head, but if they had done anything, it wasn't much. The being's grip didn't even loosen.
His legs were shaking. Sam fell to his knees shortly after realizing this fact. No. No, no, unacceptable! He had power now. He was power. He wasn't going to bow down to anyone again.
Relax. Relax.
He had escaped Blake's trap by destroying the floor, since he couldn't do anything against the magic circle. Neither dodge it, nor disable it somehow.
Similarly, if he couldn't do anything against the angel and its vessel, not right now, perhaps he could...
Do this.
Sam destroyed the ceiling with ice, and the debris fell on the angel. It didn't kill him, didn't even seriously hurt him, surely. But it made him loosen his grip, made him step back, more surprised than hurt, it didn't matter.
It was his chance.
To slip away with his tail between his legs. To practically crawl on the ground, just like Blake, whom he had left without a leg.
Like a worm leaving a trail of blood.
Like a beaten animal.
His teeth chattered. Frustrating. It was so frustrating. Another obstacle, one he couldn't have predicted or avoided.
I've won, he thought, however, when he reached Blake. He tried to defend himself with the cane, of course, but they were blind blows, easily dodgeable.
He lifted him off the ground, using him as a human shield.
"If you move, I'll kill him," Sam said.
If the difference between their powers was so great at the moment, he had to take advantage of that very thing. The difference. He was an angel, a force of good, but he was a demon without any scruples.
He didn't suffer the inconvenience of worrying about the lives of others.
The angel took two steps forward.
"Didn't you hear me?" He put an arm around Blake's neck and squeezed.
"You... you do it," Blake muttered, pleading. Sam squeezed harder, hoping he would ignore him and like a good boy scout put the life of a relatively innocent human above his mission.
An explosion of pain in the center of his chest.
His vision blurred, for a second he thought it would go out.
Sam fell backward, spitting blood from his mouth.
Without his consent, his arms relaxed and released Blake, but the man was also falling, he wasn't going anywhere. No, of course not, he had torn off one of his legs.
But it was more than that.
He could see Adams, the angel, through Blake's body. Because there was a huge hole where his torso should be. Sam fell with his arms spread out over a puddle of his own blood mixed with the blood of his human father.
His legs were shaking. No, his whole body was shaking. And suddenly he was hot.
Hot, in this hallway that was like a frozen tundra. In this mansion that he had tried to drown under ice.
Hot.
His blood, his life escaping him, was definitely very hot.
But above all...
His insides were now literally burning. He hadn't seen what had happened, but he must have fired "something". Maybe because he didn't care about human lives and had made the mistake of assuming that because he was an angel he had to be benevolent, maybe because the victim himself had given him permission to get him out of the way.
In any case, he had shot him with something that was still destroying him.
The angel approached, stepping on his blood. Crushing the ice.
Sam crawled backward.
Back to where this had started. To Blake's office.
No, what was he saying?
They had fallen to another floor. What was behind him was just another room.
In any case...
As if it meant anything.
As if he could gain some time by closing the doors. He had already tested his physical strength in the flesh. The creature would tear down the thin wooden doors with just a breath.
He couldn't run and anyway he had nowhere to hide.
But he crawled.
He hadn't come this far to die, not now or ever.
"You didn't hesitate. Don't you care at all about human lives? And what's right? Yes, my father is Satan, but I... I didn't choose this. It's been less than a month since I know what I am. I never had a choice."
The angel stopped and looked at him with something akin to pity. He couldn't think of a worse thing to see in anyone's gaze.
"That won't work on me, creature. No one can blame you for your birth, but no one forced you to do any of this."
"Yeah, sure. As soon as someone discovered me I would end up at the stake. My birth decided everything for me."
"I wonder if you believe your own lies."
The angel touched his forehead again, bending down.
"Get your hands off me!"
And he began to burn again. The attack that the angel had launched still hadn't finished taking effect, so the impact was twice as big. He thought he was going to faint from the pain. In fact, maybe he did... and the pain woke him up a few seconds later.
His pain threshold had never been particularly high. He had been born in a modern, normal society, he had never had the need to fight for his life.
But still it was by far the worst pain he had experienced in his life.
He tried to get him off in the same way as the previous time. Then he hadn't been able to see anything, but now he was in the perfect position. He didn't know what kind of powers this angel had, but each and every one of the icicles evaporated an instant before sinking into his skin.
Was there nothing he could do to harm him?
If he hadn't hurt him yet, despite his maximum effort, killing him was a dream.
Ah, shit.
Shit, how frustrating.
It wasn't fair. He had tried, he had prepared and dedicated himself to make the most of his second chance. It couldn't end this way.
Sam punched him.
His punch went cleanly through the angel's chest.
Too cleanly.
There were no entrails in between. No ribs, no heart, no other organs. Adams was dead without a doubt, this being was just using him as a wrapper.
"Well, and you think you're the good guy in this story."
The angel didn't bother to respond.
I guess he saw me as a damn cockroach, he had already wasted too much time and effort talking to him, of course, it was natural. Fucking bastard.
A strong wind. Roaring.
No.
It wasn't a simple gust of wind. The black smoke monster came roaring to save him. He didn't know to what extent the angel had observed the situation, but it seemed to surprise him even though he had seen and heard it coming.
Belphegor took him head-on, dragging him to the other side of the hallway, crushing him against the wall.
The wall, of course, was the first to give way.
He fell to the other side along with the debris.
Surprised, but not worried, not scared.
Or even hurt.
The angel grabbed the smoke as if it were something with physical form.
The smoke writhed in his grip without, of course, any success. Sam tried to get up to help Belphegor. He needed all the help he could get. But his legs gave way and he also slipped on the ice, oh fuck.
A second later he had to throw himself down, with his arms crossed to protect his head from the spikes. Because the angel wielded the smoke through the hallway, destroying the walls, tearing down the floor, even reaching the rooms on the other side of the doors, stirring them up, making the windows explode. A great chaos. In the midst of that, the ice also shattered into a thousand pieces and flew through the air. The cacophony made his ears ring, his head hurt.
What a mess. And it wasn't over, the angel wielded the black smoke again, this time, of course, in the opposite direction.
Sam crawled over the ice, using his arms to protect his head from the debris. By that he meant the pieces of ceiling and ice that were flying as they broke and could end up falling on him.
Until he wielded the smoke against the ground, he only had to cover the upper part of his head.
He could only protect one thing, so obviously the head was the most important.
While he was busy killing Belphegor or trying to, maybe he could give the angel the coup de grace. Maybe the demon had been useful, for a change, providing a distraction at the most critical moment.
Well, and saving his life a moment ago.
He had to admit it.
Sam kept getting closer. The angel didn't seem to be paying attention to him, but he wouldn't assume such a thing.
He was an inhuman being after all.
Nothing told him that he depended only on the five senses, that he could only see with his eyes.
The mansion had already been unrecognizable in itself, but using Belphegor as a mace had practically decapitated it, so to speak. It was this close to being left without a roof. Or collapsing on their heads, whichever happened first.
When the distance between them was reduced enough, Sam launched himself at the angel like a panther.
He jumped over the black smoke, touched the angel on the chest and discharged his energy violently and with more force than ever. Channeling it into ice once again. Hundreds of spikes bloomed in the angel's chest, throwing him against and through the wall.
Without really intending to, this made the smoke impact him as the angel fell, releasing it.
So Sam fell too.
He flew against the wall and found himself in free fall before he realized it.
His chest was nothing but pain.
He surely had several broken ribs. His throat was blocking with his own blood. He had to concentrate if he wanted to survive this, but it was so painful.
He couldn't even breathe.
But he had to make it.
He was inhuman, but he wasn't invincible. If he impacted the ground, he would die. He would end up as nothing more than a large dark red stain. His organs would fly out in the same way as the ice through the hallway and everything else.
In the same way as the dozens of people he had massacred without mercy.
He wasn't going to die miserably like a background character.
He managed to transform into a pigeon before crashing into the ground, saving his life by a hair's breadth, but what mattered was that he had succeeded. The angel didn't fall far. The black smoke...
It had retreated, entering the house again.
He supposed it was looking for his body. For Mary.
The angel was trying to get up. His chest was open and covered in ice. At least something had hurt him, between the fall, the smoke, and his attack.
Because it was costing him.
Not as much as it should, not by far, considering how serious such a wound should be, but at least it was a sign that he could hurt him.
But he would have no problems approaching and finishing the job.
Cold as Hell, Part 7: END
42. Cold as Hell, Part 8
Chapter 42: Cold as Hell, Part 8
The angel stood up and ran towards him. Sam regained his human form and landed unbalanced by the change in mass and shape as anyone would be. He hadn't transformed that many times either, but it was still frustrating that he couldn't get used to it. Perhaps it was impossible.
"Get away from me!"
Sam ran in the opposite direction, shooting ice, just like that. Without bothering to shape it into spears as he had been doing. Compressed ice balls like the earth Blake had thrown at him. It was the only way to improve his attack speed.
But it didn't matter.
It melted anyway before reaching the angel. Apparently, he had to catch him by surprise by force, or attack him from such a close distance that whatever defense he had wouldn't have time to activate.
He believed it was like that.
Something that simply worked, not something he had to do himself.
Automatic.
Analyzing his situation was fine, but it wasn't helping him get closer to the key to victory or anything like that, only to realize how screwed he was.
A single one of the balls didn't melt, but the angel did it on purpose. To be able to catch it and return it to him with twice the force. Much faster than he had fired it. It hit him in the leg and it was like an iron ball.
Sam fell to his knees, groaning in pain. His leg was broken without a doubt.
That thing... Did it have some kind of sense of humor or just an appetite for poetic justice? In any case, it had fucked up the same leg that he had cut off Blake.
Fantastic.
He was screwed.
Sam had resisted the idea from the beginning, but it was clear that he had no other choice. So he immediately summoned four of the Acheri to his side. It was the only kind of demon he could summon, at least for now.
He didn't like it.
The yellow eyes, the ice magic, even the massacre he had had to perpetrate without being able to hide, thanks to the damned Adams and his own haste.
All of that he could have explained, excused, to his sisters. He didn't say it was probable, but technically possible. However, with this there was no turning back. They had probably studied the Acheri in some old dusty book about the era of darkness, the era in which Satan ruled the world.
But he had saved himself too many times by the skin of his teeth. If he didn't do this, the angel would tear him to pieces.
Despite everything he had seen him do, he trusted too much that he could handle the angel by fighting all together. As coordinatedly as he could with apparently mute demons. Perhaps that hypothesis was true, but he didn't have the luxury of testing it.
The angel twisted his hand as if holding something, and then something indeed manifested in his hand. A blade of light without a handle, vaguely in the shape of a dagger.
He stabbed the first Acheri that reached him (yes, he didn't even bother to move, to take the initiative) before its claws could graze him and the light dagger not only tore the body of what was essentially a ghost, somehow. The Acheri even threw its head back, mouth and eyes opening wide.
Screaming.
Screaming while burning, vanishing without a trace.
Suddenly the remaining three weren't so confident either.
But they couldn't choose. They had orders, they couldn't disobey him, not him. So they lunged towards death.
The remaining three died as quickly as the first, although they jumped on the enemy at the same time. While one sank a claw into his back and the other into his neck, another Acheri attacked him from the front, the last from the side.
Ignoring the one on his back, as if unable to feel pain, the angel stabbed one of those incompetent bastards. The resulting energy discharge, the explosion that erased it in the same way as the first, also knocked the one off his back. He stomped on it and quickly finished it off, passing the dagger across its neck.
For the last one, he didn't even need to use the dagger. He grabbed it by the head and Sam had to see firsthand what the angel had tried to do to him several times.
The Acheri burned. Not even ashes remained of it.
Demons or not, they had all burned well.
He had quickly realized that they would lose, so he had quickly moved away instead of trying to join them in an effort doomed to failure. Trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and that beast. It might be an angel of the Lord, but there was nothing angelic about the damn bastard.
The maximum distance he could put between them was not nearly enough.
It would never have been enough even if he hadn't had a wound in his guts to worry about, slowing him down. A sound like large wings beating, a blink and he had Adams on top of him.
"How is it po—"
Once again, the palm on the face.
Unbalancing him, throwing him to the ground. Once again, he began to burn, writhe. He would be screaming if he had enough air in his lungs for that.
Nothing he did worked, as if his defeat was predestined. Was it something cheesy like him, the son of the greatest evil, no matter how powerful he was, couldn't do anything against a mere soldier of the greatest good?
He wasn't interested in the how, why, when.
It was maddening with rage and humiliation. He wasn't in this world for this! He didn't even know how he had ended up in this world, much less why, but it definitely wasn't for this.
And although whoever had brought him here, and it clearly hadn't been Satan, might be satisfied that he had massacred the Wright family, the only thing he had accomplished so far in this world, he wasn't.
He wasn't satisfied.
He was the one who said.
I have the whole world at my fingertips, and I won't let it slip away because of you.
Sam's screams soon lost any trace of pain. Only animal rage remained.
Then the angel's chest suddenly exploded. If it weren't because the new and improved Adams had neither organs nor anything like that, he would have been lost with his blood.
The angel staggered to one side, behaving as if it were a slight wound. Everything was a slight wound if it healed quickly, he supposed.
In any case, he hadn't done that.
Christina had done it. She was right there, determination to fight on her face, in her hands more water that twisted and roared.
Even Violet was by her side.
He hadn't told them anything. He hadn't had time. They should believe him a demon, a murderer, and yet they were here to save his life. Surely they would have agonized over their decision, otherwise they would have intervened much earlier. Already at the mansion, not out here. But the fact is that they had chosen him.
Why? Just love, familial or what Christina felt for him besides?
Just that?
Was it really enough, he hadn't even had to deceive them? Well, apart from not telling them his true identity.
Sam covered his mouth with his forearm.
Were they really that easy?
He smiled from ear to ear.
With the help of the two, he could do this. They had received the best education money could buy in the kingdom. They had skill and experience, although he doubted in real fights, that is, life or death. He wasn't saying they were perfect, but they were certainly the best help he could get for many miles around.
The damn Belphegor, if he wasn't dying after Adams used him to sweep the roof, didn't seem to be in any hurry to come to his aid. It wasn't even worth counting on him.
And, perhaps more importantly, they were innocent.
The angel had killed Blake without thinking twice, but his own victim had practically begged for it, and he was a successful businessman. It was rather unlikely that he hadn't done something to deserve it.
He wouldn't be able to do the same to two girls. And if he was, he should find another name, angel didn't suit him.
Sam stood up, the ice burning in his hands again. The pain was a shadow behind the pleasure. It was like a shark that had smelled blood in the water.
Cold as Hell, Part 8: END
The angel stood up and ran towards him. Sam regained his human form and landed unbalanced by the change in mass and shape as anyone would be. He hadn't transformed that many times either, but it was still frustrating that he couldn't get used to it. Perhaps it was impossible.
"Get away from me!"
Sam ran in the opposite direction, shooting ice, just like that. Without bothering to shape it into spears as he had been doing. Compressed ice balls like the earth Blake had thrown at him. It was the only way to improve his attack speed.
But it didn't matter.
It melted anyway before reaching the angel. Apparently, he had to catch him by surprise by force, or attack him from such a close distance that whatever defense he had wouldn't have time to activate.
He believed it was like that.
Something that simply worked, not something he had to do himself.
Automatic.
Analyzing his situation was fine, but it wasn't helping him get closer to the key to victory or anything like that, only to realize how screwed he was.
A single one of the balls didn't melt, but the angel did it on purpose. To be able to catch it and return it to him with twice the force. Much faster than he had fired it. It hit him in the leg and it was like an iron ball.
Sam fell to his knees, groaning in pain. His leg was broken without a doubt.
That thing... Did it have some kind of sense of humor or just an appetite for poetic justice? In any case, it had fucked up the same leg that he had cut off Blake.
Fantastic.
He was screwed.
Sam had resisted the idea from the beginning, but it was clear that he had no other choice. So he immediately summoned four of the Acheri to his side. It was the only kind of demon he could summon, at least for now.
He didn't like it.
The yellow eyes, the ice magic, even the massacre he had had to perpetrate without being able to hide, thanks to the damned Adams and his own haste.
All of that he could have explained, excused, to his sisters. He didn't say it was probable, but technically possible. However, with this there was no turning back. They had probably studied the Acheri in some old dusty book about the era of darkness, the era in which Satan ruled the world.
But he had saved himself too many times by the skin of his teeth. If he didn't do this, the angel would tear him to pieces.
Despite everything he had seen him do, he trusted too much that he could handle the angel by fighting all together. As coordinatedly as he could with apparently mute demons. Perhaps that hypothesis was true, but he didn't have the luxury of testing it.
The angel twisted his hand as if holding something, and then something indeed manifested in his hand. A blade of light without a handle, vaguely in the shape of a dagger.
He stabbed the first Acheri that reached him (yes, he didn't even bother to move, to take the initiative) before its claws could graze him and the light dagger not only tore the body of what was essentially a ghost, somehow. The Acheri even threw its head back, mouth and eyes opening wide.
Screaming.
Screaming while burning, vanishing without a trace.
Suddenly the remaining three weren't so confident either.
But they couldn't choose. They had orders, they couldn't disobey him, not him. So they lunged towards death.
The remaining three died as quickly as the first, although they jumped on the enemy at the same time. While one sank a claw into his back and the other into his neck, another Acheri attacked him from the front, the last from the side.
Ignoring the one on his back, as if unable to feel pain, the angel stabbed one of those incompetent bastards. The resulting energy discharge, the explosion that erased it in the same way as the first, also knocked the one off his back. He stomped on it and quickly finished it off, passing the dagger across its neck.
For the last one, he didn't even need to use the dagger. He grabbed it by the head and Sam had to see firsthand what the angel had tried to do to him several times.
The Acheri burned. Not even ashes remained of it.
Demons or not, they had all burned well.
He had quickly realized that they would lose, so he had quickly moved away instead of trying to join them in an effort doomed to failure. Trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and that beast. It might be an angel of the Lord, but there was nothing angelic about the damn bastard.
The maximum distance he could put between them was not nearly enough.
It would never have been enough even if he hadn't had a wound in his guts to worry about, slowing him down. A sound like large wings beating, a blink and he had Adams on top of him.
"How is it po—"
Once again, the palm on the face.
Unbalancing him, throwing him to the ground. Once again, he began to burn, writhe. He would be screaming if he had enough air in his lungs for that.
Nothing he did worked, as if his defeat was predestined. Was it something cheesy like him, the son of the greatest evil, no matter how powerful he was, couldn't do anything against a mere soldier of the greatest good?
He wasn't interested in the how, why, when.
It was maddening with rage and humiliation. He wasn't in this world for this! He didn't even know how he had ended up in this world, much less why, but it definitely wasn't for this.
And although whoever had brought him here, and it clearly hadn't been Satan, might be satisfied that he had massacred the Wright family, the only thing he had accomplished so far in this world, he wasn't.
He wasn't satisfied.
He was the one who said.
I have the whole world at my fingertips, and I won't let it slip away because of you.
Sam's screams soon lost any trace of pain. Only animal rage remained.
Then the angel's chest suddenly exploded. If it weren't because the new and improved Adams had neither organs nor anything like that, he would have been lost with his blood.
The angel staggered to one side, behaving as if it were a slight wound. Everything was a slight wound if it healed quickly, he supposed.
In any case, he hadn't done that.
Christina had done it. She was right there, determination to fight on her face, in her hands more water that twisted and roared.
Even Violet was by her side.
He hadn't told them anything. He hadn't had time. They should believe him a demon, a murderer, and yet they were here to save his life. Surely they would have agonized over their decision, otherwise they would have intervened much earlier. Already at the mansion, not out here. But the fact is that they had chosen him.
Why? Just love, familial or what Christina felt for him besides?
Just that?
Was it really enough, he hadn't even had to deceive them? Well, apart from not telling them his true identity.
Sam covered his mouth with his forearm.
Were they really that easy?
He smiled from ear to ear.
With the help of the two, he could do this. They had received the best education money could buy in the kingdom. They had skill and experience, although he doubted in real fights, that is, life or death. He wasn't saying they were perfect, but they were certainly the best help he could get for many miles around.
The damn Belphegor, if he wasn't dying after Adams used him to sweep the roof, didn't seem to be in any hurry to come to his aid. It wasn't even worth counting on him.
And, perhaps more importantly, they were innocent.
The angel had killed Blake without thinking twice, but his own victim had practically begged for it, and he was a successful businessman. It was rather unlikely that he hadn't done something to deserve it.
He wouldn't be able to do the same to two girls. And if he was, he should find another name, angel didn't suit him.
Sam stood up, the ice burning in his hands again. The pain was a shadow behind the pleasure. It was like a shark that had smelled blood in the water.
Cold as Hell, Part 8: END
43. Cold as Hell, Part 9
Chapter 43: Cold as Hell, Part 9
Adams turned around to look at the girls, acting as if the hole in his chest didn't bother him at all. Barely an inconvenience.
"I'm not here to kill innocent people, but to defend this family." That phrase didn't sound very convincing when his shadow was being swallowed by the shadow of the Wright mansion, which had been reduced to frozen ruins. "Leave. No one else has to die."
Was it a bluff, or was he really willing to kill them if they didn't back down? The sensible thing was to assume the latter and act accordingly, of course, but he wished he could be sure which was true.
"I won't let you hurt my brother," Christina said.
"He's not your brother." For a moment, he wondered if she knew the truth that Blake had refused to believe. "He never has been, and he never will be. He's nothing but the devil's seed. A being only capable of doing evil."
"That's not true. He's not like that," Christina protested, but Violet remained silent.
Had she come for him or for Christina?
In any case, she was here, and that was convenient for now, but he didn't like the idea that it might be just for Christina. Not because of his ambitions, not because he desired to possess her, none of that. But because then she would have reasons and the will to open her little sister's eyes. And after all, she had a good chance of succeeding, even if she sweet-talked Christina by giving her everything she wanted, which was the same as he did.
"He's good at pretending otherwise, just like his father," Adams said. "I have no doubt about that. I'm sorry he... deceived you. I won't enjoy it, but I won't hesitate to kill you if you get in my way."
It wasn't a bluff.
Suddenly, there was no doubt. What an angel he was.
However, even so, they should be fine. Violet and Christina were better help than the Acheri. Nothing told him he couldn't summon more... except for the potential reaction of the girls.
Christina had come all this way, risking her life to help him. That was, of course, a good sign, but clearly, she was still conflicted within herself.
She wanted to believe him.
She wanted to love him.
She would do what she could to deny what Adams was telling her, but there was still a chance he could convince her. That's why the Acheri were out of the question. Too obviously demonic.
He didn't like it, but he knew it was true.
It was a bit foolish—he had already done enough horrible things right in front of her eyes—but it was still true. It would be the last straw. In reality, he was lucky that the angel had dispatched the Acheri so easily, before they could see them.
"He loves me. He... We made love."
Christina turned as red as a tomato, even her earlobes lit up. She looked very cute, he had to admit, but this was no time to be embarrassed about something like that when all their lives were in danger. Well, it wasn't the time to talk about it either.
It wouldn't help convince the angel of anything, obviously. It only provided him with what he believed was, and was, proof of his manipulation.
Violet was staring at her little sister, mouth agape.
Oh, right.
Christina hadn't told her, of course. He had almost forgotten.
Now that she had revealed it, it would be quite awkward to handle the situation... if they survived this, of course.
"What did you do?" Violet asked. Well, more like demanded to know. She also gave it more priority than it deserved. It was a life-or-death situation, for God's sake, they could worry about who had put what into whom when they survived this.
Christina refused to respond and refused to look her sister in the eyes.
She had her gaze fixed on the angel, defiant.
But she blushed even more, if that was possible.
"Do you think that proves he loves you, little one?" the angel asked with a hint of pity, shaking his head. "That should prove the opposite. He's your brother, and he looks at you with the eyes of a pervert. He doesn't see you as family; his only family is Satan. He only desires your body."
He had heard enough. He had been waiting for the right moment to strike back—it was now or never.
This way, it would be more effective.
Or so he believed; he didn't know Christina as well as he would have liked, but it should be. He had to trust his instincts. They had brought him this far, so they weren't that bad.
There was the humiliating matter of how badly he had handled Rose's death, of course, but there he had ignored his instincts. Not the other way around. He had been impatient.
"I love her," Sam declared without a hint of shame. "As my sister, as my friend, as a woman. What's wrong with that?"
There were various reactions. The angel didn't even blink. Christina shrank even more into herself, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing, as if she were too embarrassed, though it was exactly what she wanted to hear from his lips.
As for Violet...
Well, she looked like she was about to faint from shock.
What a circus we're putting on, as if I weren't stained from head to toe with the blood of dozens of innocents I've massacred.
Of course, he didn't give a damn, but the atmosphere...
He would do whatever he could to win, as always. Everything else was irrelevant.
This embarrassing conversation was important because he needed his sisters on his side, and Christina was the deciding factor. If he couldn't convince her, at the very least, the angel would have free rein to tear him to pieces.
"I asked you a question, feathered one."
"It's unnatural."
"And what do you think Eve was? From man's rib, God made woman. Isn't it obvious they shared DNA?"
"That's... more of a metaphor."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, sure. The usual excuse. Well, what about after they left the garden? How do you think they populated the world exactly? We're all incestuous bastards, baby."
The angel shook his head.
"My name is Castiel. And that's not... I'm not going to waste time listening to a serpent's words. Like father, like son, that much is clear."
"God," Violet murmured softly, almost inaudibly.
"If you harm my sisters, I'll kill you." Sam staggered forward toward the angel Castiel, with ice roaring in both hands. Yet that being remained unperturbed. Though he should know he was losing the humans. Was he so confident in his own power? Or was he less than human, lacking the range of necessary emotions? Was he nothing more than a tool of the heavens?
"Enough, abomination. Don't take another step."
Sam obeyed the warning. He had to. Otherwise, most of the progress he had made with Christina now, and by extension with Violet, would evaporate. He had no choice.
"I don't want to harm them. They are innocent people, like all the others you've killed. That's why I tell them to step aside. To look the other way and let me do my job."
"Like the whole of heaven looked the other way while Nero raped his daughter? Innocent? That bastard was innocent?"
A big risk. If he knew the truth, it could all come crashing down. But if he knew, he would bring it up anyway, no matter what he said. So the best thing was to mention it first to appear more innocent in his eyes. This is like a trial, and Christina is the judge.
"Even if you're telling the truth," Castiel said, "you didn't have to kill him. You could have exposed the truth, ensuring he faced justice. Not only did you kill Nero, but it's also your fault Kyrie died."
"I didn't think or want her to commit suicide. How fair you are. And I'm the demon?"
"What about Ivor and the other kid?"
He knew that? Had he been watching, but somehow didn't see what he had done with Kyrie?
"It was an accident. Are you going to blame me for that too? I just wanted him to stop. My life and everyone else's was in danger, he had lost his damned mind. I thought I would get the help he needed if I provoked him, not that he would be disinherited and kill himself. Blame Blake Wright. And in that case, you've already done justice."
"Father is dead?" Violet asked.
"Yes. I... I'm sorry. If it were up to me, none of this would have happened. You see it yourselves. Not even an angel of the Lord, as he introduced himself, is willing to listen to me. Sisters, please... Christina..."
Sam extended a hand toward the girl.
The distance between them was too great to hold hands right now, but he wasn't asking her to come closer for that. It was mostly a symbolic gesture. The angel, Castiel, wouldn't allow it. He would strike as soon as the fool realized he had lost the verbal battle, at least, as overwhelming as he was in a real fight.
Christina looked back at him.
Then she lowered her head toward his hand.
Cold as Hell, Part 9: END
Adams turned around to look at the girls, acting as if the hole in his chest didn't bother him at all. Barely an inconvenience.
"I'm not here to kill innocent people, but to defend this family." That phrase didn't sound very convincing when his shadow was being swallowed by the shadow of the Wright mansion, which had been reduced to frozen ruins. "Leave. No one else has to die."
Was it a bluff, or was he really willing to kill them if they didn't back down? The sensible thing was to assume the latter and act accordingly, of course, but he wished he could be sure which was true.
"I won't let you hurt my brother," Christina said.
"He's not your brother." For a moment, he wondered if she knew the truth that Blake had refused to believe. "He never has been, and he never will be. He's nothing but the devil's seed. A being only capable of doing evil."
"That's not true. He's not like that," Christina protested, but Violet remained silent.
Had she come for him or for Christina?
In any case, she was here, and that was convenient for now, but he didn't like the idea that it might be just for Christina. Not because of his ambitions, not because he desired to possess her, none of that. But because then she would have reasons and the will to open her little sister's eyes. And after all, she had a good chance of succeeding, even if she sweet-talked Christina by giving her everything she wanted, which was the same as he did.
"He's good at pretending otherwise, just like his father," Adams said. "I have no doubt about that. I'm sorry he... deceived you. I won't enjoy it, but I won't hesitate to kill you if you get in my way."
It wasn't a bluff.
Suddenly, there was no doubt. What an angel he was.
However, even so, they should be fine. Violet and Christina were better help than the Acheri. Nothing told him he couldn't summon more... except for the potential reaction of the girls.
Christina had come all this way, risking her life to help him. That was, of course, a good sign, but clearly, she was still conflicted within herself.
She wanted to believe him.
She wanted to love him.
She would do what she could to deny what Adams was telling her, but there was still a chance he could convince her. That's why the Acheri were out of the question. Too obviously demonic.
He didn't like it, but he knew it was true.
It was a bit foolish—he had already done enough horrible things right in front of her eyes—but it was still true. It would be the last straw. In reality, he was lucky that the angel had dispatched the Acheri so easily, before they could see them.
"He loves me. He... We made love."
Christina turned as red as a tomato, even her earlobes lit up. She looked very cute, he had to admit, but this was no time to be embarrassed about something like that when all their lives were in danger. Well, it wasn't the time to talk about it either.
It wouldn't help convince the angel of anything, obviously. It only provided him with what he believed was, and was, proof of his manipulation.
Violet was staring at her little sister, mouth agape.
Oh, right.
Christina hadn't told her, of course. He had almost forgotten.
Now that she had revealed it, it would be quite awkward to handle the situation... if they survived this, of course.
"What did you do?" Violet asked. Well, more like demanded to know. She also gave it more priority than it deserved. It was a life-or-death situation, for God's sake, they could worry about who had put what into whom when they survived this.
Christina refused to respond and refused to look her sister in the eyes.
She had her gaze fixed on the angel, defiant.
But she blushed even more, if that was possible.
"Do you think that proves he loves you, little one?" the angel asked with a hint of pity, shaking his head. "That should prove the opposite. He's your brother, and he looks at you with the eyes of a pervert. He doesn't see you as family; his only family is Satan. He only desires your body."
He had heard enough. He had been waiting for the right moment to strike back—it was now or never.
This way, it would be more effective.
Or so he believed; he didn't know Christina as well as he would have liked, but it should be. He had to trust his instincts. They had brought him this far, so they weren't that bad.
There was the humiliating matter of how badly he had handled Rose's death, of course, but there he had ignored his instincts. Not the other way around. He had been impatient.
"I love her," Sam declared without a hint of shame. "As my sister, as my friend, as a woman. What's wrong with that?"
There were various reactions. The angel didn't even blink. Christina shrank even more into herself, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing, as if she were too embarrassed, though it was exactly what she wanted to hear from his lips.
As for Violet...
Well, she looked like she was about to faint from shock.
What a circus we're putting on, as if I weren't stained from head to toe with the blood of dozens of innocents I've massacred.
Of course, he didn't give a damn, but the atmosphere...
He would do whatever he could to win, as always. Everything else was irrelevant.
This embarrassing conversation was important because he needed his sisters on his side, and Christina was the deciding factor. If he couldn't convince her, at the very least, the angel would have free rein to tear him to pieces.
"I asked you a question, feathered one."
"It's unnatural."
"And what do you think Eve was? From man's rib, God made woman. Isn't it obvious they shared DNA?"
"That's... more of a metaphor."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, sure. The usual excuse. Well, what about after they left the garden? How do you think they populated the world exactly? We're all incestuous bastards, baby."
The angel shook his head.
"My name is Castiel. And that's not... I'm not going to waste time listening to a serpent's words. Like father, like son, that much is clear."
"God," Violet murmured softly, almost inaudibly.
"If you harm my sisters, I'll kill you." Sam staggered forward toward the angel Castiel, with ice roaring in both hands. Yet that being remained unperturbed. Though he should know he was losing the humans. Was he so confident in his own power? Or was he less than human, lacking the range of necessary emotions? Was he nothing more than a tool of the heavens?
"Enough, abomination. Don't take another step."
Sam obeyed the warning. He had to. Otherwise, most of the progress he had made with Christina now, and by extension with Violet, would evaporate. He had no choice.
"I don't want to harm them. They are innocent people, like all the others you've killed. That's why I tell them to step aside. To look the other way and let me do my job."
"Like the whole of heaven looked the other way while Nero raped his daughter? Innocent? That bastard was innocent?"
A big risk. If he knew the truth, it could all come crashing down. But if he knew, he would bring it up anyway, no matter what he said. So the best thing was to mention it first to appear more innocent in his eyes. This is like a trial, and Christina is the judge.
"Even if you're telling the truth," Castiel said, "you didn't have to kill him. You could have exposed the truth, ensuring he faced justice. Not only did you kill Nero, but it's also your fault Kyrie died."
"I didn't think or want her to commit suicide. How fair you are. And I'm the demon?"
"What about Ivor and the other kid?"
He knew that? Had he been watching, but somehow didn't see what he had done with Kyrie?
"It was an accident. Are you going to blame me for that too? I just wanted him to stop. My life and everyone else's was in danger, he had lost his damned mind. I thought I would get the help he needed if I provoked him, not that he would be disinherited and kill himself. Blame Blake Wright. And in that case, you've already done justice."
"Father is dead?" Violet asked.
"Yes. I... I'm sorry. If it were up to me, none of this would have happened. You see it yourselves. Not even an angel of the Lord, as he introduced himself, is willing to listen to me. Sisters, please... Christina..."
Sam extended a hand toward the girl.
The distance between them was too great to hold hands right now, but he wasn't asking her to come closer for that. It was mostly a symbolic gesture. The angel, Castiel, wouldn't allow it. He would strike as soon as the fool realized he had lost the verbal battle, at least, as overwhelming as he was in a real fight.
Christina looked back at him.
Then she lowered her head toward his hand.
Cold as Hell, Part 9: END
Chapter 44: Cold as Hell, Part 10
Chapter 44: Cold as Hell, Part 10
It was the moment of truth.
If Christina rejected him, he was as good as dead. Her sisters and the angel Castiel would join forces and wipe him from this world without mercy. He had barely been able to withstand Castiel, let alone counterattack. Fighting two other dangerous opponents was out of the question.
His conquest, all his ambitions, would end in the bitterest way possible. At least he could say that in this life, he had tried everything, ignoring useless notions like morality or other excuses people made, while animals were the ones who truly succeeded, no matter how many people they crushed along the way.
At least he had that, yes.
But in his view, it was still a load of crap. The punchline of a cosmic joke. But he didn't have to worry about his life ending like this. He had her, and deep down, he knew he always had. He hadn't done much to deserve her. Just insisted, just showed her that he, his new self, wanted the same things she did.
How many years had she been fighting against her forbidden feelings?
In any case, forbidden fruit was always sweeter, and he wasn't going to let her slip away now that he had finally found her. No more than he could let go of this power and his dark ambitions, which made him feel larger than life and not the shadow of a person.
She didn't shake his hand, but she did something much better. She touched Castiel's chest and sent him flying with the force of dozens of ice spears generated as quickly as she made contact. She was stronger than she thought, or maybe the circumstances had pushed her beyond her limits. In any case, there was no need to question something that worked in her favor.
What she should question was why she had been slower to attack Ivor, using the water from the fountain instead of simply doing that. Did she hesitate to attack a family member, even if it was to protect him?
Not when she had been so ashamed for not intervening earlier, even though she had just followed orders.
That might have stopped her from attacking Ivor sooner, while he slashed his face or even earlier, complicating things, ruining the plan. But by the time she stepped out of hiding, she should have gotten over that.
Whatever the answer, it could wait.
Castiel landed roughly and was struggling to get up, perhaps because of the weight and the amount of ice in the hole that used to be his chest. He wouldn't last long. Everyone knew that, which was why Christina screamed desperately:
"Violet!"
She shouted her older sister's name as if it were a clear and direct command. It must have been, since she didn't hesitate for a second. She generated several layers of earth, almost burying the angel. She immobilized his legs, his arms, though only up to a point.
Just enough for Sam to rip the light blade from that monster's hands.
He didn't know a damn thing about angels, but it made sense to him that the weapons they used to fight (or at least this type used) could be used to kill them. He had hit the nail on the head, judging by the brief flicker of fear in that inhuman creature's eyes.
"No!"
Of course, Sam ignored his cry and stabbed him in the side. He would have liked to stab him in a better, more direct spot, but it was one of the few places not covered by Violet's rock. Still, Castiel screamed, and it wasn't an agonizing scream, no sir. But it wasn't a sign that he was about to turn the tables, either. He screamed as a blinding, and Sam assumed celestial, light left Adams' worn-out corpse, flying away. He had chosen to flee with his tail between his legs after all that posturing.
Frustrating, when he could attack him again at any moment, although he doubted many people would let themselves be controlled like a puppet by an angel, no matter how devout they were or thought they were.
However, now he knew he could take the angel, and when he returned, he'd be ready and stronger than ever.
He would have to settle for that, even though the light was still retreating. It hadn't disappeared from sight yet, but it was out of reach. Or so he had thought. Then he saw Belfegor stumbling out of the frozen ruins of the mansion. The first thing he felt wasn't relief but rage. How was it possible he had taken so long?
The fight, the conversation, might have seemed longer than they really were. But still, that long?
What the hell had he been doing all this time?
Hiding from the demon. Like a dirty rat, tail between its legs, trembling in the dark. Suddenly he knew, and his rage reached new, unimaginable heights, even considering he was generally an asshole.
"Go after him now!" he screamed, feeling like a wild animal.
Not his best idea. Not in front of the other two, but he couldn't hold back. Especially when he saw him blatantly disobeying, running toward him. So much for swearing loyalty, so much for kissing his feet (metaphorically, but literally if given the chance or the order, he suspected), for this. He had never trusted a filthy demon, of course, but he had counted on no demon daring to disobey him, as Satan had said.
It seemed the old man had lied.
Or been wrong, too much time trapped in the cage, away from the real world. Enough time for things to change. Or for him to lose his mind. There was a reason isolation was considered a torture in itself.
Belfegor stopped in front of him, his face red, covered in sweat. Maybe "daring to disobey" wasn't the right way to put it. It was clear the little creature was terrified. Did he fear Castiel more than he feared him? Sam smiled, feral. He would show him just how wrong he was to think that way.
Sam didn't demand an explanation. He let his harsh gaze do all the work. The demon didn't dare meet his eyes, but he could definitely feel the pressure.
"My lord, I truly apologize. If you want me to go after the angel, I will, but I warn you I have no chance of winning. I beg your forgiveness. I only disobeyed because I would die in vain."
"What did you do to my… to our mother? I still don't fully understand what happened to me. To my birth. Was it you all along?"
Belfegor seemed surprised by the change of topic. And relieved.
"No. Only from a little before your eighteenth birthday, nothing more. Satan needed someone to watch over you and protect you. Before that, he just needed a womb."
"How was I conceived then? With Satan in the cage?"
"I'm afraid I don't know. I doubt the old-fashioned way, that's all."
"And Mary? What did you do with her?"
"I think you already know, sir."
"Say it."
"She's dead."
Sam stabbed him with the light blade without a second thought. A gasp of pain, an exhale. Then the demon burned and was reduced to ashes. He had the audacity to look betrayed, even. If not for his sisters, Sam would be dead now, and there was no good explanation for his delay. Absolutely none, not when he had seen how fast that smoke was.
Of course, he had killed him for a different reason.
Because he had no other choice.
He had sworn not to let his emotions carry him away again. So, even though Belfegor had failed him against the angel, he acknowledged that he could still be a useful tool. But that would cost him his sisters' trust for good. Associating with a demon, letting his mother's murder slide as if it didn't matter. He couldn't throw away so much work just for a coward who had turned his back on him in his moment of greatest need.
"I know we have a lot to talk about," Sam said, dropping the weapon to the ground. It had just occurred to him, but he was surprised he had been able to hold a heavenly weapon without any problems. "I hope that after everything, you'll give me that chance."
The ice engulfing the mansion creaked. An equally cold wind blew through the fields of carnage.
Cold as Hell, Part 10: END
It was the moment of truth.
If Christina rejected him, he was as good as dead. Her sisters and the angel Castiel would join forces and wipe him from this world without mercy. He had barely been able to withstand Castiel, let alone counterattack. Fighting two other dangerous opponents was out of the question.
His conquest, all his ambitions, would end in the bitterest way possible. At least he could say that in this life, he had tried everything, ignoring useless notions like morality or other excuses people made, while animals were the ones who truly succeeded, no matter how many people they crushed along the way.
At least he had that, yes.
But in his view, it was still a load of crap. The punchline of a cosmic joke. But he didn't have to worry about his life ending like this. He had her, and deep down, he knew he always had. He hadn't done much to deserve her. Just insisted, just showed her that he, his new self, wanted the same things she did.
How many years had she been fighting against her forbidden feelings?
In any case, forbidden fruit was always sweeter, and he wasn't going to let her slip away now that he had finally found her. No more than he could let go of this power and his dark ambitions, which made him feel larger than life and not the shadow of a person.
She didn't shake his hand, but she did something much better. She touched Castiel's chest and sent him flying with the force of dozens of ice spears generated as quickly as she made contact. She was stronger than she thought, or maybe the circumstances had pushed her beyond her limits. In any case, there was no need to question something that worked in her favor.
What she should question was why she had been slower to attack Ivor, using the water from the fountain instead of simply doing that. Did she hesitate to attack a family member, even if it was to protect him?
Not when she had been so ashamed for not intervening earlier, even though she had just followed orders.
That might have stopped her from attacking Ivor sooner, while he slashed his face or even earlier, complicating things, ruining the plan. But by the time she stepped out of hiding, she should have gotten over that.
Whatever the answer, it could wait.
Castiel landed roughly and was struggling to get up, perhaps because of the weight and the amount of ice in the hole that used to be his chest. He wouldn't last long. Everyone knew that, which was why Christina screamed desperately:
"Violet!"
She shouted her older sister's name as if it were a clear and direct command. It must have been, since she didn't hesitate for a second. She generated several layers of earth, almost burying the angel. She immobilized his legs, his arms, though only up to a point.
Just enough for Sam to rip the light blade from that monster's hands.
He didn't know a damn thing about angels, but it made sense to him that the weapons they used to fight (or at least this type used) could be used to kill them. He had hit the nail on the head, judging by the brief flicker of fear in that inhuman creature's eyes.
"No!"
Of course, Sam ignored his cry and stabbed him in the side. He would have liked to stab him in a better, more direct spot, but it was one of the few places not covered by Violet's rock. Still, Castiel screamed, and it wasn't an agonizing scream, no sir. But it wasn't a sign that he was about to turn the tables, either. He screamed as a blinding, and Sam assumed celestial, light left Adams' worn-out corpse, flying away. He had chosen to flee with his tail between his legs after all that posturing.
Frustrating, when he could attack him again at any moment, although he doubted many people would let themselves be controlled like a puppet by an angel, no matter how devout they were or thought they were.
However, now he knew he could take the angel, and when he returned, he'd be ready and stronger than ever.
He would have to settle for that, even though the light was still retreating. It hadn't disappeared from sight yet, but it was out of reach. Or so he had thought. Then he saw Belfegor stumbling out of the frozen ruins of the mansion. The first thing he felt wasn't relief but rage. How was it possible he had taken so long?
The fight, the conversation, might have seemed longer than they really were. But still, that long?
What the hell had he been doing all this time?
Hiding from the demon. Like a dirty rat, tail between its legs, trembling in the dark. Suddenly he knew, and his rage reached new, unimaginable heights, even considering he was generally an asshole.
"Go after him now!" he screamed, feeling like a wild animal.
Not his best idea. Not in front of the other two, but he couldn't hold back. Especially when he saw him blatantly disobeying, running toward him. So much for swearing loyalty, so much for kissing his feet (metaphorically, but literally if given the chance or the order, he suspected), for this. He had never trusted a filthy demon, of course, but he had counted on no demon daring to disobey him, as Satan had said.
It seemed the old man had lied.
Or been wrong, too much time trapped in the cage, away from the real world. Enough time for things to change. Or for him to lose his mind. There was a reason isolation was considered a torture in itself.
Belfegor stopped in front of him, his face red, covered in sweat. Maybe "daring to disobey" wasn't the right way to put it. It was clear the little creature was terrified. Did he fear Castiel more than he feared him? Sam smiled, feral. He would show him just how wrong he was to think that way.
Sam didn't demand an explanation. He let his harsh gaze do all the work. The demon didn't dare meet his eyes, but he could definitely feel the pressure.
"My lord, I truly apologize. If you want me to go after the angel, I will, but I warn you I have no chance of winning. I beg your forgiveness. I only disobeyed because I would die in vain."
"What did you do to my… to our mother? I still don't fully understand what happened to me. To my birth. Was it you all along?"
Belfegor seemed surprised by the change of topic. And relieved.
"No. Only from a little before your eighteenth birthday, nothing more. Satan needed someone to watch over you and protect you. Before that, he just needed a womb."
"How was I conceived then? With Satan in the cage?"
"I'm afraid I don't know. I doubt the old-fashioned way, that's all."
"And Mary? What did you do with her?"
"I think you already know, sir."
"Say it."
"She's dead."
Sam stabbed him with the light blade without a second thought. A gasp of pain, an exhale. Then the demon burned and was reduced to ashes. He had the audacity to look betrayed, even. If not for his sisters, Sam would be dead now, and there was no good explanation for his delay. Absolutely none, not when he had seen how fast that smoke was.
Of course, he had killed him for a different reason.
Because he had no other choice.
He had sworn not to let his emotions carry him away again. So, even though Belfegor had failed him against the angel, he acknowledged that he could still be a useful tool. But that would cost him his sisters' trust for good. Associating with a demon, letting his mother's murder slide as if it didn't matter. He couldn't throw away so much work just for a coward who had turned his back on him in his moment of greatest need.
"I know we have a lot to talk about," Sam said, dropping the weapon to the ground. It had just occurred to him, but he was surprised he had been able to hold a heavenly weapon without any problems. "I hope that after everything, you'll give me that chance."
The ice engulfing the mansion creaked. An equally cold wind blew through the fields of carnage.
Cold as Hell, Part 10: END
45. Cold as Hell, Part 11
Chapter 45: Cold as Hell, Part 11
Sam had a long and complicated conversation ahead of him. He didn't want to be forced to kill them after all. That would be a waste.
Failing at the last moment, after having overcome all the obstacles in his path, whether by a hair or not—what a bad joke that would be. He focused, ready to give it his all, despite being so tired and in such pain that his legs trembled, and he didn't want to think about anything. He just wanted a cup of hot milk and to go back to his damned bed… or at least make one in the forest, because his room wouldn't be much better off than the rest of the mansion.
Oh well.
But that didn't matter.
Victoria, Christina. Their feelings. His anger. His guilt.
He had to manage to come out on top. To appear like a victim in his own way, even though they had seen him act like the monster in a horror movie.
Victoria, to his surprise, was the first to open her mouth. But she didn't get the chance to say it. Whatever it was. A question, a reprimand, a plea. She didn't have time to say anything. Sam's head exploded. Not literally, of course, but it felt like it had been blown apart by a gunshot anyway. He fell to his knees, groaning in pain.
He heard voices, but couldn't understand a word.
It wasn't hard to guess, though, from their expressions. From the fact that they approached, albeit with hesitant looks, as if he might bite.
Voices calling his name, trying to bring him back.
Back from where?
Where had he suddenly ended up? Everything around him was the same, but somehow different.
Underwater.
As if he were seeing the world through a layer of water, his lungs slowly filling with liquid. His head hurt like nothing had ever hurt before. He could almost feel the flesh tearing and shards of bone flying. That was the thing. Everything was in place, but it was all falling apart anyway.
Christina reached out to him, tears in her eyes. He should take her hands, but instead, he pushed them away. Harshly. He had made a mistake. He knew it, knew it even before he did it, so why had he done it?
Falling apart.
No sense, no ground beneath his feet. Turning around, running. To the mansion where the lost souls of the massacred wandered. By him. With his own hands. He could hear the voices.
No, no, there was only one voice. In reality, only one voice.
Who are you?
YOU ALREADY KNOW.
The voice made the earth tremble, made the few remaining intact windows rattle. Sam shuddered. But he didn't give up, he ran up the stairs, as fast as he could, though he lost his balance more than once, stumbling forward, flailing ridiculously to maintain his balance by a thread. He didn't care how he looked. All he wanted was to be freed from the pain.
COME TO ME. YOU ARE MINE, ONLY MINE.
Each word was like a bullet hitting the mark. A steel curtain.
Sam clenched his fists.
He rounded a corner, then another, and another, and all he saw was blood, guts, and corpses.
Until one of the corpses moved.
Blake Wright. Father.
No, it was his father, but not the human one. What should have been just a corpse stood up as if nothing had happened, red eyes burning, nails grown and twisted like claws, skin an unnatural color. He had no idea if he was really seeing what he thought he was. He also didn't know if anything he'd seen in the past few minutes was real in the first place. Was he witnessing a vision while he lay unconscious on the grass, in front of Violet and Christina, defenseless?
A thought too coherent for it not to be real, for it not to be his own.
Satan might not be here, likely wasn't, the cage—he was in the cage—but that didn't mean what he saw wasn't real.
"What do you want from me?"
WHAT I'VE ALWAYS WANTED. NOW YOU WILL BE MINE. GIVE ME YOUR BODY.
Sam swallowed hard and took a step back.
NOW YOU ARE READY TO RECEIVE ME.
"Screw you."
I WILL KILL AND MUTILATE AND RISE ABOVE THE ASHES OF THIS ROTTING WORLD.
"I said screw you, you miserable bastard! I'm the one in control!"
And then the spirit—or whatever the hell it was now, the being with Blake Wright's face—shot forward, its facial muscles twisting in ways that should be impossible, even with broken bones, in grotesque, horrifying ways as it slammed into him, knocking him back and grabbing him by the neck as if to drag him into the stillness of lands beyond human understanding, where flames roared and everything smelled of sulfur. He could almost see them beyond the curtain. Just a few steps away.
His back hit the wall. That was the only thing that stopped his fall. He doubted Satan had taken over Blake's body like the angel Castiel had done with Adams.
He was still in the cage, for sure. Real enough to strangle him, but that didn't matter. Because…
"You need me." Sam laughed. "Cut the act, Father. You had me so you could escape the cage somehow. Maybe not escape, but control my body. But either way, your only chance to be free again is in my hands. Because you need me alive. And you need me to say yes, don't you?"
The inhuman expression of that absolute monster kept twisting like the surface of water. Everything shifting abruptly and violently. He could hear the sounds.
It let go.
Sam collapsed to the floor at its feet, struggling to breathe. He massaged his neck with one hand. At the feet of another being that could crush him like a cockroach. Humiliated again, but at least this one couldn't kill him. He coughed several times, hard.
"Get out of my sight. I'll never say yes to you."
Satan roared, his eyes yellow from corner to corner, his mouth opening in an unnatural way, as if his jaw had become unhinged. His eyes had been red just seconds ago.
Then he heard something like wings flapping, and suddenly, Satan was gone. Blake's body remained there, standing upright like a statue, but there was no trace of the presence of the Father of Lies. It was obvious at a glance.
Instead, the Morning Star had ascended to the heavens like a pillar of light tearing through the storm clouds.
A new dawn had come upon the world. The herald of a new era of darkness, massacres, and sin was a pure, almost divine light. Satan was still in the cage. Without his cooperation, he would stay there. Even now, Sam was convinced of that.
As much as he knew he was doing something equally bad.
Somehow, he knew it.
Sam wasn't in a hurry to find out what kind of dark forces he had unleashed upon the world, but he had a feeling he would soon find out.
The Wrights were no longer in his way. He had become as strong as he could be. Or would be, once he had time to sit down, examine all the new powers he had gained, and experiment with them in peace.
Now his only mission was the one he had known from the beginning. Kill Satan.
Only one of them could survive.
No. Surviving was one thing, living was something else entirely. Sam wouldn't die even if he lost. He would have to witness everything from his own cage, alive only to serve that bastard as a vessel.
So, he had no other choice, really.
He would never be free until he drove a sword into that bastard's heart and buried him forever.
Violet and Christina arrived shortly after, out of breath, worried.
Ah, yes. The talk, the questions.
I still have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. Or something like that. He sighed, standing with their help. He had their attention, and he had cards to play.
How could they complain about being recruited to save the world?
Cold as Hell, Part 11: END
Sam had a long and complicated conversation ahead of him. He didn't want to be forced to kill them after all. That would be a waste.
Failing at the last moment, after having overcome all the obstacles in his path, whether by a hair or not—what a bad joke that would be. He focused, ready to give it his all, despite being so tired and in such pain that his legs trembled, and he didn't want to think about anything. He just wanted a cup of hot milk and to go back to his damned bed… or at least make one in the forest, because his room wouldn't be much better off than the rest of the mansion.
Oh well.
But that didn't matter.
Victoria, Christina. Their feelings. His anger. His guilt.
He had to manage to come out on top. To appear like a victim in his own way, even though they had seen him act like the monster in a horror movie.
Victoria, to his surprise, was the first to open her mouth. But she didn't get the chance to say it. Whatever it was. A question, a reprimand, a plea. She didn't have time to say anything. Sam's head exploded. Not literally, of course, but it felt like it had been blown apart by a gunshot anyway. He fell to his knees, groaning in pain.
He heard voices, but couldn't understand a word.
It wasn't hard to guess, though, from their expressions. From the fact that they approached, albeit with hesitant looks, as if he might bite.
Voices calling his name, trying to bring him back.
Back from where?
Where had he suddenly ended up? Everything around him was the same, but somehow different.
Underwater.
As if he were seeing the world through a layer of water, his lungs slowly filling with liquid. His head hurt like nothing had ever hurt before. He could almost feel the flesh tearing and shards of bone flying. That was the thing. Everything was in place, but it was all falling apart anyway.
Christina reached out to him, tears in her eyes. He should take her hands, but instead, he pushed them away. Harshly. He had made a mistake. He knew it, knew it even before he did it, so why had he done it?
Falling apart.
No sense, no ground beneath his feet. Turning around, running. To the mansion where the lost souls of the massacred wandered. By him. With his own hands. He could hear the voices.
No, no, there was only one voice. In reality, only one voice.
Who are you?
YOU ALREADY KNOW.
The voice made the earth tremble, made the few remaining intact windows rattle. Sam shuddered. But he didn't give up, he ran up the stairs, as fast as he could, though he lost his balance more than once, stumbling forward, flailing ridiculously to maintain his balance by a thread. He didn't care how he looked. All he wanted was to be freed from the pain.
COME TO ME. YOU ARE MINE, ONLY MINE.
Each word was like a bullet hitting the mark. A steel curtain.
Sam clenched his fists.
He rounded a corner, then another, and another, and all he saw was blood, guts, and corpses.
Until one of the corpses moved.
Blake Wright. Father.
No, it was his father, but not the human one. What should have been just a corpse stood up as if nothing had happened, red eyes burning, nails grown and twisted like claws, skin an unnatural color. He had no idea if he was really seeing what he thought he was. He also didn't know if anything he'd seen in the past few minutes was real in the first place. Was he witnessing a vision while he lay unconscious on the grass, in front of Violet and Christina, defenseless?
A thought too coherent for it not to be real, for it not to be his own.
Satan might not be here, likely wasn't, the cage—he was in the cage—but that didn't mean what he saw wasn't real.
"What do you want from me?"
WHAT I'VE ALWAYS WANTED. NOW YOU WILL BE MINE. GIVE ME YOUR BODY.
Sam swallowed hard and took a step back.
NOW YOU ARE READY TO RECEIVE ME.
"Screw you."
I WILL KILL AND MUTILATE AND RISE ABOVE THE ASHES OF THIS ROTTING WORLD.
"I said screw you, you miserable bastard! I'm the one in control!"
And then the spirit—or whatever the hell it was now, the being with Blake Wright's face—shot forward, its facial muscles twisting in ways that should be impossible, even with broken bones, in grotesque, horrifying ways as it slammed into him, knocking him back and grabbing him by the neck as if to drag him into the stillness of lands beyond human understanding, where flames roared and everything smelled of sulfur. He could almost see them beyond the curtain. Just a few steps away.
His back hit the wall. That was the only thing that stopped his fall. He doubted Satan had taken over Blake's body like the angel Castiel had done with Adams.
He was still in the cage, for sure. Real enough to strangle him, but that didn't matter. Because…
"You need me." Sam laughed. "Cut the act, Father. You had me so you could escape the cage somehow. Maybe not escape, but control my body. But either way, your only chance to be free again is in my hands. Because you need me alive. And you need me to say yes, don't you?"
The inhuman expression of that absolute monster kept twisting like the surface of water. Everything shifting abruptly and violently. He could hear the sounds.
It let go.
Sam collapsed to the floor at its feet, struggling to breathe. He massaged his neck with one hand. At the feet of another being that could crush him like a cockroach. Humiliated again, but at least this one couldn't kill him. He coughed several times, hard.
"Get out of my sight. I'll never say yes to you."
Satan roared, his eyes yellow from corner to corner, his mouth opening in an unnatural way, as if his jaw had become unhinged. His eyes had been red just seconds ago.
Then he heard something like wings flapping, and suddenly, Satan was gone. Blake's body remained there, standing upright like a statue, but there was no trace of the presence of the Father of Lies. It was obvious at a glance.
Instead, the Morning Star had ascended to the heavens like a pillar of light tearing through the storm clouds.
A new dawn had come upon the world. The herald of a new era of darkness, massacres, and sin was a pure, almost divine light. Satan was still in the cage. Without his cooperation, he would stay there. Even now, Sam was convinced of that.
As much as he knew he was doing something equally bad.
Somehow, he knew it.
Sam wasn't in a hurry to find out what kind of dark forces he had unleashed upon the world, but he had a feeling he would soon find out.
The Wrights were no longer in his way. He had become as strong as he could be. Or would be, once he had time to sit down, examine all the new powers he had gained, and experiment with them in peace.
Now his only mission was the one he had known from the beginning. Kill Satan.
Only one of them could survive.
No. Surviving was one thing, living was something else entirely. Sam wouldn't die even if he lost. He would have to witness everything from his own cage, alive only to serve that bastard as a vessel.
So, he had no other choice, really.
He would never be free until he drove a sword into that bastard's heart and buried him forever.
Violet and Christina arrived shortly after, out of breath, worried.
Ah, yes. The talk, the questions.
I still have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. Or something like that. He sighed, standing with their help. He had their attention, and he had cards to play.
How could they complain about being recruited to save the world?
Cold as Hell, Part 11: END
46. Cold as Hell, Part 12
Chapter 46: Cold as Hell, Part 12
They were lucky the Wright mansion was positioned far from the nearest town. Otherwise, with all the commotion, the cavalry would have already arrived. If not for their actions, then certainly because of what Sam kept looking at. Indeed, the pillar of light piercing the sky had yet to disappear. It was something Satan had set in motion. Meaning, worrying by default, but the fact that it was taking so long—whatever it was—that's what truly made his skin crawl.
How catastrophic would it be? He could only imagine, though he didn't want to.
But that wasn't the immediate concern.
The pillar of light had to be visible for miles around. People would already be on the move. No doubt soldiers and well-armed guards, just in case, and maybe even some minister seeing it as some sort of miracle.
They'd find the exact opposite inside, but by the time they arrived, they'd be long gone.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Violet asked, approaching. Christina was probably still in the stable.
"I told you. I'll talk, answer any questions you have. But once we're out of here."
"Yes, I know that's what you said, but you've been lying to us for a long time."
Sam averted his gaze. Not that he felt guilty in the slightest, of course, but appearances had to be kept.
"I also told you I was sorry. That I should've told you, but I was scared. You understand why I kept quiet. Why I've done what I've done, or else you'd have already tried to kill me."
Violet didn't agree, but neither did she contradict him. She just stood there, looking at him.
"What difference does a few more minutes make?"
"I get that you don't trust me too much, but it's just a few minutes."
Until Christina finished preparing the carriage and the horses. She'd have to do it alone since Violet had decided to waste time with the three of them. Of course, he wasn't about to say that out loud, no matter how true it was. He was tactful.
"Fine. I'll wait. And if I'm not satisfied…"
"I'll let you kill me."
Violet looked away, crossing her arms. Her expression was filled with a rage that told him she had almost pounced on him, and not in a good way.
"If I could do that, I'd have done it already," she admitted. Not physically. It would be a tough fight, but theoretically winnable. Emotionally. That was a very different story. "So don't come at me with nonsense, you know that already. You know me well, though apparently, I don't know you. But you won't be part of our lives again unless you convince me. I'd make sure of that even if Christina refused to listen to reason."
Sam nodded slowly.
"I understand. You know, I love you."
"Like you love Christina?"
Straight to the point.
"Yes. In both ways."
Violet grimaced and stepped away from him quickly, as if he were about to throw himself at her right then and there to try and sleep with her. Either way, he couldn't deceive her. The idea didn't displease him at all; only Christina had come first. The girl was jealous. The mind of a teenager was like an open book. Maybe she thought she wouldn't be swayed by her feelings, but it had already happened. Otherwise, they wouldn't even be able to talk. It would have ended in an instant.
Shortly after, fortunately, Christina emerged from the stable driving the carriage.
Bringing it up to them, they climbed aboard. Violet, of course, sat next to Christina, and Sam got inside. His eyes had gone dark when everything ended, so it wasn't to hide, just to give the sisters space. Violet would tense up if he tried to stay alone, so to speak (well, they could whisper and talk privately, more or less), with Christina. Meanwhile, if the sisters swapped places and he sat in front, it would only invite more arguments with Violet. Better to stay inside the carriage, which was the most comfortable spot anyway.
Sam took a deep breath, leaning back, trying to get comfortable.
He had almost died a dozen times. Worse still, he'd been in danger of losing his body. He would never have said yes consciously, but he could have been tricked into it, or maybe they would have tried something else, he didn't know. In any case, Satan had tried, and that was enough to unsettle him.
He wouldn't find peace until he buried that bastard for good. No more making sure he stayed in his cage or went back if he managed to escape in the end.
Dead. He wanted him dead, or his voice would always follow him in his nightmares and even when he was awake, like just now.
Because his blood ran through his veins.
He couldn't escape what was written in his blood.
They always had that connection, no matter where they were, so he had no choice but to fight. This wasn't new. He had known from the beginning he'd have to kill him. The only surprise was the reason, but that didn't really matter in the end.
As if waiting for them to leave the mansion, the pillar of light vanished abruptly. Sam watched, sticking his head out the window, as the carriage made its way down the path between the rows of trees surrounding the mansion's grounds.
It wasn't that he had looked just in time, but rather that he hadn't been able to take his eyes off the pillar since it first appeared.
He returned to a more comfortable position, sighing again.
He should stop thinking about that and focus on more immediate problems, like the fact that now he didn't have a place to live. No matter how much he dwelled on it, he'd never guess what Satan had planned as a contingency.
It was easier said than done, of course, but there was no point in worrying about things he couldn't control.
——
"Congratulations on the baby, man!"
"Congratulate me when I find the bastard who knocked her up and gut him."
"Uh, okay."
The guy hurried away, out of sight.
Good thing he did, or he would've taken it out on him. Mark wouldn't have said anything under normal circumstances. The townsfolk didn't need to know his shame; it was a secret better kept, but it was too late for that now.
Everyone knew, he could feel it in their stares and in the tone of their voices even as they said things unrelated, pretending to be friendly. The disdain. The mockery. The news had spread like wildfire, and now he was nothing more than a damn cuckold.
That's what he'd be for the rest of his life, no matter what. They said time healed all wounds, but people didn't let you forget. Let you move on. That would haunt him until he left the town. Far, far away, to somewhere no one knew him.
And that's exactly what he was going to do.
There was nothing left for him in this town, where he'd been born and raised, where he'd planned to spend the rest of his life. That whore and her lover had ensured that would never happen.
But he wasn't going to let them get away with it. He'd make them both pay; he wasn't about to tolerate this.
They had deceived him for months, like a damn clown, but that was over. Mark reached his destination and kicked the door down. It only took one kick. Rage must have helped him do in one try something he had never done before.
Why would he? He had never been this angry.
He had always thought he would never raise his voice, much less his hand, to a woman. Not after surviving his father, a drunk and abusive man, no way. Mark had dedicated his life to being the exact opposite of the man he saw as a cockroach. Not even human, much less his father. But apparently, everyone had a breaking point. Besides, this was different from what that creature had done.
He was justified.
Months. She had had plenty of time to break up with him if he was so bad, or if the spark had just died. Instead, she had chosen to lie to him this way, to keep hurting him. Leaving him destroyed. A shadow of what he once was, nothing more. Why shouldn't he be allowed to return that pain?
He was justified. Any reasonable person would agree.
He didn't want to kill her. To dirty his hands like that and ruin his life even further, ending up in prison. But there was nothing wrong with scaring him a bit, right? Making things clear? After fifteen years together, he deserved an explanation. And he deserved some revenge.
Part of him wanted to turn around and flee the town just like that. Let it go. But thinking about these things in circles since he had left the house had convinced him that he wouldn't find peace if he chickened out.
He couldn't love her more than he hated her. That was the problem. Because of the chain of love, she would torment him until the end of his days.
That was the only reason to do this. He needed to become her bad memory. That was the only thing that could save him.
"Hey, what are you doing in my…?"
But when he saw the man, he couldn't hold back. Something snapped inside him. He had thought everything was broken, but there were still a few pieces holding on. There had been. Now there was no trace left.
And that was good. A choked scream. A crunching sound. Because the person he once was wouldn't have liked this at all.
"Are you crazy? Stop!"
That person would have thought he was going too far. As for what remained of him, he couldn't even think. Such a rational act was beyond him. He only saw red. Indeed. Warm, red liquid splattered everywhere. Even the light from the lamp on the table had turned red. In an instant, it was no longer the scene of an ordinary house like anyone might have. It had transformed into something grotesque, like something out of the depths of hell.
"Why are you doing this? I don't understand."
Crunch. Crunch.
The red liquid flew like the petals of an intensely colored, unreal flower. Poisonous.
"Please… Money? Whatever you want. I can't feel my arms. I don't want to die."
The pleas didn't reach his ears. Only the infernal crunching sound echoed through the crimson curtain that covered his world. He hadn't been in control of his actions from the beginning. He had lost something important as a human being. He couldn't say what it was, but he knew he would never be whole again.
She wasn't home.
If she had been home, she would have already come to his defense.
A part of Mark was grateful for that. A part that was still human. Because he was certain he wouldn't have been able to keep his promise. He wouldn't have just scared her a little.
Mark continued until he heard the skull crack and the eyes pop out of their sockets. Everything was so grotesque that the red veil disappeared, and suddenly, weakness and disgust washed over him. He fell to his knees and vomited next to the corpse. The pleasure had vanished. Regret didn't come to replace it, but there was no pleasure anymore.
Numb.
He felt like he was completely empty.
——
"The third angel blew his trumpet, and a great star fell from heaven, blazing like a torch, and it fell on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water. The name of the star is Wormwood," Sam recited, his eyes fixed on the sky.
"I didn't know you were a Bible scholar," Christina said.
I'm not, he thought. It's pop culture Bible. Death, destruction, the Apocalypse. You know, the parts people care about.
But of course, they weren't exposed to that culture, so it must have seemed like, unlike most people, he actually read something beyond what the priest recited at mass.
"More importantly," Violet said, "he's talking about the apocalypse. A bit negative, don't you think?"
Sam shrugged.
"Satan set something in motion with… what I did and that pillar of light. What else could he be planning? I don't think that star is a coincidence."
No. He knew exactly what was coming.
War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. The four horsemen of the apocalypse were about to come into play.
——
When it was all over, a woman calmly walked in.
Her boots splashed through the puddles of blood, making them ripple. Not a single drop of blood stained her clothes, as if she were untouchable. She stopped when she saw the body, the head so crushed it looked like an elephant had stomped on it.
The woman looked up and saw a man hanging from the ceiling fan.
Of course, he'd been dead for a long time.
His neck was broken, his eyes staring into nothingness. Even so, you could still sense the desperation that had driven him to that decision. The woman licked her lips in a sensual manner, as if she couldn't imagine a more pleasing sight.
Naturally, the last participant in this tragedy was also in pieces on the floor. The woman sat between the two men, though she had done nothing to the one Mark had come to kill.
The only living being in that room sat down on the sofa, making herself comfortable as if nothing had happened.
Crossing her legs, her skirt rode up, revealing soft, pale skin. And tentacles. Like the limbs of some unknown creature from the unexplored depths of the sea, tentacles briefly slipped out from the edges of her skirt.
She was quite pleased with her work.
This hadn't been exactly her goal, but that was only because she had no specific goal in mind. It was like a bit of alcohol. It lowered inhibitions, nothing more. If they knew of her existence, people would blame her. However, this was undoubtedly a tragedy created by human hands.
They had destroyed themselves, as always.
Humans were weak and volatile. Powder kegs waiting to explode.
Surely things would have ended like this without her intervention, it just would have taken longer. She had simply given Mark the nudge he needed to do what his heart desired. That was all. If this was anyone's fault, it was the foolish husband who had blamed the wrong person and only cared about his wife after he had completely lost her.
Although, of course...
War smiled, sitting in the midst of the darkness that reeked of blood and entrails, her eyes glowing purple except for the iris, which was as black as a starless night.
This was only the beginning.
——
They arrived at their destination.
It turned out they hadn't lost their home after all. One of the many vacation houses wasn't too far from the mansion. A three or four-hour trip, long enough for a lengthy conversation filled with uncomfortable questions. He handled it as well as he could. Well enough, considering he wasn't dead.
That he could get off the carriage, stand on the grass, and gaze at that small house on the prairie, in the peaceful middle of the forest. It wouldn't be a bad place to retire, but he wasn't ready for that just yet.
Apparently, he still had four horsemen to kill, an apocalypse to stop, and a second patricide to commit.
"I've got a long road ahead of me." The wind howled as it blew through him. "No."
Sam turned to look at Christina and Violet, who were also approaching the house. You could tell by their faces that they still had some vague memories, although, according to them, they hadn't been here since they were children. Happy memories, he supposed. Memories of getting away from their familiar surroundings, the schemes, and the backstabbing, just to have a vacation.
"We have," he finished, smiling.
It was a genuine smile, for a change.
They were rich girls. Born into luxury, privileged in almost every way. But precisely because of that, they had never had the luxury of experiencing a normal life, something everyone else took for granted. He had always needed the power and influence they had been born with, but they had spent their lives longing for the exact opposite.
It was easy to call them innocent or childish.
To say that the coming months would show them why they shouldn't have wished for such things.
But the truth, more likely, was that humans were confusing and contradictory creatures who could never be happy with anything.
Sam had finally managed to massacre his family. Not only that, he had kept Christina and Violet, although Rose had slipped away—a slut not only sexy but strong-willed, which excited him in other equally valid ways. He would've loved nothing more than to make her submit to him sexually.
Massacring the Wrights wasn't a goal he had pursued for long, it was true, but he had desired it more intensely than anything else in his life.
Still, it was hard to say he felt happy or even satisfied.
He didn't feel anything in particular about it, and he didn't think it was because of Adams, the angel Castiel, or the revelation that Satan wanted his body. To him, that and any feelings it might have stirred were already in the past. It was just one of many things that had happened. He didn't know what that said about him, but it was the truth.
Maybe his mind would always be fixed on the next obstacle.
But he could start waxing philosophical once there were no more enemies left to fight.
The three siblings, the last remnants of the Wright family, entered that cabin.
They had had time to talk, of course, but the matter wasn't entirely settled. And then there was the question of their next move. If there even was a move to make other than to wait and see which one of those bastards made their presence known.
They could, he reminded himself.
They were a team. If the four horsemen came for him, they would at least fight to defend their own lives. He hoped they'd also fight for love, but all in due time.
——
Suddenly, the weather changed. A bolt of lightning fell from the sky, igniting a bush, and in the flames, a familiar face appeared. So, he was strong enough to do that even from inside his cage, huh? And he had a sense of humor.
The burning bush.
If a minister had passed by, he would have surely rushed to kneel, believing that the Almighty had deemed him worthy of His presence. That, or he had a few words for him about having too much fun with the nuns.
Without knowing, of course, that he was kneeling before Satan. Whose face would appear in the flames if not the King of Hell's?
"My lord." She didn't like it, but War dropped to one knee.
She liked even less that she couldn't figure out what the hell he was doing here. Satan didn't make social calls; he always had a purpose. It couldn't be about her efforts with the town. She'd gone further, not just stopping at Mark and the lives she had managed to touch before he killed himself, but spreading her influence throughout the whole town. She'd pushed things further than she normally did because she'd gotten a little bored. After so many years of inactivity, she had quietly enjoyed the chance to flex some half-atrophied muscles.
The point was, she'd done things right. There shouldn't be any reason for protest, or for him to expect more than what she had already done at this point.
But she couldn't think of another reason for his presence.
There was no sense in dwelling on it. Even if she guessed right, there wouldn't be time to prepare. And Satan wasn't someone you could reason with. Whether she had done wrong or not, if that's what this was about, all she could do was grit her teeth and accept her punishment.
She didn't like it. She was War, the Horseman. It was in her nature to wage war and conquer, not bow down to anyone. No lowering her head like some mangy dog, but she wasn't arrogant enough to think things could be any different.
She had to swallow her pride and obey if she wanted to keep running wild and free through this world. That was the natural order. There was nothing she could do to change it.
That didn't make it any easier, but…
"Don't kill Sam," Satan commanded.
She would do what she had to do. War bowed her head.
"My lord, with all due respect, you've already given me that order. Given us that order. My sisters are fully aware of it, too."
They couldn't act against the Morning Star, and killing the brat would bury all their plans. It was obvious they couldn't cross that line; it didn't even need to be said.
"I know." Satan laughed, and there had never been anything so chilling. Yes, it was the first time she'd heard him laugh, the first time she even knew he was capable of such a thing—"And I also know how you are, War. That's why I'm not giving you an order; I'm warning you. Don't kill him, little one, or you'll live to regret it."
War shuddered, despite herself. There were few things she hated more than showing weakness.
"I understand, my lord. I'll do my job. No more, no less."
The face drawn in flames disappeared, but War didn't feel any more at ease.
She couldn't wait for the brat to kneel, just like she had; it would make things easier for everyone. She understood it, deep down, but why resist? It was his own father.
He should know that Satan always got what he wanted.
——
Sam woke up in the middle of the night, violently pulled from the most horrible nightmare he had ever experienced. There was no doubt in his mind, despite forgetting it the moment he awoke, but the lingering feeling, like the aftertaste of poison, told him enough. What remained of the nightmare was like a noose around his neck. That's why he woke up panting, panicked.
For the first time since he was a child, he found himself suspended between the waking world and the realm of dreams, wondering if this was just a false awakening, with the vague sense that "it" might have followed him to the other side.
It faded within seconds, shattered by the cold night air, but he felt it.
Sam took a deep breath.
He was scared. Of course, he was scared. His only ally since coming into this world had finally taken his place as his greatest enemy. He had seen it coming from miles away, but that didn't make it any less jarring. That didn't mean he could afford to lose control, though. Demon blood ran through his veins. He had to act more like the demon he was and not be swayed by fleeting human emotions.
It was just a moment of weakness while sleeping, he told himself. Nothing more. Even Satan is vulnerable in his dreams.
Sam got out of bed. He needed to sleep as much as he could—yesterday had been beyond exhausting—but he doubted he could drift off again without at least having a drink, maybe a bite to eat.
That's why he headed to the kitchen, barefoot. Making hardly a sound. Simply because he couldn't be bothered to find his slippers. He never could have imagined how useful it would turn out to be.
"Please, think about it. We helped him almost kill an angel. Heaven wants him dead."
Violet was still trying to convince her little sister. Despite everything he had done, Sam still hadn't won her over. It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. He thought he had sold a version of the story where he was the perfect victim.
Did she not believe him when he told her Castiel had been the one to kill Blake Wright, or did she think it was justified given the circumstances, as long as it meant killing him? In any case, Sam knew he wasn't a good person, but he doubted Heaven was much better. Either that, or Castiel was a rotten apple.
Maybe Violet was too indoctrinated to realize. Maybe what she had seen with her own eyes weighed much more than what he had told her had happened. In any case, she was still an obstacle in his way.
"Violet..."
"Christina. Please. Deep down, you know I'm right."
Silence followed. Had she convinced her, just like that? Sam stifled the urge to reveal himself from his hiding spot. Exposing that he had been eavesdropping, even if by accident (and they wouldn't believe that so easily), wouldn't do him any favors. With either of them. He waited, trusting.
And his trust was rewarded.
"Sister, if you hurt him... I'll kill you."
There was no response. There wouldn't be. Surely Violet was too stunned to say anything. Sam himself was surprised, so he could only imagine how it had affected that girl. He knew he had sunk his claws into little Christina, but not this deep.
Sam licked his lips, smiling.
Cold as Hell, Part 12: END
They were lucky the Wright mansion was positioned far from the nearest town. Otherwise, with all the commotion, the cavalry would have already arrived. If not for their actions, then certainly because of what Sam kept looking at. Indeed, the pillar of light piercing the sky had yet to disappear. It was something Satan had set in motion. Meaning, worrying by default, but the fact that it was taking so long—whatever it was—that's what truly made his skin crawl.
How catastrophic would it be? He could only imagine, though he didn't want to.
But that wasn't the immediate concern.
The pillar of light had to be visible for miles around. People would already be on the move. No doubt soldiers and well-armed guards, just in case, and maybe even some minister seeing it as some sort of miracle.
They'd find the exact opposite inside, but by the time they arrived, they'd be long gone.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Violet asked, approaching. Christina was probably still in the stable.
"I told you. I'll talk, answer any questions you have. But once we're out of here."
"Yes, I know that's what you said, but you've been lying to us for a long time."
Sam averted his gaze. Not that he felt guilty in the slightest, of course, but appearances had to be kept.
"I also told you I was sorry. That I should've told you, but I was scared. You understand why I kept quiet. Why I've done what I've done, or else you'd have already tried to kill me."
Violet didn't agree, but neither did she contradict him. She just stood there, looking at him.
"What difference does a few more minutes make?"
"I get that you don't trust me too much, but it's just a few minutes."
Until Christina finished preparing the carriage and the horses. She'd have to do it alone since Violet had decided to waste time with the three of them. Of course, he wasn't about to say that out loud, no matter how true it was. He was tactful.
"Fine. I'll wait. And if I'm not satisfied…"
"I'll let you kill me."
Violet looked away, crossing her arms. Her expression was filled with a rage that told him she had almost pounced on him, and not in a good way.
"If I could do that, I'd have done it already," she admitted. Not physically. It would be a tough fight, but theoretically winnable. Emotionally. That was a very different story. "So don't come at me with nonsense, you know that already. You know me well, though apparently, I don't know you. But you won't be part of our lives again unless you convince me. I'd make sure of that even if Christina refused to listen to reason."
Sam nodded slowly.
"I understand. You know, I love you."
"Like you love Christina?"
Straight to the point.
"Yes. In both ways."
Violet grimaced and stepped away from him quickly, as if he were about to throw himself at her right then and there to try and sleep with her. Either way, he couldn't deceive her. The idea didn't displease him at all; only Christina had come first. The girl was jealous. The mind of a teenager was like an open book. Maybe she thought she wouldn't be swayed by her feelings, but it had already happened. Otherwise, they wouldn't even be able to talk. It would have ended in an instant.
Shortly after, fortunately, Christina emerged from the stable driving the carriage.
Bringing it up to them, they climbed aboard. Violet, of course, sat next to Christina, and Sam got inside. His eyes had gone dark when everything ended, so it wasn't to hide, just to give the sisters space. Violet would tense up if he tried to stay alone, so to speak (well, they could whisper and talk privately, more or less), with Christina. Meanwhile, if the sisters swapped places and he sat in front, it would only invite more arguments with Violet. Better to stay inside the carriage, which was the most comfortable spot anyway.
Sam took a deep breath, leaning back, trying to get comfortable.
He had almost died a dozen times. Worse still, he'd been in danger of losing his body. He would never have said yes consciously, but he could have been tricked into it, or maybe they would have tried something else, he didn't know. In any case, Satan had tried, and that was enough to unsettle him.
He wouldn't find peace until he buried that bastard for good. No more making sure he stayed in his cage or went back if he managed to escape in the end.
Dead. He wanted him dead, or his voice would always follow him in his nightmares and even when he was awake, like just now.
Because his blood ran through his veins.
He couldn't escape what was written in his blood.
They always had that connection, no matter where they were, so he had no choice but to fight. This wasn't new. He had known from the beginning he'd have to kill him. The only surprise was the reason, but that didn't really matter in the end.
As if waiting for them to leave the mansion, the pillar of light vanished abruptly. Sam watched, sticking his head out the window, as the carriage made its way down the path between the rows of trees surrounding the mansion's grounds.
It wasn't that he had looked just in time, but rather that he hadn't been able to take his eyes off the pillar since it first appeared.
He returned to a more comfortable position, sighing again.
He should stop thinking about that and focus on more immediate problems, like the fact that now he didn't have a place to live. No matter how much he dwelled on it, he'd never guess what Satan had planned as a contingency.
It was easier said than done, of course, but there was no point in worrying about things he couldn't control.
——
"Congratulations on the baby, man!"
"Congratulate me when I find the bastard who knocked her up and gut him."
"Uh, okay."
The guy hurried away, out of sight.
Good thing he did, or he would've taken it out on him. Mark wouldn't have said anything under normal circumstances. The townsfolk didn't need to know his shame; it was a secret better kept, but it was too late for that now.
Everyone knew, he could feel it in their stares and in the tone of their voices even as they said things unrelated, pretending to be friendly. The disdain. The mockery. The news had spread like wildfire, and now he was nothing more than a damn cuckold.
That's what he'd be for the rest of his life, no matter what. They said time healed all wounds, but people didn't let you forget. Let you move on. That would haunt him until he left the town. Far, far away, to somewhere no one knew him.
And that's exactly what he was going to do.
There was nothing left for him in this town, where he'd been born and raised, where he'd planned to spend the rest of his life. That whore and her lover had ensured that would never happen.
But he wasn't going to let them get away with it. He'd make them both pay; he wasn't about to tolerate this.
They had deceived him for months, like a damn clown, but that was over. Mark reached his destination and kicked the door down. It only took one kick. Rage must have helped him do in one try something he had never done before.
Why would he? He had never been this angry.
He had always thought he would never raise his voice, much less his hand, to a woman. Not after surviving his father, a drunk and abusive man, no way. Mark had dedicated his life to being the exact opposite of the man he saw as a cockroach. Not even human, much less his father. But apparently, everyone had a breaking point. Besides, this was different from what that creature had done.
He was justified.
Months. She had had plenty of time to break up with him if he was so bad, or if the spark had just died. Instead, she had chosen to lie to him this way, to keep hurting him. Leaving him destroyed. A shadow of what he once was, nothing more. Why shouldn't he be allowed to return that pain?
He was justified. Any reasonable person would agree.
He didn't want to kill her. To dirty his hands like that and ruin his life even further, ending up in prison. But there was nothing wrong with scaring him a bit, right? Making things clear? After fifteen years together, he deserved an explanation. And he deserved some revenge.
Part of him wanted to turn around and flee the town just like that. Let it go. But thinking about these things in circles since he had left the house had convinced him that he wouldn't find peace if he chickened out.
He couldn't love her more than he hated her. That was the problem. Because of the chain of love, she would torment him until the end of his days.
That was the only reason to do this. He needed to become her bad memory. That was the only thing that could save him.
"Hey, what are you doing in my…?"
But when he saw the man, he couldn't hold back. Something snapped inside him. He had thought everything was broken, but there were still a few pieces holding on. There had been. Now there was no trace left.
And that was good. A choked scream. A crunching sound. Because the person he once was wouldn't have liked this at all.
"Are you crazy? Stop!"
That person would have thought he was going too far. As for what remained of him, he couldn't even think. Such a rational act was beyond him. He only saw red. Indeed. Warm, red liquid splattered everywhere. Even the light from the lamp on the table had turned red. In an instant, it was no longer the scene of an ordinary house like anyone might have. It had transformed into something grotesque, like something out of the depths of hell.
"Why are you doing this? I don't understand."
Crunch. Crunch.
The red liquid flew like the petals of an intensely colored, unreal flower. Poisonous.
"Please… Money? Whatever you want. I can't feel my arms. I don't want to die."
The pleas didn't reach his ears. Only the infernal crunching sound echoed through the crimson curtain that covered his world. He hadn't been in control of his actions from the beginning. He had lost something important as a human being. He couldn't say what it was, but he knew he would never be whole again.
She wasn't home.
If she had been home, she would have already come to his defense.
A part of Mark was grateful for that. A part that was still human. Because he was certain he wouldn't have been able to keep his promise. He wouldn't have just scared her a little.
Mark continued until he heard the skull crack and the eyes pop out of their sockets. Everything was so grotesque that the red veil disappeared, and suddenly, weakness and disgust washed over him. He fell to his knees and vomited next to the corpse. The pleasure had vanished. Regret didn't come to replace it, but there was no pleasure anymore.
Numb.
He felt like he was completely empty.
——
"The third angel blew his trumpet, and a great star fell from heaven, blazing like a torch, and it fell on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water. The name of the star is Wormwood," Sam recited, his eyes fixed on the sky.
"I didn't know you were a Bible scholar," Christina said.
I'm not, he thought. It's pop culture Bible. Death, destruction, the Apocalypse. You know, the parts people care about.
But of course, they weren't exposed to that culture, so it must have seemed like, unlike most people, he actually read something beyond what the priest recited at mass.
"More importantly," Violet said, "he's talking about the apocalypse. A bit negative, don't you think?"
Sam shrugged.
"Satan set something in motion with… what I did and that pillar of light. What else could he be planning? I don't think that star is a coincidence."
No. He knew exactly what was coming.
War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. The four horsemen of the apocalypse were about to come into play.
——
When it was all over, a woman calmly walked in.
Her boots splashed through the puddles of blood, making them ripple. Not a single drop of blood stained her clothes, as if she were untouchable. She stopped when she saw the body, the head so crushed it looked like an elephant had stomped on it.
The woman looked up and saw a man hanging from the ceiling fan.
Of course, he'd been dead for a long time.
His neck was broken, his eyes staring into nothingness. Even so, you could still sense the desperation that had driven him to that decision. The woman licked her lips in a sensual manner, as if she couldn't imagine a more pleasing sight.
Naturally, the last participant in this tragedy was also in pieces on the floor. The woman sat between the two men, though she had done nothing to the one Mark had come to kill.
The only living being in that room sat down on the sofa, making herself comfortable as if nothing had happened.
Crossing her legs, her skirt rode up, revealing soft, pale skin. And tentacles. Like the limbs of some unknown creature from the unexplored depths of the sea, tentacles briefly slipped out from the edges of her skirt.
She was quite pleased with her work.
This hadn't been exactly her goal, but that was only because she had no specific goal in mind. It was like a bit of alcohol. It lowered inhibitions, nothing more. If they knew of her existence, people would blame her. However, this was undoubtedly a tragedy created by human hands.
They had destroyed themselves, as always.
Humans were weak and volatile. Powder kegs waiting to explode.
Surely things would have ended like this without her intervention, it just would have taken longer. She had simply given Mark the nudge he needed to do what his heart desired. That was all. If this was anyone's fault, it was the foolish husband who had blamed the wrong person and only cared about his wife after he had completely lost her.
Although, of course...
War smiled, sitting in the midst of the darkness that reeked of blood and entrails, her eyes glowing purple except for the iris, which was as black as a starless night.
This was only the beginning.
——
They arrived at their destination.
It turned out they hadn't lost their home after all. One of the many vacation houses wasn't too far from the mansion. A three or four-hour trip, long enough for a lengthy conversation filled with uncomfortable questions. He handled it as well as he could. Well enough, considering he wasn't dead.
That he could get off the carriage, stand on the grass, and gaze at that small house on the prairie, in the peaceful middle of the forest. It wouldn't be a bad place to retire, but he wasn't ready for that just yet.
Apparently, he still had four horsemen to kill, an apocalypse to stop, and a second patricide to commit.
"I've got a long road ahead of me." The wind howled as it blew through him. "No."
Sam turned to look at Christina and Violet, who were also approaching the house. You could tell by their faces that they still had some vague memories, although, according to them, they hadn't been here since they were children. Happy memories, he supposed. Memories of getting away from their familiar surroundings, the schemes, and the backstabbing, just to have a vacation.
"We have," he finished, smiling.
It was a genuine smile, for a change.
They were rich girls. Born into luxury, privileged in almost every way. But precisely because of that, they had never had the luxury of experiencing a normal life, something everyone else took for granted. He had always needed the power and influence they had been born with, but they had spent their lives longing for the exact opposite.
It was easy to call them innocent or childish.
To say that the coming months would show them why they shouldn't have wished for such things.
But the truth, more likely, was that humans were confusing and contradictory creatures who could never be happy with anything.
Sam had finally managed to massacre his family. Not only that, he had kept Christina and Violet, although Rose had slipped away—a slut not only sexy but strong-willed, which excited him in other equally valid ways. He would've loved nothing more than to make her submit to him sexually.
Massacring the Wrights wasn't a goal he had pursued for long, it was true, but he had desired it more intensely than anything else in his life.
Still, it was hard to say he felt happy or even satisfied.
He didn't feel anything in particular about it, and he didn't think it was because of Adams, the angel Castiel, or the revelation that Satan wanted his body. To him, that and any feelings it might have stirred were already in the past. It was just one of many things that had happened. He didn't know what that said about him, but it was the truth.
Maybe his mind would always be fixed on the next obstacle.
But he could start waxing philosophical once there were no more enemies left to fight.
The three siblings, the last remnants of the Wright family, entered that cabin.
They had had time to talk, of course, but the matter wasn't entirely settled. And then there was the question of their next move. If there even was a move to make other than to wait and see which one of those bastards made their presence known.
They could, he reminded himself.
They were a team. If the four horsemen came for him, they would at least fight to defend their own lives. He hoped they'd also fight for love, but all in due time.
——
Suddenly, the weather changed. A bolt of lightning fell from the sky, igniting a bush, and in the flames, a familiar face appeared. So, he was strong enough to do that even from inside his cage, huh? And he had a sense of humor.
The burning bush.
If a minister had passed by, he would have surely rushed to kneel, believing that the Almighty had deemed him worthy of His presence. That, or he had a few words for him about having too much fun with the nuns.
Without knowing, of course, that he was kneeling before Satan. Whose face would appear in the flames if not the King of Hell's?
"My lord." She didn't like it, but War dropped to one knee.
She liked even less that she couldn't figure out what the hell he was doing here. Satan didn't make social calls; he always had a purpose. It couldn't be about her efforts with the town. She'd gone further, not just stopping at Mark and the lives she had managed to touch before he killed himself, but spreading her influence throughout the whole town. She'd pushed things further than she normally did because she'd gotten a little bored. After so many years of inactivity, she had quietly enjoyed the chance to flex some half-atrophied muscles.
The point was, she'd done things right. There shouldn't be any reason for protest, or for him to expect more than what she had already done at this point.
But she couldn't think of another reason for his presence.
There was no sense in dwelling on it. Even if she guessed right, there wouldn't be time to prepare. And Satan wasn't someone you could reason with. Whether she had done wrong or not, if that's what this was about, all she could do was grit her teeth and accept her punishment.
She didn't like it. She was War, the Horseman. It was in her nature to wage war and conquer, not bow down to anyone. No lowering her head like some mangy dog, but she wasn't arrogant enough to think things could be any different.
She had to swallow her pride and obey if she wanted to keep running wild and free through this world. That was the natural order. There was nothing she could do to change it.
That didn't make it any easier, but…
"Don't kill Sam," Satan commanded.
She would do what she had to do. War bowed her head.
"My lord, with all due respect, you've already given me that order. Given us that order. My sisters are fully aware of it, too."
They couldn't act against the Morning Star, and killing the brat would bury all their plans. It was obvious they couldn't cross that line; it didn't even need to be said.
"I know." Satan laughed, and there had never been anything so chilling. Yes, it was the first time she'd heard him laugh, the first time she even knew he was capable of such a thing—"And I also know how you are, War. That's why I'm not giving you an order; I'm warning you. Don't kill him, little one, or you'll live to regret it."
War shuddered, despite herself. There were few things she hated more than showing weakness.
"I understand, my lord. I'll do my job. No more, no less."
The face drawn in flames disappeared, but War didn't feel any more at ease.
She couldn't wait for the brat to kneel, just like she had; it would make things easier for everyone. She understood it, deep down, but why resist? It was his own father.
He should know that Satan always got what he wanted.
——
Sam woke up in the middle of the night, violently pulled from the most horrible nightmare he had ever experienced. There was no doubt in his mind, despite forgetting it the moment he awoke, but the lingering feeling, like the aftertaste of poison, told him enough. What remained of the nightmare was like a noose around his neck. That's why he woke up panting, panicked.
For the first time since he was a child, he found himself suspended between the waking world and the realm of dreams, wondering if this was just a false awakening, with the vague sense that "it" might have followed him to the other side.
It faded within seconds, shattered by the cold night air, but he felt it.
Sam took a deep breath.
He was scared. Of course, he was scared. His only ally since coming into this world had finally taken his place as his greatest enemy. He had seen it coming from miles away, but that didn't make it any less jarring. That didn't mean he could afford to lose control, though. Demon blood ran through his veins. He had to act more like the demon he was and not be swayed by fleeting human emotions.
It was just a moment of weakness while sleeping, he told himself. Nothing more. Even Satan is vulnerable in his dreams.
Sam got out of bed. He needed to sleep as much as he could—yesterday had been beyond exhausting—but he doubted he could drift off again without at least having a drink, maybe a bite to eat.
That's why he headed to the kitchen, barefoot. Making hardly a sound. Simply because he couldn't be bothered to find his slippers. He never could have imagined how useful it would turn out to be.
"Please, think about it. We helped him almost kill an angel. Heaven wants him dead."
Violet was still trying to convince her little sister. Despite everything he had done, Sam still hadn't won her over. It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. He thought he had sold a version of the story where he was the perfect victim.
Did she not believe him when he told her Castiel had been the one to kill Blake Wright, or did she think it was justified given the circumstances, as long as it meant killing him? In any case, Sam knew he wasn't a good person, but he doubted Heaven was much better. Either that, or Castiel was a rotten apple.
Maybe Violet was too indoctrinated to realize. Maybe what she had seen with her own eyes weighed much more than what he had told her had happened. In any case, she was still an obstacle in his way.
"Violet..."
"Christina. Please. Deep down, you know I'm right."
Silence followed. Had she convinced her, just like that? Sam stifled the urge to reveal himself from his hiding spot. Exposing that he had been eavesdropping, even if by accident (and they wouldn't believe that so easily), wouldn't do him any favors. With either of them. He waited, trusting.
And his trust was rewarded.
"Sister, if you hurt him... I'll kill you."
There was no response. There wouldn't be. Surely Violet was too stunned to say anything. Sam himself was surprised, so he could only imagine how it had affected that girl. He knew he had sunk his claws into little Christina, but not this deep.
Sam licked his lips, smiling.
Cold as Hell, Part 12: END
47. I Am the One Who Rings Death's Bell, Part 1
Chapter 47: I Am the One Who Rings Death's Bell, Part 1
A few hours earlier. Shortly after arriving, Christina, Violet, and he sat at the dining table by candlelight. They acted as if they were afraid someone might see them from outside. Or rather, him—but no one knew what he was. Only they did.
A world with indoor plumbing but no trace of electricity.
The small oddities would probably fascinate someone else. But Sam honestly didn't care what world he was in. If he'd had the necessary power in his previous life, he would have acted the same way. But he hadn't. That Sam had been nothing more than a shadow of a man. Even if he ended up failing, these few weeks had allowed him to become much more of a complete human being than he had ever been in his old world.
Of course, that didn't mean he was willing to settle for failure. For almost getting what he wanted. Almost was the same as never, as nothing.
Sam Wright was a good Antichrist. He "suffered" from all the sins, but without a doubt, the one that weighed most heavily on him was greed. Or was it pride, which in turn paved the way for greed? In any case, he would never give up.
"I told you on the way, Violet. Nero is really the only person I consciously decided to kill. After Evelyn died, I assumed he had done it to silence her. Even if it's not true, he deserved to die anyway. We should agree on that."
"We do, if it's true," said Violet. "But he wasn't the only one who died."
Sam sighed.
"I had to tell her. If you're going to say I should have seen his suicide coming or that I should have personally killed Nero, I can't argue. But I didn't see it. That's the truth. I was full of rage, Violet. I still am. I wanted to kill him with my own hands. And I wanted to protect her mother. It just... went wrong..."
"Don't be unfair," Christina added. "You know he loved her very much."
Christina placed a hand over Violet's, which rested on the table, squeezing it. Violet lowered her gaze to their intertwined hands. There was a lot of pain there. It was understandable that she was resisting even as she longed to believe him with all her heart. She was so afraid of losing the little she had left.
Sam could read her like an open book.
He might have been a wicked son of a bitch, but he was good at understanding people.
"The problem is, I don't know what to believe anymore," Violet replied slowly, after a while. "You see it so easily because..."
"What? Finish that sentence." Christina immediately tensed up.
"Because he's screwing you, happy now? You knew perfectly..."
"I believe him for the same reason you should: he's my brother. Period. What happened has nothing to do with that."
"Of course it does. Something that huge changes everything. Deep down, you know I'm right, Christina."
And Sam was good at recognizing opportunities to sink his claws in. This argument, which others might see as a sign that he was losing Violet or that he never had a chance to convince her, was one in his eyes.
"Enough," Sam said, trying to sound pleading, almost. "I love you both. You're my sisters, and I don't want to see you fighting, over me or anything. Violet, if you want me to turn myself in, I will."
Christina practically jumped to her feet, letting go of Violet's hand to slam both fists on the table. The candelabra was close to falling over. The flame trembled.
"I won't allow it!"
Sam ignored Christina (though it was hard; she looked gorgeous with her hair stuck to her face from sweat, too angry for her own good, making him want to drag her to bed and have some fun again), locking eyes with Violet.
The decision was in her hands, he told her.
And it was. He wouldn't give up just because she told him to, obviously, but he didn't think he could turn Christina against her own weapon. No matter how angry she thought she was right now.
Not that he wanted to. What he wanted was for them to cooperate in pleasing him.
He wanted two little sluts to ease his monotonous moments; it couldn't all be plans, betrayals, and massacres. Well, more precisely, what he wanted was everything a man could desire. Greedy. Economic power, physical and mental power, and all the attractive women he wanted. He had no intention of leaving anything on the table this time. Nor of sharing with anyone.
Violet remained silent, which was a good sign, so he had to be the first to speak.
"Well? Although you should know I won't receive a fair trial. They'll hang me or burn me at the stake, but not before torturing me until they've had enough, because to them, I'm pure evil. Am I to you as well?"
He already knew the answer, of course. That's why Violet had followed them on this journey. She had no other reason not to stay where she was and respond sincerely. Even if it was mainly for Christina, she had left her home behind and let him be. That meant something. He didn't miss it.
But he had to twist the knife in the wound, even more so since she still felt something for him. He had to, or he'd really lose her. He would use any tool at his disposal to manipulate her.
"I'll respect your decision," Sam said. "I don't want you to lose what little family you have left because of me."
"Don't talk as if you hadn't killed the rest."
"They wouldn't have given me a fair trial either."
"He's right, Violet. Why don't you understand?" Christina clenched her fists.
"They weren't the ones who attacked first," Violet said.
Frankly, he didn't even remember who had attacked first anymore. Everything had happened too quickly, but in the end, it didn't matter. If it were about what was true and what wasn't, it wouldn't have been worth trying in the first place.
"You remember wrong, they almost killed me, for God's sake. If I had tried to talk to them, to reason, they would have killed me. They never gave me the chance."
"Would you have tried if you thought it possible?" Violet asked.
"Tell me what I'm doing with you two if not. I never wanted to kill anyone. Nor to be born the way I was. It's not my fault; it could have happened to anyone. Even to you. I doubt Satan cares whether he has a male or female body, as long as he has one."
Yes, he had revealed it to her. The desperation of being caged. That he was the plan to end it, though he didn't know the details. He had no reason not to tell them. Quite the opposite. He wouldn't automatically win their trust, obviously; he had never expected that, but it gave them one more good reason to believe that Satan was not his father, his mentor, or his guide, but an enemy.
"Am I evil just because of how I was born? Because of what I am? I don't think that has much to do with Biblical teachings, with the values Jesus preached."
"I'm not blaming you for your birth. I'm blaming you for what I can blame you for—your actions."
"What are you even doing here if you're not willing to listen to him?" Christina murmured softly, almost inaudibly. Because she was trying not to explode, he understood. Not to break what she had with the only family she had left.
The only one.
She no longer saw him exactly as her brother, even when she called him that, after all. They had always had that desire, but they had crossed a line. She saw him more as a man than as her brother.
If you asked him, he'd say incest was like a species, but she could do whatever she wanted as long as she was willing to end up beneath him. Or on top, depending.
Violet ignored Christina.
"So, do you believe they wouldn't have killed me after all? That I was wrong to defend myself, thinking it was a matter of self-defense?"
"We begged you to come with us," she replied instantly, as if she had been replaying the words in her head, over and over. "You could have fled. The chapel incident, fine, self-defense. But what you did in the mansion... how can you justify that?"
Sam decided to hold her gaze for a few seconds, then look away, as if he were ashamed to some extent.
"I understand that you want to believe things could have gone differently, but they would never have stopped searching for us. They wouldn't rest until they had my head on a pike. And yours too. For helping the son of the devil. I hope you soon understand that, Violet. For everyone's sake."
That essentially ended the conversation. The weak protests soon subsided. So that she could speak with Christina in private, as he had discovered at night, waking up by chance at the perfect moment (not that it was hard to guess). But essentially, it was over.
——
The following morning, Christina was the one who approached him for a private conversation.
"I understand that you're worried, but I don't think she's going to betray us," Sam said, placing a hand on her bare knee. Normally, the dresses of rich young ladies were longer, at least in this era, but that had drastically changed on their journey here. True, but he was making it seem more significant than it was. They had stopped so Christina could take a piss, and she had torn part of her dress on a bush. She decided to take the practical route and ripped it further, turning it into a short skirt. Nothing out of the ordinary. "She's family."
"She could have insisted on staying behind, she could have betrayed us already. I know that."
Christina's face darkened.
She gave him a hug, burying her face in his chest and digging her nails into his back.
"It hurts," Christina murmured.
Sam simply hugged her back. He also knew when it was best to stay quiet and let the other person speak. It was easier to let someone convince themselves than to deceive them. Sure, he had Christina already, but it never hurt to make sure.
To ensure she wouldn't slip from his control, that is.
"We've always been together, the three of us. I can't stand the way she looks at you. And I hate that I have to look at her like that too. Wondering if she's lying to me, wondering if she's going to hurt me."
"Like the rest of the family looked... looked at each other," Sam said, more to fill the silence than anything else, hoping to encourage her to keep talking.
Christina nodded against his chest.
"We were supposed to be different. Together forever."
"It doesn't have to change. It's not too late."
"Do you really believe that?"
"I have to believe it." It was more realistic, more human, than what he actually thought: Yes, I have no doubt.
"But you love me more, don't you?"
The girl... no, the woman leaned back so she could look at him with tearful, anxious eyes. That probably wasn't the only thing that was wet, huh.
"I only love Violet as a sister. I've always wanted you, and I've always known that you wanted me."
"Prove it."
"Prove to me that I'm not disposable."
"Do you doubt that I love you?"
"No. No. That's exactly why. Don't let me doubt it."
She took his hand and placed it inside her modest neckline. She made him squeeze, though the word "made" made it sound unpleasant when in reality it was anything but. Christina wasn't as well-endowed as Rose or even Violet, but he didn't care. What fit in his hands was heaven; the rest was just excess.
"I wonder if you'll be able to stay quiet so Violet doesn't hear us."
Christina bit her lower lip.
Was she so damned sexy on purpose, or did it just come naturally? Kissing her and groping her at his leisure, he guided her toward the bed. It hadn't been used in years. For a moment, just for a moment, he wondered if they might end up breaking it. He quickly decided he didn't give a damn.
Christina was riding him, impaled on his cock, with her hand over her mouth to muffle her moans, when the window shattered into a thousand pieces.
As if that wasn't enough, he had been about to explode himself, but the mood was instantly killed.
I Am the One Who Rings Death's Bell, Part 1: END
A few hours earlier. Shortly after arriving, Christina, Violet, and he sat at the dining table by candlelight. They acted as if they were afraid someone might see them from outside. Or rather, him—but no one knew what he was. Only they did.
A world with indoor plumbing but no trace of electricity.
The small oddities would probably fascinate someone else. But Sam honestly didn't care what world he was in. If he'd had the necessary power in his previous life, he would have acted the same way. But he hadn't. That Sam had been nothing more than a shadow of a man. Even if he ended up failing, these few weeks had allowed him to become much more of a complete human being than he had ever been in his old world.
Of course, that didn't mean he was willing to settle for failure. For almost getting what he wanted. Almost was the same as never, as nothing.
Sam Wright was a good Antichrist. He "suffered" from all the sins, but without a doubt, the one that weighed most heavily on him was greed. Or was it pride, which in turn paved the way for greed? In any case, he would never give up.
"I told you on the way, Violet. Nero is really the only person I consciously decided to kill. After Evelyn died, I assumed he had done it to silence her. Even if it's not true, he deserved to die anyway. We should agree on that."
"We do, if it's true," said Violet. "But he wasn't the only one who died."
Sam sighed.
"I had to tell her. If you're going to say I should have seen his suicide coming or that I should have personally killed Nero, I can't argue. But I didn't see it. That's the truth. I was full of rage, Violet. I still am. I wanted to kill him with my own hands. And I wanted to protect her mother. It just... went wrong..."
"Don't be unfair," Christina added. "You know he loved her very much."
Christina placed a hand over Violet's, which rested on the table, squeezing it. Violet lowered her gaze to their intertwined hands. There was a lot of pain there. It was understandable that she was resisting even as she longed to believe him with all her heart. She was so afraid of losing the little she had left.
Sam could read her like an open book.
He might have been a wicked son of a bitch, but he was good at understanding people.
"The problem is, I don't know what to believe anymore," Violet replied slowly, after a while. "You see it so easily because..."
"What? Finish that sentence." Christina immediately tensed up.
"Because he's screwing you, happy now? You knew perfectly..."
"I believe him for the same reason you should: he's my brother. Period. What happened has nothing to do with that."
"Of course it does. Something that huge changes everything. Deep down, you know I'm right, Christina."
And Sam was good at recognizing opportunities to sink his claws in. This argument, which others might see as a sign that he was losing Violet or that he never had a chance to convince her, was one in his eyes.
"Enough," Sam said, trying to sound pleading, almost. "I love you both. You're my sisters, and I don't want to see you fighting, over me or anything. Violet, if you want me to turn myself in, I will."
Christina practically jumped to her feet, letting go of Violet's hand to slam both fists on the table. The candelabra was close to falling over. The flame trembled.
"I won't allow it!"
Sam ignored Christina (though it was hard; she looked gorgeous with her hair stuck to her face from sweat, too angry for her own good, making him want to drag her to bed and have some fun again), locking eyes with Violet.
The decision was in her hands, he told her.
And it was. He wouldn't give up just because she told him to, obviously, but he didn't think he could turn Christina against her own weapon. No matter how angry she thought she was right now.
Not that he wanted to. What he wanted was for them to cooperate in pleasing him.
He wanted two little sluts to ease his monotonous moments; it couldn't all be plans, betrayals, and massacres. Well, more precisely, what he wanted was everything a man could desire. Greedy. Economic power, physical and mental power, and all the attractive women he wanted. He had no intention of leaving anything on the table this time. Nor of sharing with anyone.
Violet remained silent, which was a good sign, so he had to be the first to speak.
"Well? Although you should know I won't receive a fair trial. They'll hang me or burn me at the stake, but not before torturing me until they've had enough, because to them, I'm pure evil. Am I to you as well?"
He already knew the answer, of course. That's why Violet had followed them on this journey. She had no other reason not to stay where she was and respond sincerely. Even if it was mainly for Christina, she had left her home behind and let him be. That meant something. He didn't miss it.
But he had to twist the knife in the wound, even more so since she still felt something for him. He had to, or he'd really lose her. He would use any tool at his disposal to manipulate her.
"I'll respect your decision," Sam said. "I don't want you to lose what little family you have left because of me."
"Don't talk as if you hadn't killed the rest."
"They wouldn't have given me a fair trial either."
"He's right, Violet. Why don't you understand?" Christina clenched her fists.
"They weren't the ones who attacked first," Violet said.
Frankly, he didn't even remember who had attacked first anymore. Everything had happened too quickly, but in the end, it didn't matter. If it were about what was true and what wasn't, it wouldn't have been worth trying in the first place.
"You remember wrong, they almost killed me, for God's sake. If I had tried to talk to them, to reason, they would have killed me. They never gave me the chance."
"Would you have tried if you thought it possible?" Violet asked.
"Tell me what I'm doing with you two if not. I never wanted to kill anyone. Nor to be born the way I was. It's not my fault; it could have happened to anyone. Even to you. I doubt Satan cares whether he has a male or female body, as long as he has one."
Yes, he had revealed it to her. The desperation of being caged. That he was the plan to end it, though he didn't know the details. He had no reason not to tell them. Quite the opposite. He wouldn't automatically win their trust, obviously; he had never expected that, but it gave them one more good reason to believe that Satan was not his father, his mentor, or his guide, but an enemy.
"Am I evil just because of how I was born? Because of what I am? I don't think that has much to do with Biblical teachings, with the values Jesus preached."
"I'm not blaming you for your birth. I'm blaming you for what I can blame you for—your actions."
"What are you even doing here if you're not willing to listen to him?" Christina murmured softly, almost inaudibly. Because she was trying not to explode, he understood. Not to break what she had with the only family she had left.
The only one.
She no longer saw him exactly as her brother, even when she called him that, after all. They had always had that desire, but they had crossed a line. She saw him more as a man than as her brother.
If you asked him, he'd say incest was like a species, but she could do whatever she wanted as long as she was willing to end up beneath him. Or on top, depending.
Violet ignored Christina.
"So, do you believe they wouldn't have killed me after all? That I was wrong to defend myself, thinking it was a matter of self-defense?"
"We begged you to come with us," she replied instantly, as if she had been replaying the words in her head, over and over. "You could have fled. The chapel incident, fine, self-defense. But what you did in the mansion... how can you justify that?"
Sam decided to hold her gaze for a few seconds, then look away, as if he were ashamed to some extent.
"I understand that you want to believe things could have gone differently, but they would never have stopped searching for us. They wouldn't rest until they had my head on a pike. And yours too. For helping the son of the devil. I hope you soon understand that, Violet. For everyone's sake."
That essentially ended the conversation. The weak protests soon subsided. So that she could speak with Christina in private, as he had discovered at night, waking up by chance at the perfect moment (not that it was hard to guess). But essentially, it was over.
——
The following morning, Christina was the one who approached him for a private conversation.
"I understand that you're worried, but I don't think she's going to betray us," Sam said, placing a hand on her bare knee. Normally, the dresses of rich young ladies were longer, at least in this era, but that had drastically changed on their journey here. True, but he was making it seem more significant than it was. They had stopped so Christina could take a piss, and she had torn part of her dress on a bush. She decided to take the practical route and ripped it further, turning it into a short skirt. Nothing out of the ordinary. "She's family."
"She could have insisted on staying behind, she could have betrayed us already. I know that."
Christina's face darkened.
She gave him a hug, burying her face in his chest and digging her nails into his back.
"It hurts," Christina murmured.
Sam simply hugged her back. He also knew when it was best to stay quiet and let the other person speak. It was easier to let someone convince themselves than to deceive them. Sure, he had Christina already, but it never hurt to make sure.
To ensure she wouldn't slip from his control, that is.
"We've always been together, the three of us. I can't stand the way she looks at you. And I hate that I have to look at her like that too. Wondering if she's lying to me, wondering if she's going to hurt me."
"Like the rest of the family looked... looked at each other," Sam said, more to fill the silence than anything else, hoping to encourage her to keep talking.
Christina nodded against his chest.
"We were supposed to be different. Together forever."
"It doesn't have to change. It's not too late."
"Do you really believe that?"
"I have to believe it." It was more realistic, more human, than what he actually thought: Yes, I have no doubt.
"But you love me more, don't you?"
The girl... no, the woman leaned back so she could look at him with tearful, anxious eyes. That probably wasn't the only thing that was wet, huh.
"I only love Violet as a sister. I've always wanted you, and I've always known that you wanted me."
"Prove it."
"Prove to me that I'm not disposable."
"Do you doubt that I love you?"
"No. No. That's exactly why. Don't let me doubt it."
She took his hand and placed it inside her modest neckline. She made him squeeze, though the word "made" made it sound unpleasant when in reality it was anything but. Christina wasn't as well-endowed as Rose or even Violet, but he didn't care. What fit in his hands was heaven; the rest was just excess.
"I wonder if you'll be able to stay quiet so Violet doesn't hear us."
Christina bit her lower lip.
Was she so damned sexy on purpose, or did it just come naturally? Kissing her and groping her at his leisure, he guided her toward the bed. It hadn't been used in years. For a moment, just for a moment, he wondered if they might end up breaking it. He quickly decided he didn't give a damn.
Christina was riding him, impaled on his cock, with her hand over her mouth to muffle her moans, when the window shattered into a thousand pieces.
As if that wasn't enough, he had been about to explode himself, but the mood was instantly killed.
I Am the One Who Rings Death's Bell, Part 1: END