Hell’s Scion: My Magical Family Doesn’t Know I’m the Antichrist (Villain Protagonist Isekai)

[MadsGM]

Chapter 71: I Am the Chorus of Screams, Part 6

Sam was grateful that the situation couldn't last much longer, because he had never felt so tired, not even when he had fought his bloody way through the Wright mansion, killing anyone who crossed his path, even those who cowered in terror. He felt on the verge of collapse, completely drained, but there was just a little more to go. That's what kept him going. The thought that victory was so close he could almost taste it.

He hadn't suffered so much, shed so much blood, endured so much pain, just to screw up now, to give up or fail. He had to kill those bitches who had crawled out of the bath they had made for themselves, bodies covered in cuts. Naturally, Hunger had taken the worst of it. As much as she was the little sister, War had a special kind of protection. Hunger wasn't so lucky.

He realized that's why, even though it surprised him at first, War had lifted Hunger with her tentacles and thrown her back, tossing her through a window into a random building. The only purpose was to get her out of his sight.

Sam smiled.

Now it was three against one. War wasn't easy to take down, even without a heart, and Hunger wouldn't take long to heal and come after them. Not when War had grown herself a new heart in the blink of an eye. The injuries they had inflicted weren't enough. But it didn't matter—just a little more. Whatever it took, he had to destroy that damned heart. Just a few more tentacles... it should be easy.

If only he had a gun. Then he wouldn't even have to get close to land a blow. Sure, it was possible his ice weapons could fly faster than the bullets of this world's primitive guns.

He'd manage. He always had so far.

War had no words for him this time. They had said all they needed to say. Anything else would just be a waste of time.

Once again, Sam charged at the Horseman of the Apocalypse, firing his ice weapons as fast as he could. No matter how close he got to his enemy, the weapons wouldn't pierce her. It didn't work that way. It was a matter of not being able to defend herself and attack at the same time. That was all. Now that he knew that, War wasn't risking an attack while he was so close. She was trying to keep her distance. Maybe she was stalling for Hunger, buying her time to recover and come after them together.

Sam wasn't making progress, but at least War was intimidated, only willing to attack from a safe distance. When she managed to create some space, her tentacles shot forward and dug into his left arm—the only one he had left. They plunged in deep, twisting, trying to tear it off too. The ice barrage, like a curtain of steel, ripped the tentacles apart. But more came out of nowhere, and just as many regenerated. In the end, there were just as many tentacles as before. Maybe even a few more.

But that gave him the chance to get close, to reach for her heart once more. He didn't just want to defeat her; he wouldn't throw away an easy chance to win. But more than that, he wanted to look her in the eye while she died. He wanted to see the moment her expression changed, when she realized it was her who had underestimated him. Her biggest mistake had been not running with her tail between her legs.

His hand didn't reach War's heart; it fell short, because they tore off his last arm. Blood spurted out, too much of it, spraying like a sprinkler. His head felt light, like death was dragging him to the underworld. He lost his balance.

Before he knew it, he was on the ground, lying in a growing pool of his own blood. Blood rose up in his throat, bubbling. He heard voices, calling his name, screaming, but they were distant, like from another world.

He didn't understand what had happened. He had been so close to winning, so close to finally getting what he wanted. So close to the control he had craved for two lifetimes.

War and Hunger were nothing but Satan's lackeys. But if he had killed them, he would have proven he could do it. He could kill his father and free himself from his control. He could finally live his own life. But now he was just lying there, miserably, in his own blood. He couldn't understand how it had ended this way.

Darkness was slowly consuming his vision. Soon, he wouldn't be able to see anything. What was calling him was unconsciousness, or death. It was obvious. Death was coming for him, but eternal rest would not be granted.

He had done enough to ensure he'd go to hell. After all, the son of the devil had no other possible fate. No, there would be no eternal rest. Only torture at the hands of Satan. Even if his guess was right and that monster could resurrect him, the price would be too high.

In hell or out of it, he would burn forever. His ambitions would be over. And all in an instant. How had he been so badly wounded so fast?

Christina knelt beside him. Even from this distance, her face was blurry. But who else could it be?

Something wet fell on his cheek. Tears. She was crying for him. How ridiculous! She wasn't even his sister. Of course, she didn't know that, but... Ah! She wasn't even his sister. She shouldn't cry over something like this.

Before he realized it, Sam was standing. With no help but his legs, because he didn't have arms or hands anymore. Just his legs. No, what was he talking about? There were his teeth too. He could use them to take down his enemies. He could tear them apart with his bite.

"How's he standing?" War didn't look scared, just incredulous. Whatever. He'd teach her to fear him.

Sam launched himself at her, firing ice and dodging the tentacles. He rolled on the ground, then sprang back up with a fluidity and agility he'd never shown before. What burned in his veins was rage. What burned in his veins was... the desire to live. Because he still hadn't lived. Not really.

He was more than a puppet. And he was going to prove it to the puppeteer—but first to one of his little minions. Sam dodged the tentacles perfectly and threw War to the ground with the weight of his own body, pinning her down. His face was close enough to the gaping hole in her chest, the one that hadn't fully closed, for him to bury his face and mouth in it, biting and tearing, reaching for War's heart. He ripped it out with his teeth.

Just in time, Hunger reappeared, alive and kicking, as good as new. Just in time to see her sister's makeshift heart explode in Sam's mouth, black tar-like blood filling it, threatening to choke him, but Sam drank it down like it was the sweetest cocktail ever made. He didn't choke; it wasn't even slightly uncomfortable.

Nothing had ever been so pleasurable. Nothing ever had been, and nothing ever would be. Victory, victory, victory. Armless, kneeling over War's body, with teeth almost completely black, Sam smiled at Hunger.

She was next.

Sam licked his lips. She wasn't the only one who could be famished.

I Am the Chorus of Screams, Part 6: END

 

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Chapter 72: I Am the Chorus of Screams, Part 7

War's blood filled his mouth and ran down his throat. Sam drank eagerly. The feeling of conquest left him trembling with pleasure. War lay dead, broken at his feet. She had been the greatest obstacle he'd overcome. Back at the Wright mansion, he had been tense, always fearing for his life if he made one wrong move or said the wrong thing. But looking back, he had mostly toyed with human lives as he pleased.

The only one who had cornered him and made him feel real fear was Adams, but that was over now.

There was Castiel too, of course, but he'd be lying if he said he felt he had truly overcome him. It was more like he had barely snatched something resembling victory from the jaws of defeat.

This, however, was something completely different.

War and her sister had done nothing but humiliate him, hour after hour, making this the longest night of his life. But now he had turned the tables, made them pay. There couldn't be a more intoxicating feeling. It had even aroused him - his cock had never felt so hard against his pants, as if trying to tear through them.

He had only finished off War for now.

He knew this, but it wouldn't be long before he got his hands on Hunger too. Well, not exactly, he thought, laughing at himself. I don't have hands. He couldn't help but laugh, trembling from head to toe. Was it from the laughter, the pain, or the blood loss?

All three at once.

Armless, kneeling in the pool of War's blood, he laughed with his whole body, shaking.

The black blood from the tentacles dripped between his teeth and lips, down his chin, falling to his chest. He could feel his chest hair wet, stuck to his skin with sweat and blood.

He didn't know how he would defeat Hunger in this state, but he'd figure it out as he went along.

It had worked so far.

Hunger approached them slowly, like a panther stalking through tall grass. Her eyes glowed and her entire body trembled. Sandy stepped forward, as if she needed to get closer to destroy her, and then he realized what would happen next, what he would do to stop that bitch: nothing.

Sam staggered, losing his balance, and couldn't recover it. He fell to the ground pathetically, like a worm. He didn't even have arms, so the comparison was more apt than ever. He was breathing as if one of his lungs had failed. He wasn't a doctor, but he felt more dead than alive.

What had he expected? It was already miraculous that he'd managed to do that to War, in his current state. He had drawn strength from somewhere, who knows where, but he had finally exhausted himself completely, and had nothing left but to sit and accept the consequences of his failure. Oh yes, Cristina and Viola could still fight, but would they pull his chestnuts out of the fire? He doubted it. And even if they could, how would they save him?

Even if there had been a doctor among the cavalry they'd brought to this place, each and every one of them was dead now. They couldn't be more dead. They had all seen it with their own eyes, so it was over, he thought with resignation and strange tranquility. He thought he would be angrier. Maybe he had exhausted everything, even that. Maybe he couldn't give anymore. His vision was simply growing dark, his eyelids closing, heavy as a tombstone.

He wished eternal rest awaited him when he closed his eyes. Something much worse awaited him, he knew, which is why he couldn't simply let go. But what could he do to resist? Ah, I hate this, this weakness. I hate it. I need control.

Hunger destroyed all the attacks they launched at her, easily. Water and earth alike, and she approached him, stomping on his chest, pressing to crush him. She wouldn't just crush his chest, but what lay beneath it. His ribs would crack, and her boots would do to him what he had done to War's heart twice. She would have her revenge.

It was pathetic that these monsters were playing at being family, at feeling rage, at feeling desire for revenge. It was truly pathetic, but that's what she was doing, and he could no longer do anything to stop it. He couldn't do anything at all anymore.

A blinding light painted the world white. When it cleared, Hunger was still where she was, but the four of them were no longer alone. There was a woman, possibly the most beautiful he had ever seen in his life, tall, with platinum blonde hair and penetrating blue eyes, like the reflection of the sea. But what caught his attention most, for a change, wasn't her figure, nor her face, nor her full lips. It was the wings.

"Michael," said Hunger. "I see. You've come for your prize, eh? Well too bad, but I got to it first. You're going to have to crawl to your daddy and beg forgiveness."

Michael. The archangel Michael. Now there was someone who had a good reason to kill him, and leave nothing behind, not even ashes.

I Am the Chorus of Screams, Part 7: END

 

[DemiurgeMal]

Chapter 72: I Am the Chorus of Screams, Part 7

"Michael," said Hunger. "I see. You've come for your prize, eh? Well too bad, but I got to it first. You're going to have to crawl to your daddy and beg forgiveness."

Michael. The archangel Michael. Now there was someone who had a good reason to kill him, and leave nothing behind, not even ashes.

Click to shrink...

things are getting worse by the minute

 

[MadsGM]

Chapter 73: I Am the Chorus of Screams, Part 8

They said hearing was the last sense to go before death. But he quickly lost the ability to hear Hunger, Miguel, and everything else.

Well, it didn't matter what they were talking about, or the archangel's appearance.

After all, he was already at death's door.

This wouldn't change his fate, only who would kill him, assuming the angel wouldn't be content just watching him die in agony. Assuming they wanted to finish the job faster. And assuming also that they were more powerful than Hunger, mainly because that witch seemed a bit scared.

He figured he could at least hope to live long enough to see Miguel melt that wretch, though it was brutally cold.

Sam couldn't understand how he'd let this happen.

He had suffered such severe injuries just trying to save Christina, who was nothing to him except a sexual plaything. And he very much doubted she was the prettiest girl in this world, one of the few left alive who were related to him. That had added to the thrill, of course, but if he had died there, he could have surely found a slave probably better endowed and even more compliant, more useful in battle too. He couldn't understand why he had done that, but it didn't matter anymore. What's done was done and he had to live with the consequences.

First his hearing had gone, but he couldn't see much either now. Enough to know that Hunger and he hadn't started fighting yet. Enough to see his sisters tense, preparing for another fight. Just when they thought they only had one enemy left ahead, that they were about to be saved. Hope was definitely the last thing to go. But that wasn't an optimistic phrase at all, quite the opposite. Only a person with hope could be tortured and crushed at the last moment. Without hope you could simply accept things. But they had clung to that hope - and for what?

Sam would pay for the stupidity of saving Christina, not once, but twice in a row. And they would pay for the stupidity of coming to rescue him. Everything would have been simpler if they had been selfish, like any normal person. But it was too late to complain about their fate. It was too late for, well, everything.

They had given him a second chance to take control of his destiny, to ignore any weakness, any passing feeling. And although he had remained cold, like the antichrist he was supposed to be, in the end he had screwed up anyway. He had ended up the same way, a miserable death without barely realizing his full potential. He couldn't even curse God, Satan, or whoever had the idea. Well, he already knew Satan didn't know his little boy the antichrist had been replaced. Because in reality it had been his fault, his alone. He could only curse himself.

And now the final insult. Hunger wouldn't even die in terrible suffering. She ran away with her tail between her legs, and for some reason the damn archangel allowed it. I guess he was as much of a bastard as Castiel. Some angels they were, apparently only in name.

Sam closed his eyes.

Well, that wasn't exact, rather they closed on him like a coffin lid. A coffin, what a thing.

In this world he would only be remembered as the stupid rich kid from a wealthy family, who had died in strange circumstances, killed by some weird woman, who had died in some random town, which he had transformed into a ghost town. Some legacy, slightly more memorable than what he had left back on Earth. As Sam, nothing more than a failed businessman, another statistic in the company lists, a useless, worthless, completely replaceable person.

People would talk about him, whisper, spreading rumors about the family. There was his legacy, and he had earned it fair and square.

Darkness and silence claimed him.

——

Sam dreamed of the life he had left behind, of his first attempt. A vulgar and common death, like the man he had been, in the bathroom, a bottle of pills swallowed at once and a fall. The sensation of blood running down his forehead, the feeling of cold, of his entire body gradually becoming numb as death claimed him.

Sam dreamed of an ignoble end, as ignoble as the second.

Wait, dreamed?

Sam's eyes shot open. Alive and kicking again. Where the hell was he? He tried to move his head to check with his own eyes. If it was one of the few places he had known in this world, but it wouldn't move. That is, yes, but with great resistance. The pain was horrible, and he preferred to stop trying, to back down and lie back, relaxing on the bed.

He should simply be grateful that he was alive, somehow, by some miracle, damn it. But he was too busy feeling sorry for himself and complaining about the pain for that. He was alone, in darkness, in some room.

What had happened with the archangel? What had happened to Christina and Violet? How the fuck would he know?

Sam took a deep breath.

If even looking around had been an effort, he didn't want to get up at the moment. There was no need either. One thing was clear, he couldn't have gotten here on his own. Therefore, someone would come. With good or bad news and intentions, but they would come.

He heard what could only be a door opening. It didn't illuminate the room much more, however. Propping himself up on his elbows, he raised himself a little, expecting to greet his sisters. And, of course, he had expected too much.

It wasn't Christina or Violet.

It was Miguel.

Of course, he had said it himself. His survival would have required a miracle. It seemed heaven had lent a hand.

The incredibly stunning woman sat on his bed, looking at him with cold eyes. Sam swallowed.

"Alright, let's get to the point. Why am I still alive?"

For a moment, it crossed his mind that she might want the same thing as Hunger, whatever the reason. It didn't have to make sense, it was just a passing thought. He also thought that he wouldn't mind complying if that were the case.

"Good question." She had a melodious voice. "If it were just up to me, I would have wrung your neck and left you in a ditch, but it's not just about me. It's about your father. I can wring your neck whenever I want, Satan not so much."

"An alliance?"

"I don't see why not. We both want the same thing, after all. You'll never be safe until Satan is dead, and the same goes for heaven, not to mention the rest of the world. It's a mutually beneficial relationship."

That's the only relationship worth maintaining, he thought.

"But when we're done with Satan, you'll try to kill me."

"Naturally. You choose, I try to kill you in the future or what I do right now."

"Now you wouldn't fail, I get it. Fine, I accept, if only because I have no other choice."

"And because I saved your life when I should have taken it." Miguel frowned. "Don't forget, abomination, that you owe me your life. Although I know that means nothing to you."

"I won't forget" The humiliation of owing you something. I don't like owing anyone anything, much less something as important as my life. "I won't be your fucking lapdog, but if you want to truly cooperate until Satan is dead, then I accept."

"I have many more reasons to distrust you and yet I'm willing to make the effort."

"I'm the bad guy, get over it. You could start reassuring me by answering some questions."

Miguel looked away, thoughtful. Or thoughtful-ess. Whatever. He would think of that being as a woman, otherwise those good pair of melons would cause him a severe case of cognitive dissonance.

"Fine, shoot. But I reserve the right to remain silent if it's something an abomination like you shouldn't know."

"Thanks. There's something I've been wondering since I killed almost all my family. Satan is supposed to be a slippery and intelligent bastard, right? The prince of lies and all that."

Though reluctantly, or so it seemed, Miguel nodded.

"Then why did he act like a complete mental retard? What did he think, that after doing the dirty work I would say: yeah, sure, take my body? Mount it, take it for a ride out there, what do I care?"

"No," she answered without thinking twice. And without looking at him. Instead she had her gaze fixed on the wall, as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. "He thought, I'm sure, that he would be able to take control of your body as soon as you became powerful enough to host him. He would have his reasons, something must have gone wrong. Or it didn't matter. All angels need permission to occupy their vessels and no matter what he's become, Satan is still an angel. You don't seem surprised. I suppose he told you. His name too?"

Miguel looked at him again. A fixed, intense look. Ah, yes, that detail wasn't common sense in this world. Sam nodded.

"Lucifer, the Morning Star."

"I see. It's not something you could use against him, but still I'm surprised he talked to you about his past."

"Isn't it the other way around? Wouldn't it have been better to reveal himself as an angel, a being that's supposed to be pure and good, to manipulate me better?"

"You? The very antichrist?"

Sam didn't argue. He had only said it because he felt he had to, cover his tracks as to why he knew something he shouldn't know. Expressing doubts about why he had been told would make it more believable that he had done it. Although the main thing was that it had occurred to Miguel. That was the only explanation he saw, so her common sense would keep her away from the truth, clinging to the idea that she was right.

People were simple. Even angels weren't different, it seemed.

Bastards who thought they were better than they were, always the smartest people in the room, no matter how stupid they were.

Sam might be human garbage, but at least he was honest with himself and his desires.

"Well, whatever, he told me, for whatever reason."

"Do you have more questions?"

"Actually yes, one. Why the fuck do you need me?" He knew she had only spared his life because she had believed she needed him. Otherwise he would be nothing but ashes, burned by the same celestial fire that had almost melted his entrails at the hands of the angel Castiel. But he didn't see why. "Aren't you the one who defeated Lucifer, who banished him to the cage he's now dying to get out of?"

"You just answered your own question. I defeated him, but I didn't kill him and it wasn't for lack of trying. For something stupid like compassion. I don't have such a thing, in the first place."

"Wow. And I thought angels were benevolent beings."

"We are God's warriors, instruments of his will. No more, no less."

If there was a good will, then it was from the one above. The boss who ran the show. But he found it hard to believe that such a thing existed in a world where he had been allowed to run wild, despite having seen angels and demons, even the devil himself.

"One last question because I can't resist. What the fuck are you?"

"I've told you, an angel of..."

"No, man. Your name is Miguel, but you have tits. Clarify that for me."

"This isn't my body. If you think I should have a predilection for male bodies, I simply use what's at hand. Angels don't have that concept, in the first place. Consider me a man, a woman, or whatever makes you feel more comfortable."

"Right. And..."

"You said one last question."

"It's not a question. Tell me about her."

Miguel rolled her eyes, getting up from the bed. Shame, but it gave him a good view of her ass in that tight dress.

"What exactly do you want to know? I don't like that you're interested in an innocent woman."

"For starters, her name."

"[Name]. She's a devout woman. She answered my prayers and gave me her body in exchange."

Not willing to give details, huh?

Luckily for him, that wasn't what interested him.

"Is she in there? Can she see us, hear us?"

"Yes."

"I've changed my mind. When this is over, let her go. That's the price I want for my cooperation."

"Why would you care about a human?" Miguel frowned. "What's your game?"

"Taking away someone's will is the worst sin that can be committed."

He manipulated people, but he didn't give them a bit of mind control and he couldn't possess them either. All the people who had ended up helping him had done so of their own free will. That was a difference.

"It's funny that an abominable being like you would say that. But alright, when this is over I'll give her back control of her body. There are other people who would let me in, and strong enough to host me. Don't think the change would give you more than a few minutes' advantage."

"I want her to be free, nothing more! I don't care if you believe me or not."

Of course, Miguel was right to doubt. What he wanted was for that woman to feel so relieved that she would throw herself into his arms. It would be difficult to explain to Christina, one thing was sharing him with her older sister (any younger sister was more than used to that) and another sharing him with a complete stranger. Not to mention an older woman.

But well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

"Whatever," Miguel replied. "The point is that it's done. You're free not to trust my word, but this is the truth: I always keep my word, for better or worse."

"You better."

"Don't think you can threaten me."

"If I can kill the creature you couldn't, that's because yes, indeed I can threaten you."

Was he playing with fire?

No, she wouldn't kill him. She would keep her word. At most, she would give him a murderous look, and so she did.

"We'll see how all this ends, Samuel. I don't understand either why you let War wound you, just to save Christina. That's what she told me. I don't know if you've got her so brainwashed she didn't see reality, or you have some other game at hand. I really don't know. Nor do I care. This is bigger than you and me, this is for the good of the entire world. So I'll do what I have to do, as always."

She fixed him with a stare, her eyes glowing pale blue like the moon.

A stare that went right through him, that made him hold his breath. Message received.

"Alright, I get it. It's not pleasant to work with me. I knew that from the start, and it's not exactly something I enjoy either. One more thing, actually, I do have one last question, and this time I mean it. Where the hell am I?"

Miguel exhaled and met his gaze.

"Don't you recognize it? Even though you've spent almost your whole life here?"

"You mean this is a room in the mansion?"

"Where else would I have brought you? Brought you all."

Christina and Violet were fine. That was obvious—if the one who had been at death's door had survived, there was no reason to think his sisters hadn't made it. Still, he felt relieved hearing it.

He was back at the mansion, and so were his sisters. Alive and well, no doubt ready to reward him for the rescue and his honorable sacrifice. He could hardly wait for Miguel to get out of the way, so one or both of them could come into the room and make up for lost time.

"I destroyed the mansion, but this room looks intact."

"Your mission was to kill the Wright family, not destroy the mansion. You didn't do such a thorough job. Besides, the repairs have already begun."

"Good to know. Well, once I recover, I can expect you to give me a call, right? Let me know when and where to strike as soon as the next opportunity comes up. Plus, I took out War. Three out of four isn't bad."

"You think you killed War?"

"What do you mean? I destroyed not just one, but two of her hearts. Don't mess with me."

"You definitely defeated her, but as long as humanity exists, there will always be War, Hunger, Death, and Pestilence. She'll come back eventually, though it might take longer than the time you've got left on this earth."

Sam sighed in relief.

"Then it's like I killed her. Don't be so pedantic, you gave me quite a scare."

"Pedantic? I'm just telling the truth."

"Whatever you say. Well, just let me know when the time comes."

"I have no reason not to."

Then, the archangel disappeared in the blink of an eye without a trace. Naturally. He'd seen Castiel do it, and he was just a regular angel. As an archangel, Miguel should be able to do that and more.

Sam leaned back on the bed, relieved to finally be rid of him. He didn't feel like getting up to look for his sisters, so he'd stay there, waiting for them to come to him. He couldn't push himself when even a slight movement of his neck had caused so much pain. Rest—that's what he needed, no matter how anxious he was.

He wasn't particularly patient, but he knew that anticipation could make pleasures even sweeter.

Finally, someone knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"It's me."

"We're the only ones in the mansion, aside from the construction workers." It was Christina.

"You mean just the three of us?" he asked. "Come in."

Christina entered, tears in her eyes.

"Yes, that's what I mean. You gave me a scare," she said, rushing toward him and hugging him. He could feel her soft curves pressing against him, just like that night and the one before. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. You almost died because of me. I went to rescue you, and I nearly ruined everything. I'm so, so sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry anything," he assured her. "You're my little sister. It's my job to protect you. And also..." His hand slid slowly down to her backside, grabbing it firmly. "You're my lover. I just did what was natural."

Christina was silent, her face buried in his chest, breathing heavily, as if she were about to cry.

"I do need to thank you... be as polite as I was always taught to be. Besides, I can feel how eager you are against my body."

Christina slid down slowly, her hands reaching for his pants.

"Just let me take care of this."

Her breath fell on his huge erection now.

Sam smiled. What a little slut! She had learned so much in so little time. He supposed she was a good student or he was a good teacher, or both.

His little sister pulled down his pants and underwear, exposing the erection to the cold air of the room.

[Sorry, naughty scene cut, what can you do?]

Once he had finished unloading, Christina leaned back with tears in her eyes, but at the same time a gleam of pride in her whole expression. Sam saw it as her submitting, but supposed that for Christina it meant that she controlled him and his pleasure to some extent. Well, he didn't mind and it wasn't exactly false.

"I feel much better." Sam put the garden snake back in his pants. "You seem a little disappointed. I am too, but I'm really not in the mood. You'll have to wait until tomorrow... or hopefully until tonight. If possible."

"Yes, I understand you're not feeling well. Don't worry, I already told you. It's enough for me to serve you, brother."

Christina hugged him again.

"Never leave me alone, okay? Will you promise me?"

One shouldn't promise what couldn't be kept. That was obvious, but... it was what she needed to hear.

Sam nodded.

"I promise you. We're siblings, Christina. We're made for each other. Made to be together. So, of course, I'll never leave you."

Christina held him tighter.

"And I'll do everything I can to prevent it. I'll fight to the end."

"I'm glad to have you by my side in this battle. Thank you. When I discovered what I was, I felt so alone. I thought I would never be able to reveal my identity to anyone. That all I could expect was to be hunted, hated, executed. But I should have known. I should have known you'd never turn your back on me. And neither would Violet."

Christina didn't look at him. Once again, she had buried her head in his chest, as if she wanted to stay like that all day, as if she didn't need to see anything.

"I understand you feared the worst. But yes, it's true. I would have done anything for you. I would have helped you. God forgive me, but I would have helped you kill whoever needed to be killed, if only you had asked for my help."

Christina swallowed.

"If you hadn't asked Rose, if you had asked me, maybe things would have turned out differently."

She hadn't said it out loud, but it was clear what she meant.

Sam thought she was right. But well, everything was easier to see in hindsight.

"But I didn't do it. I regret it, but I didn't do it. I'll do better in the future. I'll never forget... that you are mine and I am yours."

I Am the Chorus of Screams, Part 8: END