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."

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"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