Chapter 7: I Am the God of Hellfire, Part 7

He knew it was risky, but Sam couldn't help staying at the edge, watching until Evelyn's flight ended. It was his first murder, after all. Although it had only taken an instant, it was something he would remember for the rest of his life.

A moment that would define him and the trajectory of his life. There weren't many moments like this in life, really, so he intended to enjoy it. Besides, what was the point of life without a little risk?

The fleeting angel Evelyn's flight came to a violent stop.

He saw her head burst against the fountain in the center of the courtyard and it gave him so much pleasure that a shiver ran from his fingertips to his head. Especially seeing how the water in the fountain was turning red.

He quickly moved away from the rooftop when the screams began, however.

Not even her mother would recognize her, there was so little left of the head, after all. Of poor Evelyn's head. Sam brought a hand to his mouth to suppress laughter as he re-entered the attic. He had to get out of there like a bat out of hell, no, in fact precisely because of that the attic wasn't the best way, he went out again.

Two people had been up there, two inconvenient obstacles, so it was best to take another route so they would think he had gone down a long time ago. So that it wouldn't be questioned that he had nothing to do with Evelyn's death. With her unfortunate accident.

He went to the back of the rooftop, climbing over the railing.

He didn't look down. Son of Satan or not, he still lacked extraordinary powers. Even if he survived the fall, he would probably end up exposed as something inhuman, which would be the same as dying. So naturally, he came to the conclusion that the best thing he could do was not look down.

He didn't have a phobia of heights, he had common sense. You could die from a trip at ground level, if you hit yourself in the right way. A fall from so many floors would kill him for sure.

Being afraid of that wasn't any phobia.

Although he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

He was standing on the edge, without railing, without any protection.

Sam took a deep breath.

Quick or you'll ruin everything. His first murder. His plans. His big chance. Too much at stake to let twenty meters of height, or whatever it was, ruin everything.

Nothing and no one would stop him.

He slowly and carefully descended to the nearest window, that is, the one directly below him. He had to do this more slowly than he would like (it would be difficult to explain what the hell he was doing climbing the facade if he was caught, definitely) because he had never done such a thing as a child. They hadn't been the ones who climbed anywhere or had a hyperactive imagination.

So there was nothing natural about his way of looking for points to support his hands and feet, he was doing this for the first time, but he would succeed. He knew it was the right decision and, anyway, it was too late to regret it.

He reached the edge of the window safe and sound and looked. He had a clear path. He snuck in and didn't even bother to close the window. It doesn't matter, it's not like there was any TV series detective in the mansion. No normal human would take that as proof that the killer had come through there from the attic.

To begin with, most likely the first servant or person to pass by would close it without thinking anything in particular about it.

He had to be practical instead of getting carried away by useless paranoia.

In other words, he had gotten away with it.

His first murder couldn't have been a more perfect victory. It was a great way to start his trail of blood.

A trail that no one would be able to follow, not until it was too late. The thought brought him immense satisfaction. The thought of so many people in his hands like helpless puppets, only able to wait for the moment when he would cut their strings.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

As he returned to his room, Sam began to feel strange. In a good way. Of course he didn't suddenly feel bad when hearing and passing through the commotion, adults and children coming out to see what was happening, the screams, none of that. It was something inside him that had nothing to do with silly things like guilt or remorse. It was something different from anything he had felt in his life.

Satan had made it clear.

With each murder, he would become more powerful. That must be the sensation of his body changing to accommodate the infernal powers that were his demonic inheritance, along with the throne of hell in due time.

But now he had to return to the room. To take a deep breath and report his victory.

He reached the room without anyone bothering him.

He felt nothing even resembling guilt, but some adrenaline. He let himself fall onto the bed.

After a while, he made the preparations for Satan to manifest as a face in the fireplace.

"Well?" said the flames.

He had almost expected him to know. To look angry or pleased, but to know.

"It's done."

"You work fast," he replied with a smile, well, as sinister as his own, he supposed. Like father, like son. "Explain to me how you did it in detail."

"Of course, father. But the person I killed wasn't the housekeeper."

"Now you'll have to explain why you've disobeyed me. Don't tell me you suddenly got sentimental, thinking about when she changed your diapers."

She?

Well, of course the young noble masters weren't going to clean a baby's ass. Thinking about it, it made sense.

More importantly, Satan wasn't showing his anger. Which obviously didn't mean he wasn't, but at least it seemed he would give him a chance to explain himself before deciding whether to punish him or not. And that removed all worries from his head.

Sam was convinced that even a fool would understand the advantages of his plan, and the Prince of Lies and all that couldn't be a fool.

"I discovered interesting information about Annabelle. It turns out they're a large family, and her mother is so sick that they depend only on her salary. I thought it would be a shame to remove the easiest piece to manipulate from the board, father."

"For what purpose would you use that woman?"

"I know you don't want me to kill all the Wrights. To begin with, that would make my true nature evident. But sooner or later they'll start to snoop around. Even if I decided to waste time, spreading the murders over decades. Even if I don't make any mistakes."

"That's true. And?"

"She would go to jail for me."

"So you want to keep her in reserve to blame her for a few murders."

"Or to help me carry them out, or clean up the crime scene. She can have many uses. Simply in exchange for helping her family, I can have her eating out of the palm of my hand. I'm sure she would kneel before me even if she knew who I really am, just to save her mother."

Satan laughed.

"It shows you're my son. Very well, you're forgiven. Who did you kill, then?"

"Evelyn Wright. I hadn't planned to kill her specifically, but it was the first opportunity that presented itself to me."

Satan licked his lips. The gesture looked a bit strange when he only existed as a face drawn in the flames.

"I want the details."

They were indeed similar. Satan sounded as if he was sharing details of his sordid sexual conquests. In fact, Sam wasn't sure if the pleasure of sex could even compare to the pleasure he had felt killing her. He hadn't fucked since he died and was reborn in this world, after all. Sometimes his old life felt like a distant dream.

"I bumped into her and she invited me to play. I followed her running to the attic. I lost over an hour playing cards with her and a couple of brats. We were left alone, as I asked to talk. She willingly followed me to the rooftop. Because it turned out that she wanted me to be the heir of the Wrights. And to be by my side as my wife when that moment came."

"Then, why did you kill her? Couldn't you have used her for that purpose?"

Was he testing him? Sam frowned.

"I killed her for the same reason I need Annabelle alive. Evelyn would have done anything for the person she loves and that's not me. Not really. She would be the first to betray me when things got ugly."

Satan laughed again. He supposed he had passed his test.

"I guess you're right. You've done very well, my son. You've exceeded my expectations by far. I'm proud."

Despite himself, Sam felt pleased.

Well, it was Satan. A compliment from him meant more than one from a normal person because he wasn't even a person. An angel, a being as old as God, the hidden face of his coin.

Not that he was very studious about it, but he knew that a large part of the public image of the Bible had more to do with the apocryphal content than with the true content of the Bible. And this was another world on top of that. There was no way to be sure what exactly was the world of this Satan, what information applied or not. All that about the cold in his first appearance. That was from Dante's Inferno, not from the Bible. All that about the Devil suffering in the deepest circle of Hell trapped in the frozen lake.

Anyway, that wasn't really the point.

And it wasn't relevant right now.

There was nothing wrong with feeling pleased by a compliment from one of his few allies in this world. Even if he hadn't been the kind of person he was, Sam would have been forced to cooperate with Satan. I'm the son of the devil himself, but I'm actually a good person. Who would believe that? Nobody. Absolutely nobody.

"I have a couple of questions. First of all, you said I would become stronger with each murder. It's true that I feel... different. But how do I know what I've achieved?"

"Yes, first things first."

Flames appeared in a corner of the room and began to spread. Sam didn't blink, didn't even look away from Satan's face, as the flames falsely consumed the room and transported him to a completely different place.

To a cold void.

I Am the God of Hellfire, Part 7: END