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.

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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