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.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

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