Hunger opened the door, sliding into the living room like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. The opulence and elegance of the place had vanished without a trace. Everywhere, there were dead or dying people. The air was filled with screams, the sounds of retching, and the overpowering stench of vomit. The smell of vomit was even more overwhelming than that of blood.

She loved all her sisters, but she didn’t enjoy seeing Pestilence at work. Even so, she would never admit this to her face. Not to avoid her wrath, but because she was her sister. Besides, she knew perfectly well that the others found her repulsive too. A disgusting whore, to be exact.

Hunger couldn’t help being who she was, though. And Pestilence was naturally destined to be pestilent. It was the concept that gave her life.

Maybe it wasn’t exactly love, but Hunger could understand that and keep quiet about it.

In any case, she wasn’t here to show solidarity or sisterly affection. She was here for something much more important—something she’d wanted ever since she learned that Satan had fathered a son. That is, for the past eighteen years, no matter how well he had managed to keep it hidden until recently.

She looked around, searching for those little whores. Christina and Violet. She remembered their names well. They were the whores who might get ahead of her. As far as she knew, Satan had already fucked Christina several times. She couldn’t be certain, but she was convinced regardless, judging by the devotion she had seen in her. There was something different in her gaze. Very different from the way Violet looked at him, though there was love there too. And lust.

They weren’t here.

They were probably being chased by Pestilence through the mansion. Which meant she had a clear path.

“Now there’s no one to get in my way. You’re going to help me with Plan B, Sammy, whether you want to or not.”

She dragged his unconscious body onto the table—not immobile, as he writhed in the throes of a terrible “nightmare.” She climbed onto the boy and placed her hands on his belt, making a move to unbuckle it and pull down his pants. His dick wasn’t impressive, rather average, but for once, this wasn’t about pleasure.

She only wanted a child.

“We’re going to have so much fun.”

Hunger leaned forward to give him a kiss on the forehead. Wet, warm. Tender.

Almost like a mother’s kiss.

——

“Oh, now you don’t think I’m so boring, so repetitive, do you?” Satan grinned from ear to ear, his eyes blazing like twin bonfires. It was funny that he said so himself, but if this thing had a soul, it had been stained black long ago. It was hard to believe this being had ever been an angel. Except for the fact that every angel he had met so far had been an asshole. “To mix things up a bit, how about you try to catch me this time? Otherwise, this nightmare will never end.”

Satan turned and ran.

Sam followed instinctively. As his legs moved, his mouth opened, intending to taunt him. He only had to find the right words. Or not? No, it probably wouldn’t work anyway. He wouldn’t provoke him by insinuating he was a coward for running. It wasn’t a retreat, after all. It was just another way to toy with his prey.

He only had to catch him and end this.

It couldn’t be that hard.

He had to wake up before Pestilence did something to his sisters, before the mansion turned into a bloodbath again, just after it had been restored.

And when he caught him, when he dealt with Pestilence too—because he was perfectly capable of doing so; Michael had only saved him from Hunger because handling War had taken everything out of him—he’d try to figure out what to do about this whole mess.

If there was any way to stop this other than draining the blood from his veins.

Now.

He wasn’t in a hurry to die.

“Son of a bitch,” Sam muttered, running after him through the smoke, flames, and shadows slithering everywhere like living things. “The only thing you’d need to do to get my cooperation is to guarantee Christina and Violet’s survival—and, more importantly, their faith and loyalty to me—and also return my body in the end.”

——

Christina and her sister suddenly stopped, hiding behind a wall. They knew that thing wasn’t far. That thing couldn’t even speak, only emit guttural growls. Or maybe it was a language, just not a human one.

“What the hell do we do? What can we do?” Violet muttered.

“Shut up. That thing has so many eyes, I wouldn’t be surprised if it has extra ears too.”

“Good point.”

None of their attacks had worked. So they had been forced to flee the dining room.

Christina hadn’t wanted to leave her brother behind, but the creature had followed them instead of going after him. Whatever it was, whatever it was here for, it seemed that Sam wasn’t the primary target this time.

It was comforting, really.

Though it also meant that death was relentlessly approaching down the hallway, as if it could detect their presence, simply see them through the walls. Seriously. At least she knew he was safe. Some servants had succumbed to whatever had happened there; she and Violet were still affected, struggling to breathe, on the verge of fainting. But Sam was special. Sam was Satan’s son, not a mere mortal.

So he had to be fine.

——

Hunger moved her panties aside and impaled herself on Satan’s brat’s cock.

A triumphant cry escaped her throat. Not for sexual pleasure, nor simply for the gratifying sensation of being filled. Unconscious, practically comatose, Samuel Wright was no threat. She could get away with it, planting his seed deep inside her fertile womb. A new form of life would be born.

The offspring of a Horseman and the Devil’s son—the Antichrist.

What would it look like? What would it unleash upon the world? She didn’t have answers to those questions. All she had was the need—the painful longing—to see it through.

She needed that being to be born into this world.

Nothing else.

No grand plan. No plan at all.

She didn’t care if she died the next second.

With her insatiable Hunger gradually being sated, she began to move, roaring triumphantly.

——

Sam suddenly felt something strange.

The chase stopped. He did what he could to prevent it, but he couldn’t stop his body from failing him. He fell to his knees. Suddenly, he felt sick.

Sam swallowed his own vomit, sensing that throwing up would weaken him—cost him something beyond the normal. What the hell was happening to him now? As always, hadn’t he just gotten out of one mess only to plunge into another? But what was happening specifically this time?

It was tempting to blame the strange sensation on something in this illusory place—a consequence of breaking a “rule” he hadn’t known until now, perhaps—but his instinct once again guided him in the right direction. He lifted his head, meeting Satan’s gaze as the demon suddenly stopped to look at him. He knew.

He knew even before Satan declared it with much glee, licking his lips.

“Pestilence isn’t the only one in the mansion. Hunger, she…”

——

Sam returned to reality suddenly, like emerging from darkness, like a drowning man bringing his head above the surface. Brief as the relief was, the sensation of air filling his lungs again was intense and painful.

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He saw the symbol of one of the worst possible situations right in front of him upon awakening. Certainly, he could think of few things worse to see. It was Hunger again, who had returned to avenge War.

"Get your hands off me!" he muttered with all the strength he had left. "Get your hands off me, damn you!"

But if Hunger had noticed his awakening, she did a good job pretending she hadn't. She simply continued her movements, her face showing total ecstasy. Her hands pressed against his chest, scratching his clothes and skin. She still hadn't given up on her stupid objective; despite everything, she wanted to dominate him and force him to give her a child.

"I said get your hands off me," somehow Sam managed to shout. But he could barely move; drawing attention was no victory.

"Ah, so you're awake!" said Hunger, and immediately struck him in the head. His head bounced against the wooden table, he saw stars, and then...

Back to hell, to the forge's fire where he had been conceived. No, he wasn't the true antichrist, he was more than human. As weak and vulnerable as all the others, as capable of bleeding, of dying.

*I'm not dead.*

He was supposed to have left human weaknesses behind long ago. If he hadn't been born a demon, at least he could become a true demon.

"Many men and women would pay to receive Hunger's attentions," said Satan, grinning from ear to ear. "How peculiar you are! Just accept what she's doing to you."

"So you know then."

Even in the midst of such profound violation, Sam was able to keep his head more or less clear and put the pieces together.

"War spoke as if you knew what she tried to do to me. You would kill her, or at least punish her deeply. But you know."

"Of course I know, and I don't mind at all. I'm not a good loser, Sammy. I have no intention of giving up on you. I want to make you submit, to make you give me your body. But if I can't, I at least thought I should have a Plan B. And that's where she comes in."

"The baby."

"Right, sure. It's your Plan B out of fear."

"It's not like that."

"I grew at a normal rate. I'm 18 years old. So that thing would grow the same way. And you'd have to wait, right? Until it matured. Like you waited with me. You're afraid of another 18 years trapped in darkness, in the complete lack of freedom of your cage."

"It's not like that."

"Although not even two decades are like a drop of water compared to all the time you've been in there. You can't stand it for even one more second. You can't take even one more."

"Grain of sand."

Satan laughed. It was understandable fear, obviously. But what did it matter? The proud Satan didn't understand it at all. He wouldn't admit weakness. Therefore, it was a weak point, ironically.

"I'm not afraid of anything, boy. That's why I'm not taking the easy path. But think what you want. Soon it might not matter anyway. Come on, let's continue our little game. Catch me if you can, Sammy."

Sam resumed the chase. It's true, this would only end when he got his hands on him. It was something Satan himself had told him. He had plenty of reasons to lie to him, but he had to do something to deal with the situation, to resolve this. And he doubted the answer was to turn around and stop chasing him. He doubted it very much.

He had to try something while struggling to wake up. So he would. He would chase him, get his hands on him, and put an end to this nightmare. Before Hunger could fill her womb with his seed. Before Pestilence could massacre his servants, his sisters.

He would return to the real world and tear them to pieces. He would stop these arrogant ones and put them in their place.

Regardless of his intention, reality remained far away. The faster he ran, the more Satan seemed to increase his pace. Getting further away. It wasn't something he could change.

Were they just his imagination perhaps? No, even if it were true, it must be because that being knew the terrain. It was his home. As for physical capabilities, they should be more or less equal.

He hadn't seen angels do anything special in that respect. And Lucifer was nothing more than that, an angel. Although that had been a very, very long time ago.

Sam was capable of running faster than him, of defeating him physically. He had no doubt. The problem was whether he would achieve it in time. Because not only his life was at stake. Not only that, and that changed everything.

——

An arm, one of many, burst through the wall behind which they were hiding, making a huge hole. It wasn't an awe-inspiring demonstration of strength, never before seen. In fact, she had seen much worse things, but it was still impressive.

Moreover, she still wasn't sure if she had ever felt so vulnerable. Poisoned as she was, still weak, feeling the effects.

Cristina and Violet moved away from what remained of the wall, simply feeling fortunate that the act hadn't left them headless. Fortunately, they had saved themselves by a hair's breadth. But their fortune would last very little. They were already cornered, with nowhere to go, fleeing with their tails between their legs. Even though they didn't want to.

"I know it didn't do shit before," said Cristina, "but at least we have to try, we have to do something."

But she wasn't asking permission from her older sister, or anything like that. Even while speaking, she had been preparing it. A water trap placed on the ceiling, like a thin layer, almost invisible to the naked eye.

She knew because she had placed it there, before the monster had made its way through the wall. And when it passed underneath, she would attack, because it was too strong. Just like with War, their attacks did nothing at all. They hit this thing, but simply didn't affect it.

But Cristina's target wasn't the body of that abomination of hundreds of eyes, of hundreds of legs. Like a walking mass grave, no, her target was something else. The water shot out. At the right moment, the trap was triggered and the large volume of water pushed that monster against the floor. And through it, several layers of floor were pierced.

Cleanly, the monster fell among the debris and clouds of dust, likely unaffected. But at least now they had put a good distance between them. Simply prolonging their lives was a huge victory.

Without thinking twice, Cristina jumped through the holes, intending to cushion her fall with water, ignoring Violet's screams telling her she was crazy. It had occurred to her that now that Pestilence was back on the first floor, maybe it would get bored of chasing them, maybe it would go after her brother. And she couldn't allow that. No matter what happened, even if she had to use herself as bait.

——

Nothing was going as he wanted. No matter how close he got to Satan, how close he thought he was to victory, in the end it was torn from his hands when he returned to the real world, where Hunger was raping him.

He would sink back into that nightmare, of course, but not as quickly as he would have liked. As a consequence, he couldn't get his hands on that son of a bitch, and he couldn't make Hunger take hers off either.

He wasn't making progress on either front, and every time he had an opportunity to deal with Hunger, in fact, it only set him back, making him stop, losing time, when every second counted.

Hunger at least was occupied with him, but Pestilence had to be in the mansion too, somewhere. He had to get out of this soon, or he would go mad.

It wasn't even the physical act that bothered him in itself, but the loss of autonomy, of decision, of control.

He needed control. Everything was about control, in the end.