Chapter 96: Nightmare, Part 8

Then he realized it. He lifted his head and almost wished he hadn’t. There were legs, like those of a massive centipede, crawling out of the shadows. It gave the impression that it had once been a single entity, like the voice that had reached his ears.

"It's on the ceiling!" Sam shouted the warning.

The soldiers prepared themselves, some raising their weapons, others beginning to chant their spells. Some started forming incantations. Without hesitation. Or maybe both.

Because, as he’d heard, most of Her Majesty's army were knights and mages simultaneously. Experienced first-class mages. Mages who shouldn’t back down before anyone.

And yet...

“What the hell is that?”

A pale face emerged from the darkness, floating in the void. It was Hunger’s face. Just the face. The rest of the body wasn’t visible—not even the neck. The head spun 180 degrees, smiling. The smile was like a bleeding, festering cut. It was a creature, not a human being.

He had known that from the start, but the same went for himself. And yet, he wasn’t as unnatural as that bitch. Sam wasn’t exactly afraid, but it annoyed him. It annoyed him not to understand what was happening, to have no choice but to retreat, using the wall of soldiers—cannon fodder—to shield his withdrawal.

He shoved Christina back too, though the foolish girl resisted. Maybe out of fear, or maybe because she didn’t care what was happening. She had come here with a mission. It didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, the result was inconvenient.

“For fuck’s sake, just go up the ladder! Don’t choose now to start disobeying me.”

Christina shot a venomous glare at the spectral face but turned and climbed the ladder with Violet's help. Violet had unfolded the ladder to begin with—after all, they had all jumped down earlier.

Hunger laughed. Its laughter rang through the fetid darkness of the basement with the clarity of a bell.

“Let her go, let her go. It doesn’t matter. She can’t escape me or hide. The end is here, Samuel. The end of everything, at the hands of your own son.”

“That bastard isn’t my son—or anyone’s. Just a tool, isn’t that right?”

“We are all tools.”

“Yeah, sure. Spare me.”

Hunger laughed again.

“Your heart is as empty as the void between the stars, Samuel. And to think you had so, so many years to grow among humans. Don’t you ever wonder why?” Hunger laughed again. It was really starting to piss him off.

“No,” he replied simply.

If he were the real Sam, he supposed he’d actually be wondering. But being who he was, he knew the truth: there was no explanation. He had always been the same person. This world had simply given him the chance to unleash his worst impulses. And, conveniently, on very easy prey.

Hunger laughed again.

“Whatever you say, Samuel. Whatever you say.”

“Soon I’ll wipe that smile off your face, you miserable bitch.”

While they continued this back-and-forth, the soldiers had already begun attacking. But it was barely worth mentioning. It couldn’t be called a battle. Every strike, every slash, every spell of various kinds—all of them hit the centipede legs, so to speak. And they tore off significant chunks of flesh. But it didn’t matter. Because the very next moment, as if it had been nothing more than an optical illusion, it was all there again. Regenerated. Perfect. Whole.

This wasn’t a battle. It was nothing more than background noise to their conversation.

“If things were truly in your favor, Hunger, the fight would already be over. But you haven’t delivered the baby yet, have you? You haven’t brought that disgusting, wretched abomination into this world, have you?”

“That’s true.”

He was surprised by how easily she admitted it.

“It’s true, very true, but it won’t be long. And you’re not going to find the real me. Especially not if you keep wasting time here with this nonsense.”

Hunger laughed one last time before the spectral face vanished into the darkness without a trace. The segment of the centipede’s body remained. Maybe because no one cared. Maybe because it hadn’t been real to begin with.

Or maybe it just wanted to waste his time to ensure it could give birth.

Sam gritted his teeth. He was tired of all this. He wanted to focus on—well—sitting on the throne, ruling, giving orders, and making sure some idiot did the dirty work for him. Someone else could deal with all the fighting and exhaustion that overwhelmed and suffocated him, leaving him no peace.

Sam moved ahead of the queen’s soldiers. No, his soldiers.

“That’s enough. Fall in behind me.”

They obeyed quickly, without needing the queen to bark at them. Small victories.

Sam unleashed his ice powers, covering the basement in the blink of an eye. The substance, almost crystalline in appearance, a blindingly bright blue, illuminated the darkness of the basement. And revealed that, indeed, there was nothing there. What could be seen of the thing resembling a centipede was all there was—at least here and now. Nothing more than an illusion.

Maybe. Or a part of a body stretching from a very distant place. A fragment of some mysterious creature.

Either way, it was the same. Not a threat. Nothing worth spending time, energy, or magic on.

Sam turned his back on the supposed creature and made his way out of the damned basement, now turned into a kind of crystalline cavern. A somewhat beautiful place. The soldiers obediently followed him out, though a few clumsy ones struggled with all the ice scattered around.

“What the hell are we doing?” Sam nearly shouted, his frustration boiling over. “Where the fuck do we look now?” He fixed his gaze on the queen. “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s still here?”

“It has to be,” the queen replied slowly, as if afraid of making a mistake. “It… well, it spoke to you, after all. There’s no way it could do that from miles away or something. It must be here.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Yeah. Besides, if it wanted to leave, it’s had days to do so and try to lose us.”

At least that much was true.

They might have been screwed with the time limit closing in, but at least they knew the prize was there, within reach. It was right there. An attainable goal, not some pointless, impossible objective. Not a mockery. Not cruelty.

“I think I know where it is,” Violet said, surprisingly.

“Then spit it out,” Sam demanded. “What are you waiting for?”

“Don’t take that tone with me. I said I think—just think. I’m not sure.”

“Say it anyway. It’s worth trying. Time’s running out.”

“Fine. I think… well, I think it’s in the chapel.”

“The chapel?” Anabela repeated.

“Yes. I mean, it’s basically a demon, isn’t it? Impregnated with the seed of a good man. A damn demon that’s committed a massacre and mocks us every chance it gets. Why wouldn’t it…?”

“Oh, I see. Giving birth at the altar would be the ultimate blasphemy.” Anabela crossed her arms. “Now it makes sense. Now I understand why it hasn’t left.”

Sam wasn’t sure it was that simple, but frankly, he didn’t care.

“Then let’s go check it out.”

The good news was that Violet was right.

The bad news was that they were too late.

The baby’s head was already emerging from her cunt. She was, in fact, on the altar, legs spread wide, wearing nothing but a semi-transparent white dress.

It looked like a perfectly normal baby’s head. They’d expected some obvious monstrosity, but it didn’t matter. For all intents and purposes, it was the same. The baby was monstrous simply because of the way it had been made. The fact that it was an abomination supposedly destined to destroy the world was almost secondary.

Sam and the others moved forward but didn’t get far. A hundred feet emerged from the shadows, coiling around their legs and pulling them down. Sam wasn’t knocked over, and he wasn’t the only one. Even so, it was a nuisance—and unsettling—that they’d come from their own shadows.

Sam gritted his teeth. The fat lady was about to sing the final act, and that bastard Miguel was nowhere to be found. Where the hell was he? He’d made so many promises and threats, but when it came down to it, he wasn’t going to show up. Unbelievable.

Sure, he’d ensured Anabela’s help, which was the only reason they’d found Hunger eventually. But now, was that what really mattered? Damn it, this spawn was supposed to kick off the apocalypse. What else could that winged slut be doing? What could possibly be more important?

“Oh, Sammy, Sammy,” said Hunger. “There are some things that can’t be stopped, whose gears have been in motion since long before Albion was anything more than a patch of land inhabited by savage tribes in loincloths. There are some things that simply must happen, Sammy.”

“Destiny is a fucking lie. If you want to be its whore, then go ahead and spread your legs even wider,” he said, summoning an ice sword to shatter the giant centipede wrapped around his legs. “But I’ll write my own destiny. I didn’t come into this world to let anyone control me. Never again. Never again.”

Like a wild animal, he lunged toward the altar. Once more, he became the eye of an ice storm, a storm as fierce as the flames of hell. But he didn’t reach the altar. Just as he was about to leap and close the remaining distance, something happened, and he collapsed on the stairs. He barely managed to hold onto the sword. Barely. Something had happened.

All the chapel windows shattered. Glass rained everywhere, a potentially lethal storm. A few shards struck his back; he felt one slice into his lower back. He gritted his teeth, roaring, gathering his strength, trying to stand. Slowly, he managed it, first bracing himself on the stairs, then on one of those candle stands—whatever they were called.

He looked Hunger in the eyes. The child’s head was already emerging from her damn body. It had no eyes, just caverns filled with writhing worms. But it was undoubtedly alive. And then Sam understood everything: the centipedes, the windows… It wasn’t that Hunger was giving it her all at the end, unleashing some hidden powers. It had been the child from the very beginning. Even before leaving the womb, it was causing trouble.

He raised the sword.

“It’s inevitable, Sammy. Inevitable.”

Sam swung the sword with all his might.

The abomination’s head twisted upright and looked at him. It didn’t matter that it had no eyes; it was clearly looking at him. He felt it like a dagger sliding between his ribs. And then, even though he was so close that it should have been impossible, the attack missed.

The sword buried itself between Hunger’s legs, into the stone of the altar, far from the abomination. Then Sam shattered the ice sword, hoping the deadly shards would do the job. But, impossibly, the fragments of shattered ice flew backward, away from the abomination. Every last one of them.

Sam felt a chill. That creature hadn’t even been born yet. Fucking hell. And yet, it wouldn’t be long now. Hunger was in the final stages of labor, the last pushes.

He didn’t know what would happen once the abomination emerged, but there wasn’t much time left. Surely, the remaining time was measured in seconds, not minutes.

Hunger’s screams, her body wracked with labor pains, rose above even the infernal cacophony engulfing the chapel.

Sensing something, Violet came for him, practically leaping onto him. But once again, there wasn’t enough time. Violet’s right arm was torn off from wrist to elbow.

Thrown back, flung like a sack of trash through a broken window, she hit the ground, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Her mind went blank, but not for long.

Sam remembered the day of the massacre. What he’d done to Detective Adams. That bastard had tried to kill him in the chapel, realizing too late what was happening. But Sam had struck back, throwing him out a window.

Like now.

But this time, the situation was different. Sam had grown, had changed, yet the sense of defeat felt familiar.

He stood and re-entered the chapel, staggering, jumping through the broken window. His legs buckled. He found Violet lying in a pool of her own blood, staring at what was left of her arm.

Giant centipedes emerged from the room’s shadows—not just those cast by the people present but from anything: pillars, seats… it didn’t matter.

This was a scene from a very different hell than the one he’d come from.

Sam gritted his teeth, hating every second of this nightmare. He armed himself with two ice swords and began to conjure a storm behind him. Step by step, he advanced toward the altar, toward the little abomination that was already halfway out of Hunger’s body.

It was like pushing against an invisible force. He wasn’t sure if it was just his injuries or if something truly was pressing down on him. Either way, the result was the same.

Weakness whispered to him. Told him he’d done enough. That he could lower his head and drop his weapons. He’d gotten further than anyone had expected, especially Satan.

But no one could truly defy the destiny woven by the Morning Star.

Sam stumbled. He had to grab onto a balcony to stay upright… barely. He kept dragging himself forward, leaving a trail of blood on the wood.

Lucifer had been there since the dawn of time. At first, guiding humanity with his light toward tomorrow, toward a future full of infinite possibilities. And then, dragging them into hell.

It didn’t matter.

But… what had made him think he could defy that blinding guiding light?

He, a mere human.

He straightened.

No.

A god.

A god of hellfire. The one true god.

Christina threw herself over Violet, shielding her with her body, pushing her back to relative safety. Of course, she did it out of desperation. It was a relatively grave wound. And she was afraid. Like everyone else. Like himself.

Sam ignored it. Ignored both of them, walking past toward the altar. Toward the end of all this.

Hunger seemed to care about nothing anymore. When he tried to kill her with the ice sword, the creature didn’t even resist. She’d left everything in the abomination’s hands. Up to now, every one of his ice spears, fired with great speed and precision, had missed. For no reason. He’d missed at close range, so painfully close… so there was no reason to think he’d hit from a distance, to begin with.

But he had to try. Before it was all over. Before there was no turning back.

Hunger wouldn’t resist. She would just stay there, legs open, waiting to finish her work. That was it. This was his only chance, and he had to take it.

There was no point in being a god or a king if all that was left to rule was a kingdom of ashes. After all, the apocalypse was terrible for business.

Gut-wrenching crunches. Crunches like a glass panel splitting into a thousand pieces. That was Hunger’s own body.

Apparently, her cunt wasn’t big enough because her body was beginning to break apart from the stomach grotesque but unreal way. Or perhaps unreal precisely because it was too grotesque. It looked more like a scene from a gore film than something happening right in front of his eyes. It was enough to make him vomit.

Sam got close. He swung both swords. The result didn’t surprise him at all.

That is, the fact that the swords exploded.

But when the ice began to reform, quickly sealing his legs and slowly creeping up his chest like a living creature, like a slithering serpent stealing his life away, that’s when he truly started to panic.

As if that wasn’t enough, he was beginning to lose control of the icy blizzard. Not only were the spears missing their mark, but they were resisting him. He could feel it, and he didn’t doubt it for a second.

I need control, he thought.

Being one of the most powerful beings in this world was useless if he lost control.