Chapter 92: _ The Devil’s Visit
I was finally heading back home after dealing with Clara’s messy little situation. The burn in the air from her body turning to ash still remained faintly in my nostrils like a sweet reminder of how easily I could dispose of things that no longer served me.
Not that I felt particularly proud about it—after all, the real work wasn’t about killing. The real work was in the planning, the anticipation, the control.
Yet, as I approached the small, pathetic house in the backyard of the packhouse, something felt... off. The wretched house seemed to cower under the weight of the world, and that’s when I felt it.
The air changed and thickened, making it seem like the very atmosphere was aware of something far more dangerous than me. A sudden chill crawled up my spine; the kind that makes you freeze in place, even as your mind tells you to run.
The aura was too gripping, powerful, and completely... dark.
I stepped inside, my boots scraping against the rotting floorboards, only to be greeted by an almost suffocating presence. He was there. I didn’t even need to look for him. His dark and smooth aura like the blackest of velvet, was impossible to miss.
The devil.
He sat there, in my chair, like it was his own throne, radiating an effortless, terrifying calmness. His beauty was the kind that made the world feel small in comparison; a face too perfect with eyes as deep and infinite as the night sky.
His features were well defined, angular—like they were designed to both seduce and kill. And that was exactly what he did, in a way that was far too subtle to catch on until it was too late.
He was dangerous in a way that didn’t require loud explosions or enraged roars. He was quiet, almost eerily so.
His gaze slid to me, and I immediately felt the air tighten like a noose around my throat.