The Heavenly Demon of Terror

Steam still clung to my skin as I stepped out of the guest room, my black coat flowing behind me. The white shirt clung tightly to my physique, outlining every sculpted muscle—a body that seemed almost divine.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror by the hallway.

"Perfect," I muttered. "A perfect drip. A breathtaking look."

This body, this power—it was no longer Samuel Gebb's.

It was mine.

As I stepped into the living room, I was met with unwelcome company.

Joshua and his parasitic sister, Joanna, sat comfortably, as if they owned the place. Abigail sat on her black shabby chair, watching me, her expression unreadable.

I didn't care.

I didn't even acknowledge them. I just walked toward the exit.

Then, her voice cut through the air.

"Where are you going?"