The Heavenly Demon of Terror

The world was spinning.

Not from the wounds—I was used to pain.

Not from the blood loss—I had survived worse.

But from the memories.

Samuel's memories.

Painful, suffocating, and cruel—like chains I never asked for.

I took another long swig from the Jack Daniels bottle, the burn in my throat a welcome distraction.

"Damn it... why now?" I muttered, stumbling forward.

The villa's lights were dim, shadows stretching long across the walls as I dragged my half-dead body inside.

Blood trailed behind me, a silent witness to the battle I had just endured.

I barely made it to the couch, collapsing onto it with a heavy sigh.