Sinful Obsession

43. 43 - Asmodeus

43 - Asmodeus

T he portal’s energy courses through me like a dark, relentless tide, filling every inch of my being with power that has been denied for too long. It is a reunion with my true self, the culmination of eons of waiting and watching, and it surges through the air around us, shaping the chaos I’ve longed to unleash.

The horsemen, my allies and instruments of destruction, now radiate with the force of their true selves. Each of them is an embodiment of apocalypse, and I, Asmodeus, stand at the center of this storm, my Lilith by my side.

I can feel her exhilaration, her newfound strength and confidence, as her laughter echoes softly behind me. She is a goddess of destruction, a queen at my side, and the sight of her—eyes glowing with power, lips curled into a dark smile—only fuels the darkness within me.

I turn my gaze to Vito first, the embodiment of Conquest. He strides through the halls of Briarwood with a smug confidence, his every step radiating influence. The guards and staff, once regimented and loyal to their angelic overlords, are now consumed by his power. I watch as their expressions twist, jealousy and rage overtaking reason.

One guard turns on another, screaming accusations of betrayal, and they begin to claw at each other, their fists colliding in blind fury. A nurse nearby, trembling with envy over something as insignificant as a stolen glance, picks up a metal tray and bashes it against her colleague’s head with a scream. Vito’s laughter fills the air, his smirk growing wider as the chaos he sows takes root.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, my voice low and full of approval. “Let them tear each other apart.”

Vito turns to me briefly, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “It’s almost too easy,” he says, his voice dripping with venom. “Humans are always on the brink of destruction. All they need is a push.”

As if to punctuate his point, another wave of discord ripples through the institution. The once-sterile halls are now stained with blood and screams, the pristine white walls splattered with the results of Vito’s influence.

Further down the corridor, Kaua barrels forward like an unstoppable force of nature. War incarnate. His fists collide with walls, desks, and bodies alike, each blow leaving destruction in its wake. The fire in his eyes burns brighter with every step, his grin feral as he revels in the chaos. His movements are raw and unrestrained, each swing of his fists carrying the weight of a thousand battles.

I watch as he grabs an orderly by the throat, lifting him off the ground with ease before slamming him into the floor. The crack of bones reverberates through the air, and Kaua’s laugh follows close behind.

“This place was far too orderly,” he growls, his voice like the rumble of thunder. “Now it feels alive.”

“Alive?” I say, smirking as I approach him. “Or closer to death?”

He meets my gaze, his grin widening, and nods. “Both.”

Nevan’s power, though quieter, is no less devastating. His presence alone is enough to rot everything around him, a creeping hunger that devours life itself. The air grows colder as he passes, and I watch as the food trays left abandoned in the chaos crumble to dust, the flowers in the decorative vases wilting and falling apart. Even the guards who manage to stand against Vito’s influence falter as Nevan approaches, their vitality draining from their bodies.

I catch a glimpse of his expression, a mixture of grim satisfaction and predatory hunger, as he reaches out to touch the corner of a desk. It collapses instantly, the wood turning brittle and disintegrating under his fingers. A guard stumbles toward him, weapon raised, but before the man can get close, he drops to his knees, his face pale and gaunt.

“Starved of life,” Nevan murmurs, his voice a low, haunting whisper. “Everything must wither eventually.”

And then there is Ewan, my Death. He moves with a quiet, deliberate purpose, his touch the final note in this symphony of destruction. Each person he brushes against falls silent, their bodies collapsing with no time for screams or struggle. His steps are unhurried, his expression unreadable, but the aura of death around him is unmistakable.

I watch as he walks through a cluster of guards, his hand outstretched. One by one, they fall, their eyes wide with the realization of their mortality. Their bodies crumble, the life drained from them in an instant, and Ewan steps over them without a glance back.

“You’ve always been efficient,” I say as I catch up to him, my tone laced with admiration.

He doesn’t look at me, his gaze fixed ahead. “It’s not about efficiency,” he says. “It’s about inevitability.”

Lilith watches it all with a dark, radiant joy. Her power hums in the air, blending with the chaos, amplifying it. She is more alive now than I have ever seen her, her confidence unshakable as she surveys the destruction we have wrought.

“This is what freedom feels like,” she says, her voice tinged with exhilaration. “No chains. No gods. Just power.”

I step closer to her, my hand brushing against hers. “This is what you were meant for,” I say. “To stand by my side and burn the world to ash.”

Her smile deepens, and she turns to face me fully, her eyes blazing. “And I will. But first, Briarwood must fall.”

With her words, the energy in the air intensifies. The walls of the institution groan under the weight of the portal’s power, cracks spreading like veins through the building. The chaos within mirrors the destruction outside, the screams of the guards and staff blending into a symphony of annihilation.

This is what I have waited for. What we have all waited for. The end of order. The beginning of chaos. And as I stand here, surrounded by the horsemen and my queen, I feel a satisfaction so profound it borders on ecstasy.

The apocalypse has begun, and there is no turning back.