I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 016

While Nathan Black and his fellow conspirators were busy playing their game of thrones, weaving a web of "coalitions" to secure their survival, Julian Cross and his men were far from idle.

Up in the sealed confines of the Cataclysm Block, the air was thick with the scent of cheap tobacco and strategic planning. Julian, anticipating the shifting tides of the prison's political landscape, had gathered his seventeen core disciples for a war council. He knew exactly how the minds of men like Lucas Bright worked. He knew they would band together. A lone tiger might be fearsome, but a pack of wolves could drag anything down.

And the wolves smelled blood.

Julian looked over at Rex Dalton. The Mad Tiger was sprawled on a bunk, looking deceptively relaxed. But Julian knew the truth. Rex was hurt. The claw strike Julian had delivered during their initial confrontation had torn deep into muscle and bone. Even with Rex’s monstrous constitution, full recovery would take three months.

But they didn't have three months. They had two weeks.

If Rex—a creature of pure instinct and aggression—were forced to stay caged in a makeshift infirmary for another month, his spirit would break. A tiger without its wildness is just a big cat. So, Julian had agreed to Rex’s proposal: fight now, heal later. In two weeks, Rex could probably drag himself to eighty or ninety percent capacity. That would have to be enough.

The topic of the meeting wasn't if they would win. It was how to win without bleeding out.

"Jackson," Julian said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Aside from Marcus, who is staying here to heal, I want the rest of you sixteen to fan out. Go to the third and fourth floors. You have two weeks to recruit. I need seventy-one men to fill our roster for the Hundred-Man War."

He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "But let me be clear. I don't want just muscle. Any i***t can swing a shank. I want loyalty. That is the primary currency of the Shadow Eagle Clan. Tell them this: The Eagle promises that if they survive the battle, and if they bring me five enemy heads, they earn a permanent spot in the Clan. And as a bonus…"

Julian paused, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. "Tell them I will give them a reward beyond their wildest imagination."

Marcus Grady, his arm in a sling, raised an eyebrow. "Beyond imagination? Heh, Boss, unless you can conjure up a few Victoria’s Secret models, I don't know what that means. Some of these guys haven't seen a woman in five years. If you promised them that, their combat power would triple overnight."

Julian chuckled softly. "Models? No. Something better. If they prove they have the strength and the heart to join us, I will give them anything they desire. Including… freedom. True freedom."

The room went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.

The seventeen men stared at Julian, their mouths slightly agape. For a full minute, no one spoke. The word "freedom" in the Confinement Death Ward was a taboo, a myth, a ghost story. This was a black site. You left in a body bag or not at all.

"Freedom?" Marcus whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

Julian nodded. "The prerequisite is simple: they must become full members of the Shadow Eagle Clan."

Another silence followed, heavier this time. Then, realization dawned on them like a sunrise. Rex Dalton’s eyes widened. Jackson Hayes clenched his fist. They looked at Julian with a mixture of disbelief and absolute, fanatical devotion.

Freedom? Leave this tomb?

Julian cleared his throat. "Just tell them I will give them an unimaginable gift. That is enough. When the time is right, I will lead you all out of here safely. But until then, this conversation never happened. This is my first promise to you as your leader."

The reaction was instantaneous.

The sixteen men, along with Marcus, dropped to one knee. The sound of their knees hitting the concrete was a singular thud.

"We swear!" they roared in unison, their voices shaking with emotion. "We will follow The Eagle to the death! In this life and the next, we will never betray you!"

"Stand up," Julian said gently. "We haven't won anything yet. The mission now is victory. A clean, decisive victory."

Marcus stood up, grinning like a maniac despite his injury. "Don't worry, Boss. Even if it was just us seventeen, we could s*******r those trash. As for Silas Carter, Rex can handle him. Even if they team up, you can just wave your hand and crush them, right?"

Julian shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Arrogance kills, Marcus. What if Ethan Skyler and Brandon join them? Do you think I can just 'wave my hand' and crush four champions at once?"

Marcus scratched his head. "Uh… well… you could use your feet too?"

Jackson Hayes shoved him playfully. "Shut up, Fox. Quit joking. If they form a grand coalition, we need a strategy. If we go in blind, we’ll get flanked and overwhelmed."

Rex Dalton, unusually thoughtful, spoke up. "Eagle, I think the battle hinges on decapitation. If we take out their leaders—Lucas, Silas, whoever else jumps in—the rest of the hundred men will crumble. The problem is, we don't know exactly who we’re fighting yet."

Dante Romero(nicknamed "Short Blade"), stepped forward. He was a quiet, lethal man who specialized in knives. "Eagle, does it matter? No matter what strategy they use, you and Rex will be their primary targets. But with your combined strength, you can easily hold off five men of Silas’s caliber. We can handle the rest. Five minutes. That’s all we need to wipe out their elites."

Rex shook his head. Despite his nickname, the Mad Tiger wasn't stupid. His martial philosophy was "Plan first, move second."

"No," Rex growled. "We need a foolproof plan. Let me be blunt: on the day of the war, you seventeen are supporting actors. Nothing more."

Marcus blinked. "What? Supporting actors? Why?"

"Because," Rex said, his voice hard, "we have already seen your value. You are the foundation of the Shadow Eagle Clan. You are The Eagle’s praetorian guard. We cannot afford to lose a single one of you. Light injuries are permitted. Serious injuries are f*******n. Death is absolutely unacceptable. On the battlefield, each of you is allowed to kill a maximum of two enemies. If anyone kills a third, they are out of the clan. Is that clear?"

Jackson and the others took a deep breath, their chests swelling with pride. They understood. They were being protected because they were valued.

"Understood!"

Julian nodded. "On the day of the fight, the spotlight will be on the new recruits. I need to filter them again, find the diamonds in the rough. As for the battle itself… Rex is right. He and I will be the lightning rods. Every heavy hitter they have will be gunning for us. We need to figure out how to disrupt their targeting."

Dante shrugged. "That’s tough. Unless they all turn blind, or unless you two stay in the locker room."

Marcus suddenly straightened up, his eyes lighting up. He snapped his fingers.

"Wait! Boss, I have an idea."

"Oh?" Julian looked at him. "Let’s hear it."

Marcus grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I know a guy. His name is Dixon Jace. Wait, no, not Elias… I mean the other guy. The one with one eye. Shiv."

Jackson Hayes frowned, searching his memory. "You mean that creepy guy you saved last year? The one who never talks?"

"Yeah, him," Marcus nodded.

"I remember him," Jackson grunted. "Cyclops. Gloomy bastard. Looking at him makes my skin crawl."

"He might be gloomy," Marcus said, "but he has a talent. A unique skill that nobody else knows about. And it might be the key to winning this war."

"Spit it out," Elias (the other one, Ghost Hand) said impatiently. "What skill?"

"Prosthetics," Marcus whispered. "Or more accurately, the art of disguise."

"Disguise?" Rex Dalton’s interest was piqued. "How good is he?"

"I don't know the limits," Marcus admitted. "But he told me once that his skills surpassed his master’s. He can change a person’s appearance almost completely. Here’s my plan: we get him to make me look like The Eagle! We switch places."

Marcus began to pantomime the battlefield. "Think about it. I go out there dressed as the Boss. I act like the bait. I draw all their heavy hitters—Silas, Adrian, whoever—toward me. While they are focused on swarming 'The Eagle,' the real Julian—disguised as a regular grunt—moves in from the flank. He hunts them down one by one. Chaos! Panic! With The Eagle’s strength and the element of surprise, taking out a guy like Silas would be child’s play, right?"

"Yes!" Rex slammed his fist into his palm. "That is brilliant! If we can lure their vanguard away, Julian can assassinate their command structure before they even realize what’s happening."

Julian looked at Marcus, a thoughtful expression on his face. Slowly, a frown creased his forehead.

"You want to impersonate me?" Julian asked quietly. "If they have two or more fighters on Silas’s level, do you really think you can last ten moves without being killed?"

Marcus laughed, puffing out his chest. "Come on, Boss! Have some faith. If it’s two Silas-level guys? Thirty moves. I guarantee it. No problem."

"And after thirty moves?" Julian pressed.

"Heh," Marcus grinned. "After thirty moves, it won't be my problem anymore. By then, you will have already slaughtered them, right? Besides… I’m the Undying Fox. I don't die."

Rex roared with laughter, slapping Marcus on the back hard enough to make him wince. "Good! Good! I like this kid! Hahaha!"

Julian sighed, shaking his head with a mixture of exasperation and affection. "Fine. We’ll do it your way. But remember the rule: safety first. If it gets too hot, drop the act."

"Sir! Yes, sir!" Marcus saluted, his face beaming.

The plan was set. The stage was being built. And the Shadow Eagle Clan was ready to put on a show that the East Wing would never forget.