I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 010

The air in the Cataclysm Block was thick enough to chew—a stagnant soup of rust, unwashed bodies, and the metallic tang of old blood that the scrubbers could never quite remove. It was the deepest circle of the prison system, a concrete tomb buried beneath the earth, reserved for those whom society had not just condemned, but feared.

"You know, thinking back on it, that Landon Reeve isn't really all that much," Rex Dalton, known to the terrified inmates as Mad Tiger, muttered. He was pacing his cell like a caged predator, his voice bouncing off the damp concrete walls. "He gets absolutely dismantled by Ethan Skyler, beaten within an inch of his life, and yet Ethan walks away without a scratch. It just goes to show, Landon’s reputation is mostly smoke and mirrors."

Rex paused, cracking his knuckles. The sound was like pistol shots in the small space. "Just wait a few days. When that bastard gets back from the infirmary, I’m going to pay him a little visit. Ethan Skyler might have sent him to the hospital, but I’m going to send him straight to the Grim Reaper. I think it’s time he sat down for tea with the devil."

In the adjacent darkness, Julian Cross was suspended in mid-air. He hung from the rusted upper bar of the cell door by a single arm, his body a perfect, motionless line. He didn't sway. He didn't struggle. He simply hung there, defying gravity, his other hand resting casually behind his back. The sweat on his torso gleamed in the flickering sodium light, tracing hard ridges of muscle that looked carved from granite.

"Prisons like this," Julian said, his voice calm and even, showing zero strain, "are deceptively simple equations. The men in the Confinement Death Ward are the worst of the worst. Desperadoes. Psychopaths. They are wild, untamable animals. But animals understand one thing above all else: hierarchy."

He pulled himself up slowly—a controlled ascent that screamed of latent power—until his chin cleared the bar, then lowered himself just as slowly. "They worship strength. It is the only religion left in a place like this. As long as you dominate them—physically, mentally, spiritually—they will submit. Fear is the currency here, Rex. You just have to be the richest man in the room."

"Heh." Rex stopped pacing and leaned against the cold bars. "Well, that fight the other morning certainly put the fear of God into them. I saw the way they looked at you in the yard. Like you were a ghost." He narrowed his eyes, a glint of cunning flashing through his brutish demeanor. "But I don’t like fence-sitters. Fear fades. We need loyalty. We need a few soldiers who will bleed for us."

Rex lowered his voice, glancing toward the shadows that shrouded Julian. "Boss… speaking of that fight. Level with me. How much of your actual strength did you use? Really?"

Julian paused at the bottom of his rep. He dropped from the bar, landing silently on the concrete floor like a cat. He picked up a rag and wiped the sweat from his neck, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on his lips.

"Seventy percent," Julian said softly.

Rex’s jaw dropped slightly. He let out a low whistle and shrugged, his massive trapezius muscles bunching up. "Boss is Boss. I used… about eighty percent. And I was winded."

The conversation was cut short by the jarring, mechanical clank of heavy tumblers shifting.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

The sound echoed down the corridor, growing louder. It wasn't the rhythmic patrol of the night shift. This was purposeful. Moments later, four correctional officers appeared in the dim light outside Julian’s cell. Usually, the guards in this sector wielded their batons with impunity, treating inmates like livestock. But today, their posture was different. Hesitant. Almost respectful.

"Mr. Cross," the lead officer said, his voice lacking its usual abrasive edge. He cleared his throat nervously. "You… you have a visitor."

A visitor?

Julian stood motionless, his towel draped over his shoulder. This was a black-site facility. A holding pen for the condemned. Inmates here had been erased from the public record. No one was supposed to know this place existed, let alone know that he was here.

"Who is it?" Julian asked, his voice low.

"It’s a young woman," the officer replied, glancing at his colleagues. "She says her name is Victoria Vance."

The name hit Julian harder than any punch Ethan Skyler could have thrown.

He stood frozen, his stoic mask cracking just a fraction. A bitter, melancholic smile touched his lips. That stubborn girl. Even after he had destroyed his own life and cast himself into the abyss, she hadn't given up.

The pieces of the puzzle suddenly clicked into place. He had been wondering why he hadn't been executed immediately. He had killed, publicly and brutally. The law demanded blood. But he was still breathing. It had to be her. Or rather, it had to be her grandfather, General Vance, the Chief of Staff of the Regional Military Command. Only a man with that kind of terrifying influence could stall the hand of the justice system.

But what was the point? He was a dead man walking. The boy she had known at Harborview High School was dead. Seeing her would only reopen wounds that were just beginning to scar over.

"I won't see her," Julian said, turning his back to the door. "Tell her I’m not here. Tell her I’m dead. I don't care. Just tell her to go."

The correctional officers exchanged panicked glances. "Uh, Mr. Cross…" the lead officer stammered. "Please. You have to go. We are begging you."

Julian glanced over his shoulder.

"That girl… she’s not just anyone," the officer whispered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "She told us that if you didn't come out to see her, she’d make sure we were all stripped of our uniforms and thrown into the Death Ward alongside the inmates. She… she wasn't bluffing. Please, sir."

Julian let out a long, weary sigh. That sounded exactly like Victoria. Even in her grief, she wielded her family’s power like a blunt instrument.

"Fine," Julian said. "I’ll do it. If only to make her give up on me once and for all."

Because the Confinement Death Ward was never designed for social calls, the administration had hastily commandeered the Correctional Captain’s private office. The walk there was a surreal procession; chains rattled, but the guards kept a respectful distance, treating Julian more like a VIP than a prisoner.

When the heavy steel door creaked open, Julian saw her.

Victoria Vance was sitting at a mahogany guest table, staring blankly at a cup of tea. She was dressed in black, a stark contrast to the sterile gray of the prison office. Behind her stood four military-grade bodyguards—men carved from the same stone as special forces.

Victoria looked devastated. The vibrant, fiery arrogance that had defined her at Harborview High School was gone, replaced by a haunting, fragile sorrow. Back at school, she and Eliza Bennett had been the "Two Goddesses"—Eliza the ethereal beauty, Victoria the commanding aristocrat. Fate, however, had a cruel sense of humor. Both had fallen for Julian Cross. Julian chose Eliza. Now Eliza was gone, and he was here.

"Ahem." Julian coughed softly.

Victoria’s slender shoulders trembled. She lifted her head slowly. When her eyes met his—taking in the prison uniform, the shackles, the hollowness in his face—her resolve shattered. Tears streamed down her cheeks, ruining her makeup, but she refused to look away.

"You…" Her voice was a choked whisper. "Why are you hurt? Did someone hit you? Is someone bullying you in here?"

Behind Julian, the correctional officers nearly collapsed. Bullying him? The man who terrified the entire block?

"No," Julian lied smoothly. "I pulled a muscle exercising. It’s nothing."

Victoria looked at him with a complex mixture of love, anger, and pity. She waved her hand dismissively at the guards. "Get out. All of you."

The prison guards hesitated, but the four military bodyguards didn't wait. They stepped forward, grabbed the guards, and unceremoniously dragged them into the hallway. The door slammed shut.

"Why?" Victoria asked again, her voice trembling.

Julian leaned back, shackles clinking. "Why what? You always ask 'why.' You’re still like a child, Victoria. Always looking for reasons where there aren't any."

"I am a child?" Victoria’s voice rose, sharp with emotion. "And what you did—was that the act of an adult? You should have come to me! You knew who my grandfather is. We could have destroyed Logan Hayes legally! We would have gotten revenge!"

"I didn't want your help," Julian said coldly. "This was my burden. I needed to solve it myself. I needed blood for blood."

Slap!

The sound echoed through the office. Victoria had lunged across the table, striking him across the face. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of Julian’s mouth. He didn't flinch.

"Do you have any idea how much pain you’ve caused?" she screamed. "Your parents are hiding in the dark, terrified! Your teachers have resigned in shame! Julian, you are eighteen years old! How could you be so impulsive? So incredibly selfish?"

Julian slowly lowered his head. The words cut deep. He knew.

Seeing his head drop, Victoria’s anger evaporated, replaced by crushing heartache. She knew the agony he was in. The death of Eliza Bennett—the love of his life—had shattered his sanity. She reached out, trembling fingers gently wiping the blood from his mouth.

"Do you think this is what Eliza wanted?" she whispered. "Her only wish was for you to be happy. Do you think her spirit is at peace watching you rot in a death row cell? People are blaming her now. They say it’s her fault you became a monster. You’re not honoring her memory, Julian. You’re tormenting her soul."

Victoria moved around the table and wrapped her arms around him from behind, burying her face in his neck. "Eliza is gone," she sobbed. "But I’m still here. I love you, Julian. I love you just as much as she did. Maybe more. Please… stop this destruction."

Julian stared up at the ceiling. "It doesn't matter what you say," he said, his voice hollow. "I don't regret it. I will never regret killing them. Besides… it’s too late. The gavel has fallen."

Victoria pulled back, grabbing his face with both hands. Her eyes burned with fierce determination.

"It is not too late," she said firmly. "My grandfather has already handled the families. They’ve been silenced. You’ve been sentenced to death with a two-year reprieve, but my grandfather sent you to this specific facility for a reason." She lowered her voice. "If you survive in here… Grandfather says it will take a year. Maybe less. He’s going to get you out."

Julian stared at her. "Get me out? From the Confinement Death Ward? That’s impossible."

"I am waiting for you," Victoria said. "I will be outside waiting. Every single day."

Julian looked at the hope radiating from her face. For the first time in months, he felt a flicker of something other than rage. He laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "Thank you, Victoria. Truly. But… what then? I crossed a line. I’m not a civilian anymore. I’m a wolf. I can’t go back to being a sheep."

Victoria wiped her tears. Suddenly, her sadness evaporated, replaced by a dazzling, conspiratorial smile.

"I have arranged everything," she whispered. "I know you, Julian. You aren't made for a quiet life. And I promise you… you’re going to like what comes next."

She leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. "My grandfather told me to give you a message. Just one word. 'Empire'. Influence. Territory. Authority. Remember that word."

Her face flushed crimson as she whispered even softer, "He also said… if you can achieve the results he wants… if you prove you have what it takes… he will give his blessing. He will let me marry you."

Before Julian could react, she pressed her lips to his—a quick, desperate kiss tasting of salt and promise.

Victoria pulled back, her face burning but her gaze steady. "I know I’m not her," she said softly. "And I know you still have Eliza in your heart. But I’m willing to wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes."