I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 020

While Rex Dalton panted heavily, his breath pluming in the cold, stagnant air like smoke from a dying engine, he stared down at the broken corpse of Brandon.

The so-called "Mountain" of Terra Block had crumbled, reduced to a heap of shattered bone and bruised flesh. Rex let out a low, savage laugh that scraped against the terrified silence of the room—a sound devoid of humanity, vibrating with the thrill of the kill.

But while the Mad Tiger basked in his gory triumph, another, even more desperate battle was raging in the Aether Block. This was the domain of the strongest warlord in the East Wing, Ethan Skyler, and the air here crackled with a different kind of intensity—high-speed, lethal, and precise.

Ethan roared, the sound tearing from his throat like a shockwave. He launched a thunderous right straight aimed directly at Julian Cross’s temple. It was a punch backed by years of elite military training, a piston-like strike that carried the weight of his reputation and his survival. The blow cut through the air with a terrifying whistle, capable of crushing bone and ending a life in a single, violent millisecond.

Julian didn't dodge. He didn't even blink.

He moved his hands in a blur, a ghost-like intercept that defied the eye. Smack. He pressed his palms together, trapping the incoming fist in a vice-like grip that halted the kinetic energy instantly.

With a sharp exhale—hiss—he clamped down on Ethan’s forearm, his fingers digging into the tendons. He twisted violently, applying a shearing force that went against the grain of the muscle, threatening to spiral the bones into splinters and tear the ligaments from their moorings.

RIP.

It wasn't just a bruise. Two large chunks of flesh were literally torn from Ethan’s arm by the sheer friction and torque of Julian’s grip.

"ARGH!"

Ethan let out a high-pitched scream, stumbling back. Desperate to create distance, he lashed out with his left hand, aiming a claw strike at Julian’s heart.

Julian sidestepped effortlessly, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Your reaction speed is improving," he noted calmly, as if he were critiquing a student. "Keep going. That was only round ten."

Ethan Skyler stood panting, his chest heaving like a bellows. He was unrecognizable. The cool, aloof warlord who had ruled Aether Block with an iron fist was gone. In his place stood a man drenched in sweat and blood, his uniform tattered, his body a map of bruises and lacerations.

The pain from his right arm was blinding. It felt as if the meat had been stripped from the bone. The agony was so intense that for a moment, his vision grayed out, threatening to send him into unconsciousness.

He was trembling uncontrollably.

"Julian," Ethan gasped, his voice shaking. "I’ll say it again. You are strong. Your strategy this morning—using a decoy to switch places—was brilliant. You fooled everyone. But… just because you are strong doesn't mean I will submit. I. Will. Not."

Julian looked at him with a cold, almost pitying expression. "So, you are determined to die?"

"I would rather die fighting!" Ethan snarled.

He gritted his teeth and prepared to launch another suicide attack. But before his muscles could even fire, Julian vanished.

One moment he was there; the next, he was a ghost.

THUD.

A heavy punch buried itself deep into Ethan’s lower abdomen.

The air rushed out of Ethan’s lungs. His eyes bulged. He folded in half like a cheap lawn chair, his face turning a deep, unhealthy purple.

Julian didn't stop. He retracted his arm and brought his elbow down like a guillotine blade, slamming it into Ethan’s exposed back.

SMASH.

Ethan Skyler, the former number one of the East Wing, collapsed face-first onto the concrete floor. He didn't try to get up. He couldn't. His body convulsed in spasms of uncontrollable agony.

As a former special forces operative, Ethan had been trained to endure t*****e. He knew pain. But this was different. Julian wasn't just hitting him; he was dismantling him surgically. Every strike targeted a specific pressure point or nerve cluster. The pain wasn't just physical; it was electric, radiating through his internal organs and short-circuiting his nervous system. Since the fight began, Ethan had landed solid hits on Julian, but the debilitating pain of Julian’s counterattacks had made him slower and slower until he was nothing more than a punching bag.

"Is this the best you can do?" Julian stood over him, his voice devoid of emotion. "I thought you were a monster. I came here personally to handle you. If I had known you were this weak, I would have let Rex handle you after he finished with Brandon."

Ethan shuddered. He slowly lifted his head, blood dripping from his nose. His voice was a rasping whisper.

"Julian… have you forgotten your own words?" Ethan hissed. "You said you just wanted a quiet life. You said you didn't want to be disturbed. You said that as long as people left you alone, you wouldn't hurt anyone. Look at what you've done! In one morning, you personally killed Adrian Starr and Silas Carter. You indirectly killed Lucas Bright and Julian Vane. And now… you’re purging Brandon and me. Is this your idea of a quiet life? This is a m******e!"

Julian looked down at the hate-filled eyes of the fallen king.

"Do you want to know why?" Julian asked softly. "I’ll tell you. Because I want out. I want to live. I refuse to let anyone else dictate the terms of my existence ever again. I won't be like you, Ethan. And I won't be like the old me—weak, helpless, unable to protect the people I care about. Even if I have to become a monster to do it."

He paused, glancing toward the door. "As for Brandon… I intended to offer him a chance to surrender. But Rex volunteered to go. Knowing Rex, Brandon is already dead. So now it’s your turn. Submit or die. Choose."

Ethan let out a low, bitter laugh. He dropped his head back onto the cold floor.

"My heart is already dead," Ethan whispered. "It died years ago. I am just like you used to be, Julian. I am tired. I am disappointed in this world. Just do it. End it."

Julian frowned. He looked at the man lying at his feet—a man who had given up not because he was beaten physically, but because he was broken spiritually.

Silence stretched for a full minute.

Slowly, Julian raised his right hand. He formed the "Eagle Claw," holding it poised over Ethan’s heart.

"A coward has no value to me," Julian said coldly.

Coward?

Ethan flinched. The word cut deeper than any knife. It stung his soul. But he didn't argue. He just closed his eyes and waited for the darkness.

"Here is a piece of advice for your next life," Julian murmured. "Try to be a man. A real man."

His hand began to descend.

"Mr.… Mr. Cross!"

A trembling voice squeaked from the doorway. "Eagle… Boss. You… you have a visitor."

Julian’s hand stopped inches from Ethan’s chest. He turned his head.

A terrifyingly nervous correctional officer stood there, shaking like a leaf. It was a pathetic sight—a man in uniform, armed with a baton, cowering before an unarmed prisoner as if he were facing a dragon.

The guard couldn't help it. He looked at the b****y mess on the floor—Ethan Skyler, the terror of the East Wing—and then at the calm, pristine figure of Julian Cross. In his mind, the hierarchy of the world had just been rewritten. Julian wasn't a prisoner; he was a god of death.

"Who is it?" Julian asked, annoyed.

"It’s… it’s the Deputy Warden," the guard stammered. "And he brought… a VIP. A big shot."

Deputy Warden? VIP?

Julian’s eyes narrowed. So soon?

It had been less than an hour since the m******e in the stadium. For them to be here already meant they hadn't just traveled here. They had been here the whole time. Watching.

General Vance. It had to be.

Julian looked back down at Ethan. His claw hovered over the man’s heart. He hesitated.

Killing Ethan now would be easy. But Ethan was talented. He was a special forces veteran. A wasted asset.

"Ethan," Julian said quietly. "Your heart is dead because you think you will never leave this cage. You think there is nothing left for you out there. That despair is what makes you a coward."

He withdrew his hand.

"I value your strength, but I despise your weakness. So, I will give you one chance. I have a way out. A legitimate, legal way to walk out of these gates and into the sun. And I can take people with me. If you submit to me—truly submit—one of those spots is yours. I can help you fulfill whatever unfinished business is tormenting your soul. But the price is your life. You belong to me. Forever."

Julian stood up. "You have one day. Think about it."

Ethan Skyler’s eyes snapped open. The dull grayness in them vanished, replaced by a sudden, frantic spark. It was the look of a drowning man seeing a rope.

Julian smirked slightly. He turned to the shivering guard.

"Lead the way."