Meanwhile
Steven sat in a shadowed corner of the room, watching as Philip, Bernard, and Patricia conversed. Eventually, Philip drifted away to speak with his father and Oliver Osborne, a former derby legend and one of the sport's old patriarchs. Once crowned the Second World Champion, known as The Silver Horse, Oliver was a towering figure in the world of Horse Derby Racing.
He was also one of the most powerful men in Costa Rica.
The Bulldog had tried—multiple times—to win him over. To bring him into the fold. But the stubborn old man refused.
And the Bulldog couldn't touch him. Not when Oliver was a blood relative of the most powerful man on Earth: the President of the United Freedom of Nations (UNF). A man who ruled over twenty-five nations across the vast continent of Aphilis.
Aphilis was like a world unto itself—a titanium fortress of patriotism and justice. The Supreme Boss had yet to conquer it. Even though a few had joined his cause, the majority remained unshakable. And that made Aphilis the greatest threat to his empire. The only place capable of bringing him to justice—and toppling everything he'd built.
Steven sighed and turned his gaze back to Patricia and Bernard.
They looked like a perfect power couple.
His face twisted in disdain.
"A power couple, my foot," he growled.
Bernard was smiling at Patricia, clearly trying to charm her. And Patricia—well, the look on her face said it all. She was clearly drawn to the so-called White Knight of the derby.
Steven watched as Bernard offered his arm and Patricia, without hesitation, hooked hers through it. The two of them waltzed out of the room toward the garden.
"Urrgh! I fucking hate that bitch!" Steven snarled, downing a shot of tequila as he glared at the space they'd disappeared into.
"Still hooked on the Crisby boy?"
The voice beside him was low and chilling.
Steven turned slowly to face the man seated next to him. He wore a black suit, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal grizzled snake tattoos slithering up his torso, neck, and across half his face. A cigar smoldered between his fingers.
"Hiss... too bad. He sees you as a nuisance, not a potential side chick. You'd be better off satisfying real beasts... not chasing after pussies."
Steven rolled his eyes.
"That might be hard for him," came another voice.
A man in a navy-blue suit sat across from Steven. He had ginger-blond hair, brown eyes, a flat nose, and plush lips—features that bore a faint resemblance to Steven's own. A relative.
"He's Stevey's childhood sweetheart, remember? Clung to him since they were kids. Too bad the love was never returned. Even now. Sucks to be you."
Steven's jaw clenched.
"Thank you, Uncle Sherpard. Really. If you two came here just to fuck with me, I'm sorry to disappoint you—but I'm not in the mood."
He rose from his seat and walked away, leaving the two men behind in the shadows.
"Oof... I never get tired of watching that rump," Viper murmured, eyes fixed on Steven's retreating figure. "Especially when he's angry and feisty. Gets the adrenaline pumping even more."
"Ah, ah—careful now," Sherpard warned, taking a slow sip of his brandy. "That's my nephew you're talking about. He may be your bed toy, but that doesn't mean you get to act out of line."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Besides, doesn't it bother you that he's entertaining the McCoy boy too? I didn't peg you as the sharing type."
Viper smirked.
"You really think I'm not generous?"
He took a long drag from his cigar and exhaled a plume of smoke.
"McCoy's time will come. The Ogre's already dealing with him. He's dead meat. This race... it's probably going to be his last."
Sherpard chuckled darkly.
"You really think so? That would be music to my ears. Though I am a little concerned about his... unusual silence. Have you heard anything from him lately?"
Viper rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Mmm... now that you mention it, no. Not a word since the derby started. What do you think happened to him?"
Sherpard leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.
"I don't know. But I hope it's something serious. That jerk is a bad influence on my nephew. And we still need that thing to happen with him. I sure as hell don't want it to be that bastard."
"Have you been giving him the dosage?" Viper asked.
"Yes. But it doesn't seem to be working. Maybe it's the poison interfering. Still, I know it'll happen—it'll just take time. We'll keep trying. That's our one-way ticket to mutiny... and everlasting life."
Viper nodded slowly.
"Mmm... you're right. But why do I get the feeling that this time... it won't be easy?"
He leaned in closer, his voice a hiss.
"What if... the Chronalis awakens? What then?"
Sherpard's smile widened.
"The Chronalis is dead. The Black Tulips made sure of that. It's never coming back. This time, eternal life is within our grasp. All that's left is to purge the poison—and we'll be home free."
The two men smiled in mischief unbeknownst to them that the storm had already started and it's fury was building up.
Slowly.
Patiently.
Waiting for the right time to attack.
.....
Meanwhile
Rumble! Rumble!
Thunder roared. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in jagged bursts.
Broken and toppled furniture lay strewn across the floor.
"Waa! Waaa! Waaa!"
"Aah! Aah!"
Baby cries and distant screams filled the air as a figure whimpered in the corner.
His eyes were bloodshot. His clothes disheveled. He looked like a madman.
"Murderer. Murderer. Murderer."
The chant echoed around him.
"Haa... I didn't... I didn't... I'm not... I didn't kill them... I didn't do it!"
He whimpered, rocking back and forth.
"Murderer! Murderer!"
The chant grew louder. He cowered, clutching his head, covering his ears.
"I didn't do it!!" he screamed, squeezing his eyes shut.
Silence.
He stopped whimpering. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Darkness.
Pitch black. He couldn't see a thing.
He rose shakily to his feet, stumbling forward.
"Donny..."
A voice rang out behind him.
He turned slowly. Nothing.
"Donny..."
The voice echoed, disembodied, circling him.
"Donny..."
"Who the fuck are you?! Stop calling me!" Don roared.
"Don't you remember me, Donny..."
He spun in every direction, frantic, wild-eyed.
"We were best friends, Donny..."
Don shrieked and fell to the floor as the voice whispered directly into his ear.
"No... no... you're not my friend! You're nothing to me!" he shouted, trembling.
"Oh, but I am, Donny..."
"You and I go waaay back..."
"And I just want you to know..."
"I'm coming back for you..."
The voice slithered into his ear again.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!"
It erupted into maniacal, evil laughter.
Suddenly, a blinding light flared—and Don found himself in a room engulfed in blue fire. Shadowy, distorted portraits lined the walls. Skeletons littered the floor.
He turned slowly, dread crawling up his spine.
There it was.
The tree.
Shrunken baby doll heads dangled from its branches, black liquid oozing from their eyes, pooling at the base of the dead trunk. The black velvet chest sat beneath it.
But this time... it was open.
"No! No! Nooo!" Don screamed, his voice raw, as the laughter echoed louder, surrounding him.
But in reality, he wasn't in that room.
He was in his own bedroom—curled in a corner, lost in a delirious spiral. Screaming. Shaking. Eyes squeezed shut.
"Get away from me! Get away! I didn't do it! I didn't do it!"
A few feet away, a phone lit up on the floor.
It buzzed with an incoming call.
But Don was too far gone to notice.
.....
"Sorry. The person you are trying to reach isn't available right now..."
The cold, mechanical voice echoed across the balcony.
"Grrr... Aah! Where the hell are you, Bulldog?! Answer your phone, dammit!"
Steven growled, stabbing the number again—only to be met with the same automated response.
"Grrr...!" He snarled and hurled the phone to the floor.
"Aaaah!" he screamed, gripping the railing with both hands, his body trembling with rage.
After a long moment, he exhaled sharply, then looked up at the sky and whispered,
"Where the hell are you, Don? I need to tell you something important. So don't you dare fucking ditch me!"
His voice cracked as he looked down, placing both hands on his abdomen.
"Don't you dare fucking ditch us."
He lifted his gaze again.
Above him, thunderclouds gathered—dark, heavy, and rumbling in the distance.
A storm was brewing and he had a feeling that it was not good.