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Chapter 91: Evil Always Finds A Way
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Adam's eye burned with a bright, unwavering crimson.
The color of hellfire. The color of Dracula's gaze. The color of fresh, arterial blood under a black light.
Adam Cypher blinked. The motion was slow, deliberate, as if he were remembering how.
The crimson eye and the cybernetic grey one scanned the ceiling of the cabin, unseeing for a moment.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, filling lungs that no longer strictly needed air.
The habit was comforting, a touchstone of a discarded humanity.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position on the table, slowly and cautiously.
He looked down at his hand; pale, strong, the nails perfectly shaped. He flexed them, watching the tendons move like steel cables under silk.
Then he spoke.
His voice was a shock. It was raspier. It was lower, a rich, cultured baritone that resonated in the small space, layered with a dark, amused malice that was utterly foreign.
"You should have taken the deal," The voice said, the words dripping with condescending pity.
Adam's head tilted, a cruel smirk playing on his lips; an expression he never wore. "To think you could outplay I, the lord of hell? A mortal's idiotic dreams."
He swung his legs off the table and stood. The motion was so swift it was a blur, ending with him standing shaky as if not used to his body, naked and pale under the cold lights.
The place shook with his movement, if only slightly.
He rolled his head on his shoulders, the vertebrae cracking with a series of sharp, unhealthy pops.
"This body," The Not-Adam said, looking down at himself with appraisal, running a hand over the defined muscles of his chest.
"Not bad at all. A significant upgrade from the withered, prideful shell of the dragon. Resilient. Intelligent. Connected." The crimson eye gleamed. "Somehow, evil always finds a way. Always prevails. Hahahahaha!"
The laughter was deep, booming, and full of a joy that was purely, cosmically wicked.
[NO.]
[NO NO NO NO.]
[THAT'S NOT ADAM.]
[IT'S MEPHISTO! HE POSSESSED HIM!]
[What!? No way! What in the TWIST?]
[ALL THAT WORK, ALL THAT PLANNING… FOR THIS?!]
[How does Adam recover from this? Was Mephisto the protagonist all along?]
[No no no, there must be a comeback!!]
[What in Hydra? Mephisto has plot armor?]
Horror, cold and absolute, gripped the audience. The hints were evident.
The voice, the mannerisms, the phrasing, referring to himself as the lord of hell.
Adam's greatest challenge, the core reason he refused the demon's deal, had come to pass.
In his moment of ultimate vulnerability, during the metaphysical shift of becoming undead, Mephisto had slipped past his defenses and taken the ultimate prize: his body, his power, his resources.
The Not-Adam, Mephisto-in-flesh, took a step forward, still admiring his new hands.
He opened his mouth, likely to deliver another gloating monologue.
And then he burst out laughing again.
But this laugh was different. It wasn't the deep, villainous boom. It was bright, sharp, and utterly, unmistakably Adam.
It was the laugh of a man who had just pulled off the most audacious prank in history.
"Hahahaha! Oh, the look on your faces! Can't see it, but sure can fucking imagine it!" Adam gasped, his voice snapping back to its normal tenor, though still laced with the new, vampiric rasp.
He was laughing so hard he had to brace his hand on the table, which cracked, unable to handle the uncontrollable force within him, his crimson eye streaming with tears of mirth.
"Relax! Relax, my lovely imaginary friends! I was just fucking with you! Bwahahaha!"
He imitated the deep Mephisto voice poorly. "'Evil always prevails!' Did I give you a heart attack? Oh, man, I wish I could see it! I really, really do!"
He wiped the tear from his crimson eye, his shoulders shaking with giggles.
The sheer, unadulterated glee on his face was pure, unhinged Adam Cypher.
[........]
[.....HE WHAT?]
[HE WAS FAKING IT?]
[FUCK YOU!] [+1] [+1] [+1] [+1]
[MY HEART LITERALLY STOPPED. I THOUGHT WE LOST EVERYTHING.]
[CLASSIC ADAM! Of course he'd pull off some bullshit!]
[Okay, dude! Fuck off!]
[That gave me more heart pain than when I found my dad fucking my girlfriend! Fuck u!]
[...] [Sorry man.] [Hope the best my man!]
[I'm Dad. It was a good fuck!]
[I'm the bed. It was shit. His rod was wrinkled, inbred, and a midget.]
[...] [Lol!] [Lmao!] [Lmao] [Tf]
[I'm his wife's boyfriend. I can lend her to you to feel better...]
And just like that, the depressing atmosphere self-destructed because they always find a way.
The whiplash was total, sure. But the relief was a physical wave, followed immediately by a surge of indignant, hysterical laughter, then a round of jokes.
It was such an Adam thing to do.
To wake up from a transformative near-death experience and immediately devote his first moments to trolling his perceived audience with an Oscar-worthy impersonation of the devil himself.
He calmed his laughter, though a wide, wicked grin remained plastered on his face.
He walked over to a reflective panel on the wall, studying his new visage. He peered at his crimson eye, fascinated. "Huh. Permanent cosplay. I can work with this."
Then he turned back, as if addressing the empty air where the 'audience' watched.
His grin turned mischievous, his head tilting. "Or…" He said, his voice dropping back into a playful, sinister whisper.
"…Maybe I wasn't joking. Maybe I am Mephisto, and you're all stuck with me now. And this is just part of the act to lull you into a false sense of security."
He let the possibility hang, his mismatched eyes gleaming. "Hahahaha! The mystery… shall prevail!"
He winked; with the crimson eye.
It was the final, perfect twist. He offered the paranoia back as a gift. He would never let them be completely sure.
The line between Adam's madness and an actual demonic possession would forever be a blur he could dance upon for his own amusement.
He was certainly amused, though he felt like the audience now understood his nature too well to fall for it for too long.
[We're supposed to be having fun at your expense, not the other way around! Shit entertainer!]
[That's Adam alright.]
[I don't know if I want to hug him or throw him into the sun.]
[But what if he's not!?]
[No way, right? Only Adam has fourth-wall vision. No way Mephisto just gets it after possession?]
[I feel like Adam's fourth wall penetration is too divine to just be transferred.]
[Dude, look at that grin. That's fucking Adam I tell ya!]
Adam stood before the full-length mirror mounted in the private cabin. The private jet has everything.
The pale, flawless reflection stared back, a stranger wearing a familiar face.
"Well, hello there, handsome," He murmured, a slow, narcissistic grin spreading. He turned his head, profile to the glass.
"The cheekbones. Sharper. More… Exquisite. Excellent. The jawline could cut glass. Exceptional."
He ran a hand through his hair, which had grown past his shoulders, a thick, dark mane.
"The hair's a bit much. Like a romance novel cover model who broods by cliffs."
He flexed his remaining arm, watching the muscles slide with a fluid, effortless force. "I think I'm turning gay for myself because wow."
Then his grin faltered. He leaned closer to the mirror, his fingers tracing the smooth, unmarked skin over his ribs, his shoulder, his cheek.
A frown creased his perfect brow. "The scars, though… You took my scars." His voice held a genuine note of petulance.
"Vampirism sucks. How dare you take my memories from me? Those were souvenirs. A collection of bad decisions and good stories."
He sighed dramatically, then shrugged, the motion a study in lethal grace. "Ah, well. New skin, new sins to carve into it, I suppose."
He stretched, a languid, full-body motion that seemed to test the limits of the cabin's space.
As he did, his mind, clearer and faster than ever despite the bloodthirst humming in the background, reached out.
Technopathy slid into the Null suit's systems like a key into a well-oiled lock, connecting with Alice.
"Initiate self-diagnostics, Alice. And bring me the test kit."
Alice was working with the little processing power within the suit, unable to reach the main systems, but that was sufficient for his current intentions.
The mechanical arms, dormant until now, whirred to life. They moved with a new, eerie synchronicity under Alice's control.
One arm retrieved a small, sealed case by the side and brought it to a worktable that unfolded from the wall.
Inside were the tools of a very specific kind of hypochondria.
First, a tiny pile of fine, powdered garlic dust. Next, a silver-bladed scalpel, its edge gleaming coldly.
Adam picked up the scalpel with his right hand, his only hand. Without hesitation, he drew the silver edge across the side of his stomach, slowly and cautiously.
A thin red line appeared. Dark, almost black blood welled up. He watched it bead, waited for the sizzle, the smoke, the weakening curse that should follow silver touching vampiric flesh.
Nothing happened. The silver was just metal.
His grin returned. He sprinkled a pinch of the garlic dust directly onto the open cut before it closed, and it was closing quickly.
He frowned. It was… uncomfortable. Like a mild, irritating itch, the kind you get from fiberglass insulation.
It was deeply annoying, but it wasn't the agonizing, flesh-withering poison it was for common vampires.
He wiped the dust away. The cut had already closed, leaving no mark. "Immune to silver. Highly resistant to garlic. Let's call it a severe allergy, not anaphylaxis. Noted..."
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