Damien kept going over the plan repeatedly, making sure there was no mistake. He had thought of every possible outcome, every potential misstep. Once he was relaxed with the plan, he didn't hesitate. "Feed on my dad," he commanded.
Dark, crackling black lightning erupted around his arm as an ominous aura engulfed him. The voice that had been whispering inside him chuckled darkly, pleased. "It is done," the voice declared with more energy than ever before. Damien raised an eyebrow, unsure.
Could it really be done? Could his father, the man he despised most, truly be dead? After thinking about it, he believed it. Why would the voice lie? If he didn't feed on his father, how could he have gained this surge of energy?
That night, Damien slept peacefully for the first time in years. The next day, he woke up to a world in shock. News of his father's death had spread like wildfire. The media called it a mystery, an accident, a heart attack—no one knew the truth.
His stepsisters and stepmothers, who had abandoned the house long ago, suddenly came rushing back. They feared for their safety, believing the family home was the safest place now. FBI agents swarmed the mansion. Every news station wanted answers.
The investigation started quickly, and the police began asking about his father's last moments. The last person seen with him? His last wife.
Hearing her name ignited a fire in Damien's chest. That bitch. The woman who caused his mother the most pain, the one who flaunted her love for Damien's father like a trophy. She had tormented his mom emotionally, humiliated her, and laughed while doing it.
Thinking about her made Damien's blood boil. His dense killing intent leaked out of him like a foul stench. For a moment, he wondered what it would feel like to wrap his hands around her neck.
"Should I devour her?" the voice whispered seductively.
"No," Damien barely managed to fight the will to say yes.
"Get time; you will have your moment," the voice coaxed, amused by his restraint.
But Damien wasn't sad. No, this wasn't a time for tears. This was a time for celebration. He had just killed an economic giant, an egotistical bastard, a man respected for his money-making skills but despised by those who knew him best.
Even the mere thought that he carried that man's blood made Damien want to vomit. That some part of his genetics came from such a scumbag was suffocating. Yet, he had to admit—he inherited his father's charisma, intelligence, and stamina.
Most of his father's strength ran in Damien's veins, and yet he hated it, hated it to his core. If it were possible, he would have ripped out that part of him and given it back.
"Next is you," Damien muttered coldly, pointing toward his father's third wife. She paled instantly, sensing the threat behind his words.
In the meantime, Damien scrolled through social media. The trending news was all about his father's death. Every media outlet had its version, but one headline caught Damien's attention more than the others: "DEATH OF A GREAT BUSINESSMAN."
Damien scoffed. Great? What was so great about him? His father was a monster behind closed doors. A man who only saw women as tools—his mother had been reduced to nothing but a personal chef while the stepmothers basked in luxuries.
His father had loved only the women who bore him sons, discarding the others like trash. Damien's mother was only ever seen as useful because she could cook, but she was invisible in every other way.
For years, Damien watched as his father paraded new wives around, treating his mother like a servant. The hatred he harbored was like an endless ocean—deep, vast, and impossible to fill. Every time he thought of that man, Damien felt the urge to kill, and now that urge had been satisfied.
Still, memories of his father's cruelty tormented him. The way his father ghosted them emotionally, treating his mother and him as strangers while lavishing his attention on his stepmothers and their children.
Those women should have lived vibrant, happy lives, but under his father's roof, they became emotionless shells of humans, slaves to his desires. That was the kind of man society dared to call great.
Damien clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until they bled. If only the world knew the truth—the abuse, the manipulation, the greed. But no, all anyone could see was the businessman who built an empire.
The investigation continued, and police interrogated everyone. Damien kept his calm. After all, no one could trace this back to him. How could they? The death wasn't physical—it was metaphysical.
No weapon, no poison, no visible injury. Just death.
Damien remembered the moment it happened. He had been in the kitchen, preparing a meal absentmindedly. The voice whispered, "Let me feed on him."
Damien smirked and replied, "Huh, you can feed on humans?"
The voice chuckled darkly, "Bit by bit."
With no hesitation, Damien agreed. He wasn't going to miss this chance. The world could see it as a heart attack. No one needed to know he had become a vessel for something dark, something powerful.
The FBI suspected foul play but had no leads. Damien watched as they interviewed his stepmothers one by one.
They were all crying, putting on their best grieving faces. But Damien could see through them. He knew they didn't care. They were only sad because their source of wealth was gone.
Still, it didn't matter. He had won. For the first time, Damien felt truly free.
He stayed silent as the days passed, watching the world mourn a man who never deserved to be mourned. Eventually, the story would die down, and life would move on.
But Damien? Damien was just getting started.
For years, he had watched silently, powerless. But no more. He had tasted power, and it was addictive. The voice was still there, lurking in the back of his mind, feeding off the hatred that never truly died.
"Who's next?" the voice asked.
Damien smirked. "We'll see."
He looked at his stepmothers—women who had once looked down on him and his mother. Now they were back, scrambling for safety.
"Should I devour them too?" the voice teased.
"Not yet," Damien replied. "Let them live with the fear."
He glanced at the news one last time. That headline 'DEATH OF A GREAT BUSINESSMAN' burned into his mind.
Great? Damien scoffed again. If only the world knew. But maybe… one day they would. Maybe one day, he'd reveal the truth of who his father really was. But not now. Now, he'd enjoy his victory.
Damien turned away from the TV, a dark smile curling on his lips. He wasn't done—not by a long shot.
The story was just beginning.