Chapter 92: The Real Game

Chapter 92: The Real Game

Noah and Brayden headed down the path and into the mansion. Their steps echoed ominously through the tall-ceilinged rooms and Noah fought the urge to glance around like a complete moron.

It was possibly the richest place he’d ever set foot in. Just the rug beneath his dirty shoes alone felt like it cost more than his entire year’s salary as a Rank 1 Professor. Beautiful statues sat on pedestals along the walkway, interspaced between doors all along the walls.

The carpet led up to a large stairwell that went both up and down and distant music came from above them. Noah’s ears instantly perked up. It sounded vaguely classical, but with a bossier twist. It had been so long since he’d heard actual music that –

“Vermil,” Brayden snapped. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Noah asked, blinking.

“I asked if you’re ready,” Brayden said. “You know how Father is.”

No, I don’t.

“Not really,” Noah admitted. “But do I have a choice?”

Brayden grimaced. “Just fill him in. He’s possibly even more paranoid than you are, but I know he’ll listen to you. He always has. If it’ll help, call for me. I doubt he’s going to suddenly start caring about what I’ve got to say now, but you never know.”

“You’ve already helped a lot,” Noah said after a moment, craning his neck back to make eye contact with Brayden. “I would have been in a good bit of trouble without you. In case I haven’t said it before – thank you.”

Brayden grunted. “Don’t make it weird. Just go down and talk to him already. And get that look off your face. I made sure that everyone else got a nice room to lounge around in. They’re going to be living it up while we actually put the work in.”

“Thanks,” Noah said. “He’s just waiting down the stairs, then?”

“Like he always is,” Brayden said, shaking his head. “Stop stalling. Go.”

Whelp. Here we go, I suppose. Time to go back to lesson number 1.

Noah headed over to the stairwell, still straining his ears to listen in on the music above, then reluctantly started to head down. The stairs wound around in circles, bringing him deeper into the mansion until the music was a distant memory.

They set him off in a thin hallway. It was dimly lit by two lanterns that housed flickering purple flames within them on either side, and a row of doors ran up to a larger one at the end of the hall.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out where Father was probably waiting. Noah steeled himself and walked down the hallway.

I wish some of these doors were open. I want to see what they’ve got down here. Who puts their super-special office in a basement anyway? Is his mom running the house? Maybe she got fed up with seeing him and banished him to the basement. This chapter's initial release occurred on the n0vell--Bjjn site.

Noah arrived before the large door. He pursed his lips, then raised a hand and rapped against it. The knocks echoed through the silence. Then, slowly, the door ground open entirely on its own.

Dramatic. Let me guess, he’s going to have a cat in his lap and some overpriced wine on the table? Probably a giant chair for himself as well. Can’t go wrong with those.

Noah stepped inside, bracing himself for the worst.

Instead, he found a plainly decorated office. A nice but undecorated wooden desk sat in the center of the room, beside several bookshelves full of an assortment of small items. There was a small, cushioned chair set up for visitors to use before the table.

Across from it sat a man that didn’t look a day over forty. His face was tanned from the sun and his clothes weren’t much nicer than what Noah wore. If Noah had run into the man on the street, he would have assumed he was just headed to work. And yet, despite his appearance, something about Father set his hair on end.

“Trust? You?” Noah burst into laughter. “What a concept. A man such as you does not know the meaning of the word. What need do the strong have for trust? Our power is our trust. I came here because I was interested in the type of man that send me his son as sacrifice. Why would I care if you trust me?”

“An uncontrolled weapon can harm its wielder just as easily as their target,” Father said, taking a step back and swallowing heavily. “Stay away from me. If you make any aggressive moves, I–”

“Control is an illusion,” Noah said. “Come, now. Drop the act, Father. You were prepared for this. I pose you no risk in this room. Why pretend? Speak to me as an equal, or I will determine that you are prey.”

Father closed his open mouth, pressing his lips together. The fear vanished from his face as if it had never been there.

“Very well, demon. You are correct. You cannot hurt me here. If you knew this, then why did you come?”

“I did not lie. I am interested,” Noah replied with a shrug. “You spent such effort to find me. It would have been rude not to visit.”

“And how do I know that you do not simply seek my head? I should purge you on the spot.”

Noah burst into laughter. “Please, feel free. I don’t care about this body. Your son was too weak to contain my power. I have hundreds of clones that I have split my strength between. Killing this form is no more trimming my hair.”

“Show me,” Father said.

Noah smirked. “Why? You are still operating under the illusion that I have come to do your bidding. Your son failed. He did not bind me to his will. His body is mine to do with as I please. If you wish for my aid, you must treat with me yourself.”

“Only a fool treats with demons.”

“And a wise man has someone else do it for him,” Noah said with a wide grin. “A wiser man would have chosen someone outside of his family, though. How much damage do you think I could do if I decide you’ve wasted my time? How many bodies would I be willing to cut in exchange for a break in the tedium?”

To Noah’s surprise, Father smiled. He turned his back on Noah, reaching into his bookshelf and pulling out a bottle of wine. Father set it on the desk, then pulled two crystal glasses out from a shelf within it.

“Enough posturing,” Father said, pouring the wine into the glasses. “There is another man that treats with demons.”

“And what would he be?”

“One with the strength to meet with them on equal terms,” Father replied, pushing one of the glasses over to Noah. “My son did not fail. He was a gift.”

Noah picked the glass up and studied it. “A poor one.”

“The runes were not to your liking?”

“He attempted to bind me. He failed.”

“Surely you would have expected as much. It would have been an insult to your power had we not attempted it,” Father said, taking a slow sip from his glass. “It is your turn to cease the games. You came here to speak with me. Let us both drop the pretenses and do just that. Sit.”

Noah pulled the chair out and sat down across from Father. He took the glass, raising it to his lips and taking a slow sip.

Now we both push to see how much the other one knows and what we can get from each other. I can’t show the slightest sign of weakness or he might realize that I’m not actually a demon.

The real game begins here.