Chapter 41 — Blood Beneath Liberty
The night had no stars.
Only the red moon hung above Liberty City — swollen, bleeding light across rooftops soaked in rain and ash. The wind carried the faint stench of smoke and death, whispers of agony echoing through the alleys like a forgotten hymn.
And in the heart of it all walked H.I.M.
His boots crushed puddles of blood as he dragged a broken blade along the concrete, the sound like metal scraping bone. His coat was torn, his hair drenched and wild, and his eyes — hollow, distant — were not of a man anymore, but something born from grief and wrath.
He had killed them all. Every crime lord, every corrupt cop, every syndicate rat who had bathed Liberty City in blood for years. He had purged every name on the list.
And yet... he still heard the Devil's voice.
> "You've done it, haven't you?"
The voice slithered in his ear, smooth and venomous.
"All those who wronged you. All those who touched your family. Dead.
And still, you're empty. Doesn't it hurt to know revenge is hollow?"
H.I.M stopped walking. His hands trembled.
He looked down at the corpses strewn across the alley — the bodies of criminals whose eyes still glowed with fear.
They weren't enough.
Nothing was ever enough.
He screamed into the night — a sound that cracked through the thunder — and the world seemed to tremble with him. His aura flared, twisting the air into heat waves, the rain turning to steam before it even reached him.
He dropped to his knees, his breath shallow, his heart burning in his chest like molten iron. He struck the ground with his fist — once, twice, until cracks splintered through the earth.
> "WHY!?!" he bellowed. "Why can't I feel peace!? Why do I still hear them!?"
The Devil's laughter echoed within his skull, sickly and amused.
> "Because peace died with them, my boy.
And you—you are the graveyard where it sleeps."
He pressed his hands to his head, his eyes turning red with tears of rage and exhaustion.
The voice continued, cruel and soft like silk.
> "You think you're still human? No. You're the balance they needed. You're my mirror… and now, we are one."
H.I.M rose slowly, the rain hissing against the heat of his aura. The city lights flickered, as though even the power grid feared him. He turned toward the horizon — toward the old church where his family's ashes rested — and whispered:
> "If God made me this way… then God will watch me burn this world to the ground."
---
Meanwhile, across the river in a towering glass mansion overlooking the city, John Stellman sat in silence.
His face was gaunt, the dark circles under his eyes heavy from sleepless nights.
In front of him, on the long mahogany table, lay a folded flag and Jack's sword — blood still dried along its edge.
The room was still, except for the faint ticking of a grandfather clock.
John stared at the blade for what felt like eternity. His hands trembled as he picked it up. He ran his thumb along the cold steel until it cut deep, blood dripping to the floor, staining the reflection of his pale grey eyes.
He whispered, voice breaking,
> "You were my brother, Jack… and he took you from me."
He stood up, gripping the sword tighter, whispering again — this time not to Jack, but to himself.
> "I'll kill him. I'll hunt him to the end of this cursed city and drag his soul into hell myself."
The candlelight flickered violently as wind crashed through the shattered window.
Thunder roared across the skyline, and for a moment, John saw his reflection in the mirror — pale, broken, furious.
But there was something else there too.
A shadow behind him, whispering.
> "You're no different than him now…"
He turned — nothing but the whisper of the storm.
John raised his sword and slammed it into the marble floor.
> "Then let it be so. I'll become the monster… to kill the devil."
---
Back in the slums of Liberty City, H.I.M stood atop the church spire, his coat flapping in the wind. His eyes were locked on the mansion in the distance — he could feel Stellman's rage, the same rage that once burned in him.
He muttered to himself,
> "You'll come for me soon, John. And when you do…"
His grip tightened on the bloodstained blade.
"...I'll make you understand the truth of hell."
Lightning flashed. The bell of the church tolled once — a low, haunting sound that carried across the city.
H.I.M vanished into the storm, leaving only the echo of his voice and the crimson shimmer of his aura.
And somewhere between heaven and hell, two paths were now set — one of vengeance, one of despair — destined to collide beneath the blood-soaked skies of Liberty.
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