Page 1 of The Devil's Wrath

PROLOGUE

Iam wrath incarnate, a seething inferno of rage given flesh and purpose.

Hate flows through my veins, consuming my every thought. It is my essence, my truth, my very reason for being.

I stalk the shadows, an avenging specter haunting the guilty and corrupt. My enemies cower in fear at my approach, knowing deep in their wretched souls that the hour of reckoning is at hand. Their pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears—I have none to give.

My heart is a black void, where compassion and forgiveness died long ago.

I am a dealer of death, an artist painting in shades of agony. My enemies whisper my name in fear.

Ghost.

I blend into the inky darkness, moving like a wraith, silent and unseen until it’s too late.

The symphony of their screams is music to my ears.

I cannot be reasoned with, cannot be stopped. I am as relentless and inescapable as the grave.

For I am wrath, and my anger is eternal. Vengeance is my creed, and retribution is my only master.

Tremble, world, for fire and pain are coming. And I shall be its herald.

ONE

WRENLY

If you look into the void long enough, the void begins to look back through you. Five years ago, my parents died. Five years ago, I gazed into the void, and I haven’t stopped looking since. The emptiness consumed me, filled me, and became me. I am a hollow shell, a husk of the person I once was. The world around me fades into a blur of meaningless shapes and colors while the darkness within me grows sharper and more defined. It whispers to me in the quiet moments, telling me secrets I dare not repeat.

I go through the motions in life, but I am not really living. I am merely existing, drifting through the days like a ghost. People talk to me, but their words are muffled as if spoken from a great distance. I nod and smile, but it is all a facade, a mask I wear to hide the truth.

At night, when the world is still and silent, I lie awake and stare into the shadows. They stare back, unblinking, unflinching. I can feel them reaching out to me, beckoning me to join them. Sometimes, I am tempted to give in, to let myself be swallowed up by the darkness. But something holds me back, a tiny spark of light that refuses to be extinguished. It is a memory, a fleeting image of my parents’ faces, their smiles and their laughter. It is the only thing that keeps me tethered to this world, the only thing that prevents me from completely surrendering to the void.

And so I continue on, day after day, year after year, caught between the light and the darkness, the living and the dead. I am a shadow of my former self, a remnant of a life that no longer exists.

But even as I wander aimlessly, I can feel a change coming, a shift in the air. The void is growing restless, its whispers becoming more urgent, more insistent. It is calling to me. It promises me peace.

Oblivion.

An end.

Perhaps that is what I have been seeking all along. Perhaps the void is not my enemy but my destiny. Perhaps, in the end, the only way to escape is to embrace the darkness inside my soul or find someone who can tame it.

And not just anyone.

Only the Devil himself can become the master of my demons.

And once our souls inevitably collide, not even the wrath of Heaven’s angels or the fury of Hell’s demons will tear us apart.

“What in theworld are you doing, Wren?” My friend Vera’s voice sounded above me, muffled by the water I had disappeared under while bathing.

I surfaced slowly, blinking away the droplets that clung to my eyelashes. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her brow furrowed in worry.

“Nothing,” I muttered, pushing wet strands of hair from my face. “Just thinking.”

“You’ve been in here for over an hour,” she said, exasperated. “I was starting to think you drowned.”

If only.

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