I'm The Devil - Chapter 341

Chapter 341: “The Devil.”

The creature moved through the city like a ghost in borrowed skin. Each step on the pavement was a lesson—concrete vibration, muscle tension, the clumsy weight of limbs. It passed blinking neon signs and cracked sidewalks, its new body swaying with slow precision. Every sound—car horns, bus engines, footsteps, voices—sank into its mind. It stored everything.

At a corner café, it stopped to listen. An old man argued with the barista over change. A woman laughed too hard into her phone. A child dropped a toy. The creature blinked, adjusting. Mimicking. When someone bumped its shoulder in the crosswalk, it turned and nodded politely. The man muttered sorry and walked on.

Words.

Meaning.

Politeness.

It began to respond, murmuring phrases it had absorbed, matching tones, posture, even the awkward pauses.

Hours passed. It talked with an old lady feeding pigeons. Shared silence with a cab driver stuck in traffic. Bought a drink from a vending machine and watched the bubbles rise in the bottle, wondering what carbonation felt like in a throat. It didn’t need to eat. Didn’t need to breathe. But it did both now, because it wanted to understand.

Then came the alley.

It had turned down a side street following the faint scent of blood. Not fresh—but familiar. Memory-laced. A smell from something older than the city. Something like itself.

That’s when she appeared.

Mabel.

She moved fast, a blur of pale limbs and hungry eyes. Her fangs flashed as she pinned it to the wall. Cold fingers pressed into its chest.

“Your blood… it’s strange,” she muttered. “Smells like fire and void.”

She bit.

Her body jolted. She staggered back, choking, clutching her mouth.

The creature stepped forward, hand raised. Mabel dropped to one knee, eyes wide and flickering red.

“What… what are you?” she whispered.

He knelt in front of her, tilting his head.

“You’re not like the others,” he said softly. His voice was calm, smooth now—almost human. “They’re soft. Unaware. But you… you bite.”

She hissed, but didn’t attack again. Her instincts were loud now. He was no human.

Then Cain dropped from the rooftop behind him with a snarl. A tall, muscular vampire with sharp amber eyes. His shadow fell across both of them.

“Get away from her.”

Cain lunged.

The creature sidestepped, grabbed Cain’s arm mid-swing, and twisted. Bone cracked. Cain shouted and dropped to the ground, rolling to Mabel’s side.

“You’re different too,” the creature said, frowning slightly. “Stronger. Sharper. More aware.”

Mabel wiped blood from her mouth, staring. “You’re not human. But you wear a human face.”

“It helps.”

Cain growled, eyes burning. “Then what are you?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Before Cain could rise again, something shimmered above them.

A sharp sound.

Click.

Then pain.

The creature gasped, staggering forward. A thin metal shard was embedded in his back, humming softly. His knees hit the concrete. Electricity surged through his limbs, locking them. His eyes widened.

Someone stepped from the shadows.

Eamon.

His coat was long, dusted with soot. The rifle in his hands still smoked at the barrel.

“Didn’t expect you to show up in a coat and skin,” Eamon said, calm but cold. “Last time I fought something like you, it tore through half a city block. Took a celestial to seal it.”

The creature twitched, trying to rise, but his legs refused.

“I made that for one purpose,” Eamon said, tapping the shard. “To stop something that shouldn’t be breathing in our world.”

He crouched next to the creature. Brown eyes locked with Eamon’s green ones.

“You’re not registered. You’re not human. You’re not even vampire, demon, or celestial. So what are you?”

The creature tried to speak, but the words came slow. Fading.

“I was… learning.”

Cain stood, pulling Mabel behind him. “Is it dead?”

Eamon shook his head. “Not yet. But it’s bleeding.

From its back, violet liquid oozed out around the shard. It hissed on the pavement.

The creature’s vision blurred.

So heavy.

Too heavy.

The sounds of the city faded. The blood-smell thickened. The alley darkened.

But before he slipped into unconsciousness, the creature whispered:

“You’re not like the others either. You… you knew.”

Then everything went still.

Then came the light.

It wasn’t sunlight. It wasn’t fire.

It was Michael.

Boots hit the alley floor as wings folded back into golden shimmer. Three others landed beside him—Uriel, Azrael, and Raphael. Silent. Calm. Tension rolling off them like pressure before a storm.

Eamon didn’t move. Still crouched, still steady, his rifle pointed low but his eyes never wavering.

Michael’s gaze locked on the creature, still crumpled on the ground. The violet blood was spreading slowly beneath it, hissing softly where it touched the cracks.

He walked forward.

Eamon rose slowly. “This yours?”

Michael glanced at him. “No. But it’s not yours either.”

Azrael knelt beside the creature, touching two fingers to its jaw. “Alive. Barely.”

Uriel turned to Cain and Mabel. “You two alright?”

Cain gave a curt nod. Mabel just stared at the creature, the taste still burning her tongue.

Michael looked at Eamon again. “How did you stop it?”

“Custom shard,” Eamon said. “One use. Took months to make.”

Michael raised a brow. “For something like this?”

“No,” Eamon said flatly. “For something worse. But it worked.”

Raphael stepped closer, arms folded. His silver eyes scanned the creature, then flicked toward Eamon.

“You clearly don’t know what this is,” he said, voice low but firm. “What could be worse than this?”

Cain answered before Eamon could.

“The devil.”

Michael didn’t refute it. He just stood there, silent, watching the thing on the ground as if waiting for it to wake up.

And it did.

A twitch.

A slow, careful breath.

Then the creature stirred, one hand curling against the pavement like it was remembering it had fingers. Its eyes fluttered, unfocused.

Uriel’s hand shot out, stopping Michael from stepping forward.

She turned to Eamon. “You got more of those shards?”

“Three left,” he said, tapping his coat.

“Give me one.”

He hesitated. Then reached inside and handed it over.

Uriel held it up between her fingers. The tip hummed faintly.

Then she closed her hand around it, and light flared from her palm. Not bright—contained. Controlled. Divine.

The shard pulsed once, like it had taken a breath.

She knelt and jammed it clean into the creature’s shoulder.

It arched, gasping, then fell still again. Smoke curled from the wound.

“That should keep it down,” Uriel muttered. “For a while. Before it adapts.”

Michael watched it quietly, face unreadable.

The alley was silent again—only the faint hiss of blood against stone, and the low hum of divine power hanging in the air.

Cain looked at the thing, then at Michael. “What do we do with it?”

Michael didn’t answer. Not yet.

The creature wasn’t done.

But neither were they.