Supreme Demon Emperor Returns

15. A Bloody Negotiation in the Conference Room

The phone receiver slipped completely from William Henderson’s grasp. The plastic clattered against the wooden desk several times before hanging limp at the end of its cord.

The arrogant CEO's eyes widened as if they would pop from their sockets. His face, once red with rage, was now the color of white paper. He stared at the black-clad figure standing calmly in the doorway of his office.

"You. you're supposed to be dead," Henderson shrieked. His voice cracked, trembling violently. "Adrian said your car went into a ravine, damn it."

Xavier stepped slowly into the room. He closed the double wooden doors behind him with a soft click.

"Death, it seems, still refuses me, Mr. Henderson," Xavier said. His voice was remarkably low and elegant. "Or perhaps hell sent me back specifically to collect you tonight."

Henderson stumbled backward until his back hit the edge of the conference table. He swallowed hard. Cold sweat began to bead on his forehead and temples.

But the middle-aged man’s arrogance quickly overrode his fear. He was the absolute ruler of this building. He would not be intimidated by an illegitimate child of the Aristhos family. Especially not one who had come alone and unarmed.

"You think I'm afraid of you, huh," Henderson snapped. He slammed his trembling fist on the table. "Security. Hey, you useless bastards. Get in here now. Drag this punk out of here."

Henderson screamed toward the door. There was no answer. An absolute silence dominated the fortieth floor.

Xavier continued to walk toward the conference table, his expression unchanged. He pulled out an expensive leather chair across from Henderson. He sat down casually and crossed one leg over the other.

Xavier reached into his jacket pocket. He took out a cigarette and lit it. Gray smoke billowed into the air, mixing with the scent of pine from the room's woodwork.

"You're wasting your energy," Xavier said coldly. "Your twelve ex-mercenaries are fast asleep on the ground floor. They won't be waking up until morning."

Henderson grunted in panic. He snatched the hanging telephone receiver. He mashed the emergency call button again and again. There was no dial tone. The line was completely dead.

"Bastard. What did you do to my communication systems," Henderson swore, furious. He threw the receiver to the floor, where it shattered. "I could have you rotting in prison, you piece of shit. Who do you think you are, sneaking into my office."

Xavier didn't respond with anger. He didn't raise his voice in the slightest.

Xavier reached inside his black jacket. He produced a thick leather folder. He tossed the folder onto the table. It slid smoothly across the glass surface and stopped directly in front of Henderson’s stomach.

"Open it," Xavier commanded. His voice was absolute.

Henderson eyed the folder with suspicion. His trembling hand slowly reached for its edge. He opened the cover hesitantly.

His eyes immediately flew wide open. His breath hitched in his throat.

Inside the folder were dozens of printed pages of foreign bank transaction records. There were also photographs of his three mistresses in various European countries. The document on top was proof of tax evasion from Henderson Logistics for the past five years. The data was incredibly detailed, complete with digital bank stamps that were impossible to deny.

"Ninety million dollars," Xavier recited the number from memory. His blue eyes stared straight through Henderson’s soul. "That is the amount in tax funds you stole from the government to finance your lifestyle and buy the silence of those women. A very expensive mistake."

Henderson's face contorted in panic. He shuffled through the papers roughly, sending several sheets fluttering to the carpet.

"Where did you get this garbage, huh," Henderson screamed, his panic escalating. "This is edited. These are fake documents. You think I'm afraid of a cheap threat like this."

"That is the original data from your hidden personal server," Xavier replied calmly. He exhaled a stream of smoke. "By tomorrow morning, that file will be on the desk of a federal agent. Do you know the penalty for tax evasion of that magnitude in this country? You will rot in a solitary prison cell until you die."

Henderson ground his teeth. He realized he was completely cornered. This illegitimate child was far more dangerous than he had imagined. That data was enough to destroy his life in a matter of hours.

But Henderson was a cunning old wolf. He wouldn't go down without a fight at his own table.

Henderson’s right hand crept secretly beneath the conference table. There was a small, hidden drawer there. Inside was a fully loaded Glock pistol he always kept for emergencies.

"You talk too much, you bastard," Henderson hissed, a vicious smile spreading across his face. His fingers found the cold steel grip of the pistol. "You should have stayed rotting at the bottom of that ravine."

Xavier saw the slight movement of Henderson's shoulder. He knew the man was reaching for a firearm. But Xavier didn't flinch or show any sign of panic. He just sat there, perfectly still.

The temperature in the conference room suddenly plummeted.

The light from the crystal chandelier above the table began to flicker and dim. The air grew frigid. Henderson could see his own breath misting in thick, white clouds. Frost began to creep up the glass of the room's windows.

Henderson drew the pistol and aimed it straight at Xavier’s head.

"Die, you son of a bitch," Henderson yelled triumphantly. He pulled the trigger hard.

Click.

The gun didn't fire. The trigger was completely jammed. Henderson stared at the weapon in confusion. He pulled the trigger again and again in a panic. Click. Click. The result was the same. The steel weapon had frozen into a solid block of ice. Its entire mechanical assembly was locked by the impossible cold.

"Human weapons have no meaning before me," Xavier whispered. His voice now echoed strangely throughout the room.

Xavier’s eyes changed color. His blue irises blazed, casting a hellish light in the dimming room.

The foul stench of fresh blood suddenly filled Henderson’s nostrils. It was overwhelming, mixed with the smell of rot and sulfur. Henderson coughed violently at the nauseating aroma.

"What the hell is this." Henderson staggered back, bumping into the bookshelf behind him. He sniffed his own clothes. The putrid smell was coming from under the conference table.

A pale hand, its flesh peeling away, crawled slowly from beneath the table. It gripped the edge of the glass tabletop, leaving behind a trail of black slime and blood.

Henderson’s breathing stopped. His mouth hung open but no scream came out. His legs felt like jelly.

The corpse of a man in a torn, blood-soaked suit crawled onto the table. The man's face was half-destroyed by a gunshot wound. Maggots crawled from its empty eye sockets.

It was the form of his own former financial auditor. The man Henderson had hired a hitman to eliminate three years ago for knowing too much.

"Give me back my life, Henderson," the corpse's illusion whispered. Its voice sounded like the scraping of dry bones. The corpse crawled quickly across the glass surface toward Henderson. Blood dripped from its ruined mouth.

"NO. GET THE HELL AWAY. GO," Henderson roared hysterically. He threw the frozen pistol to the floor. He kicked blindly at the empty air.

The illusion of the corpse continued its relentless advance. Its pale, stinking hand reached out and grabbed the collar of Henderson’s shirt. The arrogant man shrieked at the top of his lungs. He felt his chest constrict with pure, unadulterated fear. He could feel the corpse’s cold touch tearing his sanity apart.

In the chair across from him, Xavier sat motionless. His face was a placid, emotionless mask. His glowing blue eyes watched the mental collapse of the man before him.

Using this high-level illusion magic no longer made Xavier vomit blood as it once had. His body was beginning to adapt. But he still felt a profound emptiness in his heart. He felt no satisfaction in seeing his enemy driven mad. He felt no happiness or pride. He felt only a hollow void. The loss of his senses made all his achievements feel dead.

"Mercy. I'm begging you, mercy," Henderson sobbed. He fell to his knees on the carpet. He beat his own head with his hands, trying to drive the horrific image away. "I'll give you anything. Money. Shares. Just make it go away. I don't want to die."

Xavier let the man cry for a few seconds. He was completely broken. His cheap arrogance had vanished without a trace.

"Are the illusions of your past sins so frightening, Mr. Henderson?" Xavier asked softly.

Xavier snapped his fingers once. A soft echo reverberated through the room.

The chandelier flared back to full brightness. The air temperature returned to normal. The shadow of the auditor's corpse dissolved into ash and vanished. The rotten smell disappeared as if it had never been there.

Henderson gasped for breath, prostrate on the floor. His expensive suit was soaked with cold sweat. He scrambled backward in fear, away from the table. His eyes were vacant and wild. He finally, absolutely, understood that the figure sitting before him was not human.

Xavier stood slowly from his chair. He walked calmly around the table. He stopped, towering directly over Henderson.

Xavier reached into his inner jacket pocket. He pulled out a thick sheet of paper that Lyra had prepared. He dropped the paper to the floor, right in front of Henderson’s face. He also tossed down a silver pen. The sound of the pen bouncing was sharp and clear.

"That is a document of absolute ownership transfer," Xavier said, his tone devoid of mercy. "Sign it. Surrender all assets of Henderson Logistics to Umbra Capital, this instant."

Henderson stared at the paper, tears of fear streaming down his face. "You. you want to take everything?"

"Sign it now. Or I will let your old friend accompany you to sleep every night for the rest of your life," Xavier threatened.

That threat shattered what was left of Henderson's mental defenses. The thought of that rotting corpse embracing him again made his stomach churn with nausea.

Henderson snatched the silver pen, his hand shaking violently. He hastily scrawled his signature on the bottom of the legal document. He relinquished his massive subsidiary, forced to hand it over in a single, dark night.

"It's done," Henderson sobbed. He pushed the paper toward Xavier's leather shoes. "I've signed it. The shares are yours. Now let me go. I promise I'll go far away. I'll never tell Adrian or Mrs. Isabella about this. I promise."

Xavier bent down. He picked up the legal document and folded it neatly. He placed it back inside his jacket pocket without a single glance at the pathetic man.

He looked down at Henderson with a very thin, cold smile.

"A very wise business decision," Xavier praised him softly. "However, there is one small thing you should know about my company's acquisition method."

Henderson's eyes widened in panic. "Wha-what do you mean?"

Xavier dropped his cigarette butt onto the carpet. He ground it out slowly with the sole of his shoe until the ember was extinguished. He crouched down on one knee and gripped the collar of Henderson's shirt.

"This acquisition isn't paid for with money, Mr. Henderson," Xavier whispered, his face inches from the man's. The blue hellfire in his eyes roared back to life. "But with your soul."