Supreme Demon Emperor Returns

4. Cigarette Smoke and Bitter Reality

The smell of damp dust and rust was the first thing to greet Xavier’s consciousness. Faintly, he heard the rhythmic sound of water dripping into a puddle and the muffled roar of New York traffic in the distance. He tried to open his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy, as if they had been coated in lead.

Slowly, the pitch-black void of his vision shifted into a hazy sea of gray. It took several seconds for the shapes around him to come into focus. He was in a vast, dimly lit room. There were dull brick walls, large pipes crisscrossing the high ceiling, and the only source of light came from a single yellow bulb hanging above him. An abandoned warehouse.

He was lying on an old, worn-out mattress. A thin blanket covered his body. He turned his head to the side. On a wooden chair, Lyra sat with poise, crossing her long legs while reading a leather-bound book. Near the massive, tightly sealed steel doors, Fenrir stood motionless like a gargoyle, his arms folded across his chest.

"You’re awake, Boss." Lyra closed her book without looking up. "I thought you would sleep longer."

"Where are we?" Xavier asked. His voice was raspy and dry, sounding as though it had not been used in years.

"The Meatpacking District, Bronx," Lyra replied. "One of the abandoned properties I acquired a few hours ago using a pseudonym. Dilapidated enough to avoid drawing attention, secure enough for us to hide temporarily."

Xavier tried to sit up. A searing pain immediately tore through his right arm, radiating up to his shoulder. He glanced down. Black bandages were wrapped neatly from his bicep to his wrist.

"How long was I out?"

"Twelve hours, thirty-four minutes," Lyra answered as she stood and approached him. She placed a tray containing a glass of water and several pills on the nightstand beside the mattress. "You are lucky. Mortal rejection of the kind you experienced usually results in permanent paralysis or a second death."

"Mortal rejection?"

"Exactly." Lyra offered a thin smile. "This human body of yours, though repaired by Lord Morax, is fundamentally still a fragile organic shell. You pumped too much hellfire energy into it in too short a time. It’s like pouring jet fuel into a lawnmower engine. The result is an internal explosion."

Xavier stared at his bandaged arm. "So, every time I use my power, this happens?"

"Not always," Lyra said. "Your body will adapt over time. But for now, yes. Any excessive use of power will demand a payment in the form of extreme physical pain. Hemorrhaging, muscle tears, temporary organ failure. Consider it an operating cost."

Xavier fell silent, processing the information. Infinite power at the price of infinite suffering. A truly demonic bargain.

"Is there a way to stabilize it?" he asked, his eyes fixing sharply on Lyra.

Lyra paused, as if weighing her words. "There is. Every Collector requires an Anchor. Something or someone in the mortal world who possesses a pure energy that acts as an opposite to your infernal energy. The resonance from that anchor can calm the turmoil within your body, accelerate healing, and allow you to wield greater power without destroying yourself."

Xavier’s heart, which had been beating slow and cold, suddenly throbbed a fraction faster. There was only one source of purity in his rotten world.

"Livia," he whispered involuntarily.

Lyra’s smile widened. "Precisely, Boss. Your foster sister, Livia Aristhos. Her aura radiates a rare innocence. She is your natural anchor. The closer you are to her, the more stable your power becomes. The further away, well, you’ve already felt that for yourself."

Xavier clenched his left hand. So this was the trap. Morax had given him the power to protect Livia, but at the same time, made him a time bomb that could detonate at any moment if he strayed too far from her. Perfect. Truly perfect.

"Leave me alone," Xavier commanded coldly.

"Of course. Those pills are demonic painkillers. They won’t heal you, but at least they will make the pain somewhat bearable," Lyra said. She signaled to Fenrir, and the two of them walked out of the warehouse's main room, leaving Xavier in the silence.

Xavier stared at the dusty ceiling. He felt every muscle fiber in his right arm throb with pain, as if being pulled by thousands of barbed wires. He did not touch the pills. This pain was a reminder. A reminder of his failure, of his weakness.

He sat up slowly, stifling a groan that nearly escaped his throat. With great effort, he reached out with his left hand, grabbing his coat folded on the chair. From the coat pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a sleek, black obsidian lighter. Lyra must have placed them there. The demon was incredibly efficient.

His hand shook violently as he tried to take a cigarette. It took three attempts before he managed to wedge it between his lips. He flicked the lighter. The flame was a pale blue, just like Morax’s eyes.

He inhaled deeply. Smoke filled his lungs. But there was no taste. No soothing sensation of nicotine. No distinct aroma of tobacco. All he felt was heat. A hollow, tasteless heat that burned his throat. Just like when he had sipped the water earlier. Empty.

"Damn it," he muttered softly to himself. He stared at the glowing tip of the cigarette. "I can’t even feel this anymore."

He exhaled the smoke into the dim air. It curled and swirled, forming grinning faces before vanishing.

His mind drifted back to Livia. Her sobbing voice on the phone. His promise.

*How can I protect her?* he thought bitterly. *How can I get to her if I am broken like this?*

Lyra said he had to be near Livia to remain stable. But what if this unstable power of his actually hurt her? What if his cold presence and aura of death poisoned Livia’s innocence?

He had become a monster. A monster that had to keep its distance from the only thing it wanted to protect. A cruel irony.

Xavier laughed. It was a dry, raspy laugh, devoid of any joy. He laughed at his cursed fate.

In the midst of his bitter laughter, a brief vibration hummed in his coat pocket.

He stopped laughing. With a furrowed brow, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheap burner phone. Another item Lyra must have prepared. A new message had arrived.

The sender was a number he recognized. Arthur’s private number.

Xavier opened the message. His numb heart seemed to stop beating as he read the two lines on the screen:

"Isabella knows you left documents. They are breaking down my door. Help."

The pain in his arm seemed to vanish instantly, replaced by a wave of cold adrenaline pumping through his body. His face, which had been filled with despair, now hardened into a mask of absolute granite.

He stared at the steel door where Lyra and Fenrir had disappeared.

Xavier’s eyes, which had been dark brown, began to glow again with a faint but lethal blue hellfire.