The Devil — In Me

Elias felt his vision split. He saw his own hand reach out—not to hand over the clock, but to grip Sterling’s wrist. He felt the strength of ten men coiled in his muscles. His reflection in the glass of the clock wasn't his own face; it was a void with burning, amber eyes.

With a guttural roar, Elias didn't strike Sterling. Instead, he grabbed his heavy brass loupe and smashed it into the obsidian heart of the Chronometer. the devil in me

The shadows in the room rose like black ink in water, swarming toward the collector. Elias felt a frantic, ecstatic heat rising in his chest. He realized then that the "Devil" wasn't an intruder. It was a door that had finally been unlocked. All the bitterness, the suppressed rage of a quiet life, and the hidden desires were pouring out of him, fueled by the ancient mechanism of the clock. Elias felt his vision split

Just as the shadows touched Sterling's throat, Elias caught a glimpse of himself in a polished silver tray. He looked monstrous—not because of any physical change, but because of the pure, unadulterated joy on his face as he prepared to do something terrible. His reflection in the glass of the clock

“Let him have it,” the Elias-part of his brain screamed. “He doesn't deserve the time he’s been given,” the Devil sang.

The transformation was subtle. It started with a newfound appetite. Elias, usually content with tea and toast, began to crave raw, iron-rich flavors. Then came the confidence. At the local pub, he found himself speaking with a silver-tongued cruelty that silenced rooms, dismantling the egos of strangers with a single, devastating sentence. He felt a terrifying, surging power—the thrill of being the sharpest blade in the room.