ZEFAR
I dropped to my knees.
The venom crawled through me like molten wire, slow and deliberate, burning its own path through my veins. Every heartbeat felt like a hammer striking from the inside. My vision blurred. My ears rang. My breath shuddered.
The child stepped toward me.
Not afraid.
Not hesitant.
Not human.
He reached up and unlatched the Veil of Glass from my face with small, steady fingers.
"Where's Papa?" he asked.
That voice.
That calm.
That question.
My hand tightened against the floorboards. I stared at him—actually saw him—and my world tilted.
His eyes…
God, his eyes.
Her eyes.
This wasn't a child soldier.
This wasn't another Lamech.
This wasn't someone Oma trained to hate me.
This was—
Oh, Apex…
If only you had answered my question.
It was him you were protecting.
This vicious son of yours,Rose's heir and the true King of Oma.
Yuda was really just a steward you left your kingdom to until your son was ready.
The prince hidden in the dark.
It finally made sense
The Sons Of Oma died for him.
Yuda was actually making sense.
Apex would kill for him.
Geni's death mattered.
Thry could have avoided all this bloodshed and chaos by simply telling me the truth.
Maybe it was the venom.
Maybe my mind was cracking like glass under a hammer.
But for a heartbeat—a breath—I heard her.
Rose's ghost whispered:
"Zefar… stop this madness. You promised to forget me. You're not to blame for my death. And neither is he."
It didn't matter anymore, did it?
I had already made the boy an orphan.
My tongue felt like stone as I answered him—not cruelly, not sharply… just truthfully.
"Your father's dead."
He didn't breathe.
He didn't blink.
Then he whipped my mask across the room so hard it cracked the wall.
If the Veil hadn't been diamond, it would've shattered into dust.
His scream tore through the treehouse—louder than grief, louder than rage, louder than pain itself.
I let his dagger fall from my hand.
No reason to fight.
Not this boy.
Not Rose's only legacy.
He snatched the blade before it hit the ground and put it to my throat with trembling, furious hands.
He was ready.
He wanted blood.
He wanted mine.
I didn't beg.
I spoke.
"So… you're the reason she died."
His breath caught.
"It's been a while since I saw a natural-born Slayer. I see the hate. I feel the pain."
He staggered back as if I'd slapped him.
"What are you talking about? Forget it! Did you kill him?!"
"No," I said. "But I commanded it.
In a way… I slayed your father. Slaughtered your people."
I exhaled. "I deserve to die by your hands."
His grip on the dagger tightened.
"But sadly—" I pushed myself upward, legs shaking, bones screaming "—that won't be possible."
I stood.
Venom still inside me.
Fangs still in my flesh.
Poison turning my blood into fire.
Yet I stood.
Unbroken.
He stumbled back in horror—eyes wide, mouth open. He knew the venom. Knew its reputation. Knew that nothing mortal survived it.
And still I moved.
Still I breathed.
Still I lived.
A smile almost crept onto my face.
He turned to run, almost like he'd seen a ghost.
I followed. Calmly. Like a man walking into his own funeral.
"The flesh is bound to perish…" I said, voice low, steady. "But the soul of a Slayer is immortal."
He froze.
"You're not the first to stand against me, child."
The darkness around him wouldn't save him from me.
"I wish you could run," I said softly. "I wish there was a hole deep enough to hide you."
I stepped closer.
"Sadly… there's only one outcome to facing me."
He looked up—terror and disbelief tangled in the same terrified face.
"My victory."
I wondered what the child was thinking as he began to run again.
HEIR OF OMA
Smoke scratched the back of my throat. Not the thick, dirty smoke from the fires that destroyed Oma.
No.
This was a sharper smell from the monster at the door. It was mixed with the smell of blood and the dry, dusty scent from my little hiding space under the floor.
The Devil had a real name now.
Victor Zefar.
King of Slayers.
The monster Mama loved but never got.
The monster who burned my people.
The man who killed…
Papa.
The memory stabbed me like the broken glass lying near my feet. Not the fire memory, not my brothers and uncles dying to keep me hidden. Not Uncle Yuda fighting Zefar and losing.
This memory was older. Softer.
Papa's rough hand over mine on the bone knife.
We were under the Ironwood trees, the forest smell thick around us.
"Listen, Little Fang," Papa told me. His voice was deep and steady.
"I don't know why snakes like you, but don't let them just do what they want. Make them calm. Make them yours."
I remembered training in the Forest of Predators—my home.
"Feel the ground before you see danger. The ground always knows when monsters walk."
Papa… a monster was walking
He was strolling through our house!
He wanted…
Me.
So I ran. Because maybe running would keep me alive.
I didn't know why he wanted me. Papa called him the Father of Murder. The King of Killers.
Why would I let myself get caught by the Reaper of Death?
I slipped turning a corner and fell hard. My knees hit the floor and I shook—not like when I hunt… like when I'm hunted.
Then I heard it:
Heavy boots. Slow. Sure.
They echoed in the cabin where Papa fixed traps.
Where Mama used to sing before I was born.
Another step. Closer.
His shadow fell across the floor.
But I wasn't helpless.
Papa let me keep as many snakes as I wanted.
They attacked Zefar at every turn.
He killed all of them with his hands.
None of them bit him.
Golden Red's bite should have been enough.
Papa said that snake was born to kill evil. One bite and blood turns into lava.
But Zefar was still alive.
Basilisk, my emerald racer, always slept near me. He knew me. He didn't look at me like Aunt Geni did—with sad eyes.
Geni was always good to me.
She tried to kill Zefar...
She died for it.
I needed a plan. My heart felt like it was shaking the whole room.
Papa's voice came back:
"Use what loves you, Little Fang."
I remembered him lifting a sleepy viper at the Parana Falls.
"Not just teeth. Not just claws. Use loyalty. Use what they don't expect."
Zefar's boots scraped on the broken wood. He walked toward the fireplace. Toward Basilisk.
No.
Not him.
Not the last thing I cared about.
I crawled fast. My fingers found the old floorboard Papa helped me fix—the one with the lever.
Zefar heard me.
He turned from Basilisk and came after me.
His shadow covered the stones by the hearth.
I slammed my hand on the lever.
CRACK—WHUMP!
The floor burst open. Dirt shot up everywhere.
And from the hole—she came.
Obsidian.
My weapon.
My secret.
My only chance.
My giant python.
Bigger than Papa. Longer than the cabin.
She didn't hunt things.
She crushed them until they were nothing.
She struck fast.
One coil grabbed Zefar's arm.
One lifted him off the ground.
One wrapped around his waist, squeezing hard.
I froze.
I'd seen her crush a deer. It took minutes.
Zefar hung in her coils, his mask cracked, his face covered in blood from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth—Golden Red's last poison signs.
I waited for him to scream.
He didn't.
He laughed.
A slow, deep, horrible laugh.
"By the stars of Babel…" he groaned.
He looked at me through the cracked mask. His grey eye was cold. Not scared. Curious.
"I thought you were out of tricks… that snake on the dagger almost got me. But this… this is something."
He nodded at the dead golden-red adder—the one that should've killed him.
"The Golden Death's bite? A tickle… compared to this beast."
Rage cut through my fear.
"Crush him!" I yelled. "Swallow him!"
But Obsidian didn't listen.
She ALWAYS listened.
She never refused food.
Zefar's eye stayed on mine.
"If only she could," he said quietly.
His voice wasn't scared.
Wasn't weak.
Just calm.
"Ask her, Heir of Oma. Ask your snake… if she can kill Zefar."
Snakes don't talk.
But Obsidian lifted her head.
Slowly.
Her tongue flicked by Zefar's neck.
Her muscles tightened—
Then stopped.
She turned her big head toward me.
Her eyes didn't look hungry.
They looked unsure.
Like she was asking me something.
She loosened her coils.
Not enough to drop him.
Just enough to show she couldn't finish him.
She stared at me, like she was saying:
This man…
I can't kill him.
Zefar stood there—half crushed, bleeding everywhere—but alive.
Still standing.
The corner of his mouth moved.
Not warm.
Just knowing.
He didn't just survive the impossible.
He scared my monster.
I had nothing left.
No tricks.
No help.
Just me and the Devil alone at home.