Hell's Actor-Chapter 61: An End

Belphegor scurried out of his home.

"Drive. Quick!"

He jumped into the back of his car and drove away smoothly.

Thirty minutes prior, not long after waking up from his afternoon nap, he had taken a look at his phone.

It had been more than thirty hours since he switched it off. And in that time, he had received numerous calls and messages from Beelzebub.

The news about Asmodeus’s death, the trio’s revolt, and the ongoing war was delivered to him by his driver.

All he could do was rush there while hoping it wasn’t too late.

Meanwhile, in the chaotic mansion, Satan was being chased by a persistent Lucifer.

Everywhere he looked, some wall was falling apart. A lot of his men had died. Leviathan had supposedly escaped, and Mammon had died.

Even then, he had tried to claim Lucifer’s head. But unlike the temperamental Satan, the head of the Binsfeld family was a good shot.

He had managed to shoot the seething Satan in the shoulder.

Satan tried to nurse it, but the bleeding would not stop. Despite his anger and resentment, he chose to retreat.

He jumped through fires and escaped the falling debris. He made an abrupt turn and escaped into a long hallway.

At the entrance of the passage, Lucifer stood proudly.

He found Satan’s plan to run through a long, straight hallway while being chased extremely dumb.

He pulled the trigger on his revolver, and once again, Satan was shot in the arm.

Lucifer pulled back the hammer. The cylinder rotated, and the revolver was reloaded.

He took aim and pulled the trigger, but something hit him in the side of the neck.

He missed his shot, staggered, and fell to the floor.

A stray bullet had hit him, penetrating his carotid arteries.

Within minutes, a significant pool of blood had formed around him.

So close to victory, Lucifer had bled to his death.

Meanwhile, at the entrance of the mansion, Belphegor arrived.

Lucifer’s men assured him that they could help him get inside the mansion. They intensified their gunfire and threw smoke grenades.

Just as they were about to storm inside, heavy winds and the sound of whirring blades halted their advance.

Three helicopters were hovering over the vicinity.

Belphegor narrowed his eyes.

Those weren’t police helicopters. Those were military ones.

Two of them were fitted with missiles and machine guns.

The largest of the three had two rotors. It was utilized for transport. As if to prove it, special operatives dropped from it and onto the roofs of the buildings nearby.

The scene changed.

Satan was frantically running through a maze of back alleys. The mansion was far behind him.

He was far enough that the red and blue lights of the rushing police cars had painted the dark surroundings.

Clutching his bleeding arm, he looked over his shoulder for pursuers.

This was his thirty-seventh time looking back—exactly the number of years he had lived.

Suddenly, something metallic crashed straight into his face, causing him to fall to the ground.

Stunned and out of breath, he looked up.

With a single glance, he recognized the thing that had hit him. It was the crowbar he had used to kill Asmodeus.

The frail figure stepped out of the dark corner.

It was the woman who had lost all source of warmth—both her husband and her lover—in a single month.

It was none other than Sarah Raguel.

She looked deranged, breathing unevenly.

There was blood on her clothes. Her hair was uncombed and untidy. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was pale.

Frenzied, she hit Satan in the face again.

And then again.

And again.

Again.

"It’s all because of you," she mumbled, her legs unsteady. "It’s all your fault."

The bone-crunching sound emanating from the alley scared even the strays away.

Five minutes passed.

Then, ten minutes passed.

Sarah continued driving the crowbar deeper and deeper into Satan’s head.

He was long unresponsive, and she had made a gory mess out of his face.

In her moment of madness, she had killed Satan. She had avenged her lover.

Suddenly, the dried river of tears flowed.

However numerous their faults were, she missed Asmodeus and her husband.

Hunching down against the wall and hugging her knees, Sarah began sobbing feebly.

At the same time, in front of the mansion, Belphegor found himself alone and surrounded.

Once the army had pushed back the insurgents and secured the area, they had formed a perimeter with the help of the police, who had arrived not long before.

Belphegor understood that it was a coordinated effort and not a coincidence.

Just a moment ago, he had heard about his brothers’ deaths from one of his men.

Lucifer, Beelzebub, Leviathan, and Mammon were all dead.

Satan was bleeding a lot. So, he knew he wouldn’t get far before dying or getting captured.

There was nothing left of the family.

"Put down the gun!" one of the officers instructed over the loudspeaker. "Put it down, and slowly raise your hands!"

Belphegor looked up. On one of the buildings, military snipers were lying. They had their sights set on him.

The loudspeaker screeched.

"Do as I instruct!"

But Belphegor knew there would be no leniency for him. No one else was left to punish. So, he would be given the harshest possible sentence to make an example out of.

Nothing good awaited him—not in the prison and not after it.

Having made his decision, he raised the pistol in his hand to his head.

But he was not afforded even that.

Before he could pull the trigger, he was shot from every direction.

His liberty was taken from him, and his choice of death was denied.

As his body hit the ground, a worn metal tin rolled out of his coat. The pills inside spilled onto the bloody floor.

Those were his antidepressants.

The scene cut back to Sarah.

She had picked up Satan’s revolver.

With trembling hands and moist eyes, she stuck the barrel to the roof of her mouth.

Over the blaring cars and subtle rain, a gunshot bellowed.

Blood splattered on the walls like graffiti.

The gun slipped out of her grasp, and her hands fell lifelessly.

The twitching of her fingers soon subsided.

She was dead.

In the red and blue light, the six fresh corpses of the Binsfeld brothers lay untouched.

Those lights reached even the windows of Asmodeus’s bedroom. They showed the discolored torso of a rotting body.

It was exactly midnight, and the Binsfeld Conflict had ended with the death of the Binsfeld family.

The mournful outro began.

A picture of Asmodeus sitting on the garden bench from the opening sequence was shown.

In his gray world, a drizzle was pouring.

His wait was over.

The credits rolled.

The short drama series Binsfeld’s Seven Princes of Hell—Averie’s first sign of brilliance in the new world—had come to a thrilling and tragic end.

New novel 𝓬hapters are published on fre ew𝒆bnovel.com