The Devil In Me Now

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.

"You’re working too hard," the reflection whispered. The voice didn't come from the air; it vibrated inside Elias’s own teeth. the devil in me

Should we delve deeper into to keep the door shut, or Elias felt his vision split

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. His reflection in the glass of the clock

The breaking point arrived when a wealthy collector, Mr. Sterling, came to claim the Chronometer. Sterling was a greedy man who spoke to Elias like he was part of the furniture. As Sterling reached for the clock, the room grew impossibly cold.

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

"It’s not me," Elias would tell himself, gripping the edge of his workbench until his knuckles turned white. "It’s the best of you," the shadow would retort.

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.

"You’re working too hard," the reflection whispered. The voice didn't come from the air; it vibrated inside Elias’s own teeth.

Should we delve deeper into to keep the door shut, or

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.

The breaking point arrived when a wealthy collector, Mr. Sterling, came to claim the Chronometer. Sterling was a greedy man who spoke to Elias like he was part of the furniture. As Sterling reached for the clock, the room grew impossibly cold.

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

"It’s not me," Elias would tell himself, gripping the edge of his workbench until his knuckles turned white. "It’s the best of you," the shadow would retort.