Died

Casper Fox, the butler, was already in his sixties. He was much younger than James, but perhaps a person's lifespan really did shape their mind and outlook. Casper's conduct lived up to everyone's expectations of a dignified elder, while James was still the same as ever—and had grown more and more carefree.

"Cough, cough. Sir, I must remind you: Azazel... Young Master Azazel has gone into the city to cause a scene without disguising himself for the third time this month. The whole of Edmonton is abuzz with rumors now, with people saying things like 'a demon has appeared in the world.'"

Butler Casper wore the monocle passed down from his father, Vane Fox. He cleared his throat, then folded his hands with great solemnity and spoke gravely. He glanced at James, who was bent over his writing, and gave another dissatisfied cough.

"You'll have to call me Young Master, too, Casper. Before long, I'll officially appear before everyone as Bruce Howlett. Make sure you don't call me the wrong name when the time comes."

James continued scribbling in a book with a steel pen bearing the Howlett family crest in pure gold. He seemed almost finished.

It was already 1910, and James Howlett was nearing eighty. He had not appeared in public or before outsiders for many years. Only a small handful of his closest old companions ever saw him at the family estate.

To the outside world, the patriarch of the Howlett Family, a super-tycoon famed throughout the Western world, had long been recuperating at the family estate in Canada, frail and sickly with age, waiting to die. Now he would resume moving through the world as Bruce Howlett, the biological son he had secretly fathered.

All the necessary documents and arrangements had long been prepared. And that wasn't all—his face was identical to that of "James Howlett." No outsider could doubt it.

James's pen paused. He put a period on the page for the moment, then noticed that Butler Casper was still standing beside him. He said apologetically, "Has Azazel come back? I'll go discipline him. Don't worry about it. You've known what that boy is like since he was little."

Butler Casper pressed his lips together, then sighed helplessly. "He wasn't as sweet and well-behaved as a child. I still remember when he first arrived, so tiny in my arms, trembling a little..."

The butler seemed overcome by emotion. Like a grandfather remembering his grandson, he blinked several times.

James picked up the black-and-white photograph on his desk, showing him and Azazel when the boy was young. In the picture, Azazel wore a two-tone knitted sweater and a pointed wool cap, sitting happily on James's lap. He looked a little older, grinning with his tiny fangs showing, a finely carved model train in his hands. His little tail was curled around the Christmas tree beside them.

James leaned back casually in his chair and propped his legs up on the desk. "Yeah. He was more likable as a kid."

Beneath the estate.

Poof! Poof!

A lanky red-and-black figure flashed repeatedly through the underground space. Wisps of black smoke slowly faded where he had been.

Azazel Howlett landed lightly on the stone floor and peered around. He had grown quite tall, over six feet, and wore a finely tailored black linen suit. Several buttons on his shirt were undone, baring his solid chest. His build was slender but well-proportioned; he was no longer the big-headed little boy he had been. Now he looked lean and strong.

His face was somewhat narrow, with a straight nose and medium-length hair. He occasionally brushed the strands from his forehead, thinking it made him look dashing. His skin had lost the brightness of his childhood, taking on the texture of dark-red leather, with strange patterns faintly visible. His tail was long, yet tough and powerful, its tip like a triangular bone spike, hard and razor-sharp.

"Dad? Dad? You wanted to see me?"

Azazel called out tentatively a few times into the empty underground space. His voice was a little shrill, his tone tinged with a touch of frivolity.

"Come here." James's deep voice came from the quiet room at the far end. At the sound of it, Azazel poofed into the stone chamber.

He fidgeted with his tail, his eyes darting around.

"Going out to have fun is one thing, but you didn't even cover yourself up. You trying to get everyone to stare at you?"

James spoke harshly. He sat bare-chested on the stone bed, watching Azazel scratch at himself in embarrassment.

"That stuff's too much trouble! When it's all wrapped up, I look like a mummy. I can't do it, and Uncle Casper won't help me. If he finds out I want to go out, he'll lecture me for days."

"That's still too much. Three trips out this month, just because you're so capable and no one can keep you locked up?" James's voice grew even sterner.

Azazel's appearance was far too conspicuous. Whenever he went out before, he would wrap the exposed parts of his body in specially designed cloth. Anyone who saw him simply assumed he had suffered burns or had some kind of disability.

He seemed to lose his temper. Turning his head, he complained that James had promised to take him on a trip somewhere far away and argued indignantly.

"How far have you gotten with what I taught you? Have you even reached the threshold of the third stage?"

Azazel seemed to have been struck right in his weak spot. He stammered, unable to come up with an answer, and only muttered that the third stage was just too difficult.

James stopped pressing him. After a moment, he relaxed his tone and said seriously, "Stay here with me for the next few days. Watch how I train for the final step. It'll do you good. Then we'll..."

He weighed his words, then decided not to explain. Closing his eyes, he gradually built up his energy.

Azazel vanished into a corner. James's figure was reflected in his pupils.

James began to grow, becoming astonishingly tall and muscular until he nearly reached the ceiling of the stone chamber. His heartbeat grew faster and more violent, until Azazel had to cover his ears to ease the discomfort in his eardrums.

The temperature in the room kept rising, as if under a blazing sun. Even his field of vision began to warp.

Even though James was the father who had raised him, Azazel was still terrified of him in this form.

Boom!

A shockwave of force burst from James, pinning Azazel firmly against the wall like a picture hanging there.

Every object in the chamber was pushed away. Then, in an instant, the repulsive force abruptly withdrew. The intense heat radiating from James seemed to retreat into his body as well. His heartbeat could no longer be heard, and his aura grew utterly lifeless. Every sign of life had withdrawn deep into some place inside him.

Azazel could no longer sense even the slightest trace of life in his adoptive father. James's face and skin had turned deathly pale, drained of all color. It was as if he had been dead for quite some time.