The next day, the news of another Duke's disappearance spread like wildfire. This time, it was Amaias's father. Whispers echoed in every corner of the city. The air was thick with fear, especially among the remaining Dukes. They knew who was behind this, even if they dared not speak her name aloud.
Despite their efforts, their children wouldn't intervene. The boys, tormented and torn, refused to stand in her way, knowing that justice was all she had left after years of unimaginable pain.
---
That night, the moonlight painted the sky in silvery shadows, casting an eerie glow on Amaias's estate. Cior arrived silently, dressed in a flowing black dress that seemed to absorb the light around her. Her wings—dark as the abyss—spread behind her, each feather a reminder of her grief and the weight of her despair.
Amaias's father stood in the garden, gazing at the stars. He didn't notice her at first, but then, a soft melody reached his ears. The hauntingly beautiful song seemed to pierce his soul, sending shivers down his spine. He turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers.
"So, you're here," he said, his voice heavy with resignation.
"Yes," she replied, her tone calm but laced with icy determination. "And you already know why."
He took a deep breath, his gaze steady. "I do. I was wrong, and I deserve punishment. I won't run from it."
For a brief moment, something flickered in Cior's expression—perhaps surprise, or maybe even a trace of respect. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"Very well," she said, stepping closer. Her presence was overpowering, her aura both beautiful and terrifying. "At least you accept the truth. That will make this easier."
Without hesitation, she began to cast the same spell she had used on Mateo's father. The Astleio spell.
Amaias's father dropped to his knees as the spell took hold. His mind was flooded with visions of every life he had destroyed, every innocent soul that had suffered because of his actions. He felt their pain as if it were his own—every scream, every tear, every moment of despair.
Cior watched, her expression cold and unreadable. "This is justice," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "For the lives you stole, for the futures you shattered. Now, you will feel what they felt."
As the spell consumed him, Cior stepped forward, her wings brushing against the ground. With a wave of her hand, she took him with her, vanishing into the night.
---
By morning, the city was in chaos once more. Two Dukes had disappeared, and the remaining ones were gripped with dread. They knew it was only a matter of time before she came for them.
The following night, the city was wrapped in an uneasy silence, the tension suffocating. Cior, shrouded in her black moonlight dress, made her way to Ziven's family estate. Her wings, dark as despair itself, stretched wide against the starry sky. She moved with purpose, her steps silent, her presence commanding.
Ziven's father was in his study, leaning back in his chair, a drink in his hand. He bore an uncanny resemblance to Ziven—his posture, his smirk, the carefree attitude masking a sharp mind. When Cior appeared in the doorway, he didn't flinch or show fear. Instead, he regarded her with an expression of intrigue, as if he had been expecting her.
"So," he said, swirling the liquid in his glass, "the infamous angel of vengeance finally graces me with her presence."
"You know why I'm here," Cior replied, her tone cold and unwavering.
"I do," Ziven's father said, standing up and straightening his coat. His demeanor was eerily calm, almost playful, just like his son's. "You're here to punish me for my sins, aren't you?"
Cior's eyes narrowed. "Do you think this is a joke? Do you think their lives were meaningless?"
He sighed, setting his glass down. "No, I don't. But I've made peace with my actions, for better or worse. If you're here to make me pay, I won't stop you."
His reaction gave her pause. He was so much like Ziven that it was almost unsettling. The way he spoke, the way he stood—it was as if she were looking at an older version of her friend.
"You're not even going to beg for your life?" she asked, her voice sharper now.
He chuckled softly, leaning against the desk. "Begging wouldn't suit me, would it? Besides, I know you won't stop until you get what you came for."
Her expression darkened. "You're right. I won't."
Cior raised her hand, beginning the incantation for the Astleio spell. For a moment, Ziven's father faltered, his confident demeanor cracking as he realized the torment he was about to endure.
"You'll regret this," he said, his voice quieter now. "Not because of me, but because of what it'll do to you."
"I've already lost too much to regret anything anymore," Cior replied, her tone hollow.
The spell took hold, and Ziven's father fell to his knees, clutching his head as the visions consumed him. He saw the faces of every child whose life had been stolen, felt their fear and pain, their screams echoing in his mind.
Cior stood over him, her wings casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the room. "Now, you'll understand what you've done," she said, her voice steady and emotionless.
As his torment deepened, she reached out and touched his shoulder, teleporting him away. By the time she left, the house was empty, the air heavy with the aftermath of her wrath.
---
The next day, the city buzzed with the news of yet another disappearance. Ziven's father was gone, just like the others. The remaining Duke could no longer hide their fear. They knew their time was running out.
The ocean glistened under the moonlight as Cior stood at the edge of the shore, her long black wings folding as she prepared herself. Tonight, it was time for Arven's mother to face her justice. She removed her shoes, stepped into the water, and her sea-green dress shimmered as her legs transformed into a majestic tail. Her form was ethereal yet commanding, a mix of beauty and danger as she dove into the deep.
The ocean seemed to part for her as she swam with purpose, her speed unmatched as she approached the underwater castle where Arven's mother resided. The guards and servants she passed froze in place, their bodies paralyzed by her spell. Her presence was overwhelming, a silent storm tearing through the serene waters.
She entered the grand hall of the castle, her tail shimmering as it moved gracefully behind her. Without hesitation, she made her way to Arven's mother's chambers. The older woman was seated at her desk, a chalice of wine in her hand, as though she had been waiting for this moment.
"So, you've come," Arven's mother said, standing up slowly, her expression calm but her body tense.
"You knew this day would come," Cior replied, her voice carrying a cold authority.
Arven's mother smirked, setting her chalice down. "You think I'll go down as easily as the others? No, child. I am not like them."
Cior's eyes narrowed. "That won't change your fate."
The tension between them broke as Arven's mother lunged, her movements fast and deliberate. She was prepared, wielding weapons and magic designed to counter an angel like Cior. A fierce battle ensued, the room filling with flashes of light and the sound of clashing energy.
Despite her strength and preparation, Arven's mother quickly realized she was outmatched. Cior's movements were precise, her attacks relentless. Her tail shimmered as she spun through the water, dodging every strike and countering with devastating force. The fight was fierce but brief, with Cior emerging victorious.
Pinned against the wall, Arven's mother gasped for breath, her confidence shattered. "Do it, then," she spat, glaring at Cior.
"You will suffer, just like the others," Cior said, her tone devoid of sympathy.
With a wave of her hand, she began the Astleio spell. The woman's eyes widened as the visions overtook her—every life she had stolen, every ounce of pain she had inflicted, it all crashed down on her like an unrelenting tide. She screamed, clutching her head as the memories consumed her.
Cior stood tall, her tail glinting in the dim light of the room, her expression unreadable. "This is the price for your sins," she said, her voice steady.
As Arven's mother collapsed to the ground, consumed by the spell, Cior reached out and teleported her away, just as she had done with the others.
---
The underwater castle was silent as Cior swam out, the paralyzed staff and guards slowly regaining their mobility after her departure. The once-grand estate felt hollow, as if it bore the weight of its mistress's sins.
Cior emerged from the water, the night air cold against her skin. Her tail shimmered before fading back into legs as she stepped onto the shore. She stood there for a moment, staring at the horizon. The weight of her actions was heavy, but she did not falter. Justice, she reminded herself, required sacrifice.
The city woke the next morning to the news of yet another disappearance. The last of the Dukes' families now lived in constant fear, knowing that no amount of preparation could save them from Cior's wrath.