As Elena stood there, she heard someone offering condolences to her father. Her father pretended to be sad, but Elena could see right through him.
"Oh, it's okay," her father said, feigning sorrow. "I guess she just needs to rest. She's suffered enough."
Elena's eyes rolled in disgust. Her father's business associates were there, chatting and laughing. It was all so fake.
Just then, her father approached her. "I hope you're aware of the dinner tonight."
"Yes, Father," Elena replied.
Her father continued, "You know what the dinner is about, don't you?"
"Yes, Father," Elena said again.
Her father's expression turned stern. "Be on your best behavior."
Elena nodded. "I will, Father."
But then her father's tone changed, becoming accusatory. "You see, now that your mother has passed away, didn't I warn you? Didn't I tell you to let her go?"
Elena remained silent, not rising to her father's bait.
Her father continued to rant, "Look at what's happened now. Look at the situation we're in. There's nothing you can do about it."
Elena's expression remained calm, but inside, she was seething. She turned and walked away, leaving her father to his fake grief and self-righteousness.
The fake funeral continued, with Elena knowing the secret behind the ceremony. She had commissioned a custom-made doll from an expensive doll company, one that was an exact replica of her mother.
The doll was placed in the coffin, which was open for viewing. Everyone who saw the doll thought it was Elena's mother, and no one suspected a thing. The doll's stiff pose was identical to that of a deceased person, making it look eerily realistic.
In fact, if Elena hadn't known the truth, she would have thought the doll was her real mother. But everything had fallen into place, just as she had planned.
**************************
As evening approached, Zamiel stood calmly in the midst of a bustling area, surrounded by buildings on either side. He walked a short distance, noticing about fifty men approaching him from one direction. Turning, he saw another huge amount of men coming from the opposite direction.
The men, clearly intent on confronting him, surrounded Zamiel. But he didn't flinch, his expression unreadable. He knew exactly why they were after him.
Zamiel had recently carried out a task for their boss, granting the man's wishes in exchange for a payment. However, the payment had come with a steep price: he was to take the boss's life three days after completing the task. The boss had agreed to these terms, but when the time came, he had begged for mercy.
Zamiel had shown no compassion, taking the boss's life as agreed. Now, the boss's men were seeking revenge, Zamiel chuckled to himself, wondering if these men had any idea who they were dealing with.
Zamiel decided not to use his powers against the men, as it would make him appear cowardly. Instead, he figured a physical confrontation would be sufficient to teach them a lesson. A small beating would be enough to reset their brains and remind them not to mess with him.
Cracking his neck and knuckles in preparation, Zamiel stood his ground as the men charged towards him.
As the men charged towards Zamiel.he stood firm, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. The first attacker, a burly man with a cruel grin, swung a meaty fist at Zamiel's face. But Zamiel was too quick, dodging the blow with ease.
He countered with a swift kick, his foot connecting with the man's stomach with a loud thud. The man doubled over, gasping for breath, as Zamiel spun around to face the next attacker.
This one was faster, a lean and agile fighter with a flurry of punches and kicks. Zamiel blocked each blow with his arms, his movements economical and precise. He waited for an opening, and when it came, he seized it, landing a devastating combination of punches that sent the fighter crashing to the ground.
The next attacker was bigger and stronger, a hulking giant with arms as thick as tree trunks. He charged at Zamiel, his massive fists swinging wildly. Zamiel dodged and weaved, avoiding the blows with ease.
He spotted an opening and took it, landing a precise kick to the giant's knee. The giant howled in pain as his knee buckled, and Zamiel followed up with a series of rapid-fire punches that sent the giant crashing to the ground.
The fight was intense, with Zamiel taking on multiple attackers at once. He spun and kicked, punched and dodged, his movements a blur of speed and agility.
The attackers, however, were starting to get tired. They had underestimated Zamiel's strength and speed, and now they were paying the price. One by one, they fell to the ground, defeated and broken.
Zamiel, on the other hand, showed no signs of fatigue. As a devil, he was imbued with supernatural strength and endurance. He had been born to fight, and he knew no other way.
With a final kick, Zamiel sent the last attacker crashing to the ground. He stood victorious, his chest heaving with exertion, but his eyes gleaming with a fierce inner light.
Zamiel looked at the men, his eyes gleaming with a warning. "Leave now!!" he said, his voice low and even.
But the men, fueled by anger and a desire for revenge, refused to back down. As Zamiel turned to walk away, one of them suddenly stood up, holding a knife.
With a snarl, the man charged towards Zamiel, the knife glinting in the light. But just as he was about to strike, something strange happened.
The man's hand seemed to move of its own accord, twisting and turning in a way that was impossible for a human. The knife, instead of stabbing Zamiel, turned towards the man's own stomach.
With a look of shock and horror, the man stumbled backwards, the knife buried deep in his own flesh. He collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.
The other men were stunned, their eyes wide with fear and confusion. They stumbled backwards, tripping over each other in their haste to get away from Zamiel.
Zamiel watched them, his expression unreadable. He knew that he had just given them a warning, a demonstration of his power and abilities.
And he knew that they would never forget it.