The cathedral still reeked of blood. Ravenna stood in the middle of the corpses, her face streaked crimson, her laughter fading into a hum. A few survivors had slipped into the night, their screams echoing into the streets. She licked her blade clean, whispering, "Run, little rats. Run to your masters. He will follow."
Back at the estate, the council had gathered once more. Cain Mortalis sat sharpening his axe, each drag of the whetstone heavy and deliberate. The sound filled the room like the ticking of a clock counting down to death.
"They escaped," Silvio muttered, his eyes on the maps sprawled before him. "Not many, but enough to warn the others. They will return with larger claws."
Victor Draemont adjusted his glasses and smiled faintly. "Let them. The more they gather, the more they can be crushed at once. I will make sure their financial arteries are cut before the night is done."
Adrian Crowe chuckled from his corner, his papers already smeared with ink. "I want them alive just long enough to drag them into the courts. Imagine the irony, Lucius. They begged for justice, and justice declared them guilty."
Darius slammed a dagger into the wooden table, the blade quivering upright. "Justice is too soft. I want blood. Master, give me their scent and I will end them before the sun rises."
Lucius, seated in his high-backed chair, said nothing for a moment. His crimson eyes glowed faintly as if he saw further than anyone in the room. Finally, he rose, the shadows bending with him.
"No," he said quietly. "Tonight, I walk."
The chamber fell into silence. Every council member knew what that meant. The Devil himself would move, and when he did, no one would forget it.
Selene bowed her head, chains still clinking faintly from her wrists. "Master, let me atone beside you. Let me spill their secrets while you spill their blood."
Lucius's gaze lingered on her. "You will watch, Selene. Watch and remember what happens to those who betray me. Let it be carved into your soul."
Ravenna tilted her head back and laughed. "They will soil themselves when they see you, master. I almost pity them. Almost."
The city streets burned with scattered riots, fires licking the night sky. The survivors of Ravenna's massacre had found their fellow conspirators and warned them. Together, they rallied in the industrial district, more than fifty strong, armed with rifles and explosives.
"They cannot touch us here," one shouted. "The Devil hides in his palace, too afraid to face us."
But the air shifted. A silence heavier than stone fell across the district. One by one, torches flickered, then extinguished. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls, twisting like living things.
Cain Mortalis stepped from the dark first, axe resting across his shoulder. His eyes were empty, but the weight of his presence crushed the courage from the mob. Not a word left his lips, but his silence screamed louder than any war cry.
Behind him, Darius stalked forward, his grin wolfish. "Run if you can," he growled, spinning his knives. "I will enjoy the chase."
Ravenna appeared next, her laughter slicing through the silence, blades glinting with fresh blood. "I told you," she whispered to the trembling men. "The Devil comes."
And then the shadows parted. Lucius himself emerged, crimson eyes glowing like fire, his black coat flowing like liquid darkness. The mob froze, rifles shaking in their hands. One dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, sobbing.
"You wanted me," Lucius said softly, his voice carrying like thunder. "Now you have me."
The ground seemed to shiver under his presence. Fear rolled through the mob like a wave, breaking their unity. Some screamed, some fled, some fired blindly into the dark.
But Cain's axe split rifles in half, Darius's knives found throats, and Ravenna danced among them like death given form. Every conspirator who dared lift a hand fell in pieces.
Lucius did not raise a blade. He simply walked forward, and the closer he came, the more their minds fractured. Men clawed at their own faces, convinced they saw hell itself behind his eyes.
One survivor fell to his knees, trembling violently. "Please," he sobbed. "Please, forgive me. I did not know. I did not know who you truly were."
Lucius leaned down, his smile cold and sharp. "Now you do."
The man screamed as his own shadow wrapped around his throat, choking the life from him. His body fell lifeless to the ground, and the mob broke completely.
When the blood settled, only a handful of conspirators remained alive. Darius held one by the hair, dragging him across the dirt. "What shall we do with these, master?"
Lucius looked down at the survivors, crimson eyes burning. His council waited, silent and eager, for his command.
The Devil smiled. "Take them alive. Let them lead us to the rest. And then… I will show the city what happens when you raise your hand against me."
The survivors sobbed in terror as chains were fastened around their necks.
But high above, watching from a hidden rooftop, another cloaked figure observed the massacre. His lips curved into a grim smile. "So it is true," he whispered. "The Devil himself walks. We will need more than knives and guns to stop him."
The figure vanished into the night, leaving only the promise of a greater storm to come.