160 . Uncle Elli
"Uncle Elli! Uncle Elli! Uncle ELLIIII!"
Marcelline barely had time to react before Mia launched herself at her legs, tiny hands clutching fabric with surprising strength.
"No," Marcelline said flatly. "Absolutely not."
Mia pouted—then gasped dramatically.
"Uncle Elli strong! Uncle Elli cool! Uncle Elli carry Mia!"
Alpha leaned against the doorway, grinning. "You're losing."
Paradus added helpfully, "Rapidly."
Mia climbed. Somehow.
Marcelline stared down at the small child now clinging to her like a determined koala. "…How are you this powerful?"
"Practice!" Mia declared proudly.
Amara burst out laughing. "She's been planning this since morning."
Florence covered her smile with her hand. "Mia, sweetheart—"
"Nooo," Mia whined. "Uncle Elli!"
Alpha lost it. "This is the most effective torture I've ever seen."
Paradus nodded solemnly. "No divine defense. No counter."
Marcelline sighed—the long, dramatic sigh of someone facing an unbeatable enemy.
Fine.
Her aura shifted.
Not violently. Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Dark light folded inward, sharp edges smoothing, presence reshaping—
—and where Marcelline stood, Uncle Elli appeared.
Mia's eyes went huge.
"UNCL—!"
She tackled him instantly.
Alpha doubled over laughing. "DONE. Completely defeated."
Paradus smirked. "Godmother would be horrified."
Amara wiped tears from her eyes. "So this is how the Devilish Angel falls."
Uncle Elli looked down at Mia clinging happily to his neck, cheeks pressed against him, giggling.
"…I blame all of you," he muttered.
Florence stepped closer, eyes warm. "Even hunters deserve softness before war."
Mia yawned, already sleepy. "Uncle Elli… hunt later?"
Uncle Elli smiled—small, real.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Later."
Laughter filled the mansion again—light, affectionate—
—but beneath it, the world held its breath.
Because the hunt was approved.
And Marcelline—
no matter the form—
was ready.
---
The approval did not arrive with trumpets.
It arrived with silence.
A silence so old it belonged to demons before it belonged to gods.
Deep within the Demon Realm, obsidian thrones hummed softly. Infernal runes burned once along ancient pillars, then faded. Lords who had not risen in centuries opened their eyes.
"The Devilish Angel moves," a demon prince murmured, lips curling in something between reverence and hunger.
Another laughed low. "Permission has been granted. Someone is about to disappear from existence."
Chains rattled in forgotten pits. Contracts shifted. Hell itself adjusted its balance.
Only then did the ripple spread outward.
In the Beast Clan, the great council chamber went still.
Vincent paused mid-step, golden eyes flashing sharply as an ancient pressure brushed past his instincts. His jaw tightened.
"So," he muttered, a slow grin tugging at his lips, "the hunt begins."
Elders exchanged glances—some wary, some almost relieved.
"The Devilish Angel has been released," one elder said quietly.
"Whoever stands at the source," another added, "will not survive her mercy."
Vincent folded his arms, pride unmistakable in his stance.
"Good," he said simply. "She never misses."
---
In the Vampire Courts, goblets stilled in pale hands.
"Ah," Victor Valtieri smiled faintly, red eyes gleaming. "So the hunt is official."
Werewolf packs felt it in their bones—an itch beneath the skin, a warning passed through Alpha howls without sound.
Dragons stirred in their mountain lairs, smoke curling lazily from ancient nostrils.
"A predator has been unleashed," one rumbled. "And this time… it has permission."
No names were spoken.
No locations shared.
The news spread like wildfire—secret, contained, precise.
Because when Marcelline hunted—
the world learned to stay quiet.
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