The ripple effects of the solstice festival disaster spread swiftly through the immortal world. Wild rumors about the event began to circulate, the story acquiring more and more bizarre details as it made the rounds. By week's end, immortals from the Citadel to the farthest reaches were convinced that a little boy was leading a battalion of demons to storm Shepha's realm.
Fears of reigniting the devastating angel-demon wars surged across the realm. The Citadel Council acted swiftly, decreeing that Malbonte be isolated so his powers could be studied and contained. After all, what kind of creature could kill a seraph?
But Malbonte's parents couldn't bear the thought of surrendering their only son to a life of captivity. Defying Heaven's order, they fled with him, deciding to hide Malbonte in an ancient maze that was veiled even from Shepha's divine sight.
Annabelle carried her son in her arms, clutching him tightly with every hurried step. His father ran behind them, glancing back again and again, watching for pursuers.
"Where are we going?" Malbonte asked, his small voice trembling.
"Don't be afraid, Bont. Don't be afraid," his mother whispered, her words coming out in broken gasps with her need to catch her breath.
Malbonte flinched at the name. Though it was his birth name, he had grown to dislike the way it sounded—too soft, too childish.
"Annabelle, calm down," his father said, touching her shoulder to steady her. "No one is behind us."
She turned to him, tears streaming down her face. "He's good. Why is he being persecuted? Why did Shepha allow this?"
"Don't cry," his father said softly, reaching out to wipe the tears from her face.
"Bont is good," she repeated, her voice cracking. "He just got scared."
They reached the heart of the maze—a small clearing where a statue stood, already crumbling with age. It depicted an angel and a demon locked in an eternal embrace. Around them, the air shimmered faintly with the ancient enchantments that veiled the labyrinth.
"Let him go," his father said gently.
Annabelle kissed Malbonte's temple before reluctantly setting him down. His father crouched, bringing himself to eye level with the boy.
His expression solemn, he spoke to the boy as if to an adult. "Malbonte, you have to stay here for a while, all right?"
"Why?"
"They won't be able to find you here," said his father. "We're going to search for an amulet that will hide your energy. Until then, you must remain here. Do you promise to stay?"
Malbonte hesitated, looking into his father's eyes. He didn't fully understand why his parents had to leave him behind in this strange silent place, but he trusted his father.
"I promise," he said quietly.
***—***
Malbonte wasn't one to lament the loss of the captives. Weighing the options, he realized it was not worth the trouble holding them once their loyalties were clear. Coercing recruits by holding their children hostage was not his style. He wanted loyalty freely given.
Vicky, however, was another matter. He could admit now that expecting her to join his side after only a few days in captivity had been premature. Still, he wasn't ready to give up. Perhaps being back at the Academy would shift her perspective. After all, he only needed her for the final part of his plan. There was still time.
With the captives back at the Academy, Rebecca and her allies now knew about the subantras in his camp. And thanks to Crowley, he had learned of Rebecca's plan to visit Death Valley and retrieve the Horn of the Subantras—the only artifact capable of disorienting and subduing the creatures.
Death Valley, with its portal to Nonexistence, was a place of horror even for immortals. Malbonte couldn't help but admire Rebecca's tenacity in venturing there herself—it was clear where Vicky had inherited her courage from. But there ended the similarities. Rebecca's determination had hardened her into flint. In contrast, warmth flourished within Vicky's soul.
Malbonte had chosen a select few of his crew to accompany him to Death Valley, Fencio among them. While the others were there for their battle-readiness, Fencio had been brought along for an entirely different reason.
After the fiasco at the bonfire, where the angel had made an exhibition of himself, Malbonte had resolved to get rid of him. That night had confirmed what he already suspected: Fencio was a liability. His twisted jealousy and thwarted cupidity threatened to disrupt everything. When he had openly threatened Vicky's life—that had been the final straw.
Malbonte could tell himself that Vicky's survival was tied to his plans—that without her, he couldn't open Shepha's gates. But that wasn't the whole truth. He hated the thought of losing her—not for what she could do for him, but because of who she was.
He had more or less come to terms with the fact that to him, Vicky was more than just a vessel or a means to an end. Her strength, her resilience, and most of all, the warmth she carried in her heart even through her pain—all these qualities drew him to her like a moth to a flame.
Beyond all that, he had taken so much from her.
He could justify it to himself a thousand ways: the deaths had been necessary, her suffering mere collateral damage in the grander scheme of things. But when he remembered her grief—her raw sorrow for her friends and her father—the excuses rang hollow.
And so, Malbonte had brought Fencio on this mission to force a confrontation with Rebecca. Because he had no intention of sullying his own hands. No—he had something far more fitting in mind. Something that would send a message to both his allies and his enemies: he would not suffer fools.
Now, hidden near the plinth housing the Horn, Malbonte pushed those thoughts aside. He had sensed Vicky's aura; moments later, Rebecca's group came into view.
A faint alertness in Vicky's expression suggested that she, too, had sensed his presence. Testing this theory, he projected a thought at her: 'You will save them only by becoming their enemy'.
Vicky's head swiveled as if straining to discover the source of the voice. 'Who is it?' her thoughts filtered back faintly.
Malbonte smiled to himself. The connection between them was growing stronger. But now wasn't the time to test its limits.
Rebecca approached the pedestal and lifted the Horn from its resting place.
"This horn will help us win," she declared, extending it toward Vicky.
And right at that moment, Malbonte swooped in and plucked the Horn straight from Rebecca's hands. His eyes locked on Vicky's.
"Our separation was short-lived. Did you miss me?" he asked provocatively.
She glared at him. Out of the corner of his eye, Malbonte noticed Fencio's mocking smile directed at Rebecca, who was pointedly avoiding his gaze.
"How did you know about the Horn?" Rebecca demanded.
"Apparently, someone told him," Geralt muttered dryly.
"It wasn't hard to guess," Malbonte replied smoothly. It wasn't entirely a lie—he had anticipated someone coming for the Horn. Whether it was Rebecca or the Citadel hardly mattered.
Rebecca exhaled sharply. "I hope you don't think we'll hand it over that easily."
"Oh, I hoped you wouldn't." Malbonte's smirk deepened. He had been waiting for a chance to test Rebecca's mettle, to gauge her strength and discover her weaknesses.
She struck without warning, lightning-fast, but Malbonte was ready. Their duel was a deadly dance, fluid yet dissonant. Light and dark energy clashed and dissipated in rhythmic hums. Everyone else stepped back, unwilling to intervene for fear of harming the wrong party. Rebecca was skilled, but not skilled enough to match him. One misstep, and Malbonte had her pinned.
"No!" Vicky's voice rang out.
Malbonte turned to her, smirking. "A demonstration of how easy it is to end up in my arms."
She looked daggers at him.
Fencio stepped forward. "What are you doing? We had the Horn!"
Malbonte's gaze turned cold. "What do you mean? This woman ruined your life. She should get what she deserves!" He shoved Rebecca toward Fencio.
Geralt jerked as if about to intervene, but Malbonte raised a hand and shook his finger.
"If anyone so much as twitches…" His voice was like ice. "I'll destroy everyone here."
Fencio gripped Rebecca's arm tightly, his knuckles white. Her face twisted, but it wasn't clear if it was from pain or disgust.
"Come on!" Malbonte taunted. "Why are you standing like a virgin who doesn't know how to kill a woman?"
Fencio exploded. "What are you up to, you fucking lunatic?!"
"Do you love this woman, Fencio? Look into her eyes! You're here because of her. It took you so long to get here."
"I hate her!" he growled. "But she's not worth it! An ordinary whore, just like her daughter!"
Fencio's misogynistic insults, coarse and unimaginative, reeked of desperation; as hollow as the man who had spoken them.
Rebecca's laughter rang out, cutting through Fencio's vitriol, rendering him powerless. He might be the one holding the knife, but it was Rebecca who commanded the moment.
"This is the homestretch, Fencio," said Malbonte. "This is the moment you've been waiting for. Kill Rebecca, or die yourself. Your rivalry has run its course and only one of you is worthy to go on." He threw a knife at the angel's feet. "Decide. Now!"
"That's not part of our agreement!" Fencio whined. His hatred simmered like a dying ember, hot enough to scorch but too weak to ignite. Malbonte preferred his tools sharp and honed to perfection, not dulled by the weight of their grievances.
"DECIDE!" Thunder rumbled with the force of Malbonte's voice.
Fencio picked up the knife, his other hand tightening around Rebecca's neck. His voice trembled as he addressed Rebecca. "You've destroyed my whole life. You drove me to rock bottom. And it amused you!" He was evidently not done with his speeches. "You deserve to die! You have to pay for everything!"
Rebecca's gaze hardened. "So, kill me, you pathetic bastard! Stop whining, and do something!"
Fencio shuddered, his eyes shut tightly. "You win," he whispered. "You always win." He pushed Rebecca away in one fluid motion and plunged the knife into his own chest.
For a long, horror-filled moment, silence reigned. Then Fencio crumpled, his tortured gaze locking with Rebecca's. In that fleeting, anguished exchange, a lifetime of bitterness, obsession, and unspoken truths passed between them—raw and unfiltered. And then, the light left his eyes, and his lifeless body collapsed to the ground.
Rebecca stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the body. Malbonte recognized the stillness for what it was—shock. The threat to her own life hadn't cracked Rebecca's iron composure, but witnessing hatred blossom into its final, poisonous fruit had unmoored her.
"Well. The show's over," Malbonte broke the silence, his voice cold and collected once again. "I hope you enjoyed the ending, though I found it predictable." A predictable end for a predictable fool. He turned to his demons. "We have the horn. We're leaving."
As he turned, his gaze lingered on Vicky. She wasn't looking at him—but the tension in her posture and her aura spoke of the storm brewing within her. She didn't need to choose him yet. It was enough for her to see the cracks in the foundations she was clinging to—betrayal, death, and ruin. The rest, he was certain, would come in time.
With a sharp thrust of his wings, he took off, his retinue following close behind.
***—***
Over the next few days, Malbonte's camp worked with quiet efficiency preparing for the attack on the Citadel. The subantras roamed the outskirts, their restless prowling reflecting the building tension and anticipation among the soldiers sharpening weapons and practicing drills.
Late one evening, Austie lingered at the entrance to his office. "You've been pushing yourself too hard," she said softly, stepping closer.
Malbonte didn't look up from the map. "Leave."
She hesitated, her posture stiffening, then turned sharply and disappeared down the hall, the door slamming shut behind her.
The interruption grated on him. Austie's constant attempts to assert herself as more than a fleeting companion had become tiresome. Yes, as a full-blooded male, he had indulged in moments of intimacy with her and with others in the camp. After centuries of isolation, the allure of physical connection had been undeniable—but those encounters were distractions, nothing more.
To the women, he was a prize to claim, a legend, a ladder to power and authority. Austie's advances were no different: she craved status, not connection. And he had no desire to offer her either.
Malbonte called for Safrai. His lieutenant entered, his eyes glowing red with the anticipation of the upcoming mission. Though Safrai had only joined him after his resurrection, the archdemon had proved his mettle. Malbonte had no qualms about trusting him with greater responsibilities. Together, they reviewed the plans one final time.
Malbonte gestured at the map, tracing a path to the Citadel's southern gates, its weakest point. "The Citadel will focus on the subantras, assuming we're leading with brute force."
"And I'll keep the Citadel's attention on the outer defenses," Safrai replied, "just as planned."
Malbonte gave a short nod. "That will leave the sanctum unprotected. The Citadel doesn't know how to defend what it believes cannot be taken."
The key to Shepha's gate was untouchable—at least, that was the myth. But then again, so was Malbonte.
Once he was satisfied, Malbonte dismissed Safrai and sat alone in his office, brooding. A restlessness swept over him and his thoughts inevitably turned to Vicky.
Their connection had deepened since their last encounter—he could feel it even through the distance. The dark power she had taken from him was no longer an alien presence within her; it was a part of her now, tying them irrevocably. She consumed his thoughts, the pull between them growing stronger with each passing day, and he knew in his heart that it was not solely due to their energy-bond.
He imagined her now, back at the Academy, surrounded by her friends. Would Vicky choose him when the time came, or would her loyalty to her mother and her friends keep her tethered to the citadel? How many of them truly understood her? How many would betray her if it suited their ambitions? Rebecca wouldn't hesitate to throw her own daughter to the wolves if the situation demanded it.
Frustration dissolved into something softer. He felt a deep yearning to see Vicky, to hear her voice, to witness the fire in her eyes—even if it was directed at him in anger. A thought struck him then: if their connection was strong enough for him to sense her emotions from afar, perhaps it could do more. His heart beat faster.
He would try to visit her—not in body, but in a vision. With intent this time. It would be a test of their connection and of her receptiveness to his company. Closing his eyes, he focused on the invisible thread between them, a tether that pulsed with both their auras. It was steady, insistent…magnetic. He followed it, letting their bond guide him to her presence.
***—***
Malbonte found himself on the rooftop of the building opposite Vicky's room at the Angels and Demons Academy.
Her window creaked open; she had sensed his presence, as always. The next instant, their eyes locked. Without any apparent hesitation, Vicky took flight, her sheer nightgown billowing around her like an extra pair of wings. She landed gracefully in front of him and folded her wings behind her. The soft fabric of the gown clung to her curves. Malbonte's pulse quickened as he remembered her wearing the same filmy nightgown during some of their earlier encounters. The memory brought a faint smile to his lips.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, frowning.
Instead of answering, he countered with a question. "Aren't you afraid of me?"
"This is just a vision. I know it."
Her calm, matter-of-fact tone struck him. The trembling girl from his earlier visions was gone. Yet, as he stepped closer, and softly caressed her cheek, she shuddered under his touch. Was it fear? Or was it something else?
"We are distant relatives," she said abruptly. "Did you know that?"
"So distant it hardly matters," he replied, brushing off the question. At least, in certain contexts, he hoped it didn't.
Malbonte sat down on the edge of the roof, dangling his legs, preparing for a long conversation with Vicky.
Vicky's sharp gaze lingered on him. "You killed me," she said flatly.
Malbonte sighed. "I was nothing but darkness back then," he said. "And you were just some mortal to me, whom I'd never seen. You were all just blank faces to me…pawns. I needed to kill as many pawns as possible to check and checkmate the king. As simple as that."
"So, our family ties are the reason for everything."
"Yes. Your mother's abilities are the result of the blood of immortals running through her veins. But it wasn't as prominent in her case as it is in yours. I'll give her that. She achieved a lot due to her perseverance and stamina. Some of my power remained in you for the same reason. Anyone else would have died, but not you and not your mother."
Vicky asked, "Is that why you want me on your side?"
He made no reply. He was not ready to admit that that was not the sole reason why he wanted her on his side. Wanted her…
She sat down beside him, her thighs almost brushing his. Her gaze scanned the horizon, as if the vast expanse of the night sky could offer answers she couldn't find within herself.
"Mom will never take your side," she declared. Her voice was steady, but there was a weariness beneath her words.
"And you?" he asked, probingly.
She didn't answer right away. She stared at her hands, clasping and unclasping them in an uncharacteristic show of unease. Finally, she spoke, though a little hesitantly. "If I take your side… if you win this war… where will that lead? Are you only driven by revenge, or are you really striving for Harmony?"
Malbonte sensed that she wasn't seeking platitudes. She had known from the start that he was the only one promising equality and balance. And yet, she had stuck with the citadel until now. So, why turn to him now? What had changed?
"Revenge," he answered honestly. "But I don't need endless blood and death. I want balance, not the chains of a false peace."
Vicky nodded faintly, her fingers tightening on her knees. He tilted his head, watching her closely. Her wings twitched, a restless movement that spoke of some inner conflict. Had something occurred to disturb her peace? Malbonte's gaze softened. Whatever it was, it had rattled her. He sensed it in her aura.
There was something different in her eyes too: there was a cautious questioning in them. As though probing whether she could trust him to rebuild the immortals' broken order—or if he would only make it worse.
"And if I don't choose your side," she murmured, her eyes meeting his, the pain in them impossible to miss. "Will there be anything left worth fighting for?"
There was a tremor in her voice as she voiced her doubts. Her words were not a challenge but a quiet plea for clarity. Malbonte sensed his opening. This was the most receptive she had been to joining his side.
"That depends on you," he said. "You have a choice to help us build something new—or watch it all crumble to dust."
He wasn't speaking platitudes. If she joined him, it wouldn't be as a recruit, she would be his partner. More than ever, he sensed Vicky's natural role as a bridge-builder. Who better to help him bring balance to the realms?
But if she refused…
He turned his eyes to the tower silhouetted against the night sky. The tower that had been his prison.
"When I was little," he said, "there was a town here where the Academy stands now. Back then, they'd only started talking about building it."
Vicky tilted her head, her gaze curious.
"It was after the wars between angels and demons ended," Malbonte continued. "The immortals decided they needed to directly intervene in the lives of mortals to maintain Harmony." His lips twisted sardonically. "And for you to be born, my parents had to be exiled. Fate always finds a way to mock us."
"What's the matter?" Vicky frowned. "Are you saying goodbye?"
Her perceptiveness no longer surprised him. "A war is coming," he said bluntly. "You could die. Maybe even by my hand."
Her wings folded tighter against her back. "You talk about it so easily," she said, but her tone carried no fear—only disappointment.
"I don't want to seem like someone I'm not," he stated simply. If she chose him, she needed to understand who he truly was, his unflinching commitment to his goals, and his willingness to destroy anything and anyone in his way.
He rose and extended his hand to her. She accepted it, allowing him to help her to her feet. But her footing slipped, and instinctively, his hands grasped her waist to steady her. He didn't pull away, and neither did she. So, they stood like that, face to face, his hands resting on her waist, feeling her warmth through the silky fabric.
He gathered the courage to do something he had wanted to since her escape from his underground camp—something that had weighed on his soul ever since the visions began, revealing the depth of her grief and all she had lost because of him.
"I killed you," he said. "But I gave you immortality instead. Human life is but a fleeting prelude to something greater. Yet, I apologize for that. I apologize for every death I caused that hurt you."
Her jaw dropped, utterly unprepared for his apology.
"And if we end up on different sides," he continued, his tone more measured, "forgive me now for killing you, and killing all others who stand in my way. This is war."
Vicky's eyes flashed with anger, and her wings flared. "If you want to kill me, kill me now before I can cause you trouble!"
His grip on her tightened, his frustration flaring to match hers. "You're right," he growled. "I should kill you."
But even as the words left his lips, he knew them to be a lie. The tension between them swelled, shifting in an instant from anger into surging want. Without thinking, he hauled her close and kissed her with the hungry intensity of all his suppressed desires.
A beat. Then her lips parted, soft and eager, sensuous in their acceptance of his caress.
An electric thrill shot through him. He pulled back, momentarily shaken from the intoxicating haze of desire. He had yielded to impulse, without thought or expectation. But now…
His eyes searched hers, half-expecting regret, but she met his gaze with a smoldering heat that stoked the flames he had long restrained. His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile, laced with the promise of something more intimate… possessive.
He kissed her again, slower this time, more deliberate, yet no less demanding. She met his urgency with a passion that set his soul alight. Their tongues twined in a sultry rhythm, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through him, while her soft moans and the whispery rustling of her feathers revealed her equal enjoyment of their intimacy. Her lips were as silk against his. He bit down gently, relishing her shiver of delight before sweeping his tongue over the spot, soothing and claiming in the same breath.
He slid one arm around her waist and the other between her wings, drawing her close to his chest. He savored the taste of her, the warmth of her body, so soft and pliant in his arms. The fierce tenderness of Bont's affection and the searing intensity of Mal's passion melded into an endless moment of bliss.
When their lips finally parted, he didn't let go. His fingers traced the curve of her shoulders, then ghosted over the soft feathers of her wings, memorizing the sensation. With a slow exhale, he finally pulled back.
"You told me to kill you, but I was the one to fall in the end," he said, his eyes glinting with the intensity of his confession. "That wasn't part of my plans."
Her breath hitched and her eyes sparkled with emotion. Then the flicker dimmed, and she spoke. "Promise me you'll be gentle with me always. Even if I have to die by your hand."
His brow furrowed. "Why would you ask me that?"
"Because I can't stand your cruelty," she whispered, her lips trembling.
His hand brushed her cheek in a gesture that was both instinctive and inevitable. "As long as you're my enemy," he said firmly, "I'll always be cruel."
"Then why are you touching me so tenderly?" she asked, a cheeky smile blooming on her lips.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth in response, but he withdrew his hand. "Whatever we share here, it doesn't change reality," he said, his voice hardening. "My army is ready to attack. It's going to get very hot soon."
His words were a warning, a final chance for her to choose him before the window closed. He wanted her to choose his side. Choose him. But if she didn't… if she sided with the Citadel against him… he would treat her like any other enemy.
At least, that's what he told himself as he watched her spread her wings, and fly back to her room.
The vision dissolved, pulling him back to the darkness of his underground camp. An ache lingered in his chest, heavy, bittersweet, and impossible to ignore.
***—***
The timing was perfect. Malbonte launched his attack on the Citadel during the inauguration of Azazel as the new Satan, ensuring maximum distraction. Heaven's capital descended into chaos, a maelstrom of blood and fire. His warriors stormed the city, cutting down anyone in their way, while subantras clashed with enraged dragons in the smoke-filled skies. Flames licked at buildings and ancient monuments, casting jagged shadows against the carnage below, while screams and explosions echoed like thunder through the streets.
As the chaos unfolded, Malbonte slipped into the Citadel's inner sanctum. The key to Shepha's realm floated within the enclosure, its faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat. The sight of it stirred something primal within him—a mix of triumph and anticipation.
He didn't flinch as a seraph, flanked by an army, descended in front of the gate.
"Malbonte, surrender!" the seraph commanded, his voice ringing with authority.
Malbonte looked appraisingly at the seraph. "Let me take the key, and no one else has to die."
The seraph's face darkened with anger. "You speak of choice now? Was my sister ever given one?"
The remark, seemingly a non sequitur, gave Malbonte pause. His sharp eyes studied the seraph's features, recognition dawning. Eragon. "The girl in the maze…" he said.
"I didn't come for vengeance," Eragon retorted. "I came to restore Harmony."
Malbonte's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "You have a very…specific sense of Harmony." The angel's hypocrisy didn't surprise him in the least.
The seraph snarled. "Attack!"
With an inhuman voice, Malbonte bellowed, "ROKOTTO-SHEPIUS!"
The subantras responded instantly, tearing away from their dragon adversaries to descend on the seraph's forces. Chaos erupted anew as the seraph's army faltered under the ferocity of the assault.
Malbonte shook his head, almost pitying the Citadel's complacency. Their arrogance had blinded them.
With a single, powerful leap, he closed the distance between himself and Eragon. Their duel erupted—a collision of light and dark energies that sent shockwaves rippling through the ground. Red and blue lightning streaked through the air with each clash, thunder roaring in their wake. It was a battle between titans: one, a seraph hardened by millennia of power; the other, an anomaly born of angelic and demonic blood, a being whose existence struck fear even into Shepha's heart.
Eragon fought with great skill and determination, but Malbonte's sheer, implacable power won out. With a final, devastating blow, the seraph fell, his body crumpling to the ground. Malbonte screamed in triumph, full of rage and drunk on power.
Malbonte's focus shifted back to the key.
A trembling voice broke through the clamor behind him. "How dare you blame them for what they did when you prove their worst fears?!"
Malbonte turned lazily, his gaze falling on Azazel. The newly inaugurated Satan stood slightly stooped, fatigue etched in deep lines across his face.
"Azazel, you're so old!" Malbonte exclaimed. Azazel, one of the last surviving immortals from the time before his imprisonment, was now a shadow of his former self.
"Talking to people is exhausting," the demon replied calmly.
"What do you want?"
"You'll bring nothing but pain, Bont," Azazel said quietly.
Malbonte's smirk faded. "I'm only dangerous because you expect me to be."
Azazel embodied everything broken about the old order—shackled to antiquated beliefs, reeking of stagnation and decay. Yet, Malbonte couldn't entirely dismiss him. The pre-Harmony era had been a blood-soaked age of angel and demon wars, leaving devastation in its wake. Perhaps it was understandable that Azazel had become a puppet of Shepha and his angels in a desperate bid to maintain peace.
"There is good in you," Azazel said, his voice almost imploring. "That's why you must stop."
"Turn around, Azazel," Malbonte said coldly. "Humans live better than you immortals. You're killing yourself."
"And you?" Azazel challenged, before launching an attack.
Malbonte met the assault head-on, his counter a single, calculated blow. Azazel crumpled to the ground, his body convulsing as the last remnants of his strength ebbed away.
"You didn't want to join the new world. So stay in the old one," Malbonte said coolly, his tone like a judge passing sentence. Yet, even as the words left his lips, a fleeting pang of regret stirred within him. For all Azazel's failings, he was a relic of an era when Malbonte's parents had still been alive—a reflection of a time that had been far simpler.
Lucifer rushed to Azazel's side, followed by Dino, Mimi, and Vicky. Malbonte's attention immediately shifted to Vicky. She met his gaze, her expression had a new hardness that puzzled him.
"As you can see, I keep my promises," Malbonte said, his tone almost mocking.
"Yes, unfortunately," Vicky retorted, her voice sharp.
Malbonte noticed her clenched fists and the turmoil in her aura. Something had shifted within her, and he could feel it through their bond. Her energy roiled, blood red and turbulent, her brows furrowed in an angry scowl. Yet, the anger didn't seem directed at him.
Meanwhile, Lucifer knelt beside Azazel, his expression conflicted. "Your rule was short-lived, old man," he said pityingly.
Azazel managed a faint smile through his agony. "My boy, be worthy of your title—if you get it." His body spasmed violently as blood choked him.
"He's suffering," said Dino, softly.
"I know," Lucifer snapped.
"Do you want me to—?" Malbonte began.
"No!" Lucifer's voice cracked with anguish. "Get lost!"
"Everyone has their own path. I understand."
Malbonte turned his attention back to the gate, and this time, no one moved to stop him. He entered the sanctum, his eyes locked on the key. It trembled as he reached for it, resisting his touch like a frightened bird.
He paused, then locked eyes with Vicky. Shephamalum's voice whispered the spell to disrupt the enchantment holding the key in place. The words curled like smoke in his mind, and he could sense that Vicky heard them too.
He clasped the key; its power thrummed against his palm.
With his prize secured, Malbonte spread his wings and launched into the sky, leaving the Citadel burning in his wake.
***—***