The shadow finally took form. A man of unnatural beauty carried the lifeless body of the white wolf over his shoulder.
Beneath the full moon, the dust falling from his hair wasn't sand—but ground bone, the remains of his former followers, glowing with a ghostly shimmer.
A green car pulled up in front of them.
In the back seat, beside a black dagger etched with the words Sanguis Sanathiel Vincit, rested a golden chest.
Its carvings matched the markings on Aisha's medallion exactly.
"Turn on the heater, Risas," Arcangel ordered, removing his gloves. The scars on his hands sizzled violet smoke as they touched the cold air.
The ritual began once they reached the desert. Arcangel drew symbols into the dirt with a human bone while humming a distorted lullaby.
The black liquid he poured into Sanathiel's mouth reeked of rotten roots and sulfur.
As it was swallowed, the veins of the white wolf lit up like rivers of purple lava—only to fade again.
When the chest opened, the woman inside had bitten her lips raw to avoid pleading for mercy.
Risas dragged her to the ash circle where Sanathiel lay.
"To reopen a closed wound," he said, "you must make it bleed again."
Arcangel's knife traced an arc in the air. Before the victim could scream, Risas plunged a needle into the base of her neck, turning agony into a muted whisper.
The crack in Sanathiel's chest opened on its own.
"And now?" Risas asked, a flicker of doubt in his voice.
Arcangel smiled.
"Clean everything. Dispose of the bodies."
The knife came down, and the screams vanished into the night.
Sanathiel's eyes snapped open, but something was wrong. That gaze—it wasn't his.
For a moment, his body tensed, his breath caught. 'No…' a voice whispered inside his mind. But he had no control.
His own muscles betrayed him. His own hands… weren't his.
His place had been stolen.Arceo had awakened.
At Itzel's mansion:
The doorbell rang. Itzel quickly hid the diary where she'd copied Luciano's final words:
"The blood of the innocent will break your chains."
When she opened the door, she gripped the pendant bearing her daughter's portrait.
"I didn't expect to see you again," she whispered to Sanathiel—whose breath reeked of freshly turned grave soil.
Arceo pinned her against the wall. As they struggled, Itzel remembered the morning her daughter gave her a green pencil:
"To write fairy poems, mommy."
Now, she was driving it into the chest of her attacker.
The blood that spilled was thick and black like tar. Arceo stared at the wound with scientific curiosity.
"Do you think a scratch can kill what even time couldn't wear down?"
Itzel watched in horror as Arceo's flesh sealed itself shut, as if the wound had never existed.
"Nothing you do will stop me. But keep trying… I find it amusing."
Itzel stepped back, a chill crawling up her spine.A cruel laugh slipped from Arceo's lips—it wasn't Sanathiel's voice.
"Widow…" Arceo murmured, the tone making her skin crawl. "Just like you wished death upon my only son."
Itzel felt the ground crumble beneath her.
"Arceo… in Sanathiel's body…"
He tilted his head with a mocking smile.
"Now you understand. And now you'll pay."
The door slammed shut behind him.
The servants froze, instinct telling them not to intervene.The monster had returned.
"Damn you, Itzel."
Arceo cornered her, his shadow folding around her like a cage.
"You turned my son's death into a joke."
His voice was both ice and fire. Every word hit harder than fists.
"A daughter with Sanathiel? Secret messages?"
Itzel groped blindly across the table, breath shallow. Her fingers found a sharp pencil.
"Don't you dare touch her!"
With a swift motion, she stabbed him in the chest.
The wooden pencil pierced Arceo's flesh, sinking near his sternum.
For a moment, his eyes widened, surprised.Then he laughed.
"Did you really think that would hurt?" he whispered, pushing the pencil deeper with his own hand before snapping it in half.
Arceo's dark eyes lowered to the wound. Blood oozed slowly, soaking through his shirt.
A tick formed in his jaw.
With disturbing calm, he ripped out the pencil and snapped it cleanly between his fingers.
Sanathiel felt the dagger pierce his palm—but the pain wasn't his. It was Arceo's. It was both of theirs.
His scream got caught in his throat as his own blood hit the floor. With each drop, his will faded.
Arceo threw the broken pencil to the ground without looking away from her.
"Too late."
He shoved her brutally. Itzel's back struck the table's corner, knocking the breath from her lungs.
A picture frame fell from the wall, shattering on impact.
Before she could react, Arceo gripped her face, forcing her mouth open. Itzel thrashed like a trapped animal.
She bit his wrist with all her strength. Arceo's blood filled her mouth—bitter, metallic.
He didn't even flinch.
With a dead-eyed smile, he pinched her nose shut. Itzel jerked, desperate. The black liquid slid down her throat.
Arceo made her swallow it.
The convulsions came instantly. Her body arched. Her throat spasmed, choking on the poison devouring her from within.
Her eyes widened in terror as Arceo's face blurred into shadow.
"When Sanathiel wakes up…" she gasped, "you'll know what you've done… and you'll pay for everything…"
She died with those words.
Arceo stared down at her, expressionless.
He tilted his head slightly.
"A broken doll."
He stood and calmly wiped the blood from his bitten wrist.
Arcangel appeared at the door.
"And the girl?"
Arceo turned slowly.
"Where is she?"
Arcangel clenched his jaw.
"She vanished before we got here. Someone took her—left everything else untouched."
Arceo stepped into the moonlit garden. Beneath his skin, Sanathiel's face surfaced briefly, contorted in agony.
With a growl, Arceo stabbed the black dagger into his own palm. The cursed blood spilled onto the earth, birthing flowers with razor-sharp petals.
"The girl is just the beginning," he whispered to the shadows.
Three pairs of eyes glowed in response—gold, silver, and electric blue.
The car drove east, leaving behind a venomous garden that would bloom on every grave Arceo created in his wake.