Chapter 30: 28 - The awakening

The days slipped by, but the air in the Di Carlo palace grew heavier with tension. Every interaction, every whisper, every glance seemed to hold secrets. I had spent sleepless nights piecing together fragments of evidence, trying to uncover the traitor among us. And finally, the puzzle began to take shape.

Day 1:

I was in the east wing, the part of the palace that now felt foreign to me. Strange occurrences were reported here-servants hearing faint whispers, objects moving on their own, and the persistent stench of sulfur. I stood in the corridor, inspecting the walls for hidden compartments or passages.

As I ran my hand along the cold stone, my fingers brushed against something-a small, nearly invisible symbol etched into the wall. A summoning sigil.

"Interesting," I muttered, tracing its intricate design. It was old, almost ancient, but the precision suggested someone with knowledge of dark rituals had carved it recently.

"Who dares bring this filth into my home?" My voice echoed through the empty hall, my anger barely contained.

Day 2:

The next morning, I instructed my men to search every inch of the palace. By midday, they returned with a peculiar object-a small, blackened mirror found hidden beneath a loose floorboard in one of the guest rooms.

"Bring it here," I commanded, inspecting the artifact.

The mirror's surface was cracked, and it seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy. As I held it, I caught fleeting images-faces distorted by anguish, voices crying out in agony. It was a portal, a tool used to communicate with the underworld.

"Whose room was this found in?" I demanded, my tone sharp.

One of my men hesitated before replying, "Lady Camilla's, my lord."

My jaw tightened. Of course, it would be her.

Day 3:

That night, I found a letter slipped under my study door. The handwriting was shaky, as if the writer feared for their life.

"My lord,

Beware those closest to you. The summoner walks freely among us, their actions hidden behind feigned loyalty. Trust no one."

I crumpled the letter in my fist. The message confirmed my suspicions but offered no concrete answers. It was frustrating-a reminder that the traitor was playing their game well.

Day 4:

At dinner, the atmosphere was as strained as ever. Camilla, Vivian, and the rest of my so-called family chattered about mundane topics, but I wasn't listening. I was watching. Observing their every move, their every word.

Camilla spoke with forced enthusiasm. "Lucifer, darling, have you considered the alliances you could form through marriage? It would strengthen the Di Carlo name."

I smirked. "I have no need for alliances. The Di Carlo name is already unshakable."

Sanchez said , "Confidence is good, nephew. Arrogance, less so."

I turned to him, my gaze sharp. "Arrogance would be assuming I don't know who orchestrated the orphanage attack."

The room fell silent. Sanchez's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second-barely noticeable, but enough.

"Careful with your words, Lucifer," he said, regaining his composure. "Accusations without proof can be dangerous."

I leaned back, letting my silence speak volumes.

Day 5:

In the early hours of the morning, I was in the study again, poring over records, letters, and notes. Something wasn't adding up. Then, I saw it-a discrepancy in the financial records. Funds had been funneled from one of our accounts to an unknown recipient. The signature authorizing the transfer? Sanchez.

"So, it's you," I murmured, a dangerous smile forming on my lips.

Day 6 -

By now, the pieces were all in place. The sigil, the mirror, the financial records-it all pointed to Sanchez. That evening, I gathered the family in the grand hall.

"Thank you all for coming," I began, my tone deceptively calm. "I've called you here to address a... problem."

Camilla raised an eyebrow. "What sort of problem?"

I turned to Sanchez, my gaze piercing. "A traitor in our midst."

The tension was palpable as I laid out the evidence-the summoning sigil, the cursed mirror, the financial discrepancies. With each revelation, Sanchez's mask of indifference cracked further.

When I finally produced the financial records, his façade crumbled. "Enough!" he barked, his voice trembling with anger. "You think you can lecture me about loyalty? After all the Di Carlo family has done to you?"

I stepped closer, my voice cold as ice. "This isn't about me. It's about you betraying the family name, summoning demons, and endangering innocent lives."

He sneered. "Innocent? Don't make me laugh. You've killed more people than I ever could."

"And yet, I've never betrayed my own blood," I countered, my tone was deadly.

The temperature dropped, and an uneasy stillness crept into the room, making every breath feel heavy.

“Do you feel that?” I asked, my voice low but sharp.

Camilla exchanged a glance with Sanchez, her face betraying nothing. Before I could probe further, a powerful force slammed the doors open, and a figure stepped into the hall.

The man looked human—well-dressed in a dark suit, his face chiseled and sharp—but his aura was unmistakable. Bloodlust radiated from him like a storm. His crimson eyes gleamed, and shadows seemed to twist and writhe around his form. This was no ordinary man; this was a demon, and not just any demon—a powerful one.

My instincts screamed at me to act, but before I could move, Camilla and Sanchez stood beside him, their loyalty evident.

“Lucifer,” Sanchez said, a mocking grin on his face. “Meet our guest. He’s been dying to see you.”

Before I could react, Sanchez’s men grabbed me, their grips ironclad. The demon raised his hand, and an invisible force constricted my chest. I gasped as pain shot through me, choking on my breath. Blood dripped from my lips, but I gritted my teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

The demon tilted his head, intrigued. “Interesting,” he murmured, his voice deep and otherworldly. “You resist more than most.”

Sanchez laughed, stepping forward. “He’s always been stubborn, this one. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve waited long enough for this.”

“What are you playing at, Sanchez?” I growled, glaring at him through the haze of pain.

He smirked, gesturing to his men. They brought forward a hidden portrait, its frame heavy with age. As they unveiled it, my breath hitched. The painting depicted a woman—beautiful and fierce, her dark eyes piercing through the canvas.  La muerte ?!

“miss Salvatore,” Sanchez said, his tone reverent. “Or, as you might know, Amara Salvatore Di Carlo. Our ancestor. The most powerful being this family has ever produced.”

My eyes narrowed. I had never heard of her whispers,but just tales of a woman who wielded unmatched power and defied the family for love.

“She left everything for a mere villager,” Sanchez sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “But not before wreaking havoc at the grand Di Carlo ball, slaughtering thousands to escape with him. Her love was her weakness, but her powers—oh, those are our legacy.”

“And you think you’ll inherit them?” I spat, my voice laced with contempt.

Sanchez stepped closer, his face inches from mine. “Not think, Lucifer. I will. The Di Carlo family has always been connected to demons, trading souls for power. But Amara’s bloodline… her connection was different. She held the key to bridging our world with theirs. Imagine what we could achieve if we brought the underworld here. A world ruled by demons, with me at its helm.”

“You’re insane,” I said coldly.

He slapped me hard, the force making my head snap to the side. “And you’re a fool,” he hissed. “You let sentiment cloud your judgment. You couldn’t even kill your enemies because you considered us your family.”

Grabbing my hair, he yanked me forward, his voice a venomous whisper. “Did you know you were born with a heart defect? You should’ve died as a child, but Manolo saved you. Or so we thought. Thanks to my demon friend here…” He gestured to the creature, who stood silently, exuding menace. “…we discovered something else. Something inside you has been protecting you from the start.”

The demon stepped forward, raising his hand again. Pain seared through my chest, and I felt something being pulled from within me. Blood spurted from my mouth as a glowing, blood-red crystal emerged from my chest. The agony was unbearable, as if my very soul was being ripped apart.

Sanchez grinned, holding the crystal aloft. “This… this is the key. Your protector. And now it’s mine.”

I struggled to stay conscious, my vision blurring. But then, something unexpected happened. The portrait of miss Salvatore  which exactly looked like my moon, began to burn, flames consuming it with a furious intensity.

“What the—?” Sanchez stepped back, his confidence faltering.

The air around me shifted, growing darker and heavier. Shadows coiled around me, forming a protective shield. I felt a surge of energy, a darkness unlike anything I had ever known, coursing through my veins. The pain faded, replaced by a cold, unyielding power.

Sanchez and the demon stared in shock as the shadows solidified, healing my wounds and lifting me to my feet.

“She’s here,” I whispered, a dangerous smile playing on my lips.

The demon recoiled, his once-imposing demeanor faltering. Sanchez’s men stepped back, fear etched into their faces.

“What’s happening?” Sanchez demanded, his voice rising in panic.

The shadows around me swirled, and for the first time, I felt her presence fully. My Moon — Amara Salvatore Di Carlo—La Muerte—had awakened.

“You wanted power, Sanchez?” I said, my voice echoing with an otherworldly resonance. “Let me show you what true power looks like.”

The moment froze in time as she entered, her presence commanding the room like a storm. I’d never seen her like this before—never imagined her capable of such an entrance. She wore a dark red cloak that seemed to move like liquid fire, her silhouette outlined by an ominous glow that demanded reverence and fear in equal measure. If there was ever a Queen of Hell, she looked the part.

Every step she took down the grand staircase resonated through the hall, her hand tracing the railing as if she owned not just the mansion, but the entire underworld. Her eyes gleamed like molten gold, sharp and piercing, yet hauntingly beautiful. She radiated an aura that screamed danger, and yet, it was impossible to look away.

“So these are the memories I’ve been missing,” she said, her voice smooth yet laced with venom. Each word was a whip, cutting through the tension in the room. Her gaze flicked to the portrait Sanchez had so proudly unveiled, then back to the demon who now stood frozen in her presence.

She was the mirror image of the ancestor Sanchez had spoken of—Amara Salvatore Di Carlo, now La Muerte. Yet, the portrait did no justice to the real thing. I had never seen this painting before, hidden away as Sanchez’s secret weapon. But now, seeing her, I realized why he kept it hidden. She wasn’t just a myth; she was power incarnate. He tried to keep her as the myth .

The demon, who moments ago had been so eager to destroy me, now cowered under her gaze. She tilted her head, studying him like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You actually thought,” she began, her tone dripping with condescension, “a low-life demon like you could challenge me for my throne?”

With a flick of her wrist, the demon was lifted off the ground, his body suspended in mid-air as though gripped by an invisible hand. His claws scratched futilely at his neck, his guttural growls turning to desperate gasps.

Sanchez stood rooted to the spot, his face pale and his bravado shattered. His earlier arrogance was gone, replaced by shock and disbelief. She turned her gaze to him, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her lips.

“Oh, Sanchez,” she said mockingly, “Is this the extent of your grand plan? Summoning second-rate demons to fight battles you can’t win yourself?” She laughed, the sound reverberating through the hall like thunder.

Then, her smile faded, replaced by something darker. She looked up, her eyes piercing the heavens themselves.

“And this,” she murmured, her voice softer now, almost to herself, “is the punishment I received? For daring to love, for choosing freedom over obedience? You call this justice?”

Her laughter returned, but now it was bitter, mocking. She lowered her gaze to me, her eyes meeting mine.

“And you,” she said, her tone lighter now, “Thank your uncle, Lucifer. Because of his little scheme, I remembered everything.”

I held her gaze, unflinching. “You’re welcome, Moon,” I said, my lips curving into a smirk.

She continued, her voice growing colder. “Yes, I killed a thousand men that night. And yes, I was cursed for it. Banished to Hell, where I was made its ruler. But they thought they could break me. They never realized…” She trailed off, her smile returning, sinister and filled with pride.

“They never realized that La Muerte is not a title you can strip away. It’s who I am.”

Her gaze swept the room, landing on the family members who now trembled under her power.

“You thought I was just a myth?” she asked, her tone taunting. “Then let me show you what La Muerte truly is.”

With a single glance, she brought them to their knees. Sanchez’s men cried out in pain, clutching their heads as if her very presence was tearing them apart from the inside. The demon let out a final, pitiful wail before his body was consumed by flames, leaving nothing but ash.

And yet, I stood untouched, watching her with a mixture of awe and something deeper. She turned back to me, her expression softening ever so slightly.

“You did well, Lucifer,” she said, her voice quieter now. “You played your part perfectly.”

I smirked. “Was there ever any doubt?”

She stepped closer, the dangerous edge in her demeanor softening just for me. “Did you know about the portrait?” she asked, her tone teasing.

I shook my head. “No. Sanchez must have hidden it, thinking he could use it against you.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I stayed hidden for so long because I thought they’d recognize me. But these fools…” She gestured to Sanchez’s trembling form, laughing softly. “They didn’t even recognize Death herself.”

Before I could respond, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead. The gesture was brief, but it felt like a claim. Then, to my utter surprise, she brushed her lips against mine in a quick, fleeting kiss.

“Guess what, Sanchez?” she said, turning back to him with a smile that could freeze the sun. “The boy you tormented for years now has Death herself by his side.”

She glanced back at me, her eyes filled with mischief. “Or should I say, in his heart?”

I grinned, pulling her closer. “In my heart, Moon. Not just by my side.”

Her expression softened for a moment before she turned back to Sanchez. With a swift motion, she grabbed his hair, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“Lucifer is mine now,” she said, her voice deadly. “And you made a grave mistake when you tried to break him.”

Sanchez stammered, his arrogance completely shattered.

“You thought he couldn’t kill you,” she continued, her smile widening. “But you forgot one thing…”

Her grip tightened, and with a final, haunting laugh, she unleashed her wrath upon him and his men. Flames erupted, shadows consumed, and screams echoed through the hall. When it was over, nothing remained but silence and ash.

She turned back to me, her expression unreadable. “Now they know,” she said softly. “Now they’ll never doubt who you are.”

I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around her. “And now they’ll never forget who you are.”