DemiDemonDarla

Chapter 20: Whispers of Deception

>>>>> The night was thick with tension, the kind that crept under Darla's skin and settled in her bones. The air around her was heavy, charged with the hum of magic and the faint, lingering scent of sulfur—the unmistakable signature of demonic power. The streets of Celestia were quiet, too quiet, as if the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for something dark and inevitable to happen.

Darla stood on the rooftop of an old, crumbling building, her eyes scanning the empty streets below. Her hands itched with the energy that pulsed through her veins, the power she had fought so hard to control. It had been weeks since she, Zion, and Amaia had returned from their training with Shaman Blanca, and still, Darla struggled to find balance. The powers within her—both fairy and demon—were growing, intertwining in ways she couldn't fully understand.

A soft breeze stirred her hair as she heard footsteps approaching. Zion stepped up beside her, his face grim as always, but his eyes flicked toward her with a hint of concern.

"Still thinking about Lionel?" he asked, his voice low.

Darla flinched at the mention of his name. Lionel was gone—no, not gone. He had never truly existed. It was all a lie, a façade. He was Felonir, Belphonia's son, and he had betrayed them all.

"I don't want to," she admitted, her voice tight with frustration. "But it's hard not to. Everything feels different now."

Zion nodded, understanding but offering no comfort. He wasn't the type to give easy reassurances. Instead, he stood beside her, his presence solid, unshakable. That was enough.

Suddenly, Amaia's voice crackled over their comms. "We've got company," she said, her tone unusually serious. "Demon activity near the east district. It's heavy this time. Looks like they're making a move."

Darla exchanged a glance with Zion before tapping her earpiece. "We're on our way."

They jumped from the rooftop, moving in sync as they raced through the streets toward the disturbance. As they neared the east district, the familiar feeling of dread settled over Darla. This wasn't like the usual demon attacks. This was different. She could feel it.

The moment they arrived, the scene was chaotic. Shadows twisted unnaturally in the dark, and the ground seemed to ripple with malevolent energy. Demons—warped, grotesque creatures—emerged from the shadows, their eyes glowing red as they advanced.

"Keep your guard up," Zion muttered, drawing his blade. Darla nodded, summoning her own magic, a mixture of golden light from her fairy side and dark, swirling shadows from her demon heritage.

Amaia, Lirien and Kazimir was already in the fray, their movements fluid and graceful as they danced around the demons, launching arrows and yielding blades with deadly precision. But even with their combined efforts, the demons kept coming, seemingly endless in their numbers.

It was then that Darla felt it—a familiar presence, one that made her blood run cold. A voice echoed through the air, smooth and calculating, dripping with false warmth.

"Hello, Darla."

Darla froze. That voice. She turned slowly, her heart hammering in her chest, and there he stood.

Lionel—no, Felonir.

He looked the same, his familiar face twisted with a smug smile, but his eyes—those once warm, kind eyes—were cold, glinting with something dark and dangerous.

"Felonir," Darla breathed, her hands tightening into fists. "What are you doing here?"

He stepped forward, his movements casual, as if he wasn't surrounded by chaos and destruction. "I came to talk. We have unfinished business, don't you think?"