UNMASKED

CHAPTER 11

THIRD PERSON'S POV

Demon listened, her face twisted in irritation, as Ice and Claire's conversation crackled through her earpiece. She could only make out bits and pieces. Apparently, Claire didn’t want her listening in on every detail, but the fragments she heard were enough to tell her Ice was hiding something. Not that it surprised her. Ice was always scheming, always planning behind a mask of calm, while Claire clung to him, feeding Demon information... when it suited her.

Claire owed Demon her life. If Demon hadn’t saved her from her own family's trap, she'd have been dead long ago, her death staged to manipulate Ice’s anger against Demon. So Claire had positioned herself within the Black Government as Demon’s spy, slipping her key pieces of information. But lately, Claire seemed... hesitant. Like she was wavering between her loyalty to Demon and her loyalty to Ice.

Demon clenched her jaw as she tossed the earpiece aside. “I listened in, thinking they'd be having some fun," she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. "But it’s the same old useless scheming.”

*Swish—*

Before she could react, a blur of movement lunged from behind. Demon barely had time to twist aside. A sniper bullet whistled past her and struck the attacker, dropping it instantly. She glanced toward where the shot had come from, lifting her hand in a quick thumbs-up to her unseen sniper.

“Nice shot,” she murmured, before a second figure darted out from the shadows, lunging at her from the front. This one had a number tattooed across its neck—297.

“Kill us!” the copy rasped, dropping to its knees before her. “Please… We don’t want to be used any longer. End it. Set us free.”

Demon’s eyes narrowed in disdain. “Kill yourselves, then. You don’t get to just order me around.” Her tone was dismissive, her gaze cold.

“We’ve tried.” The copy’s voice was filled with desperation. “We’re programmed not to die. Only you have the strength to end us. We can’t even stop ourselves. Please… destroy us.”

For a moment, Demon just stared, her expression unreadable. So these copies were trapped, caught in endless suffering. She almost felt... something. But she squashed it quickly, her voice coming out sharper.

“Fine. Any last wishes?”

The copy managed a weak smile. “May you live—”

He didn’t get to finish. Demon’s scythe flashed in a swift arc, silencing him in a single stroke. His body crumpled at her feet, finally free of the pain that had bound him. But his words lingered, crawling under her skin.

“Live long?” she scoffed, disgusted. “Who said I wanted to live long?”

The thought made her stomach twist. She’d fought, bled, and torn her way through life, carving a path littered with enemies and ghosts alike. The idea of dragging on year after year in this relentless cycle made her sick. She wasn’t here to survive. She was here to leave her mark, to burn brightly and quickly—and when the time came, to vanish like smoke.

But for now, there were more copies to destroy, more enemies to face, and a twisted game to finish. Demon tightened her grip on her scythe, her eyes flashing with lethal intent. If Ice, the Black Government, or even Claire thought they could control her, they were in for a rude awakening.

With one last glance at the fallen copy, she moved forward, her steps silent but deadly, ready to unleash the chaos that was her calling card.

---

In the dim, oppressive silence of the eighth basement, Vladimir's voice broke the stillness, sharp with disbelief.

"Dad… why are you helping Hyra?" His voice trembled just slightly, though he tried to hide it.