UNMASKED

CHAPTER 19

THIRD PERSON POV

A tense silence filled the dimly lit room, where powerful figures sat in a semicircle, their gazes locked onto Ice. The air was thick with impatience and concealed hostility. 

"Why are you stalling her execution?" an Elder demanded, slamming his fist against the polished table. "It’s been days, and Demon is still breathing! Do you want the situation to reverse, where we end up as the ones being slaughtered?"

Ice remained composed, leaning back in his chair with an amused smirk. "That won’t happen. She’s under strict surveillance, and I’m one of her observers. She can’t do anything… unpleasant."

The Elder scoffed. "Unpleasant? We’re talking about Demon! Every second she lives is a second she’s plotting something."

Across from them, a foreign leader, his sharp eyes gleaming with calculation, tapped his fingers against the table. "How long are you going to delay this, Ice?"

"She needs to suffer first," Ice answered, his voice eerily casual. "If we kill her too quickly, then it’s over. No more pain. That’s not justice—that’s mercy." His gaze flickered toward Mr. Salvador, who had been silent all this time, simply watching. 

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. 

"The people will never have peace as long as Demon lives," another Elder chimed in, his voice laced with fear. "She is the monster under their beds, the nightmare in their waking hours. We must end her."

"I agree," a different Elder spoke up. "If we want a future free of her shadow, she must die. Mr. President, do you not agree?"

All eyes turned to Mr. Salvador. 

The president sat with an air of indifference, his fingers laced together. When he finally spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion. "As president, it is my duty to act in the best interest of my people. If her death will bring them peace, then I support her execution."

Ice opened his mouth to argue, but Mr. Salvador cut him off. 

"Enough, Ice. I am the president. My decision is final. Demon dies three days from now."

--- 

INSIDE THE CELL

"FUCK!"

Demon's voice tore through the cold, damp prison cell as she jolted awake. Pain lanced through her body, a dull, lingering ache settling into her bones. Her head throbbed, her muscles burned, and her vision swam as she tried to sit up. 

The stench of blood and sweat clung to her torn clothes, and she winced as she looked down at herself. Her once-pristine attire was shredded, her skin littered with bruises and dried cuts. 

"Shit... I'm a mess."

Her fingers ran through her tangled hair as she forced herself to lean against the wall. Her wrists ached, her throat felt raw. She needed water. She needed medicine. But most of all— 

"I can’t die looking like this," she muttered, her lips curling into a half-smirk. "I refuse to die ugly."

A soft chuckle echoed from the darkness. 

Demon's sharp eyes flicked forward, locking onto the figure sitting in front of her. A woman—elegant, refined, with an air of quiet confidence. The kind Demon hated. 

"Do you know me?" the woman asked. 

Demon tilted her head, taking in the delicate features, the perfectly pressed clothes, the subtle scent of expensive perfume.