Seeing the situation, Lucifer spoke in a solemn, deathly calm voice that sliced through the heavy silence: "Vritra, Mara, Aelune."
In an instant, three shadowborn girls emerged from swirling voids of darkness—stunning figures who looked like 16–18-year-old young women, though they had only existed for a little over three days. Their voices overlapped in perfect, childlike unison: "Yes, Papa... Daddy... Daddy."
Lucifer looked upon them with eyes brimming with fierce, protective love, then spoke in a warm, fatherly tone: "Aelune... come here and restrain your grandma—hold her so she cannot move a muscle. Vritra... do the same to your aunt-mother."
"And Mara..." he pointed sharply at Bianca, "bind her securely."
The three complied instantly, shadowy tendrils wrapping around Mia, Amelia, and Bianca like unbreakable, gentle chains.
Lucifer continued softly to his daughters, "My precious little kittens, shadow-pull them all to the safest rooms in the ducal home. This shed will contain only two now: me... and this elder here." He nodded toward Elemor. "Go now. Guard them well."
"Okay, Daddy," they replied in sweet harmony, and vanished into the shadows with Mia, Amelia, and Bianca.
The shed fell into oppressive silence, broken only by Elemor's ragged breathing.
Suddenly, Elemor burst out, voice cracking with denial: "Lucifer... This recording... it's fake! All of it—forged! Who fed you this poison? It's a complete lie!"
Lucifer regarded her with cold pity. "Cling to whatever fantasy you need, Elemor. But that recording is pure, untainted truth."
"Let me tell you something even Allen only knows half of. Do you know who Rotveil is?"
Elemor nodded shakily. "He's... a distant Purefield relative... and the Pope of the Church of Toxara."
"Correct," Lucifer said, his tone turning venomous. "Sarah came to me herself—begged me on her knees for a child. I obliged and impregnated her. She carried my daughter, Seren."
"Then, at your son's command, Sarah agreed to abort it. She wasn't forced—she chose it because Christopher demanded his 'property' remain exclusively his to breed."
"She wasn't a good mother, Elemor. Not even close. She never wanted my child; it was just a whim."
"To kill the fetus, Sarah—being the twisted masochist she is—begged Christopher for excessive, brutal vaginal sex. They fucked for hours, days, violently enough to murder the baby inside her. When that wasn't enough to finish the job..."
"Rotveil supplied your son with tansy herb."
Lucifer leaned in closer, his voice a low, freezing whisper. "Do you know what tansy truly does? It doesn't just end the pregnancy quietly. It torments the fetus—poisons it slowly, forces it to convulse in burning agony for hours or days while it dies inside the womb. The mother feels nothing... no pain, no effect. Just the satisfaction of a clean, silent kill."
"Three days and sixteen hours ago, Christopher, Sarah, and Rotveil murdered my Seren together. My little girl suffered alone, writhing in torture until she was gone."
"Now... hear my plan clearly. Oppose me if you can. Uproot me if you're able."
"The instant the fertility ceremony ends, I—the father of my tortured, murdered daughter—will start with Rotveil. I'll strip his flesh in long, screaming ribbons, sear the wounds shut to keep him awake, then force-feed those strips to his priests while they watch in chains. Every follower, every zealot—I'll gut them slowly, string their intestines across their altars like garlands, and leave them to bleed out over days."
"The Purefields will rage against me then. Perfect. I'll eradicate every one of you—no exceptions. I'll flay families alive in front of each other, nail their skins to your palace doors as warnings. I'll carve chunks from living bodies, roast the meat over open flames, and shove it down the throats of the survivors while they scream."
"I'll make you watch your children, your spouses, your parents reduced to begging, broken things—dancing a slow, naked waltz of death under my blade."
"And when the Purefields are extinct, nothing but bones and echoes... I'll save Christopher and Sarah for the finale."
"No swift mercy for them. Just as my Seren burned and convulsed in silent agony... they'll endure infinitely worse."
"Month one: I'll hack off their hands with a rusted saw—slow, deliberate strokes so they feel every tendon snap. I'll cook those hands on skewers before their eyes and toss the meat to feral, rabid dogs snarling at their feet."
"Month two: feet—smashed to pulp first, then severed."
"Month three: legs, arms, eyelids, lips, genitals—piece by agonizing piece. I'll cauterize and heal just enough to prolong it. Holy magic serves me too; I'll regrow flesh only to harvest it again."
"I'll slice thick slabs from their torsos, sear them rare, and force Christopher to devour Sarah's meat while Sarah eats his—gagging on their own seasoned flesh and blood."
"I'll violate their open wounds with red-hot irons, flood their veins with acid, suspend them in pits of salt and vinegar, flay and stitch them endlessly."
"For a year... or eternity... they'll live in unrelenting hell. Limbs regenerated just to be torn away anew. Buried alive, drowned, burned, revived—over and over. They'll scream for death in shattered voices, and I'll smile and refuse."
Lucifer's face was inches from hers now, eyes burning with unholy promise.
"Elemor... you once treated my mother as a true daughter, but out of some lingering, worthless courtesy, I give you one final chance."
"Take your husband and flee the Purefields forever. If that's impossible, abandon your husband along with that monster you call a son. One extra body on the pile changes nothing for me."
"If you can't... then join them in the slaughter."
"I don't even recall your face clearly—how many meaningless times we've met. And know this: I, Lucifer Velmora, owe nothing to your son's bloodline. No attachment. No hesitation. When I kill, gender means nothing—only vengeance."
"So choose wisely: cut all ties to Christopher and the Purefields... or face the naked dance of death in my shadow."
With that, Lucifer turned and strode from the shed, the door booming shut like a tomb sealing.
Elemor crumpled to the floor alone in the suffocating dark—sobbing hysterically, mind shattered by grief and terror, her body convulsing so violently that she soiled herself completely, warm urine spreading beneath her as she wheezed and trembled in utter, broken horror.