TW: Violence, gore, blood, swearing, and discrimination. 

Hans was the first one to walk down the second floor with Grimm following a few feet away.

Immediately, a warlock sprints out of the right hallway with a gulf of fire in his palm but he never gets the chance to throw it as Grimm takes three long strides and draws his scythe in a horizontal direction, the sound of precision and efficiency sliced through the quiet corridor. Hans catches the headless body before it can hit the floor and Grimm holds the severed head of an aghast warlock. They moved in a perfected routine.

They stayed true to their promise, quiet, and somehow remained unclean from bloodshed. But I could see a piece of bone protruding out of the corpse's neck, and pinkish flesh. Probably warm too. Grimm turned to meet my gaze. He lifted the severed head and shook it like a prized fish as droplets of blood fell out. With the way my heart was racing, one would think I was being serenaded. Still, I prefer flowers over decapitated heads. I searched for more witches and warlocks but they were hiding and using their magic to conceal themselves.

I could feel it in the air, overflowing with strong ripples of controlled magic. They had years of practice to refine and cultivate their magic and I only have a month or two at best of understanding my magic. But they couldn't feel my magic yet, and there was something wrong here amongst these witches and warlocks. They must've seen what Grimm did but strangely, they didn't come out to avenge their dead friend. Either they didn't come out because fear had struck their bodies or they were waiting on the perfect moment to attack.

I pitied them all.

Grimm rolls the head over down the left hallway and with one hand, he plummets the whole second floor into darkness only leaving the staircase visible for me to walk down. He seems to be in better control of his power again, less tense. Grimm gave Hans a curt nod. The demon pushed through the fog of shadows leaving only a pair of red glowing eyes to be visible.

I come down the stairs quietly. At the landing, The Capturer of Souls gives me one last look. He looked exactly like the night I called for him. The night I was kidnapped I plea—prayed for him to come. Full of promise and execution, he stood except he didn't look at me like I prayed for him. He looked at me as if someone from divinity asked for his presence and truly needed him. 

You're here, I thought. His eyes shined, I'm here. 

Finally, The Capturer of Souls turned away and began to walk down the hallway with his scythe leaning into his right shoulder as his other hand was stuffed into the pocket of his slacks. The hunter has answered the call of the divine, once again.

I gripped the polished wooden railing of the staircase, it was time for my part. Do let Dilara die tonight. Trade a life, if you must. A booming voice began to echo from the first floor. "The Council will have you hanged for keeping the daughter of Nicolás De Luna's existence a secret." I came closer into view, seeing the backs of a balding man wearing a beige coat and a woman standing next to him wearing an elegant black dress. 

Apart from their unseen appearances, they carried a much grander authority compared to the warlocks I've faced. They had a uniform line of witches and warlocks against the wall, resembling soldiers to be instructed.

My gaze peeked through the bodies until I saw Dilara, and my heart dropped. Her wavy brown hair shielded her face and her shoulders sagged in defeat as her red dress pools around her. The stares of her fellow witches and warlocks filled with disgust and disappointment were daggers to her. I made notice of her wrists. Bounded by bronze restraints with radiating inscribed runes encircling them. That's what was making her magicless.

She was not powerless. I've seen her power. I saw her summon a fire-breathing lion. But these hateful cowards made the woman I saw earlier vanish as if she never existed in the first place. They can't do this to her.

The balding warlock went on with his accusatory tone, "After everything the Council has done for you and your family—" My heel made the last step, silencing him. "And what exactly has your council done for her?" Heads spun their attention to me, animosity settled in their gazes as I took a step under the chandelier raising my chin to the light. Some gazes burned, and others were filled with terror and curiosity. I will not be afraid of them. 

"Besides casting her out and cutting off all communication from speaking to her family." I seethed.

Dilara lifted her head as her golden eyes widened. The woman in the luxurious black dress appeared older probably in her mid to late forties as does the man beside her. She must've been the one to see Dilara and forced her to confess. 

One of their followers, a young warlock no older than twenty steps out of line and spits out the floor. "Evil witch." His eyes of hatred and wrath mirrored mine but I'm The Evil Witch as he said. I get to kill him.

The balding held his hand up, and the young warlock stepped back into line with his soon-to-be deceased friends. It does not erase their astonishment across their faces. They continued to analyze the features of my face, and finally, the witch's lips curled disdainfully. "Nora De Luna." She announces it like a wretched curse.

"Del Luna." The witch raises her nose making a disgruntled noise. "Dilara stood up from the ground, clanking her restraints together. "Parmagis Mondt, you cannot fault her for being the daughter of Nicolás Del Luna. She knows nothing about her father. She is not what you think she is." She pleads.

I know who they are now. Richard and Marlene Mondt, Parmagis of Oregon as appointed by the Council. They were in charge of overseeing Dilara's punishment. From what Dilara told me, they were less attentive and quiet about the witches' and warlocks' business since most of Oregon was considerably werewolf territory. But they were loyal to the Council and they would perform their duty.

"Hush, little witch." Richard Mondt said, keeping his gaze locked on me. "I've heard the rumors of Nicolás' surviving child. Many are beginning to seek confirmation. I'm surprised it is you but you sure know how to look your part." He looked over to his wife, her lips pursed like she ingested a sour lemon. "Darling, she looks like her father. Too bad her mother didn't give her much beauty, but she wasn't much of a looker either." He said snidely.

"Says the man without any hair...or elsewhere." I reminded him. The more I stared at him, he began to resemble a sad saggy naked rat mole. A few witches looked down at the floors and others coughed loudly. Richard Mondt's cheeks reddened as did his whole face. Dilara was shaking her head.

His wife, Marlene narrowed her gaze. "You have your mother's tongue." My shoulders tense, and she notices and goes on, "Oh yes, I know her. We all knew her. The wife of a De Luna, but back then your father was the lesser-known sibling of his family. Your mother and father portrayed themselves as a young couple expecting, and simply following orders of maintaining an amicable relationship with us. But your mother always had something to say, spreading her venom everywhere she went."

I scoffed. "Venom or truth?"

Marlene took a step forward, the corner of her eyes wrinkled. "It's been hard, hasn't it? It's been difficult for you, right Nora? I can see it. I know you're wishing your parents weren't the monsters of this story but the facts remain. Your mother stabbed Helene Worth's eye out of jealousy. Your mother was a crazed power-hungry creature. Your father is a practitioner of the dark arts and relishes in his killings. Your family, your poor family died because they chose to protect them. Your parents killed your family and they killed everyone else's families." My heart was racing, and my nails were digging into my skin.

Agunata. Agunata. Agunata.

"This is the truth and you know it but you, Nora, you can be saved from your parents' sins." She was suddenly closer to me, it was so easy to break her nose or reach for her neck. "I can feel you have no power. You don't have to carry their sins. It's just pure blood keeping you alive. Tell me, child, where is your father?" She asks, hypnotically.

I stay quiet, biting down my tongue until the taste of metallic rolls in. I could scream and everyone would die, but Dilara was here and I didn't want to hurt her. I don't want her to die. I would have to wait for Hans to come and break her chains.

I leveled my gaze with Marlene and leaned in, her nose slightly twitching. "I'm going to kill your fucking husband and you're going to watch him choke on his own blood, and then, when I'm done with him I'm going to make sure the last breath you take is to say name. We're all sinners, Marlene Mondt. Nothing about blood is pure, and yours will stain as the rest of them have." Her eyes widened as her body shook terribly, making her husband come to her aid.

Richard Mondt with his thick neck, and glistening head. He commanded. "Bring Miss Arslan over here." A young warlock with brown curls and dressed in all black marched to her, his jaw was set and roughly pulled her arm.

Dilara tugged as she was dragged, protesting. "Marcus, let go of me. You know this is wrong. You know what you're doing is wrong!" Marcus kept his gaze forward but I could see the conflict in his quivering eyes. Dilara knew him and almost looked at him as more than a friend.

He said, dully like a rehearsed phrase. "You betrayed the Council. You're a traitor, and we can't have traitors in the New World." Dilara's brows knitted together, her eyes less golden as the betrayal pierced her heart. 

Marcus jerked her body to Richard, and he pulled the chain link bringing her closer to my presence. "The Council will want to kill you but it would be wasteful of their time to let a hateful creature live any longer. You're a rumor, barely having any form of existence. Nobody will mourn you. Nobody will care about you." Dilara looked horrified. "And Miss Arslan's death will be a causality from the dark forces of your father. Another victim of the mad Nicolás De Luna." He unclasped one restraint from Dilara's wrist, revealing it bare and raw and red.

I looked over to Marlene, hugging her body as if I hurt her. "And you say my parents are the monsters of this story? Go to fucking Hell. Get a FUCKING GRIP YOU FUCKING DUMB FUCKS PIECES OF SHIT—

"Silence!"

I raised my voice, and if they knew better they would've paid attention to the cracking splinters of the flower vases. "VETE A LA VERGA HIJA DE TU PUTA MADRE PUTO BASTARDO MALDITO INFELIZ." I kept saying every filthy word I ever learned from English to Spanish to Irish.

Richard Mondt seized my right arm, and I fought against his hold. "You're only making this harder on yourself. Marcus, hold Dilara." She was also fighting against him. "Bruna! Come here." Richard barked. A woman near my age appeared at his side, her brown hair was clipped on both sides, and moved without needing to be told anything else. Bruna placed her clawed polished nails into my right shoulder. "You've no power. No magic. You're the unluckiest half-breed." She whispered.

In the split second Richard managed to clasp my right wrist, and Dilara met my gaze. "I'm sorry." The restraint solidified into my size, tightening. It felt like unnecessary weight. But Dilara doesn't stop fighting and I don't stop fighting against them either. Together we fight because we are each other's strength. "No need to be sentimental. You'll die together." Richard flashed yellow shark teeth. "The Chained Sisters." He mocked.

I tore from Bruna's pink sharp nails and used my free hand to deliver a rightful punch to Richard Mondt's nose and in return, Dilara and I received a powerful blast throwing us across the room. Our bodies slammed against the wall and collapsed on the marble floor followed by a shattering mirror spilling its shards all over us. A throbbing pain expanded all over my skull.

I rolled my head over to look at Dilara, pieces of glass were tangled in her brown wavy hair. "Are you okay?" I mumbled as she turned over, her face wincing as she did. "I'm fine. But you should've left. You should've run." I couldn't leave her. Between teaching me witchcraft and our late-night conversations, I never knew how much I was missing from a friendship. I was able to speak to her about Refugio, my grandmother and she spoke to me about her family. Her father, mother, brother, and sister. She told me all her good memories. We're just two girls missing home waiting to be welcomed back.

My mouth slightly twitched. "I had to tell you something." Her golden eyes relit themselves like a candle in the darkest room. "What could you possibly have to tell me that you needed to put your life in danger?" I reached for her chained hand, matching mine. "Let's stay alive until the end and I'll tell you."

"Alive." She repeats, squeezing my hand.

Suddenly, a hot pouring liquid drips down my brow to my eyelid. I blink rapidly.

Dilara pulls my arm and I stumble a bit. "Oh no—Your eyes, oh shit—You're bleeding." I bring my hand over my forehead, I dip my fingertips into the deep cut. That imbecile. My head snaps in the direction of the Parmagis' of Oregon. Richard Mondt. Marlene Mondt. "I'm going kill that fucking rat," I swore. Richard held his nose, bending over as his wife, Marlene, tried to soothe his pain away. Their followers stood behind them, prepared to attack. Some already had their hands raised.

"Get them!" Richard gritted out.

Marcus was the first to move and Dilara stood taller, her free hand was igniting small sparks. "Is this how you wish for it to end?" She asked him, giving the last of her hope.

His gaze rolled over to the flames dancing in her fingertips. "House Arslan used to be known for their courageous brave warriors. The symbol of the lion and fire has always been associated with your family. A spark to ignite bravery is what your family used to be. But you were always a coward, Dilara. You could've at least chosen the winning side." She gripped my hand. "You know nothing about my house." Dilara cemented her words further in her native tongue, and her gaze locked with his, and gone was the conflict she felt, all that was left was a wounded pride to be fixed.

Bruna stepped in, tauntingly. "You couldn't light a birthday candle with that fire." She raised her hands, and spoke the incantation for fire and flames burst out of her palms. "How does it feel to be useless?" She drove the flames higher. Dilara kept a neutral composed face, she said nothing and her fire was still on her fingertips swaying to the little wind inside. Was she taking stoic lessons from Hans? That was terrifying.

After a second of silence, Bruna moved her hands into a position to throw her flames but unexpectedly, a head fell from above. Someone shrieked, "Danny!" Then another head fell. A larger one with their eyes hanging out of their sockets. Followed by a flayed one, flesh hung slipped down. Someone got bored or creative. And like a sign of good faith, a Halestorm of heads came down. I pulled Dilara backward. Each head landed on the floor with a hard thud, smearing the marble with fresh blood. A couple of them even landed on the witches and warlocks, one of them started throwing gulfs of fire upwards only to set the ceiling on fire.

Richard and Marlene made a shelter for themselves, and others copied their spell. The heads finally stopped falling. The thick air fell into silence, but their attention was directed to me. "How—How did you do it? You're bound. You couldn't have—They're only two of you." Richard turns to his wife, crying out. "You said they were alone. Only two humans, and them."

Marlene's lips thinned and averted her gaze from his. "What creature are you? What weapon do you have?" Her voice was breaking.

"Not a weapon." A deep voice answers from the top of the stairs. Everyone spun their heads. With languid steps, he descended like madness. His white loose shirt was dampened by a deep dark red color, pressing into his abdomen revealing his muscles and lines going further down. His hair lay flat over his darkened eyes making small movements across the room until they caught my face.

Grimm looked less like the King of Darkness and more like the King of Blood.

"Who are you? What House do you belong to?" Parmagis Richard asked, assessing him.

Grimm coolly replied. "I belong to no one." His gaze flickers over to the blood on my face connecting it to the cut on my forehead and once he sees enough of it, he fully turns his head to Richard Mondt. "The better question is which one of you decided to interrupt my night with my woman?" His voice is low and quiet with hints of edge and possessiveness. He then began to roll the sleeves of his shirt. "And which one of you is responsible for hurting her? Come out and I'll make your death swift." Everyone froze, possibly out of fear or intrigue.

"Ah, so no one wants to take responsibility. Neither did your friends. I suppose this ends the same way for all of you as it did for them." The shadows come out, crawling beneath him and moving in a snakelike motion as they reshape his scythe to life.

A strong gust of wind swooped down, rocking the chandelier.

The blonde hair demon stands on Dilara's side, with his tucked black feathery wings. Dilara does not move. Hans reaches for her wrist but pulls mine too. He arched his brow, and he then simply twisted the chain link around his palm and formed a fist until it snapped. My hand fell back to my side but my wrist still had the cuff at least the runes were not glowing anymore. They were useless and Dilara was no longer magicless.

Dilara didn't say anything about her cuffed wrist. She walked away from Hans as the broken link clung against the bronze metal. Bruna locked eyes with her and reclaimed the fire in her palms but Dilara didn't claim anything, her hands summoned the fire knowing someone was going to suffer.

As if she was challenging her, Bruna said. "You want to play with fire, Arslan? Go on, do your best."

The wounded lion showed her worst and baring her teeth, there would not be displays of a brave warrior. Only pride to be redeemed. Dilara Arslan fought like a tossed-out soldier. No honor. No duty. She burned from her own glory.

I do not know who caused the first scream.