Chapter 64: The Voice 1

Chapter 64: The Voice 1Remu’s arm flung another wine bottle across the room. It hit the wall with a heavy smash, glass shards raining down like angry little stars. The table she’d flipped earlier was still lying on its side, two of its legs broken. Chairs were scattered. One of the lamps had a crooked neck, flickering like it was scared.

She stood in the middle of it all—barefoot, breath sharp, eyes wild.

Her red leather jacket was tossed on the bed. Her hair clung to her sweaty face as she grabbed the edge of a dresser and shoved it, hard. The mirror above it cracked straight through the middle. Her reflection split down her nose.

"DAMN IT!" she screamed.

She kicked the dresser next. It didn’t move.

Her boots made heavy thuds against the wood floor as she paced.

"I gave them everything," she muttered, eyes wide. "Everything. His history, his blood, the fact that he survived a werewolf bite for fuck’s sake! What more do you people need?!"

She grabbed a whiskey glass and threw it at the TV.

Crash. The screen cracked. Static buzzed briefly, then went black.

She stood still.

Her chest heaved.



A long silence.

Then—

Flashback.

Bright sunlight. A rooftop.

Lucifer—younger, grinning—sits cross-legged, biting into an apple, juice running down his chin.

"Remu," he says with that dumb sparkle in his eyes, "what would you do if you had wings?"

She doesn’t answer. Just rolls her eyes and walks away.

Back to present.

She pressed her hands against her temples. "Ughhh, that idiot."

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She didn’t look. She knew who it was.

Her mother.

The same woman who called her earlier, all calm and smug:

"Remu, clean it up. Make sure the humans don’t see it. We can’t afford a mess."

She’d gone, reluctantly. Thought maybe, maybe, one of the corpses would be his. Just one. She would’ve danced right there.

But nope.

Just blood. Carnage. Vampires. Werewolves. Hunters. Sliced in half. Torn open.

Lucifer? Nowhere.

Not even a burnt shoe.

"Bastard," she whispered. "You bastard."

She walked over to the minibar, popped open a bottle of cheap vodka, took a long, bitter swig, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

Her eyes burned—not from the drink. From everything.

Ella hadn’t called in days.

Not since that night.

Not since he almost died that night.

Since he changed.

Ella used to text her memes every morning. Now? Ghosted. All because of him.

Lucifer.

The name tasted like acid in her mouth.

She threw the vodka bottle. It bounced off the wall and rolled under the bed.

She dropped to the floor, sitting amidst broken glass and a cracked floorboard.

"No one’s gonna stop him," she muttered, staring at the ceiling. "Not the Council. Not the hunters. Not the Elders. Not even Mom."

She laughed.

Short. Sharp.

Her hands curled into fists.

"Why won’t you just die?"

Outside, the city glowed through the open curtains. Neon lights blinking pink and blue across her ruined hotel room.

From the alley below, muffled music and the distant roar of a motorbike.

Her eyes caught her reflection in the cracked mirror.

She looked like a mess.

Dark circles. Hair like a thunderstorm. Fury in her eyes.

But something else too.

Something deeper.

Fear?

No.

She wouldn’t say it.

Not out loud.

But inside... she knew.

Lucifer wasn’t running anymore.

He was hunting now.

And she?

She was on the list.

She stood up slowly, the wooden floor creaking beneath her bare feet. She walked to the broken mirror and stared at herself.

"You think you’ve won?" she said softly. "Nah, not yet. You’ve just pissed off the wrong girl."

Her eyes flashed red for a split second.



Then she remembered it.

That voice.

That damn voice that had been whispering to her ever since that night.

At first, she ignored it. Thought she was just stressed. Thought maybe she needed sleep. Or therapy. Maybe both.

But it never left.

Always there. A low, slick whisper, curling into her ear when things went quiet. Telling her things. Offering her things.

"Power."

"Vengeance."

"I can give it to you. Just say the word."

She never did. Back then, she didn’t need it. She was in control. She had a plan.

Now?

She looked at the cracked mirror in the hotel room. Her reflection stared back—red-eyed, furious, broken.

Lucifer was still alive.

The bastard was still alive.

She stepped over broken glass and empty liquor bottles, eyes locked with her reflection.

"I’m ready," she muttered.

Nothing.

Her breath hitched. "Do you hear me? I said I’m ready. For whatever you’re offering."

The room went quiet. Too quiet.

The air thickened. Like syrup in her lungs.

Then—

"Good girl."

The voice was clearer now. Like someone standing just behind her, smiling with their teeth too wide.

"You took your sweet time," it said. "I was starting to think you were scared."

She didn’t flinch. "Tell me what to do."

"Such urgency," the voice chuckled. "You want him dead that badly?"

Remu’s hands clenched into fists. "I want him gone."

"Then listen closely."

The lights in the room flickered. The shadows stretched unnaturally long.

She turned slowly.

No one was there.

Still, she felt it. Watching. Breathing. Coiled somewhere behind the veil.

"To bring me here—to truly bring me into your world—you must summon me."

"How?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

The voice paused. A quiet breath in the dark.

"A sacrificial ritual," it said. "Old. Forbidden. Buried beneath dust and lies."

"What kind of sacrifice?" she asked, even though she already knew.

The answer still made her gut twist.

"Humans."

Her throat tightened.

"I thought you wanted power," it said, voice now low and seductive. "Did you think it would come for free? Blood is the currency of gods, little witch."

Remu looked down at her hands. Pale. Shaking.

She didn’t speak.

The silence stretched.

Then she whispered, "How many?"

The voice purred, "Seven. Seven lives. Willingly or not. Their deaths will open the gate. Their fear will light the path."

Remu took a step back. Her foot crunched on glass again.

Her heart thudded.

Seven people.

Gone.

For him.

Lucifer.

The boy who turned her life upside down. Who tore her world apart just by existing. Who made Ella pull away. Who walked into their secret world like he belonged there.

Her jaw tightened.

"What happens after I summon you?"



"Then, child," the voice said, "I make you into something even he should fear."

The lights flickered again.

Then the room went still.

Remu’s reflection was no longer her own. In the mirror, her eyes were pitch black. Her smile—too wide.

Her real self stared in horror.

Then her reflection whispered, in her voice:

"Do we have a deal?"

Remu stared.

Then nodded.

"Deal."

The voice purred like a cat finally catching the mouse.

"Then let’s begin."