Chapter 9: Beating Up Ella

Chapter 9: Beating Up Ella"You bitch!" Ella snapped, her voice laced with fury.

She blurred in a burst of vampiric speed and slammed her fist straight into Francisca's stomach.

Francisca gasped, eyes wide as the force sent her skidding backward, crashing into the bar counter behind her. Bottles shattered, glass raining down like sharp confetti.

But she didn't stay down.

Her hand flared with foxfire, and in a blink, she was gone.

Boom!

Their fists collided mid-air, the shockwave blasting out and shaking the walls.

Ella grinned as they clashed again, fangs bared, moving faster than the eye could follow. Each punch cracked the air, each kick sent chairs and tables flying.

Lucifer stepped back, watching in stunned silence as flames and shadows danced across the room.

Mob let out another sigh. "Now the club's trashed. Great."

Ella appeared behind Francisca and landed a roundhouse to her ribs, then a spin-kick to the jaw. Francisca flew across the floor and rolled to a stop—but didn't get up immediately.



Ella walked toward her slowly, blood dripping from her knuckles. "Had enough yet, fox girl?"

Francisca smirked... and vanished.

"What the—?!"

Suddenly, five Franciscas surrounded Ella.

She turned sharply. "Illusions?! Cheap trick!"

She lunged forward and sliced through one—poof! Gone in flames.

Another. Gone.

She struck a third—wrong again.

Too late.

The real Francisca appeared behind her, glowing eyes locked in.

"Found you."

Boom!

A knee to the back. Ella stumbled forward—then a flaming uppercut to the chin.

She flew upward, crashing through the ceiling and landing hard on the floor above with a loud thud.

Francisca jumped up after her and landed silently.

"No more games."

Ella groaned, coughing up blood, trying to get up—only to realize her limbs wouldn't move right. Everything around her looked distorted.

"W-What... what did you do?"

Francisca crouched beside her and whispered, "Illusions aren't just for tricks... they're for breaking the mind."

The foxfire swirled, forming a glowing sigil under Ella's body.

Her body jerked, then dropped flat. Out cold.

Francisca stood up, flames fading, her breath steady.

She looked down and muttered, "Mess with my friend again, and I'll make it permanent."

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Lucifer walked toward Francisca, slow and calm. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

"You're strong," he said, voice low. "No one would believe that the same mischievous, playful girl could turn into this... But," he paused, "that doesn't mean I'm just going to forgive you for lying to me all these years."

He dropped his hand and turned around, walking away.

Francisca stood there, frozen. Her foxfire flickered out.

"I'm sorry..." she murmured, barely audible, eyes fixed on his back as he walked away.

Remu clicked her tongue and walked over to where Ella was still down, lifting her up by the arm.

"So that's it? We just let him walk? He knows our secrets. You all remember the rules—no mundane should ever know about the supernatural."



Francisca turned her head slowly. Her glowing eyes locked onto Remu.

A sharp glare.

Remu didn't flinch. She glared back, just as cold.

The room felt tense. Like a thread about to snap.

Then Mob stood up, brushing off his pants with a sigh. He stepped into the middle like he was done holding back.

"Enough."

Everyone looked at him.

"Lucifer isn't just some mundane. He's been with us since we were kids. He's family. One of us."

He looked at Ella and Remu specifically.

"And the fact that you've already been messing with his memories? That's low. That's messed up. He was going to find out eventually—but you two didn't even give him the chance."

The air around Mob shimmered slightly, temperature dropping, his voice firm.

"And I know damn well neither of you would apologize for what you did."

He took a step forward.

"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to let him go. You're not going to follow him. And you sure as hell aren't going to mess with his mind ever again."

He pointed at them both.

"Because if you try it again... it won't just be Francisca you'll have to deal with."

His eyes narrowed.

"It'll be me too."

The room went dead silent. Even the flickering club lights seemed to pause.

Ella, still dazed and bloodied, looked away.

Remu clicked her tongue and muttered, "Tch. Whatever."

Mob sighed and leaned back against a broken table.

"Tonight's already a mess... don't make it worse."

Elsewhere

"Get rid of the body. And find out exactly what the hell happened here."

The girl barking orders couldn't be older than twenty, yet the way she spoke made even grown men straighten up. Her short coat fluttered in the wind, the symbol of the Fowler family stitched in red at the back.

Dera Fowler. A direct descendant of the legendary hunter clan. The same family that created the Hunters Association—the ones keeping the supernatural world in check.

She looked around at the scene with disgust in her eyes. Blood, ash, and silence. Then her glare landed on the team leader kneeling before her, his head down.

"A rogue werewolf. Just one," she said, voice cold. "And you still managed to screw it up."

She stepped closer, boots crunching glass on the pavement.

"Not only did it kill civilians... it wandered freely, then got taken out by something else before you could even capture it."



She paused. Her eyes narrowed.

"And now that thing—whatever it was—is gone. No witnesses. No traces. Just a mangled corpse that screams vampire kill."

The team leader clenched his fists.

Dera tilted her head slightly.

"And guess what? We don't even know which clan it came from, what rank the vampire was, or why it interfered in the first place."

She looked back at the blood-soaked site, then back at the hunter.

"All we have... is a mess. And your incompetence to thank for it."

Her words hit like a slap.

She turned around, coat whipping with the wind.

"Clean it up. And this time, do your job right."

The black-clothed hunters scrambled into motion.

Dera didn't even look back.