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Agostino POV

We found the temple, but it wasn’t the map that led me here it was her. I could feel Domitilla across the wasteland like a pulse beneath my skin, calling me closer with every heartbeat. I left the map in Fosco’s hands and ran, faster than the rest, faster than reason. I had to get to the Temple of Beliale. I had to stop this stop Aronne, stop the end.

I tore the doors open with a roar, and my eyes found her at once. Domitilla lay sprawled beside a stone fountain in the temple’s center. Her neck was soaked in blood, the crimson staining her face like war paint. The wounds were fresh, still bleeding. That bastard my brother had fed from her. He’d drained her, tortured her.

My veins turned to molten steel. Fury erupted, searing through every inch of me. My claws were already out, eager to shred the flesh of anyone who had touched her. Her tears fell silently down her face, mixing with the blood that marked her skin.

“Gosto,” she whispered. Her voice was thin as air, yet I heard it would always hear it.

Her trembling hand reached toward me, fingers delicate and smeared red. Then her eyes closed. She crumpled. For a second, I couldn’t move. Then I heard her heart weak, faltering, but still beating.

I was ready to run to her, but then I saw him. Aronne stood just beyond her, a red crystal clenched in his palm. He locked eyes with me and snarled.

“Get him!” he roared, pointing his blade-like finger in my direction.

His guards surged forward some shifters, some vampires, all bolstered by the infernal crystals they carried but even with that unholy strength, they were no match for me.

They were an irritation. A delay. I didn’t have time for delays.

I ripped through the first two with my claws and took their swords, longer and sharper than my own. Useful. Efficient. I caught Aronne’s eye as I split two more in half. As I fought, he lifted the crystal in his hand and murmured something foul. The gem glowed with unnatural light and sent out a pulsing wave of magic that spread across the chamber, forming a protective barrier.

My eyes darted to Domitilla she remained untouched by the spell. Thank the gods. That was all that mattered.

I moved through the slaughter, carving a path with blade and rage, my enemies’ screams composing a symphony of pain. Then I saw Aronne approaching her.

No.

I would not let him take another drop from her.

The last guard’s head hit the floor as I rushed forward.

“Get the fuck away from her!” I bellowed.

He turned slowly, calm despite the carnage. His grin was pure malice.

“I’m impressed, brother. You actually care about this... thing.”

He flicked his gaze to Domitilla, dismissive, vile.

“She’s not a thing,” I growled, advancing.

Aronne spread his arms mockingly. “So what now? Will you kill mefor her?”

His laugh was ice-cold. He glanced down at the crystal in his hand, now beating like a frantic heart.

“It’s almost time. His soul is stirring.” He grinned wide. “You can’t stop me. And you sure as hell can’t stop him from rising.”

I clenched my jaw, my voice low and shaking with fury.

“Why are you doing this? The Aronne I knew would’ve rather died than hand his soul to a demon.”

His snort was full of venom. “The Aronne you knew? You never knew me. Not really.”

He pocketed the crystal, then knelt beside a fallen guard to retrieve a sword slick with blood.

“You were always the heir the chosen one. The great Agostino Santini. And me? I was the pity case. The weak one. The one you exiled to die in the wasteland.”

“I was trying to save you!” I roared. “Even locked in that hellhole of a prison, being tortured daily, I sent Alighiero to find you! I tried”

“Save me?” he barked a bitter laugh. “Do you know what that wasteland is like?” He stepped closer, his voice rising, face warped by years of rage.

“There are storms made of fire, Gosto. Rain that falls like molten glass. The only drinkable water hides underground, and if you breathe too deep, your lungs burn. And you dare stand there and say you saved me?!”

“I chose the lesser evil! What choice did I have?!”

“You could’ve begged! You could’ve knelt before Gualtiero and traded your life for mine!”

His face twisted, hatred pouring from every line.

“You should’ve died for me!”

That shattered whatever piece of me still clung to the idea that he could be saved. It wasn’t the demon speaking it was him. The brother I once loved was gone.

I let out a dark laugh, hollow and cruel.

“You think my death would’ve spared you? If I had died, you would’ve become Gualtiero’s new toy. You wouldn’t have survived a day in his dungeons.”

Aronne snarled, charging. His sword came down hard, aiming to cleave me in two. I could feel Domitilla’s blood surging through him, enhancing his speed but it only made me burn hotter. His blade missed my throat by inches, but I didn’t see the dagger until it sliced across my chest.

I hissed, stumbling back, blood soaking my shirt.

He sneered. “How does your weaker brother feel now?”

I touched the wound, felt the power stirring beneath my skin. Then I saw it the crystal in his pocket glinting with Domitilla’s energy. It wasn’t just her blood inside him... it was inside that stone. But if I crushed it, would I unleash whatever poison it held?

Aronne attacked again. I parried and countered, slicing deep into his shoulder. He staggered. The crystal pulsed violently. The moon had risen, and Beliale was waiting.

I couldn’t give him what he wanted.

With a roar, I drove my sword across Aronne’s stomach and arced it toward his throat. He dodged at the last second, grinning like a man already dead.

“Will you do it?” he spat. “Will you kill your brother?”

I stared him down and exhaled a single breath.

“I have no brother.”

Then I struck. One brutal thrust. The blade sank into his heart.

Blood sprayed down the hilt as the crystal in his pocket exploded, bathing him in red light. His eyes widened in disbelief. He stumbled back.

“Help me...” he gasped, sword falling from his grip. “He’s... taking control...”

I stepped forward, but the shield around him surged to life, flaring red. I was locked out.

He staggered into the fountain, his movements no longer his own.

“I can’t reach you!” I yelled, slamming my fist against the barrier.

“The stone... has enough of the Nephilim’s power,” he muttered, clutching the blade still wedged in his chest. “Now... it wants me... to bleed...”

His eyes turned black irises, whites, everything.

He yanked the sword free. Blood poured from his chest, spilling into the fountain. The red light around him pulsed faster, wilder.

“Fuck!” I growled. The statue of Beliale above the fountain cracked, fractures webbing across the stone surface. The demon was coming.

I struck the barrier again and again, desperate to break through. But it only grew stronger. I could do nothing but watch as Aronne bled out.

Then, just as quickly as it had formed, the shield vanished. His eyes faded back to normal.

He dropped to his knees, shaking.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

And then his body turned to dust.

I barely had time to grieve. The ground trembled beneath my boots. Above us, the statue of Beliale splintered, glowing from within.

The demon was awakening.