Chapter 122: Chapter : 122 : Wait for Me, Onee-Chan!

The alley was drowned in shadow. Wind scraped along the stone walls and carried the faint smell of wine and smoke. A shape descended from above. feet touching the ground without a sound.

Lazira’s eyes glowed faintly in the dark. Her pale skin caught the faint glimmer of a street lamp, making her look like a ghost that had chosen to stay behind.

“Why? Why… why…” Her voice cracked on the last word, a slow growl buried under silk and venom. “Onee-chan… why did you leave me?”

She slammed her fist into the wall. Dust and stone scattered. Again. Again. Each blow louder than the last until the alley trembled.

“That human?!” Her breath came sharp, trembling with fury. “If it was… I’ll find him. I’ll tear him apart until you come back to me, Onee-chan.”

Footsteps. Laughter. The kind of noise that didn’t belong in a place like this. Four men stumbled into the alley, half-drunk, half-brave, their arms draped with four youthful women. The perfume was thick, desperate, and cloying in the cold air.

The women looked like they belonged to noble halls, but the night had stripped away their grace, leaving only heat and mischief. Their laughter was thick with temptation, bodies leaning close as they clung to the men for balance—or simply for fun.

Cropped tops hung low, the open cleavage framed by thin straps, their bras flashing openly with every careless sway. The fabric did nothing to hide the curve and weight of their full, bouncing boobs as they leaned into their partners. Below, micro skirts clung high on their hips, riding up to tease glimpses of panties and the round swell of their ass with each step.

One of the men squinted through the dark. “Hey, look at that—girl’s out here all alone.”

Another guy chuckled. “Probably lost. Or pretending to be shy.”

“Careful, boys—she looks like the kind that bites… maybe that’s the fun part.” One of the girl said.

“Oh, relax. She’s probably one of those quiet ones—until you get close.” Another girl added.

“Maybe she’s a runaway slave,” a third man said, half-amused, half-curious.

“Then we could have a little fun,” a fourth added, his voice thick with lust.

Their laughter bounced off the walls. Lazira didn’t move.

“Oi, sweetheart,” the first man said, stepping forward.

“Oh, stop glaring. It’s a compliment. You look like trouble, and I’m drunk enough to like that.” Another woman added.

He froze. Confusion flickered on his face before it twisted into agony. His wrist—severed—hung uselessly from the hand still reaching for her, then dropped to the stones with a wet slap.

Blood sprayed across his friends and onto Lazira’s cheek.The scream came late, ragged, too human.

“You talk too much,” Lazira whispered, tilting her head, her eyes lazily following the crimson arc.

The women shrieked and scrambled backward.

The men bared knives and clubs, shouting curses—but their shadows betrayed them, shifting unnaturally, slithering toward Lazira as if bound to her will.

The first man crumpled without warning, his throat opened cleanly.

The second fell with his spine severed mid-step.

The sound of it all was horrifyingly brief—wet bursts of finality between silences thick enough to choke on.

Only Lazira remained standing when it was done, her breath calm, steady.

She stepped toward the last woman, who was frozen, trembling so hard her knees knocked together. “P-please… don’t kill me…”

Lazira’s grin spread slowly, her voice slipping into something almost affectionate. “Then… give me back my Onee-chan.”

“O-Onee—”She never finished.

Lazira’s hands were already on her, pulling her close before her teeth sank into flesh.

The scream rose and bled into the night until even the wind fell silent.

When Lazira finally stepped from the alley, she wiped the streak of red from her lips with the back of her hand, her smile faint and distant.

“Aiden Nightshade…” she murmured, almost tender, almost hating. “Wait for me.”

—

Morning came bright and tense inside the royal council room.

Aiden sat with his usual calm, though two sets of wings brushed against him from both sides—Selvara on his right, Venya on his left. The girls didn’t look like they planned to move anytime soon.

Across the round table, Queen Alethea Albinos rested her chin on one hand, expression unreadable. Around her, the generals filled their seats—each one wearing a different flavor of suspicion.

Varra Selwyn and Serica Veylan whispered something to each other. Serica waved at Aiden first. Kairi followed with a smirk. Varra tried to smile back but ended up blushing instead.

Fiora and Veyra sat together, their gazes locked on them.

Kael Draven looked like he was one heartbeat away from exploding, while his vice commander Renn quietly tried to calm him down.

Ravenn, the masked warrior, leaned back silently.

Sylas and Sylara sat together, sharing little smiles that looked almost too sweet for as war table.

The Queen’s voice finally broke the air. “Sir Aiden,” she said, tone cool but curious. “Would you mind explaining who she is?” She nodded toward Venya.

Venya blinked, startled, then leaned closer to Aiden like a nervous cat. Selvara did the same from the other side, both of them bristling.

Aiden chuckled softly. “She’s the dragon from yesterday. The big one that almost wrecked half of them. Name’s Venya.”

Gasps went around the table.

“My words,” Ravenn muttered.

“She looks nothing like that monster,” Serica said, eyes lingering on Aiden more than Venya. Her tone was soft, dreamy—clearly gone.

Kairi looked at Venya, properly. The horns, the scales on her body, those pulsing veins, and those crimson wings behinf her, “Or maybe she does look a bit like that dragon. “She said, pointing toward her physical feature.

Varra caught herself staring too and turned away so fast she nearly hit Kairi’s shoulder. *Why does he have to sound like that when he talks? And that smile… ugh, my heart—* She bit her lip, pretending to look at her notes. *He probably doesn’t even notice. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he?*

The Queen lifted an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You are full of surprises, Sir Aiden.”

Aiden smirked. “I try.”

“Your Majesty,” Kael cut in, voice sharp enough to slice steel. “Before we get distracted again—can we talk about the issue?”

“Kael,” Renn hissed softly. “You’re doing it again.”

Queen Alethea sighed. “Fine. Sir… We would like to know you connection with thm, and we need to know—can we trust them?”

Selvara’s tail flicked behind her chair. “I don’t care about your trust, human. I only follow my Lord.”

“Yes,” Venya added, nodding eagerly. “What Master says.”

Aiden smiled. “They’re my wives, that answers your first question. Secondly, they follow me. And since I’m helping you, they’re helping too. Easy math.”

Kael slammed a fist on the table. “If they’re your wives, why were they with the Pale Hands? Why did they act like they didn’t know you before you—did whatever you did?!”

The Queen raised one hand. Kael stopped talking, though the fire in his eyes didn’t.

Renn sighed under his breath. “He’s gonna burst a vein one day.”

Aiden grinned lazily. “Man, you really need to chill. You’re gonna scare the furniture.”

Sylara tried not to laugh but failed. She covered her mouth quickly.

Sylas leaned closer, whispering, “That was adorable.”

“Shut up,” she whispered back, cheeks turning pink.

Then looked toward the others, “Sorry.”

Ravenn spoke next, voice calm and low. “Sir… We just need to ensure that they’re not our enemies and not potential spies.”

Queen Alethea nodded. “Exactly. Sir Aiden, if they’re truly with us, then they should prove it—share information about the Pale Hands. Anything that confirms loyalty.”

Aiden turned toward Selvara. “Think you can help with that?”

Selvara frowned. “What, betray my people for humans? No thanks.”

“Selva,” He said gently, “for me?”

Her eyes met his—bright blue meetind for a moment all her defiance melted. “…Fine,” She muttered, cheeks warming. “But only because you asked nicely.”

Aiden chuckled. “I’ll take you on a date later.”

Her face went full red. “B-baka! You can’t just—say that in front of everyone!”

Venya tugged on his sleeve. “Venya wants to go on date too!”

He smiled. “Alright, both of you.”

Across the table, Serica looked ready to faint. Varra, meanwhile, tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. *He’s smiling again. Gods, he’s too calm, too confident. Stop looking, Varra. Stop—*

Selvara finally sat up straight, voice serious now. “What kind of information do you need?”

Queen Alethea’s tone softened slightly. “Tell us about the Pale Hands. Their leaders. Their goals.”

Selvara exhaled, folding her arms. “Fine. Listen carefully, because I’m only saying this once.”

The room grew silent. Only the faint hum of her words filled the background. Selvara began explaining—how the cult operated, the ranks, the inner circle.

She spoke of founding memebers, of corrupted summons, of their plan that had been whispered across generations.

Finally, her voice dropped lower. “…And yes. We’re trying to resurrect the Demon King.”

The room froze.

Even the Queen’s mask of composure cracked for an instant.

“That… confirms it,” Alethea said quietly.

Ravenn’s hand clenched on the table. Fiora muttered a curse under her breath. Sylas and Sylara exchanged a worried glance.

Kael leaned back, eyes dark. “Even if it’s the Demon King, himself. I’ll have my revenge.”

Aiden’s gaze lingered on Selvara and Venya—both tense, both loyal. He exhaled slowly. “That’s troublesome.”

The Queen met his eyes. “Then we fight together.”

Aiden smiled faintly. “No…”

—

END OF Chapter : 122 : WAIT FOR ME, ONEE-CHAN!

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