The tension in the room was suffocating, broken only by Arxil's chilling, emotionless voice.  

"What are you doing here?"  

His words were like a blade piercing through the air, sharp and unrelenting. His crimson, jewel-like eyes bore into her, radiating an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. For a moment, she felt rooted in place, fully grasping the precariousness of her situation. Instinctively, she took a few cautious steps back from the piano.  

"I... my class ended early," she stammered, her voice trembling.  

"Interesting," he replied with a tone so detached it felt otherworldly.  

Her curiosity, however, pushed her to ask, "What are you doing?"  

"Playing the piano."  

"You play... beautifully," she said softly.  

Despite her admiration, an overwhelming fear consumed her. There was something about Arxil, something dark and unpredictable, that terrified her in a way no one else could. From the past to now, she had always felt that he possessed the ability to break her—not just physically but emotionally. His core, shrouded in shadows and darkness, seemed to pull at her deepest vulnerabilities.  

Arxil stood from the piano bench, his back now turned to her. His silhouette appeared heavier, darker, as if an unseen storm raged within him.  

"Are you... okay?" she asked hesitantly, the words leaving her mouth before she could reconsider. She immediately regretted it.  

That simple question was the spark. It was the moment everything shifted, the moment he finally decided to let his shadows consume her.

I lost control. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but the shadows within me had their own will. They lunged at Astia like dark, jagged blades, slicing through her soft, delicate skin. She fell to the ground, her fragile frame crumpling under the weight of their attack.  

I wanted to stop. I wanted to help her. Yet my body felt alien, controlled by something far beyond my comprehension. I had become a puppet, my strings pulled by the insatiable hunger of the shadows. They craved her essence, her pain, her suffering. Her energy—the energy of the Demonic Angel—fed their unyielding thirst.  

Every wound inflicted on her brought me a twisted sense of power, a surge of strength coursing through me. But with every cut, Astia’s spirit fractured a little more. And the worst part? I wasn’t sure if I regretted it.  

This was only the beginning. The beginning of what would eventually break her—and me.

Astia writhed on the ground, her arms burning with an unbearable pain. She had never felt anything like it before. It was as if a thousand razor-sharp blades had pierced her body all at once. Blood trickled from the fresh cuts on her skin, staining the wooden floor beneath her.  

"Brother... why are you doing this?" she managed to whisper, her voice strained and broken.  

Arxil’s reply was cold and cutting: "Little demon."  

"What...?"  

His crimson eyes glowed with an unnatural brilliance, and his shadows surged forward again, wrapping around her like suffocating tendrils. The pressure was immense, crushing her body as if it sought to grind her into dust. It felt like her very existence was being erased.  

Just as she thought she couldn’t endure anymore, the shadows released her, and Arxil advanced toward her. This time, it was not the shadows that hurt her—it was him.  

"Let me see your face," he commanded, his voice devoid of warmth.  

Astia remained silent, trembling as her tears mixed with the blood on her face.  

Arxil, unbothered by her lack of response, grabbed her hair roughly and yanked it back, forcing her to meet his gaze. His crimson eyes searched hers, as if looking for something—fear, perhaps? Satisfaction? She couldn’t tell.  

"Let go of me," she whimpered, her voice barely audible.  

"You’re disgusting," he spat, his tone dripping with venom.  

With a firm grip still on her hair, he began dragging her across the room toward the courtyard. The pain on her scalp was unbearable, as if her hair was being ripped out strand by strand.  

The storm outside raged on, thunderclaps echoing through the sky like nature’s screams. Arxil threw her into the mud, the cold rain mixing with the dirt beneath her. Before she could even think of standing up, his shadows materialized into a sharp, small dagger.  

Arxil began scratching her skin with it—not deep enough to leave permanent scars, but enough to draw blood and inflict excruciating pain. Astia was helpless. Her body, still adjusting to her new form, offered no defense. She didn’t even understand why she was being punished. Her tears flowed freely, a natural response to the agony she was enduring.  

That was the moment he stopped. The instant her tears fell, Arxil halted his assault. Instead of continuing, he crouched beside her and smirked—a terrifying, twisted smile that sent chills down her spine.  

"I like it," he said softly, almost lovingly. "Cry more. You’re so beautiful when you cry."  

"Stop it... What’s wrong with you?" she cried out, her voice trembling with desperation.  

His expression darkened, and his voice erupted with rage:  

"Shut up! I don’t want to hear your voice. Speak only when I tell you to!"  

But Astia, fueled by her fear and anger, retaliated. Summoning the last ounce of strength she had, she kicked him in the chest, forcing him to stumble backward. Without wasting a second, she scrambled to her feet and ran behind a nearby tree.  

"You... This isn’t you," she whispered to herself, her voice shaking. "What’s wrong with you, brother?"