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CHAPTER 20: SINS FROM THE PAST
🕑 Added 2025-03-31 15:15:01 +0000 UTCEveryone stares in stunned silence as the owl shifts its form, landing gracefully on the scorched floor. Its glowing eyes fade, revealing none other than Chía. Fury blazes in her expression.
—You, vile old woman! —she shouts —Your disgusting manipulation and reign of terror end here and now!
—Lady Chía, you’re alive!! —shouts Ofelia with big relief.
—We’ll talk later, niña —This is far from over now!
—Y-Yes!
Bertha looks Chía with surprise and disbelief.
—So, you survived the shadow hands… Should have seen this coming.
CHAPTER 20
SINS FROM THE PAST
The fire crackles, embers floating through the air as the café descends into chaos. Shadows dance wildly against the walls, cast by the growing inferno.
Chía, transforms once again in her owl form and lands gracefully beside Licovi, covering with her wings while her glowing eyes are still fixed on Bertha.
—Lady Chía… —cries Licovi.
—Take this, Licovi —Chía hands Licovi Milagro’s leg used by Bertha to control la Patasola —. End this spell at once.
Bertha looks at the leg, but instead of worrying, she starts burst laughing —Bwahahaha! you really think I could be that careless?
She lifts her hand, revealing two small, shriveled toes in her grasp.
—You really think you had a chance? —she scoffs —This is all I need to command the Patasola. I can move and concentrate my entire control spell even to the tiniest part of that leg, such as these little toes. The leg you carry is worthless. As long as I hold these, she is mine.
—Well, f*ck me, then —sighs Chía with frustration.
Bertha, standing tall amidst the chaos, barely flinches. A twisted smile creeps across her lips.
—You poor, foolish children —she muses —. You can’t match my power. I have spent decades perfecting myself. You were never meant to challenge me… Patasola, attack!!
La Patasola lunges at Chía, but Ofelia jumps in front of the creature and deflects the attack with a powerful swing, her blade ringing as it clashes against the wraith’s claws.
—I have unsheathed the machete, Lady Chía —Says Ofelia with now renewed energies —. You have ten minutes to recover those toes before I become a menace myself.
—I’ll have them in two—Chía replies.
Bertha, with a flick of her wrist, throws a wave of energy that hits Chía, sending her crashing against a broken table. Licovi gasps, taking a step back.
—Aghh!… ok, maybe five.
Ofelia grits her teeth and plunges at la Patasola while dodging another swipe from the creature and counters with a slash across its arm. The wraith shrieks, recoiling as black ichor spills from the wound, but it does not falter.
—You can cut her all you want —Bertha taunts —but she will never die unless I allow it.
Chía groans, pushing herself up. Her feathers shimmer as she reverts to her human form, her hands already moving in intricate gestures. A sphere of water forms above her palm, swirling with raw energy.
—Then we’ll make you let her go! —Chía snaps. She thrusts her hand forward, sending the water projectile surging toward Bertha.
Bertha flicks her fingers, summoning a barrier to deflect the attack, but Chía anticipated it. The moment the shield appears, the water twists midair, slamming into the floor at Bertha’s feet. The tiles crack as ice rapidly spreads up Bertha’s legs, locking her in place.
For the first time, Bertha’s expression falters. Her eyes narrow as she struggles against the ice.
—Licovi! —Chía shouts —Get to the attic! Find anything we can use!
—Y-Yes! —Licovi hesitates for only a moment before dashing toward the stairs.
Bertha growls, placing her palms against the ice. A pulse of dark energy erupts from her, shattering it instantly.
—That’s some fine water manipulation there —Bertha says —You are… you were, indeed, the goddess of the moon.
—I didn’t expect to still be remembered by some humans — replies Chía.
—Oh, of course we know you! We, shamans, keep register of the entire story of our world, even the forgotten one. But, it’s funny. You became the goddess of Chaos, right? You tainted humans’ souls, and planted evil in their hearts. You ruined Mother Bachué and Father Sugunsua’s children! And now you try be a good goddess?! This is all your fault! You were supposed to protect us!
—… I am now.
—How?! Attacking the very same humans you corrupted?!
—I don’t see any human in front of me.
—Hehehe You can’t ignore the sins from the past, Huitaca.
—You talk too much…
—What can I say? I love talking a lot.
Both women once again engage in a vicious duel of magic. Chía flicks her hands, sending razor-sharp streams of water spiraling toward Bertha, who deflects them with sweeping waves of dark energy. The impact shatters nearby furniture, sending shards of wood and glass flying across the burning café. Chía leaps into the air, transforming mid-motion into her owl form. She swoops down, talons glowing with imbued power, aiming for Bertha’s face. The old woman raises her arm just in time, conjuring a black, writhing mass of shadow to shield herself. The moment Chía’s claws strike it, an explosive force sends her tumbling backward. She crashes into an overturned chair, rolling to her feet just as Bertha advances.
Meanwhile, Ofelia curses under her breath as the Patasola rushes toward her once more. She barely manages to dodge as claws slice through the air where she once stood.
Ofelia tightens her grip on the Demon Butcher as the Patasola lunges again, its twisted form moving with terrifying speed. She swings the machete upward, meeting the wraith’s claws head-on. The impact sends a shockwave through her arms, but to her surprise, the force of her strike actually makes the creature recoil.
A wicked heat courses through her veins. The machete pulses in her grip, its edge glowing faintly as if feeding off the wraith’s dark energy. A voice—no, multiple voices—slither into her mind, whispering in languages she doesn’t fully understand.
Flesh... tear it apart... feed us...
Ofelia grits her teeth, shaking her head to silence them. There’s no time for distractions. The Patasola screeches, its elongated fingers slicing through the air toward her. Ofelia twists her body, barely dodging the attack before countering with a brutal slash across the creature’s ribs. The blade carves deep, black ichor spilling from the wound, sizzling as it touches the burning floorboards.
A rush of power surges through her, intoxicating and terrifying all at once. She can feel the machete urging her forward, guiding her movements with unnatural precision. She strikes again—this time faster, more viciously. The Patasola is forced back. its body is twitching in pain.
For a brief moment, Ofelia allows herself a smirk. This power... it's incredible.
But then, the voices grow louder.
More... more... don’t stop... let us in… let us take the reins…
Her vision blurs at the edges, and a deep, creeping rage threatens to consume her. She can feel it—something clawing at her mind, pushing her toward violence. Toward something far worse than just battle.
Eight minutes left, Ofelia....
Her grip tightens on the machete. She has to stay in control.
The Patasola, no longer backing away, snarls and lunges at her once more. This time, Ofelia has to fight two enemies: the wraith in front of her and the darkness from the Demon Butcher clawing at her from within.
Seven minutes, child…
At the same time, Licovi reaches the attic. Her heart is pounding. Dust and smoke are filling the air as she rifles through shelves of strange objects, old books, and bottles filled with unknown substances. She has no idea what she’s looking for, only that she must find something—anything—to stop Bertha.
Back downstairs, the flames consume more of the café. A burning beam collapses behind Bertha. She laughs softly.
—You think your water tricks can stand against me? Bertha sneers —. Take a look. Not even your water spells are extinguishing these flames. How can you possibly think they can hurt me?
—It’s not the fire where I’m aiming at, you crazy bitch! —replies Chía.
Bertha raises both hands, the shadows around her coil like serpents. With a snap of her fingers, black tendrils shoot forward, twisting through the air toward Chía.
Chía thrusts her palm outward, summoning a spiraling vortex of water to intercept the attack. The forces collide with a deafening crack, sending shockwaves rippling outward. The café trembles, flames flickering wildly as the battle escalates.
Bertha grins, unfazed. She steps through the chaos, moving with unnatural speed. Before Chía can react, Bertha appears at her side, grabbing her wrist. Dark energy pulses from her grip, sending unbearable pain through Chía’s body.
Chía gasps, her vision blurring. Thinking fast, she summons a concentrated sphere of water in her free hand and slams it into Bertha’s chest. The impact sends both women flying in opposite directions—Bertha crashing into a burning table, Chía skidding across the floor.
Bertha grits her teeth, pushing herself up with a slow, deliberate movement. Her eyes gleam with something between admiration and malice.
—Ok, I’ll admit you have more fight in you than I expected —she dusts herself off —. But it’s not enough.
Chía, panting, steadies herself. Her hands glow with power —We’ll see about that —defyingly answers.
Bertha’s eyes darken —It seems I’ll have to take this more seriously.
A thick wave of energy pulses from her body, darkness so dense it spills outward, rushing past the café and spreading through the town. The air grows heavy as the miasma snakes toward the distant forest, reaching the isolated cabin Bertha has used as her twisted lab for years. Inside, the remains of the Patasola’s victims—the left legs she always took as trophies—begin to tremble.
Bertha lifts her arms. Her voice is dripping with triumph.
—You don’t understand, children. This… this was always my trump card. Those pieces— she gestures toward the forest—are my key. A tether to those poor, wretched souls trapped in the underworld. Collecting for years the pure and absolute power from that place. And now, I will summon them all and claim that power to myself!!
An army of lost souls fly across the forest arriving to town and reaching the café, coiling around Bertha as she begins to glow with unholy energy. The souls of the long-dead swirl around her, their anguished cries piercing the night as they are pulled into her very being. Her body shudders, eyes turning red, her features shifting—growing younger, stronger, more powerful.
Chía clenches her fists. —Why?! Why are you doing this?! What could possibly drive you to such evil?!
Bertha’s newly youthful face twists into a bitter smirk. —I only ever wanted recognition. I wanted to prove I was as good as my sister. I just wanted to be loved, to be accepted! But Harmony Town had only eyes for her! I was left behind and forgotten like pile of trash! … this town is rotten to its core. Unfair. Corrupt. It treated me as a monster, so I became one.
Chía shakes her head in disgust. —Bullshit! You were loved! You had trust, admiration. Your children adored you! But you’re nothing more than a greedy, envious hag. You call yourself a victim, but you only put the blame on every single person to know to justify your crimes. You used your own sister as a weapon. You killed Julio, your own son! You betrayed your people to keep your perfect little lie alive! … And now you won’t even let your victims rest? You’re just as bad as the Velas.
As the procession of tortured souls streams through Harmony Town, the townspeople watch in growing horror. The ghostly figures wail as they pass, their voices an eerie lament that sends shivers down every spine. Spectral lights flicker through the streets, and soon, the townspeople gather near the burning café, their eyes fix on the battle raging within.
Then, they see it through one of the walls knocked down by the fire...
Bertha, no longer the kind and wise elder they once revered, stands at the center of the chaos, her body pulsing with a dark, spectral glow. Her once-aging features are shifting, rejuvenated by the power of the countless souls now trapped within her. The townsfolk murmur anxiously among themselves, their fear turning to confusion, then dread.
Antonio, flanked by his guards, steps forward, his voice ringing with forced sorrow. —It appears we have been deceived —he declares —. For years, we believed in the good heart of Nanny Bertha, a beacon of hope, an example for us all. But in truth, she has been the greatest monster among us.
A hush falls over the crowd.
Antonio continues with measured and calculated tone. —I, as a Benefactor myself, was wrong to deny the existence of these creatures and convince you all to do so, but worse still was trusting in someone who used such horrors to murder our people.
The murmurs of confusion turn into cries of anger and betrayal. Someone hurls a rock, then another. Insults ring through the air as the people, once devoted to Bertha, denounce her. Their fury surges like a tidal wave.
Bertha does not even turn to acknowledge them.
With a flick of her wrist, a surge of dark energy explodes outward, sending many flying back. Screams of pain echo through the square as people collapse onto the cobblestones.
—If you want to live, stay out of my way! —Bertha hisses.
The crowd shrinks back in terror.
She narrows her eyes. —This all began with the Velas. If anyone should burn for their sins, it is them.
Antonio lifts his hands in a placating gesture. —Enough! I understand your pain, my friends. But now is not the time for reckless anger. —His voice is steady, reassuring —Bertha may have betrayed us, but I will not. The Velas were far from perfect, but I am not them. I have spent my life fighting to protect this town. I ask you now, trust me, and we will ensure our survival.
A low murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd. Antonio’s influence seeps into them like poison, turning their fear into loyalty.
Bertha only smirks. —Fools —she mutters, turning her focus back to the battle at hand.
Chía grits her teeth, dodging another barrage of dark energy as Bertha’s attacks grow more relentless. The sheer force of each strike sends shockwaves through the air, kicking up debris and embers around them. She tries to counter, summoning tendrils of water to lash out, but Bertha moves faster than before, her newfound power making her nearly untouchable.
With a flick of her hand, Bertha conjures jagged spears of blackened energy and hurls them forward. Chía barely manages to twist away, but one grazes her shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down her arm. She staggers, breathing heavily. Sweat beads on her forehead. The battle is slipping away from her.
Meanwhile, Ofelia slashes at the Patasola with precision, her attacks striking true. Yet, something feels off. The creature, though still fast and aggressive, isn’t fighting with the same brutal efficiency as before. It moves clumsily, missing strikes it should have landed. Ofelia notices the shift, even as the voices inside her head grow louder.
Four minutes… Finish her. Cut deeper. Make her bleed.
She snarls, shaking the thoughts away, keeping her focus on the fight.
—The Patasola’s slowing down! —she shouts to Chía between attacks. —She’s not fighting like before!
Chía barely dodges another blast from Bertha, but Ofelia’s words snap something into place in her mind. Of course. Bertha’s power had increased—she was stronger than ever. But that also meant…
She’s losing control! —Chía shouts back, realization hitting her like a thunderbolt —She’s too focused on herself and the spirits she just absorbed that she can’t maintain her hold over the Patasola!
The wraith lets out a distorted shriek and lunges again, but this time, Ofelia is ready. In a blur of movement, she sidesteps the attack and drives her machete straight into the creature’s torso, pinning it against the burning café wall. The Patasola thrashes, claws scraping wildly against the stone, but Ofelia forces the blade in deeper, her arms shaking with effort. The wraith struggles, but it’s stuck—trapped in place.
Chía exhales sharply, turning her gaze back to Bertha.
—The Patasola is slipping from your grasp, old woman —she says with a triumphant smirk forming on her lips —What now?
Bertha’s eyes darken. Her body trembles, not with fear, but with uncontained fury. Her hands claw at the air as she screams, her voice raw with emotion. The ground beneath them quakes as a surge of dark energy erupts from her, shaking the very foundations of Harmony Town. Buildings rattle, windows shatter, and the people—those who had been hurling insults at her just moments before—now flee in terror.
Antonio and his men are the first to run, disappearing into the panicked crowd without a second thought. The townsfolk follow, trampling over each other in their desperation to escape.
Bertha doesn’t even notice. She clutches her head, her eyes wide and unfocused, her face twisted in a grotesque mix of anguish and rage.
—Stop it… Stop looking at me like that! —she shrieks at no one and everyone —You always look down on me! You always think you’re better! All of you! My parents never cared, not really! They only ever saw her! Octavio, Octavio never even considered me! The town ignored me until they needed me! The Velas, always lording over me, as if I was nothing! And Milagros… —her voice cracks, but only for an instant before twisting into something even more venomous —Milagros… You cast a shadow over my entire life. It was always you, always you!
Darkness swirls violently around her, the sheer force of her rage compressing into a devastating mass of energy. Chía and Ofelia brace themselves, feeling the sheer pressure of the power Bertha is about to unleash. Their breaths come short; their limbs are tense. One wrong move, and this could be their end.
And then—
Ofelia sees it.
The Patasola no longer thrashes, no longer struggles to break free from the machete pinning her to the wall. Instead, she stands completely still, her monstrous form unmoving. But her eyes, those eyes, glowing with a ghostly light, are brimming with tears. Silent, mournful tears that carve a path down her twisted face.
She is staring at Bertha.
Not with hatred. Not with fury.
But with sorrow.
Ofelia’s breath catches in her throat. Against all logic, against every ounce of reason screaming at her to stay on guard, she dares to whisper:
—Milagros…?
The wraith does not answer, but her expression, so deeply pained, so unlike the violent monster she had been mere moments ago, tells Ofelia everything.
Her hands tighten around the machete’s hilt. The voices inside her head, those ever-present whispers of violence and bloodshed, screech in protest, demanding she finish the job. But she drowns them out, her mind made up.
With a swift motion, she rips the blade free from the Patasola’s body and, without hesitation, slides it back into its sheath.
The countdown ends.
And for the first time, the battlefield falls silent for an instant.
Bertha screams, her voice thundering through the chaos —Die, all of you!
—Ofelia! —Chía shouts as she shifts back into her owl form, spreading her wings over the girl in a desperate attempt to shield her.
But the devastating blast they expect never comes.
Instead, the battlefield shifts.
Bertha staggers in the air, her body trembling as an invisible force drags her downward. Her eyes widen in disbelief as a crushing weight slams onto her.
Not just her.
The Patasola is being pulled down as well, an unseen force pressing it into the ground.
Bertha grits her teeth, trying to resist, but it’s useless. Her knees buckle, slamming into the floor. A radiant energy, pure, overwhelming, emanates from above, tearing through the thick darkness.
—What… what is this…? —she growls, barely able to lift her head.
And then, she sees it.
A ring of light coming from the ceiling is doing this, and standing at the top of the stairs, is Licovi. Her silhouette is sharp against the blinding light, a small empty vial clutched in her hand. Her expression is grim, determined.
—Impossible! —Bertha spits in fury —Julio took all the offensive and sealing potions when he tried to stop the Patasola! There was nothing useful left in the attic!
Licovi doesn’t flinch —You’re right. There was nothing ready. But there were enough ingredients for one last spell.
Bertha’s breath catches. A chill runs down her spine.
—One of the first spells you ever taught me when you took me along on your exorcisms: “Spiritual Gravity." —says Licovi.
—“Spiritual Gravity?” —asks Ofelia.
The air thickens. The sacred energy surrounding the café continues to intensify, increasing the crushing force on any dark entity caught in its grasp.
—A purification spell meant to suppress cursed properties —Licovi explains —. Its light generates an overwhelming pressure on any violent spirit trapped in its radius, immobilizing them and leaving then open for exorcism.
Bertha growls, trying to lift her hand, but her body barely responds.
—The only problem with this spell —Licovi continues —, is that it takes time to activate. The shaman using it has to stay safe until it fully sets in.
Chía lets out a sharp laugh —But you were so caught up in your fight that you gave your student plenty of time to prepare it, Bertha.
Bertha grits her teeth, her body trembling under the crushing weight —Why is this affecting me?! I'm human!
Chía smirks —Do you really think this is affecting you?
Bertha’s expression shifts. A slow, creeping realization washes over her.
—It’s not your body being punished —Chía says, leaning in slightly —It’s all the souls from the Underworld you absorbed. They are the ones being crushed under the weight of the spell.
Bertha feels her power faltering. The pressure is immense, like thousands of invisible hands dragging her down. She screams in frustration, forcing herself to stay upright.
—Curse you all! —she roars, her voice raw with fury —This isn’t over!
But the light only grows stronger.
And the weight keeps increasing.
Bertha grits her teeth, her body trembling under the immense weight. But then, against all odds, she begins to rise again.
Through sheer force of will, she pushes back against the spell. The suffocating gravity tries to pin her down, but her power, her relentless, burning desire to win, fuels her defiance. Energy crackles around her as she prepares another devastating attack.
Then something unexpected happens.
Chía, shifting back into her human form, steps forward. Slowly, carefully, she approaches Bertha, raising a hand and placing it gently against the woman’s chest.
—Enough —Chía says softly.
Her voice is gentle, almost pleading —Please. I know you're still in there. I know you never wanted this.
Bertha’s breath catches.
—I know —Chía continues —, that you only wanted the best for Licovi. The best for everyone. Please, end this. I’m begging you. I’m begging you, please.
Bertha stares at her, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in Chía’s demeanor. Then, her lips curl into a cruel smile.
She laughs.
A sharp, mocking sound.
—You think playing the ‘merciful goddess’ is going to make me change my mind now? Don’t be pathetic! —she sneers.
But then—Chía looks up, meeting Bertha’s eyes with something much colder. Not kindness. Not mercy.
A deep, aching resentment.
—I wasn’t talking to you —Chía says.
Bertha’s smug expression falters. Confusion flickers across her face.
Then, she feels it.
Chía’s hand isn’t empty. There, pressed against her chest, is something small. A simple, worn ring.
A wedding ring.
Julio’s wedding ring.
A horrifying realization slams into her.
Before she can react, something erupts from within.
A violent, uncontrollable force surges through her body. It is agony, pure and absolute. A searing pain unlike anything she has ever felt. She screams, her entire form convulsing as a storm rages inside her.
The one soul Bertha never controlled.
The one Patasola’s victim which soul she couldn’t had power over.
Julio.
His presence, once dormant, now surges to life, igniting a chain reaction. Bertha’s body spasms, twisting violently as every single soul trapped within her begins to thrash, unraveling from her grasp.
She can feel them, wailing, clawing, rebelling against her control.
Memories that aren’t hers flash before her eyes.
Pain. Terror. The last moments of those she condemned. Every soul she consumed. Every scream she silenced. Now they scream inside her.
A howling wind roars as the sky darkens.
Then—
It happens all at once.
A deafening explosion of energy erupts from Bertha’s body, and the souls, hundreds of them, burst free, destroying the ceiling and extinguishing the fire. A spectral vortex spirals into the heavens, forming a ghastly, towering column of light.
The spell is broken.
The lost are free.
The innocent victims ascend, vanishing into the heavens, while the wicked, those who took lives without remorse, are violently dragged back into the depths of the Underworld.
Bertha’s body collapses.
She hits the ground hard, gasping, trembling. The power that once made her untouchable is gone.
And even though her youthful appearance remains, something about her is different.
Empty.
Hollow.
Defeated.
The battle is over.
And it was a victory fought by them all.
Even Julio.
As the souls ascend into the sky, only one lingers for a moment. It is Julio. He approaches his wife and places a hand on her face. Though intangible, Licovi can feel the warmth and love of her departed husband. Julio says nothing, but his gaze, filled with pride and affection, speaks volumes. Licovi tries to touch his face, but her fingers pass through him. After a moment, Julio turns his gaze to Chía and Ofelia, nodding in gratitude before ascending and vanishing into the heavens. Licovi collapses in tears, comforted by the exhausted warriors.
However, in their moment of distraction, Bertha rises to her feet. Desperation flashing in her eyes, she snatches the severed toes of Milagros’ leg from the ground—the same ones she used to control her—and recites her incantation once more:
"Milagros, your soul shall stray,
Bound to shadows, night and day.
This cursed blood will hold your spite,
Your rage enshrined, your endless fight.
Obey your sister, the pact is sealed,
In life or death, my will revealed."
The girls gasp, their bodies tensing at their mistake, lowering their guard. But quickly, they realize something is wrong. The spell isn’t working.
They turn to La Patasola. She sits still, catatonic, showing no reaction. Her monstrous form has faded, leaving only the beautiful but lifeless visage of Milagros.
Bertha shouts the incantation again. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing. No response.
Frustration turns to panic as Bertha screams at Milagros, demanding her obedience, but the wraith remains unresponsive. Then, softly, Licovi’s voice breaks through the tension.
She steps forward, revealing what she holds in her hands, the severed leg of Milagros, brought by Chía. A different kind of incantation leaves her lips, one not laced with control or command, but with sorrow and a desperate plea:
"Milagros, bound in sorrow’s tide,
No chains, no orders, none decide.
Blood that called you, blood now free,
Hear my voice, return to me.
Not as a servant, not as a wraith,
But as my familiar, in love and faith."
A silence falls over them, the air heavy with uncertainty. And then… something shifts.
Milagros stands beside Licovi, sealing their contract, not as servant, but as a familiar. Ofelia, still catching up with the situation, furrows her brow.
—What just happened? —she asks.
Bertha, still in shock, glares at Licovi.
—You… You never learned the spirit control spell! I never taught you! —she shouts.
Licovi looks at her with tear-filled eyes.
—You're right. You didn’t. I learned it on my own… A long time ago. I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to make you proud.
Bertha's expression twists into pure terror. She takes a step back, eyes darting around the room as if expecting something horrible to happen.
—Do you have any idea what you've done, you foolish girl?!—she screeches.
Licovi, still crying, nods —I do.
Ofelia, confused, looks between them.
—What did she do?
Chía, arms crossed, watches Bertha carefully.
—When Bertha lost control of her powers for a moment, her hold on Milagros must have weakened as well—she explains —. Licovi used that moment to form a new bond with Milagros, using the leg Bertha no longer needed.
Bertha stumbles, frantically looking around. Her breath comes in quick gasps.
—No… No, no, no, no! This can't be happening! —she mutters, pacing back and forth, eyes wild with panic.
Licovi wipes her tears and takes a deep breath.
—I'm sorry, Mrs. Bertha. —she whispers.
Chía steps forward.
—Why are you so afraid, Bertha? —she asks —If you're really the victim you claim to be, then nothing bad should happen to you.
Ofelia, still struggling to understand, glances at Chía.
—What exactly is going to happen to her?
Chía sighs, watching as Bertha trembles.
—If a summoner willingly releases control over a wraith, there should be no consequences, —she explains —. But if that control is broken by force, then one of two things happens. If the summoner never used the wraith for evil, nothing occurs... But if they did—
The ground trembles violently. Dark, shadowy hands burst forth from the floor, writhing and clawing their way towards Bertha. The same hands that once tried to drag Chía and Julio's body to the underworld now reach hungrily for her.
—No! No, get away from me!!—Bertha screams, thrashing wildly as the hands latch onto her arms, her legs, her waist. She tries to pull away, but there are too many.
The hands begin to drag her down into the earth. She kicks and struggles, but it's useless. As she sinks, she throws her head back and roars:
—You ungrateful worms! This is your fault! All of you! You cast me aside! You never appreciated me! You let this happen!
She turns her furious gaze to Licovi.
—You were nothing without me! Nothing!
Licovi covers her mouth, sobbing. Chía and Ofelia exchange looks, their expressions unreadable.
Bertha's voice grows shrill with rage.
—I curse you! All of you!! Harmony Town will rot without me! —she howls, clawing at the ground as she sinks deeper and deeper.
Despite everything, despite all Bertha had done, Licovi and Milagros lunge forward, desperately trying to pull her back. But it’s too late.
Bertha’s final scream is swallowed by the darkness.
The ground seals itself shut. Silence falls.
And the battle is over.
TO BE CONTINUED…
