The flames roared ferociously around the cottage, forming a blazing wall that left no escape. The ring of fire, as if embodying the wrath of the angels, encircled the small home. Monica stood in silence, her eyes devoid of emotion but filled with resolve. She knew the time for another sacrifice had come, just as it had in the past. This was a fate she was all too familiar with.

She moved toward the door with heavy steps, the sound of her footsteps quiet but purposeful.  

Before she could reach the door, the little girl clung to her leg, her sobs muffled. Her small hands wrapped tightly around her mother’s leg, and her face was etched with desperation.  

"Mother, don’t go... They’ll kill you."  

Monica stopped. A moment passed before she lowered her head to look at her daughter. Her gaze was calm, but it carried the weight of immense sorrow. Slowly, she knelt down and ran her hand gently through the girl’s hair, her touch soft and full of love.  

"Do you remember when I told you that one day you would have to find your father?" Her voice was like a gentle breeze, yet it carried the burden of pain.  

The girl nodded slowly, her voice trembling with tears.  

"Yes, but not now..."  

A sorrowful smile appeared on Monica’s lips.  

"Now is the time, my dear. You must go to the royal palace. There are people there who will take care of you. Stay alive, be strong. Don’t let that old man find you. Find the Angel of Death... and..."  

The sound of shattering glass interrupted her words. A blazing torch crashed through the window, and within seconds, the fire consumed the room. At that moment, the door burst open, and the angels stormed in. They seized Monica, grabbing her hands and dragging her out of the cottage.  

"Run!" Monica shouted, her voice filled with the unyielding strength of a mother’s love.  

Despite the tears blurring her vision, the girl obeyed. She escaped through a hidden door beneath the wooden floor of the cottage. Outside, she hid among the crowd that had gathered, their angry shouts filling the air.  

The guillotine stood in the center of the square, surrounded by the furious mob. The atmosphere was thick with palpable fear and hatred.  

"Execute the demon!"  

"Burn her!"  

The girl, small and powerless against the waves of people, struggled to push her way forward. But the sheer number of bodies formed an impenetrable wall. After much effort, she finally reached the front, only to have her heart sink at the sight before her.  

Her mother knelt beneath the guillotine’s blade. Her hands were bound, but her face remained calm, almost serene. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a curtain of night.  

Monica’s eyes found her daughter’s among the crowd. In that brief moment, a glimmer of hope lit up her gaze. She smiled—a smile that had always reassured her daughter, but this time, it carried the weight of farewell.  

She whispered softly, her voice barely audible:  

"My little princess... Stay alive. This time, don’t choose death. Choose love... and live well."  

The guillotine’s blade fell with a sharp, sudden sound. Monica’s head was severed from her body, and her long, wavy hair scattered through the air, as if the wind carried away her final memories. All that remained was a heavy silence and her severed head resting in a bloodied bucket.

The girl fell to her knees. Her tears flowed endlessly, mixing with her mother’s blood on the ground. The shouts of the crowd gradually faded, and the angels, having completed their mission, left the square. Now, the square was engulfed in a cold, lifeless silence.  

She whispered softly, "What do I do now?"  

Suddenly, a heavy presence loomed behind her. A massive, terrifying shadow appeared, making the air around her feel even heavier.  

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice trembling with both fear and anger.  

The figure behind her spoke in a calm yet powerful voice:  

"Stand up. You need to listen to your mother and go to the royal palace."  

The girl, her hands trembling, wiped away her tears and slowly stood. She approached the bloodied bucket and carefully lifted her mother’s severed head. Even in death, Monica’s face held an eternal calm, as if she had accepted her fate.  

"You’re the Supreme Demon, aren’t you?" the girl asked, her voice quiet but steady.  

The figure behind her smirked and said, "Finally, someone who isn’t afraid to admit it."  

The girl looked at her mother’s face and said, "My mother always said you were within her. But I only realized it when she died."  

The figure replied with a hint of sarcasm, "Strange how easily you forgot me. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is staying alive. That old man will never stop hunting you."  

The girl gently placed her mother’s head into the coffin the villagers had prepared. She kissed her forehead and said,  

"Can you destroy my mother’s energy core? I don’t want them to use it against her."  

The figure paused before raising their hands. A crimson aura was drawn from Monica’s body and absorbed into the figure’s own.  

Monica’s body began to disappear slowly. Shimmering particles separated from her and scattered into the air, as if she were becoming a distant memory. Within minutes, no trace of her remained.  

The girl whispered softly, "Mom, I promise I’ll never break my word. This time, it’s my turn to live."  

She turned to face the figure behind her. Their face was hidden beneath a mask that concealed their eyes from others. Their white hair flowed in the air, and their crimson eyes, visible beneath the mask, glowed like bowls of blood.  

The figure extended their hand and said,  

"From now on, call me Sura. This pact will remain until you die, just like your mother. After that, I’ll choose my next host. I’m only here because your mother told me to be. So try to get along with me—I’m not your mother."  

The girl, her heart heavy but filled with determination, shook the figure’s hand and said,  

"I understand, Sura. I hope we can work together."  

From that moment on, the pact between them was sealed. The air around them trembled with an invisible power. The girl’s life was no longer her own—she was now part of something far greater and unknown.  

And so, her journey began.