luckyjj
CHAPTER 19: THE EVIL INSIDE
Published: March 29th 2025, 2:49:17 pm
Milagros runs through the house; her breath is ragging and her heart is pounding in sheer terror. Her bare feet stumble across the wooden floor as she desperately grabs anything within reach—a clay pot, a wooden stool, even a burning candle—and hurls them at Alberto. But the man is relentless, dodging or swatting away the obstacles in his path, his machete is glinting under the dim candlelight.
With a sinister smirk, he lunges forward, seizing the fabric of Milagros’ nightgown. She shrieks, twisting and yanking with all her strength until the delicate fabric tears apart, allowing her to slip away. Yet, before she can put any more distance between them, Alberto finally catches her. His strong arms wrap around her, locking her in place.
—No more running. —he whispers against her ear, menacingly.
Milagros struggles, kicking and clawing at his face, but his grip is firm. The weight of his body, the overwhelming scent of sweat, fills her senses. Her screams pierce the night, raw and desperate. Just as hopelessness begins to settle in, salvation comes in the form of a clenched fist.
A brutal punch lands squarely against Alberto’s jaw, sending him crashing onto the floorboards with a pained grunt. The attacker steps forward, breath heavy with rage.
—Get away from my wife, bastard!
Octavio stands in front of him, fists clenched, chest rising and falling with fury. His clothes are covered in dust from travel, but his presence is as strong as ever.
Milagros gasps, her eyes wide with a mix of relief and fear.
—Octavio! —she screams.
—Go! Get help! —he orders. His gaze never leaves Alberto.
—But…!
—Now, Milagros!
His sharp command finally makes her move. Barefoot and shaking, she rushes out into the night, her only thought to find someone—anyone—who can help.
Alberto groans as he pushes himself up, wiping blood from his split lip. His dark eyes narrow at Octavio, burning with hatred. He grips his machete and points it at the younger man.
—You think you’ve won something, peasant?! —Alberto sneers —. I am a Vela! No one will stand against me! Neither an army nor a filthy Purist peasant!
Octavio doesn’t answer. He lunges at Alberto, landing a hard blow to his gut, followed by another to his face. Alberto stumbles back but retaliates, swinging his machete wildly. The blade cuts through the air, aiming for flesh, but Octavio is quick—dodging, weaving, retaliating with fists hardened by years of labor.
The two men circle each other, one fighting to defend his home, his love—his life. The other, drunk on power and fury, determined to take what he believes is his by right.
Octavio continues his relentless assault on Alberto, striking him over and over until the man collapses onto the floor, barely conscious. His breaths come in ragged gasps, and his swollen face is barely recognizable. Octavio's fists tremble with fury, his chest heaving as he glares at the man before him.
For the briefest moment, the house falls into eerie silence. Then, with a loud crash, a picture frame falls from the wall, shattering upon impact. The sudden noise jolts Octavio’s focus for just an instant—just enough time for Alberto to seize the opportunity. With a surge of desperate strength, he swings his machete in a vicious arc.
Before the blade can reach its target, a figure bursts into motion.
—Octavio!!
Milagros appears from nowhere and throws herself forward, pushing her husband aside. The steel slices through the air and sinks deep into her leg, cutting it off clean. A bloodcurdling scream escapes her lips as she collapses onto the floor, clutching her mangled limb.
Octavio’s momentary distraction turns into sheer, unrestrained rage. The sight of Milagros writhing in pain ignites something primal within him. He lunges at Alberto with renewed wrath, his blows landing harder, faster, more merciless than before. The constant screams of agony from his wife just infuriates him more and more. He absolutely forgets to defend himself. He just wants to see Alberto dead.
Alberto, barely able to defend himself, wildly swings his machete once more. This time, the blade finds its mark.
A deep gash opens across Octavio’s throat.
The world seems to stop. Octavio freezes, his hands instinctively reaching for the wound as blood pours from his neck. His breath gurgles, his vision blurs. The strength in his legs falter, but he refuses to fall just yet. Alberto, with that last swing lost all the energy he had left and falls into the floor.
Milagros, despite her own agony, watches in horror as the light in her husband’s eyes begins to fade.
—"No… Octavio, no…!"—she gasps, her voice shaking.
Octavio stumbles toward her, every step weaker than the last. His hand reaches out toward her, he extends his hand, trying to reach her face with his fingertips but she’s too far to reach. His lips part as if to speak, but all he can manage is a whisper.
—"I… love you…"
Octavio crumples to the floor, lifeless.
—"Octavio!!"—
Milagros cries out, her voice filled with raw despair. She tries to drag herself toward him, but the pain in her leg is unbearable. Her strength drains rapidly along with her blood, her vision darkening at the edges.
Slumping against the wall, Milagros can do nothing but sob as her body gives in to exhaustion. Her head lolls to the side, and before she loses consciousness, the last thing she sees is the blurred image of Octavio’s lifeless body in the flickering candlelight.
Bertha arrives at the house. Her heart pounds in her chest. The sight before her is something out of a nightmare. The home she had shared with Milagros and Octavio is now in ruins—furniture overturned, shattered glass on the floor, and walls smeared with blood. Panic grips her as she stumbles forward, searching desperately.
A weak, ragged breath catches her attention. Her eyes land on Alberto Vela, sprawled on the floor, barely clinging to life. His once-imposing figure is now broken, his face twisted in agony as he attempts to lift an arm towards her.
—Help me… —he croaks, his voice is hoarse and desperate.
But Bertha doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even acknowledge him. Instead, she presses forward, stepping over his body as though he were nothing more than another piece of debris. Her focus is solely on finding Milagros.
Then, she sees him.
Octavio lies motionless, his lifeless eyes staring into nothingness. His body is soaked in blood, his throat slashed open. The sight rips through Bertha like a blade to the heart. Her knees buckle beneath her, and she collapses beside him, her hands trembling as they reach for him. Tears stream down her face as she lets out a heart-wrenching scream, clutching his bloodied form against her.
And then—
—B-B… Bertha…
The voice is barely a whisper, but Bertha hears it as if it were a deafening roar. Her head snaps up, her eyes locking onto the frail, pale form of her sister.
Milagros is slumped against the wall, her skin almost ghostly from the amount of blood she has lost. Her breathing is shallow, her body weak. Yet, even now, she smiles.
—I’m so glad… you’re safe… —Milagros breathes out, her voice filled with nothing but love and relief.
Bertha remains frozen. Her heart should ache for her dying sister. She should feel sorrow, guilt, despair. But all she feels is rage. An all-consuming, fiery rage.
Why is she still alive?
Why does she get to live while Octavio is gone?
Milagros notices the look in her sister’s eyes and, for the first time, understanding dawns on her. A deep sadness settles over her features as she weakly reaches up, her fingers brushing against Bertha’s tear-streaked cheek. Her touch smears blood across Bertha’s face, a final mark from the sister who had always loved her.
—I… I’m sorry… Bertha… —she whispers before her body goes limp, her last breath leaving her lips.
Silence.
Bertha stares at Milagros’ lifeless body. Her mind is shattering like fragile glass. A strangled noise escapes her throat, a sound caught between a sob and a hysterical laugh. Something inside her has snapped. Any semblance of reason, of humanity, of sanity—gone.
Slowly, she turns her gaze back to the barely-breathing man on the floor.
Alberto is still alive. Still suffering.
Good.
With eerily calm steps, Bertha approaches him, her fingers wrapping around the bloodied machete lying beside him. His eyes widen with terror as she looms over him.
—Bertha… please —he gasps.
—Now you know my name… good.
But there is no mercy left in her. With a sickening scream, she brings the machete down, again and again. Each strike is fueled by every ounce of hatred, sorrow, and madness coursing through her veins. Alberto’s cries fade into gurgles, then silence.
The only thing left is the sound of Bertha’s ragged breathing and the dripping of blood onto the wooden floor. One hand holding the machete, the other one Alberto’s head.
She slumps onto the ground, her body covered in the blood of everyone she once held dear where she stays for minutes, then hours.
The first rays of dawn creep through the broken windows, casting light upon the horrific scene. Yet, Bertha doesn’t move. She sits there, unmoving, staring at nothing, lost in the abyss of her own shattered mind.
Morning has come.
And with it, the birth of something monstrous within her.
Night has fallen once more. The two bodyguards who accompanied Alberto and his son Antonio the previous day have arrived at Milagros and Bertha’s home. The absence of their patriarch has everyone on edge. As they step inside, their eyes widen in horror at the sight before them. The house is in ruins, drenched in blood. But there are no bodies. Only one person remains: Bertha.
Shaking and utterly terrified, Bertha rushes into the arms of the men, grateful that someone has finally come to her aid. The guards demand an explanation, their faces filled with suspicion and unease. Bertha takes a deep breath and, with tears streaming down her face, begins her tale.
—It was Octavio —she sobs —He discovered Milagros being unfaithful to him… with your master.
The men exchange glances, their eyes narrowing.
—I tried to stop him, but he lost his mind. He killed them both in a jealous rage. And then… then he tried to kill me too! But… thank the gods… he slipped on the blood, fell, and cut his own throat.
The bodyguards remain silent, processing her words. One of them eyes her skeptically.
—And where are the bodies?
Bertha lowers her head, feigning sorrow —I buried them —she whispers. It was my duty… as a sister. And as a loyal subordinate to Señor Vela.
The men hesitate, but Bertha, sensing their doubt, shifts her demeanor. She softens her expression, letting her vulnerability shine through. She places a delicate hand on one of the men’s arms, her voice pleading yet controlled.
—Please —she murmurs —, take me to your lady. I must tell her what happened.
Though still wary, the men nod. Between her apparent fragility and newfound persuasive charm, they are convinced to bring her to the Vela estate.
Upon arrival, Bertha is ushered into the grand halls of the Vela mansion, where Adela Vela—Alberto’s wife and cousin—waits with her son Antonio by her side. The moment Bertha relays the tragic tale, Adela’s reaction is anything but sorrowful. There is no mourning, no grief—only irritation at the inconvenience it all brings.
—What a mess —Adela mutters, rubbing her temples —Now our family will be on the public eye for a topic that I would rather no deal with… The only good thing of this is that Alberto finally got what he deserved.
Bertha, ever quick-witted, offers a solution.
—We must tell the town that Alberto Vela fled with my sister to start a new life elsewhere —she suggests —. And that Octavio… well, that he couldn’t bear the betrayal and took his own life. This way, there won’t be any kind of investigation and you, Señora, will be seen as the poor victim.
Adela stares at Bertha for a long moment, considering the implications. Then, with a slow, approving nod, she agrees.
—Very well. We’ll spread the word immediately.
Within days, the fabricated story spreads through Harmony Town, solidifying into fact. No one dares question the Velas’ word, and soon, the truth is buried beneath layers of deception. And as a final reward for her loyalty—or perhaps as a way to keep her close—Adela takes Bertha into her home, appointing her as the official caretaker of her children.
From that day forward, Bertha’s new life begins. The past is wiped away, her sins hidden beneath the grandeur of the Vela estate. But as she looks into the innocent eyes of the children she now tends to, a dark seed of something unshakable takes root deep within her soul.
She is no longer just Bertha.
She is the woman who erased the past… and rewrote her own future.
50 years ago…
Now Bertha is 30 years old. Despite having a dark heart, she still has remnants of morality, and during this time, she has tried to instill values such as humility, understanding, and empathy in the young Vela boys. However, her efforts prove futile. While it is true that Antonio, now 20, appears more respectful and has learned to feign these virtues—though in reality, he remains the most wicked of all the Velas—Francisco and Iván, now 10 years old, are spoiled and disrespectful, just like any other member of their family. This behavior is encouraged by their cruel mother, Adela, who constantly reminds them that they are superior—not only to the Purists and peasants but even to the other Benefactors and Founders of the town.
The spoiled attitude of Iván and Francisco, Antonio's respectful yet hypocritical and condescending demeanor, and the unbearable arrogance of the Vela Matriarch only fueled Bertha’s growing hatred and contempt—especially toward Adela, who had prevented her from properly raising the children.
During this time, Adela began to suffer from a severe terminal illness. Bertha patiently waited for the wretched woman to die, but she proved to be incredibly resilient. After all, "bad weeds never die.”
One day, Bertha approaches her with a solution.
—Señora, I have found a special medicine that could cure you —Bertha says in a soft voice.
—Medicine? —Adela raises an eyebrow, skeptical— Then why haven’t you brought it to me already?
—It is not that simple. The medicine only works when taken in direct contact with the sacred earth of my old home… deep within the forest.
—And you expect me to travel all the way there? To your filthy home where my husband was murdered? —Adela scoffs, narrowing her eyes.
—If you wish to be healed, yes. But I assure you, Señora, it will be worth it. I would never offer you anything less than the best.
Bertha’s voice is smooth, almost soothing, as she watches the sickly woman contemplate her words. At that moment, Antonio enters to the room and speaks to his mother.
—Mother, you have seen along these years that Nanny Bertha has been a great help for us all. And the entire town before that. If there is someone that can cure that serious illness of yours, that would be her.
—You trust her that much, my son?
—Undoubtably. A happy peasant is a loyal one. And we have made sure to make Nanny Bertha’s happy, haven’t we, Nanny Bertha?
—Yes… Master Antonio.
Bertha feels she wants to throw up after saying those words. And Antonio knows it, which causes him great pleasure.
—Fine. Then call my men. We’ll leaving at once.
—Excuse me, Señora, but the effectiveness of this medicine is quite delicate and the soil could have different results if more than 2 people go. I’m afraid it must be just you and me.
Adela sighs with exasperation but ended up accepting and, after some quick preparations, both women leave.
The night has fallen once more. The two women move deeper into the forest, the flickering lantern in Bertha’s hand casting long, twisted shadows over the gnarled trees. The air is thick, damp with the scent of moss and decay. Adela wrinkles her nose in disgust, swatting at an insect that dares land on her expensive sleeve.
—This is revolting! —she sneers. —How did you ever survive in such filth?
Bertha remains calm with unreadable expression. —It was home —she replies simply.
Adela scoffs, but she quickens her pace. The journey has taken longer than expected, and her patience is wearing thin. Her illness has weakened her; her body aches, her breath comes in shallow pants. If this backwater woman has a cure, she wants it now.
To distract her, Bertha begins a tale —Do you know what a wraith is?
Adela sighs dramatically. —Some ridiculous purist nonsense, no doubt.
Bertha ignores the insult. —A wraith is a spirit born from a violent death. Their agony binds them to this world, forever lost between the living and the dead.
Adela rolls her eyes. —If that were true, Harmony Town would be crawling with them.
Bertha smirks. —It would. But that’s why we perform the rituals of eternal rest. My people have done so for generations, ensuring the souls of the murdered do not return. Only those who die outside Harmony Town remain at risk —she pauses meaningfully —. Like the ones who perished here.
Adela shudders involuntarily, though she quickly covers it with another scoff.
—So, what are you saying? That your whore of a sister and that bastard of a husband are now spirits, lurking in the dark?
—I made sure to give Mr. Vela proper burials —Bertha replies evenly —. And I performed the rites to prevent his return and find eternal piece in the afterlife. But not all souls are so lucky. Truth be told, your husband’s soul is definitely suffering in the underworld.
Adela is growing impatient —Enough of your stories! I don’t care about spirits! I care about my cure!
—I’m sorry, Señora —Bertha calmly replies —I just like talking a lot.
They finally reach the old house. Once a warm and inviting home, it now stands as a rotting corpse of its former self. The walls are warped with moisture, the windows shattered, the door barely hanging onto its rusted hinges. The air inside is cold, unnaturally so.
Adela hugs her arms to her chest. —This place is disgusting —she mutters —. Hurry up!
Bertha nods, stepping forward to gather what she needs. As she kneels, brushing the soil with her fingers, she continues.
—Wraiths are not merely lost souls —she says —. They can be controlled. If one possesses a piece of the deceased, such a bone, a lock of hair, or even a missing limb, an incantation can bind them to their master’s will.
Adela snorts, but there’s unease in her voice. —And what? Some fool would use that power for evil?
—Oh, most certainly —Bertha says with an eerily serene tone —. A wraith is a powerful weapon. Once bound, it cannot disobey. It exists only to serve… or to destroy.
Silence falls between them. Adela shifts on her feet, suddenly eager to leave.
—Enough! Get me my medicine so we can be done with this place!
—Sure thing.
Bertha keeps picking up her herbs while continues talking.
—Yes, you only need a piece of the deceased, having the proper knowledge about spiritism and shamanism and a special enchantment, such as, hmm, I don’t know:
"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."
—I said eno…!
Adela's scream of fury is cut short by an overwhelming, searing pain ripping through her body. Her breath hitches, and her vision blurs as she looks down at the skeletal, gnarled hand protruding from her chest, its clawed fingers wrapped tightly around the still-beating heart that barely clings to life within its grasp. The horror is paralyzing. Her trembling hands reach up, barely grazing the jagged wound in her chest. She tries to scream, but no sound escapes, only a strangled, gurgling whisper as blood pools in her throat.
With agonizing slowness, she forces herself to turn her head, dreading what she will see. And there it stands, the grotesque wraith of Milagros. A monstrous mockery of the woman she once was, its gaunt face twisted in eternal torment, its empty, glowing red eyes boring into Adela with unrelenting fury.
Bertha steps forward. Her eyes are gleaming with an eerie satisfaction as she surveys the scene before her. A twisted smirk plays on her lips as she kneels beside Adela, whispering softly, almost tenderly.
—You always delighted in humiliating me, in making me feel small. Just as my sister. Just as everybody. But now, dear Adela, even in death, my sister has found a new purpose, a noble one. And that purpose... is to make all those who have brought misery to Harmony Town suffer, just as we have suffered. Just as I have suffered!
Adela's body convulses, her limbs are twitching weakly as the last shreds of life drain from her. She struggles to move, to fight back, but her strength is fading fast. Bertha leans in closer, her voice turning to a venomous hiss.
—You denied me the chance to raise your children as decent human beings. Instead, you made them just like every other vile Vela. You think your bloodline is untouchable? That your power will last forever? No. One by one, they will all fall. And I will be the one to make sure of it. The same as I did with your husband, the same as I did it with you…
A shudder runs through Adela’s dying body, her eyes widening in raw, unfiltered terror as Bertha delivers the final blow to her spirit.
—… and the same as I’ll do it with your filthy sons.
A feeble gasp escapes Adela’s lips, her mind reeling, unable to fully process the depth of the betrayal before the crushing grip on her heart tightens. With one final, merciless squeeze, the wraith of Milagros crushes the organ into a pulp of blood and sinew.
Adela’s lifeless body collapses onto the dirt, eyes still frozen in shock, mouth parted in a silent scream. The night falls into an eerie stillness, broken only by the heavy, ragged breaths of Bertha and the haunting presence of the wraith looming over its fresh kill.
Once Milagros ended Adela's life, Bertha commands the wraith to depart, vanishing into a cloud of black smoke. Now alone in her childhood home, Bertha decides to reminisce about the memories that spanned from her birth to the tragedy that had altered her life.
Deep within, the part of her that was once an innocent child brings tears to her eyes. Among the debris, Bertha finds a photograph taken twenty years ago of her and her sister at the town market. It captured Milagros's warm smile and Bertha's own uncomfortable sadness. Turning the photo over, Bertha notices a phrase written by her sister years ago, which she is seeing for the first time: "Don't forget, your sister will always love you."
—… Sis Mila —Bertha whispers and then tears the photo in half, keeping the portion that showed Milagros.
Returning to the Vela household, Bertha suddenly realizes she had no plan to cover up Adela's death; she had acted purely out of hatred and fury. However, the melancholy and nostalgia weight more heavily, and she truly doesn’t care what could happen next. If anyone crosses in her way, she will eliminate all who even looks at her wrongly. Entering her room, she notices young Antonio sitting on a small bench in the corner. The lamp's light barely illuminating his face. Silently, Bertha tries to think of an excuse for his mother's death, always ready to summon the specter to finish him off, though this can be risky given the time the invocation requires.
Antonio stands up, and Bertha masks her nerves with an impassive and threatening gaze. To her surprise, the man simply leaves the room. Before departing, he says from the doorway, "As the new patriarch of the Vela family, I appreciate all the time you dedicated to caring for our mother and hope we can continue to count on your services." He then leaves.
Bertha is astonished; Antonio knew very well what had happened and didn't care—in fact, he desired it. That night, he sent the family's bodyguards to retrieve the body, dress it, and prepare it so no one would see the true cause of death. Adela Vela was buried and mourned under the pretense that her illness had finally taken her life. From then on, Antonio Vela took control of the town, ushering in a new period of relative peace. While many said it was thanks to Antonio's strong determination as the new mayor, the truth was that, in secret, he indiscriminately eliminated any purist or benefactor he deemed violent, even killing innocent youths and portraying them as terrorists to show Harmony Town the "progress" of his crusade against terrorism.
40 years ago…
Bertha is now 40. The years spent as the housekeeper of the Vela mansion grants her an impeccable reputation in Harmony Town. Not only is she admired for her beauty and kindness, but she is also the only person who dares to stand up to the Vela brothers. Despite having grown up under her care, Francisco and Iván treats her as nothing more than a mere servant—everyone except Antonio, who, while still considering her beneath him, shares with her the dark secret of Adela’s death.
One way or another, Bertha has managed to strengthen the voice and presence of the Purists, who have long been blamed, due to the Velas' influence, for all the pain caused by the civil war. With the money she has saved over the years, Bertha finally resigns from her position and opens a small café, offering food and temporary shelter to both locals and travelers.
Yet, beneath her benevolent exterior, she continues using her sister to eliminate anyone who might threaten her peace. One by one, she erases those who know too much, such as the guards who had retrieved and dressed Adela’s corpse before it was buried. It wasn’t long before chilling tales of a vengeful wraith spread across the town. The people whispered in fear of the creature that stalked the night, a phantom known only as La Patasola.
16 years ago…
Bertha is and old woman now. The Vela family, though never well-regarded, is now openly despised by the people of Harmony Town for their cruelty, corruption, and oppressive rule. Maintaining the illusion of democracy, they allow elections for new mayors, but every candidate is either a subordinate or someone loyal to Antonio. Regardless of who holds office, Antonio remains the true power behind the scenes. His brothers, as incompetent as ever, now hold absolute control over the town’s bank and security forces, abusing their power without restraint. A new wave of violence has begun, this time fueled by drug trafficking and illicit businesses controlled by the Velas.
Bertha, meanwhile, continues her life with a seemingly calmer and more peaceful demeanor, though she never ceases her secret killings. The abandoned house in the forest has become her sanctuary, a place where she strengthens and refines her spells, keeping the left legs of those victims claimed by La Patasola over the years. The forest itself is now cursed, and no one dares to venture into its depths, making the house a relatively safe haven.
Despite her dark past, Bertha maintains her café and her public facade, even regaining some of the kindness she once lost. She adopts a 10 old girl named Licovi, whose parents were murdered in this new wave of violence. Seeing the child's natural potential, Bertha begins training her as a shaman. A year later, she adopts another child, a 5 old boy named Julio, who also lost his parents to the town’s brutality. These children bring light back into Bertha’s life, and despite the hardships and injustices they face, they live happily together for many years.
3 weeks ago…
Night falls over Harmony Town, the shadows stretching long as Bertha, way older now, works in the depths of the cursed forest. Her hands, steady and precise, manipulate the lifeless body of another victim claimed by La Patasola. The silence is only broken by the rustling of leaves, a whisper carried by the wind.
Suddenly, the creaking of footsteps alerts her. She turns slowly as Antonio and Francisco step into the dim light of the shack. Antonio's presence does not surprise her—he has come before—but Francisco’s arrival puts her on edge. Her grip tightens on the small knife in her hand.
—Is this the end of our truce? —her voice is calm, but her body is tense, ready.
Antonio chuckles, shaking his head.
—No, Nanny Bertha. You should know me better than that. I brought Francisco here because he needed to see the truth, and because he, being the one overseeing security, is an added layer of protection for your... extracurricular activities.
Francisco scowls, his lips curling in disgust.
—I don't like this, Antonio. Making deals with a purist witch.
Antonio shoots him a sharp glare, silencing him instantly. Francisco's defiance fades, replaced by reluctant obedience. His fear of his older brother outweighs his hatred for Bertha.
—This is how things will work from now on —Antonio continues—. There's someone new in the picture. A friend we now share. His name is Goranchacha.
Bertha narrows her eyes.
—And who is this friend?
—Not your concern. What matters is that the time has come to take a bigger step.
—What step? —she demands.
Antonio smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
—I need La Patasola to eliminate someone for me. Someone close.
Bertha waits.
—My dear little brother, Iván.
A flicker of surprise crosses Bertha’s face, but then, slowly, a smirk curls her lips. The time had finally come. For years, she had stayed her hand against the Vela brothers, bound by her truce with Antonio. But now, the door had been opened.
One week later, La Patasola viciously kills Ivan Vela.
2 weeks ago…
Bertha and La Patasola continued their killings, this time targeting Carlos Robles, the last remaining member of one of the benefactor families that founded Harmony Town. To divert attention, La Patasola smeared the phrase "Death to the Benefactors" in blood, reigniting distrust toward the purists. Despite Bertha’s efforts to protect them, her own safety and secrecy take precedence. She pretends to investigate the case alongside her adoptive children, and the visitors, Chía and Ofelia.
When the three young women infiltrate the house in the forest to uncover clues, Bertha sets her plan in motion. As the summoner and an experienced shaman, she controls La Patasola without revealing her influence. Arriving with Julio at the last moment to "rescue" them, Bertha secretly consumes an herbal concoction that causes blood to flow from her eyes and nose. Making appear as if she is locked in battle with the wraith, she erects a force barrier to keep the spirit at bay, staging a desperate struggle before collapsing, badly wounded and seemingly slipping into a coma.
In truth, Bertha has developed a medicine that lowers her body temperature, placing her in a self-induced coma. All of this in order to make their children to avoid further investigations.
During the following days, Bertha remains unconscious. However, being the powerful shaman that she is, she had long since mastered the ability to project herself astrally. While appearing to be in a deep coma, she continues to control La Patasola, carrying out more assassinations of benefactors and leaving the same bloody message behind each time—all while being cared for by her loved ones, without raising any suspicion.
A few hours ago...
Bertha carries out Antonio's final orders: the assassination of the Benefactors' Council, leaving him as the sole and absolute ruler of Harmony Town. However, there's something she didn't anticipate. Antonio orders the arrest of Julio, using him as a scapegoat for all the recent murders.
Feeling betrayed, Bertha—still in her astral projection—confronts Antonio, demanding an explanation. He reassures her, telling her that he made that move to finally give her the opportunity to end with Francisco’s life, who blindly believes in everything his brother says.
Without time to lose, Bertha orders La Patasola to end with Francisco and his men, protecting the life of his adoptive son in the process.
Bertha breathes calmly, relieved to see Julio safe and returning home. However, that calm quickly turns into sharp calculation as she watches him—impulsive as ever—enter the attic where she keeps her potions and powerful spells. Among them, he finds and takes the old fragment of the photo of her sister, the one she recovered years ago.
Bertha sends La Patasola to the forest cabin to stop Julio, though without harming him. However, when Julio appeals to the creature’s humanity, it momentarily regains its memories, throwing it into emotional turmoil. La Patasola—Milagros—tries to tell Julio to run, but doing so would put Bertha at risk of being discovered. With no other choice, and once again letting her selfishness and darkness consume her, Bertha does the unthinkable: she orders Milagros to kill Julio. The wraith struggles against the command, desperately trying to tell Julio to flee, but in the end, it cannot resist. With a swift motion, it slashes his throat, ending the young man's life.
Bertha has fallen to the absolute depths, killing someone she claimed to love, just to protect her secret.
The present…
In a last, desperate attempt to convince Licovi to flee the town with Chía and Ofelia, Bertha shifts the blame onto Antonio, claiming that he was the true mastermind behind controlling La Patasola and orchestrating Julio’s death. However, in a catastrophic slip—an uncharacteristic mistake for someone as sharp and meticulous as her—Bertha inadvertently exposes herself as Julio’s actual murderer.
The revelation sends a wave of horror through Ofelia and Licovi. Panic-stricken, they try to flee, but Bertha, now with nothing left to lose, does the impossible once more. She summons La Patasola once again, this time commanding the wraith to kill the girls.
Bertha keeps sending La Patasola to finish off the girls, but Ofelia, being the skilled fighter she is, manages to hold it at bay, deflecting its attacks with her sheathed machete. Licovi, utterly devastated, demands to know why Bertha did all this.
— Why, Mrs. Bertha?! Why did you do this?! Why did you kill Julio?! You claimed to love him like a son!
—You don’t understand, my dear. It was a difficult decision, it truly was!... but, in the end, Julio’s impulsive and aggressive nature would have eventually made him a threat to us… a threat to you.
—Lies! He was family!
—Just as Milagros was mine!! And you have no idea how much she humiliated me with her “perfect girl” attitude!!
Bertha’s gaze flickers. Is it regret? Or just another fleeting emotion lost in the abyss of her darkness?
—I… I truly wanted you to survive, Licovi. That’s why I told you to leave with Chía and Ofelia. But you’re too pure for this awful world… it’s better if I end your suffering now… before life does it for you.
—No! —Licovi yells, turning to Ofelia —The attic! We need to get to the attic! She keeps powerful tools and potions up there. We can fight back!
Bertha laughs filled with condescension.
—Don’t waste your time, Licovi. I designed those tools. You may have potential, but you’re nowhere near my level. Ask Julio.
—What kid of monster are you?! —Asks Licovi utterly devastated.
With a flick of her wrist, Bertha unleashes a wave of energy, sending Licovi crashing against a table. The impact knocks over one of the candles illuminating the café, landing on one of the curtains, and within moments, they catch fire. Flames begin to spread rapidly.
—You will never master the kind of magic I wield —Bertha continues, stepping closer —Because I never taught you. You’re not a warrior, Licovi. Never was, never will be.
—Mrs. Licovi!!
Ofelia rushes to Licovi’s side, shielding her, but in that split second of distraction, La Patasola lunges at them with deadly precision.
Then, a sudden burst of light pierces through the café’s ceiling. A massive, glowing owl materializes in the air, its radiant wings spreading wide as it intercepts the wraith’s attack. The entire room is bathed in a golden hue, and for a moment, everything is still.
Everyone 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!
The flames crackle around them, the wraith lets out a guttural hiss, and Bertha’s lips curl into a grimace. The final battle has only just begun.
TO BE CONTINUED…