Page 302 of Interion

The beasts ran. Golden power bathed the world in overwhelming chaos. Lightning slashed through the heavy darkness, and Serguei dove deeper and deeper into himself, branching his gift in all directions, letting his mind stretch into the cold night. “Closer,” he whispered to himself as the beasts approached, devouring the muddy ground between them. Their heavy paws shook the earth, creating a war song that could be heard throughout the city.

The psychic remembered that sensation: expanding outward, touching each soul in his path, feeling the mind of every living being within reach, grasping mental threads as if they were marionettes. Just a few more meters. It was glorious and terrifying all at once. Exactly how he'd describe his existence.

When the beasts were five meters away, closing in around him in a circle, Serguei opened his eyes. Gray storms danced in his irises as he raised his hands and grasped an invisible connection. He could see it clearly—that larger thread linking one person to all those creatures. He seized it with his mind and watched the queen shudder, as if the psychic had grabbed hold of something inside her.

Then, as if snapping an energy cable, Serguei pulled at the power, lowering his hands and severing the mental connection the woman had with the beasts. In that same instant, his power crashed down on the carniceals like a network of complex threads in what he called the “mental loom,” seizing control of that sea of consciousness. The title of Jupiter's greatest psychic didn't come from cheap tricks and petty illusions, but from this ability to dominate entire masses.

“Stop.” He commanded when the first carniceal opened its mouth, inches from his neck. His voice, amplified by the power in his veins, rumbled through the storm like a thousand drums.

Immediately, the beasts obeyed, as if they'd all been switched off at once. Serguei's breath came fast, the creature's rotten breath hot against his face. He felt the queen battering against his mind, clawing at his mental shield. He swatted her away like a fly. They were too far apart to cause each other any real damage.

Serguei closed his eyes before that dark army, fortifying the connection. Elitium's decree echoed in his mind: you can never again take the life of a fae, human, or gorgon, under penalty of death by blood pact. But those creatures... they didn't count.

He opened his eyes, feeling all those filthy minds trapped within his own consciousness. The weight of the corrupted energy nearly made him stagger, but he silenced them. Instead of focusing on the minds, he focused on his gift, which had finally found a loophole. It was like being sober after years of drunkenness. Serguei felt whole. Free. He forced his mind into each twisted consciousness, and when two hundred years of docility met two thousand potential murderers of his children, the psychic drew on the power in his veins—a storm accumulated over decades. And whispered:

“Destroy yourselves.”

The first carniceals turned on each other. Then the world erupted in ashes.

Δ

“Twenty more men incoming!” Nayra's voice rang out as she ran through the hospital with more admission papers, pushing every gurney she could toward the entrance. Ambrose hurried after her.

“Sort them by color: green for the lightly wounded, red for urgent cases, and black for those who are nearly gone.”

“Yes, sir.”

The hospital was chaos. Wounded soldiers were everywhere, and more kept arriving—the numbers climbing every minute. Ambrose had learned that the attack began the moment Zion took Kyller, and eight hours had passed since then; the world had descended into anarchy. The soldiers who'd managed to return from outside the walls were badly wounded, and judging by the exponentially rising death toll, Interion was losing half its men. The war had begun and they weren't prepared—they didn't even know what they were dealing with. The news called them chimeras, but the soldiers arriving called them demons.

The corridors were full of the dying—people mutilated, slashed, crushed, and, gods help him, people who had been eaten. The bite marks were unmistakable, and parts of their bodies were missing. This was the most disturbing thing Ambrose had ever dealt with, and he'd seen plenty of bizarre things over his years of practice. But the war, the bites, the sheer number of patients begging for help... It was helplessness at its most agonizing.

Ambrose ran his hands through his hair, screams and moans filling the air around him. He was so shocked he didn't even notice he was smearing his bloodied hand across his face. If the central hospital—the last line of defense—was already overwhelmed, he couldn't imagine how the human and fae hospitals closer to the gates were faring. To make matters worse, it was just him, Lorenzo, Selene, and six human doctors.

Kyller's absence terrified him.

Δ

When the rain washed away the last of the monsters' ashes, a demonic scream of fury and indignation tore from the queen's lips. It was utterly unnatural—Serguei doubted any earthly creature could produce such a sound. He leaned on his sword, still embedded in the earth; he was drenched in sweat, nearly spent from destroying the entire army in minutes. He drew a deep breath, gathering strength for what came next. He wasn't foolish enough to believe the worst was over—in fact, it hadn't even begun.

The queen began moving along the wall, heading downward and driving the sharp points of her chains into the stone to keep herself stable. It was as if the laws of gravity didn't apply to her. She descended rapidly—a hell of hatred and darkness—and seemed furious at losing her creatures.

Serguei raised his sword, feeling the weight of the bone handle and iron blade. The weapon had been his companion through all his years of battle, but now its weight felt foreign after so long without use. He was old and rusty, no longer the same boy who'd led the night squadron. But he knew that whatever he faced, the blade would have to be enough to protect his children.

The blood pact hung over him, never more real than in that moment. Despite being a voracious, the thing before him inhabited a fae body—he sensed he couldn't kill her without dying himself. His plan was to hold out alone until Zion could help him deliver the final blow.

She finished her descent and moved with fluid grace. Despite what he'd just done to her minions, the woman paid him no attention—her gaze fixed on the horizon pouring golden energy over the world. When the queen tried to pass, Serguei stepped into her path and her chains lashed out to shove him aside. He blocked the strikes with his sword, digging his feet into the mud to hold his ground.

“Serguei,” she hissed in greeting, her voice not Ravena's. Her chains coiled in silent warning. “You've caused enough damage for one night. I didn't come here to deal with you.”

“Oh! How foolish of me,” he said with exaggerated drama, drawing her attention. “I assumed you'd come to see me, since you sent a message through Lagherta's girl.”

The woman looked toward the cottage on the horizon.

“Just get out of my way and I'll pretend you don't exist.” The voracious stepped to the side, her bare feet sinking into the mud. Serguei matched her movement, blocking her path again.

“How rude. Tell you what—I have a better deal! You turn around and crawl back to whatever hole you came from, and I'll let you live.”

When she laughed in his face, Serguei felt like laughing too at the absurdity of his own words, but for better or worse, it had the desired effect.