Page 64 of Psycho Gods

The dark room and glowing blue swords faded into shades of morbid gray as a hush descended over the world and blanketed me in stillness.

Outside in the hall, a familiar male voice shouted, but it was an indiscernible garble.

The woman said something, but I couldn’t hear.

I was lost.

In the haze.

The woman must have realized I wasn’t fighting, because suddenly she pulled her sword back and thrust it forward.

The descent happened in slow motion. Millions of seconds of possibilities and avenues of action unfolded before me.

I was emotionless.

Unfeeling.

The haze took everything.

I was numb.

In my imagination, I raised my sword and gutted my attacker before she could land a blow, and then I killed the ungodly as it ripped from her flesh. I killed everyone in the room.

In reality, I didn’t move.

“You’ll always be weak,” Mother said as I screamed on the palace floor. “You’ll never amount to anything. You’ll never be like me.”

A towering shadow burst into the room and watched as the steel sliced through my skin, and relief filled my lungs.

Silver eyes glowed through a black hood.

I didn’t know if not killing her made me good or evil; all I knew was it made me feel less like Mother.

In slow motion—I crumbled toward the ground.

Terrible agony screamed along my neurons, and my eyes watered as I crashed to the stone floor. It echoed like it was hollow. It was warm. I was glacial.

If I were anything less than the reigning Queen of the Fae, I would have blacked out.

I stayed awake.

It had all happened in a split second—and Malum had seen it all.

Four other men burst into the room behind him, but they were too late.

Only he knew.

The woman backed up, her green-tinted eyes widened with fear, and she opened her mouth.

She exploded in scarlet flames. Then, so did everyone else in the room.

Mouths open, they writhed helplessly against merciless flames.

Paralyzed with pain, I could do nothing but watch in horror as they boiled to death.

Ungodly ripped from the flaming flesh of innocents and towered to the rafters. Pincers clacked as their six arms attacked.

Fire danced across their patches of exoskeleton harmlessly.

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