Page 70 of A Game of Monsters

Gyah, realising how she’d caused this reaction, simmered back with a blush across her cheeks.

“There is a final guest we are missing, someone of great importance,” Zarrel explained, white teeth on display thanks to his plastered, ear-to-ear grin. “Soon enough he will come, and we can begin with the proceedings.”

“It looks like there are a few guests missing,” I called out.

Zarrel’s smile faltered as he turned to me. I noticed his fists tighten around the handle of Rafaela’s hammer, which made me reach out for my magic.

What I found inside of me was silence. An abyss of never-ending silence.

Before I could understand why, Erix loosed a keening scream. I spun around to find him falling to the ground, clutching his head as though his skull was shattering apart.

“Erix,” I gasped, joining him on the ground, hands reaching, mind a storm of panic. I was vaguely aware that Althea attempted to reach us too, but Nephilim stopped her by crossing spears. If she had access to her power, no doubt those spears would be husks of ash in seconds. But the lack of heat and fire proved that she too suffered the same powerless fate as I did.

Erix rocked backwards, his screams singing of the pain he was in. I searched for the cause, but he was all but physically unharmed. No one had got close enough to hurt him, and yet he was still incapable of speaking, of answering me.

“Someone help him,” I cried out, scanning the crowds who attempted to scramble out of the pews. “Please. A healer, someone. Help him!”

The lack of response tore me apart from the inside.

“In good time, Robin. For now though, it would seem we have our signal, and we can begin,” Zarrel said, his voice cutting above Erix’s suffering.

I watched, through furious tear-filled eyes, as Zarrel turned to his fellow Nephilim. He offered them a nod, a signal, and said, “It’s time. Brothers, sisters. Prepare yourselves for the arrival of your Saviour.”

Humans fought from the pews, looking to the closed door in confusion. Chaos reigned this small room, filling it with Erix’s suffering, and the utter horror that spoiled each and every human.

The guards blocking the door refused to move. They let no one out, and no one in.

“Make it stop!” Erix howled like an animal in a trap when the room exploded in light.

Squinting against the glare, I watched as the banners covering the walls were pulled down, revealing floor-to-ceiling glass. Mirrors lined every possible space, reflecting the horror on our faces, and the placid, expectant faces of the Nephilim.

My reflection looked back at me ten times over, wide eyed and red faced. It made the chamber look far larger than it was in reality, turning the crowd of panicked humans into a horde of scared people trying to flee.

Then, as suddenly as it began, Erix’s screams stopped. He gasped for breath, his hands grappling at my arms. I didn’t notice as Nephilim swept over to Erix and accosted him, dragging him out of my embrace.

“They are dead,” Erix bellowed, eyes ringed with dark shadows, pointed teeth flashing over pale lips.

“Who?” I screamed as rough hands dragged me away from Erix, thrusting me to the ground.

“Maren. Gregory. Cassial has–” A metal-plated fist dove into the side of Erix’s face, knocking him to the ground. Humans screamed. Bedlam reigned. The rest of Erix’s words came out in the form of blood and spit, splattering against the ground. His lip had split, the mouth I’d touched with my own ruined in a single moment.

Growling, I sprang at the Nephilim, all teeth and nail, a berserker in my own right. I grabbed a fistful of feathers, tearing back with my might, making one of them yell in agony.

“Release him!” I cared for nothing else. “Get your fucking hands off him.”

I looked to Althea, Gyah, Elinor – anyone to help. But they were frozen in their seats, unmoving. Physically trapped, whereas their expressions revealed their inner struggle. Althea was the only one who attempted to fight free, but she was bound by stone, thick hands of it rising up from the throne before flattening over her wrists.

“Labradorite,” Elinor Oakstorm cried out, straining against the power of the throne, veins bulging in her neck. “They’re made of labradorite, Robin!”

I saw the truth in that moment. As light cracked out of Elinor’s skin, seeping into the stone as though it was a sponge, absorbing her power.

No, not her power. The key. The final key to Duwar’s gate.

I took in the scene of this perfectly laid plan. The ruse that had us sign away control of the fey lands in the place of a baby prince, all for the Nephilim to finally grasp full control.

Magic built beneath my skin, itching for a release, but the heavy presence of something was keeping it at bay, refusing the release I desperately desired. “Resist it,” Althea commanded, frantic eyes pinned to Elinor. “Don’t give it up…”

Elinor’s head dropped, chin to chest, and didn’t move again.

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