Page 129 of Descent

Not a single guest opens their mouth. Theycan’t.

“There. You see?” Ananke faces the mass of stunned onlookers. “That is how one must behave. Allow my men to escort you back to your seats, I implore.”

“Effective. I would have just started shooting,” Dom muses.

“So unrefined,” Ananke teases, toying with his salt and pepper hair. “So brutal.”

Feet shuffle in the stillness, bodies obeying while their owners gape at Ananke, at one another. In seconds, the gathering is returned to order.

“Hm. I truly did not want to implement that method of delivery, but you left me little choice. Over the past few days, you have all been party to a very limited and specific input. Namely visual and audio sensory cues, introduced through the light shows and other entertainment at my estate. Additionally, there may have been some spiking of the punch, as it were…”

“This is madness,” one older man grits out in a thickly accented voice.

“This isorder. The new world order. My soldiers will change the face of war. Your countries can be led through suggestion, with a figurehead in place. One who waits eagerly for your council. With carefully placed agents, we might all secure our interests and cease to bite at one another’s ankles.”

“I am impressed,” an old gentleman manages to offer, through a considerable effort. “But you could just force us to give you our empires. Our fortunes.”

“Your Highness, I have no intention of stealing from you or interfering with your various entities of government. I only influenced all of you enough to get my point across. Consider it the power of suggestion and a proof of concept. One that will fade within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Intriguing.” More guests find their voices.

“How much?”

“When can you?—”

Ananke laughs mirthlessly, raising a hand. “There will be an opportunity to discuss any questions you have. You saw firsthand how one could manipulate a crowd. You saw the start of my prototypes’ performance. Let me show you how far they will go.”

Seemingly placated, or scared into submission, the onlookers’ attention returns to Ero and I.

The humming sensation in my head fades slightly as we wait for another command. I glance over at Ero, blinking a few times.

“Er…” I mouth, barely making a sound.

“Circe?” He side-eyes me, his frown tentative.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” he utters without moving his lips.

Something violent writhes through the murk of my subconscious. Fighting back.

“Circe, my treasure, tell our friends here how you feel about Ero.”

My jaw bunches. Willpower wavers, filling my reserve like a trickle in a bathtub.

“I-I love him with all of my heart,” the words slither out of my throat like she gagged them out of me. Burning rims my eyes.

“Touching. Stab him.”

“I do not want to harm him.” I manage to whisper emotionlessly.

“You won’t. Just draw blood. His leg should do.”

My hand trembles, my legs lower me to where we left our blades moments before.

“Ero, do not interfere.”

The tip of the sword darts forward of its own accord, sinking into the meat of Ero’s quad. An inch of the point finishes, scarlet budding around it. Ero never even twitches.

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