The Cryptfiends move first. Not a charge…a slow stalk. They test the air, tasting me, hissing low and rumbling. Their movements are coordinated—wolves on two legs.
The nearest one clicks its jaw open so wide I hear the bone pop.
I could try to outrun it. Hide. Beg. That’s what they want, what they expect.
Instead, I stand perfectly still.
My pulse hammers. My blood heats. But something inside me rises—sharp, electric, ancient.
And then I hear a voice.
“It is time.”
The voice doesn’t come from the stands. It comes from everywhere and nowhere, whispered in a language that hasn’t been spoken in centuries.
The Cryptfiends heard it too. Their heads snapped toward me in unison. Strangely, the Gerendel stumbled back into the tunnel they had come from. Maybe they sensed that something wasn’t right.
My palms burned, and I couldn’t hold back. Suddenly, they ignited.
I curled my fingers to try and hide the shimmer, but sparks leaked between them.
Looks like the cat is out of the bag.
Selene leaned forward in her seat, her face showing the realization. Panic gripped her features.
Did she really believe that the daughter of Adelaide Hawthorne would be powerless? If the expression on her face is any indicator, then the answer is… yes.
The first Cryptfiend lunged.
My body moved on instinct without conscious thought. Heat roared up my arm, light flared, and when my palm met its chest, fire erupted—not wild—controlled. Directed. Like I’ve done it a thousand times.
The beast shrieked, flipping backward in the sand, chest smoldering.
The crowd goes completely silent.
I glance over at Torren, and he looks stunned—like he’s watching someone he’s seen a thousand times suddenly become a stranger.
Two more rush me. One bites me viciously as I burn the first, but I barely feel the pain.
I pivot, blast sand into glass beneath my heel, slide under a swinging claw, and slam a wall of heat between us. Fire arcs outward, burning him into ash.
Whispers break out in the stands.
Selene stands.
Seamus swears.
Ubel, whom I hadn’t noticed before, whispers something to Selene, and she smirks.
And then, with a single signal from Selene’s hand, three more gates slam open.
Six more Cryptfiends flood the arena—bigger, faster, starving.
The crowd roars.
My stomach drops.
I’m still dripping fire from my palms, breathing like my lungs are full of coals. I can barely hold myself upright, and the monsters are coming again—twice the number, twice the size.
