She was turning our fears against us. Every secret terror we'd buried deep came clawing to the surface like rabid wolverines. All I could think about was my paralyzing fear that I'd fail everyone when they needed me most.
Lyra didn't stop there. She twisted those fears and magnified them until they felt like absolute certainties. She gave us the bone-deep conviction that we were already defeated. She made us believe that everyone we loved was going to die screaming, and it would be our fault for being weak, pathetic, and utterly outmatched.
My hands started shaking so hard I couldn't make a fist. Someone was making choking sounds, and the rational part of my brain knew it was psychological warfare. The rest of me was busy drowning in the certainty that we were all going to die tonight.
“Phoebe.”Tarja's voice cut through the mental static like a blade through butter. It was sharp and demanding. “Focus on my voice. This is artificial fear—she's pumping terror into your head like poison gas.”
“I know that,”I tried to think back, but the words felt sluggish.
“No, you don't. You're drowning in it.”Her mental tone carried the kind of authority that brooked no argument. “Remember who you are. You're not some helpless victim—you're a Duedonne witch carrying the next generation of badasses. Act like it.”
Right. Fuck this noise. I reached for my Pleiades magic, pulling it through the connection despite another contraction trying to steal my focus. The power flowed through me like liquid silver. I wrapped it around everyone's minds like protective armor. "Cast personal mental shields, now!" I gasped, pouring everything I had into the barrier.
Countless magical signatures flared around me. A second later, the crushing weight of manufactured terror lifted like fog burning off in sunlight. Jean-Marc's shoulders straightened as his brain cleared, and he immediately turned back to his monitors with renewed focus.
"Well, that was unpleasant," Nana said, shaking her head like she was clearing cobwebs. "Little bitch thinks she can mess with a Duedonne's head? I've had PTA meetings scarier than that." I wasn’t so sure about that. Although some of those Soccer Moms were terrifying.
"She's jamming the network," Jean-Marc announced, his fingers flying across the screen. "I'm losing contact with monitoring stations across three continents." I hadn’t realized they managed to establish them that far. Luciana talked about adding some in Europe and getting the other Pleiades on board.
"Looks like we’re fighting blind," Vera said.
"Everyone ready for—" Layla never finished her sentence.
The entire side of our bedroom exploded inward. The sound was so loud I thought the world was ending. One second, I was looking at familiar wallpaper, the next I had a front-rowseat to supernatural warfare as chunks of drywall, insulation, and splintered wood rained down on us. Thank fuck for Aidon's reflexes—his shadows formed a protective dome over the bed before debris could turn me into a pregnant pancake. Hades handled the rest of my family and sent most of the debris right back outside.
I wanted to renovate the room and add a balcony so Aidon and I could sit and watch the ocean at night. Now, I had a reason. Through the gaping hole where our wall used to be, Lyra stepped into view like she owned the place. The witch standing before us bore no resemblance to the broken, partially transformed creature I'd left in the collapsing pocket dimension.
This version of Lyra radiated the kind of confidence that made my ovaries shrivel up and hide. There wasn't even a whisper of doubt in her posture. There was no fidgeting or nervous energy. I saw nothing that suggested she thought we might actually pose a threat. She'd gorged herself on enough stolen magic to transform into something that flirted with godhood but thankfully tripped and face-planted before reaching the finish line. Her twisted makeover was complete. She was ready to show off her shiny new apocalypse powers.
It was what followed her through the destroyed wall that made several curses slip from my lips. They weren't the corrupted creatures or twisted experiments we'd faced before. These were Forgotten Ones. The big brothers and sisters of that charming specimen we'd met earlier. These bastards had ruled when humans were still figuring out which end of a stick was the pointy part.
They poured through the opening like oil mixed with molten metal. Their bodies were refusing to pick a lane and stick with it. One second, they'd be solid flesh and bone, the next, they'd melt into something that belonged in a blender. My brain kept tryingto catalog what I was seeing. Every time I thought I had a handle on their appearance, they'd shift into something else entirely.
The largest one looked like someone had tried to build a person out of spare parts from a demolition derby. Its torso was barrel-shaped and covered in what looked like rusted chainmail that had fused directly to its skin. Arms the size of tree trunks ended in hands that were more claw than finger, each one dripping with something that hissed when it hit the wood floor. Its head sat directly on its shoulders without bothering with a neck. Its mouth was just a gaping hole lined with jagged metal shards instead of teeth.
Behind it came something with a vaguely humanoid shape. Its torso was too long, its arms hung down to its ankles, and where its face should have been was just smooth skin stretched tight over something that moved underneath. When it walked, its joints popped and cracked like breaking kindling. Every step left footprints that sizzled and smoked in the carpet.
The third monstrosity looked like it had been human once, before someone had decided to get creative with some spare parts from a scrapyard. Metal spikes jutted from its shoulders and spine. Its skin had the gray, mottled appearance of week-old roadkill. Its hands ended in fingers that were too long and too sharp. When it smiled, I could see that someone had replaced all its teeth with rusty nails.
"The barriers between worlds have fallen," Cordelia announced unnecessarily from her position near the door. "What comes now has been waiting since before the first sunrise."
My next contraction felt like being struck by lightning while drowning. Through the blown-out wall, I watched the battle erupt across our lawn with the kind of violence that would make war correspondents scurry for cover. Tseki and Murtaghcoordinated their assault on the Forgotten Ones with surgical precision, but these creatures were unlike anything they'd faced.
The chainmail-covered brute absorbed Tseki's dragon fire and turned it back on us, so it withered everything it touched. The sight of them triggered that primal part of my brain that still remembered being prey. My hands clenched involuntarily. Every instinct I had screamed at me to run and hide while I tried not to wet myself in terror.Well, shit. This just got infinitely worse.
Lyra ignored the chaos entirely. She stood in the wreckage of what used to be our bedroom wall. Her attention was focused on me with laser intensity as labor pain ripped through my body in waves. "You can't stop what's already begun," she called out. She was unnaturally clear over the sounds of battle. "The moment their power activates, I'll claim it. All of it. Everything they are, and everything they could become will fuel my ascension."
Villains always insisted on spouting their vile plans. It was ridiculous, but helpful. Lyra’s monologue gave Aidon and Hades time to spring their trap. When she stepped further into our bedroom, power blazed from the stolen artifacts she was wearing and funneled to them. Combining it with their power, they channeled it into a containment spell that had been laid into our property's foundation centuries ago and built upon continuously ever since.
Golden chains erupted from the floor itself, wrapping around Lyra's body. They used binding magic that drew its power directly from them. Something she couldn’t touch. Every purified ley line across the continent also contributed energy to hold her.
"Impossible," Lyra snarled, struggling against bonds that tightened with every movement. "I am beyond your petty magics! I have transcended?—"
"You've stolen," I corrected through gritted teeth as another wave of pain crashed through me. "And stolen power has no foundation. No loyalty. No staying power when faced with something real."
Even as the chains held her, I could feel her drawing power from somewhere else. The Forgotten Ones weren't just her allies. They were her backup plan. She was siphoning their ancient energy to fuel her attempts to break free.
Through the destroyed wall, I watched one of the chainmail creatures suddenly go rigid as Lyra pulled its essence into herself. The thing collapsed into a pile of ash as its power flowed into the witch's struggle against the binding chains. One by one, she began consuming her own allies, feeding their strength into her desperate bid for freedom.
