I catch sight of the first Siphon guard an instant before Stark strikes, moving with his wolf like a force of nature. His blade flashes. The guard’s head spins away, separated from his body before he can draw breath to call the alarm.
That’s the only way to ensure Siphons die; you need to behead them.
I watch in slow motion as the guard’s head tumbles to the ground, his face frozen in shock, fangs bared. The body crumples with unnatural grace, beautiful even in death.
Before it hits the ground, Stark and Cratos are leaping toward the temple steps. Anassa follows like a silver shadow, mirroring every movement with stunning precision. She and Cratos seem to be coordinating effortlessly.
Another Siphon falls at the arched doorway to the temple, shredded in an instant by Cratos’s snapping jaws. And thenwe’re racing down the narrow corridors, weaving through twists and turns that make me dizzy. The wolves move with impossible stealth despite their massive size, radiating power through our bonds, heightening our senses further. They smell the enemies ahead long before we burst into an open chamber and fall upon them.
Stark and Cratos lunge first, scattering two Siphons in opposite directions. The creatures move like nothing I’ve seen before—supernatural speed blurs their attacks even as those angelic faces morph into masks of pure horror, fangs extended.
To my eyes, the brutality that follows plays out in total chaos, but through the bond, every strike is anticipated, every movement almost choreographed. Cratos lunges left, Stark’s sword flashing right. Anassa dodges right, my sword swings left. The two Siphons fall—one to Anassa’s teeth, one to Stark’s sword.
The soldiers flow after us, falling upon the bodies and hacking them to pieces with poison-coated blades.
We move into the circular gathering hall at the heart of the temple. Stark draws Cratos to a stop at the center of the room, his head swiveling as he assesses our position. I get a ripple of awareness from Anassa that something isn’t right, and then we’re ambushed.
Three, four, five,sixSiphons pour out of the doorways surrounding us, rushing the team in a coordinated attack.
Stark and Cratos unleash a powerful wave of Daemos magic, throwing the Siphons against the walls. The strength of it is easily ten times what Jonah used that day he broke my nose. It’s unbelievable. Stark isn’t just strong—he’s godlike.
Then, Stark moves faster than should be possible, his blade singing through the air as he dismembers the Siphons, their heads crashing to the ground one after another.
Blood sprays across ancient stone as he tears through their ranks, Cratos ripping the Siphons to pieces even as Stark’s blade hacks away. I catch sight of Stark’s face as Anassa dances along beside them.
His expression never changes—that cold, deadly focus remains unbroken even as he commits absolute brutality.
The sight makes me feel oddly triumphant. From the first day I saw him, I knew he was a psycho, bloodthirsty monster, and here’s my proof. He’s so much worse than I’d ever imagined.
And for once, it doesn’t disgust me. Because this unhinged killer is onmyside.
Anassa and I stay glued to Stark and Cratos, positioning ourselves at their back as the remaining Siphons close in around us. My direwolf’s focus spirals in, and for a moment, I see the room—the soldiers, the Siphons, the wolves and their riders—in crisp detail, like a moving diagram. Calculations flow through my head, rapid-fire, assessing the Siphons for weakness, noting their formations and tactics with insane speed.
A strategy clicks into place. These creatures know their enemies well. They expect practiced military strikes—coordinated attack and defense.
They’re not prepared for a street fighter from the slums.
Anassa’s mind ripples with violent delight as we shift from defending Stark and Cratos to an all out attack.
As one, we maneuver into a position of apparent vulnerability, drawing the Siphon in. Anassa lunges, feinting expertly, dodging Siphon fangs as my sword darts in to defend her.
Now!
I swing at the Siphon and miss. Anassa takes the swipe of a dagger to the neck—she yelps, drawing back. The Siphon grins in fanged glee just before it launches at us in a pale, deadly blur.
In the same instant, Anassa drops low to the ground, bringing me level with our attacker. My sword is already swinging up again—with all my strength behind it.
The Siphon dies in a spray of black blood, its head tumbling past on one side, its body on the other.
Anassa lets loose a howl that thunders against the stone walls all around us. At our back, Cratos howls in answer.
The remaining Siphons sense the tide turning against them. I’m not sure how I know they’re afraid, but I do. Anassa becomes a silver blur of pure aggression, my blades flashing around her in staccato bursts as we take down another Siphon, and then another.
All at once, the room falls still and silent. Bodies lie everywhere. Eight Siphons and three soldiers have fallen. The smell of blood and terror coats the inside of my nose and fills my mouth with a copper tang.
Stark turns to me, his face decorated in a fine spray of blood, chest heaving from exertion. His gaze scans my body briefly for wounds. Finding none, he nods once and signals the team forward again.
We descend into the bowels of the temple, following dark corridors and picking off a few more Siphons until at last, we find the basement holding cells.
