Chapter 30 A Royal Display

The cargo hissed open, its hydraulic systems releasing a subtle mist. Blackout stepped back, her usually composed body language betraying a hint of unease. Mathilda, however, looked triumphant with a rare smirk spreading across her lips.

“I have to thank you, Eclipse,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “I wasn’t aware we were delivering something as precious as a Precog-9. Initially, I was planning to deliver this cargo, take the money for myself, and migrate to the south. Start fresh. I’ve brought Gladiatress, Lion King, Berserker, and every member loyal to me to build something new, far from Royal’s influence. Hell, maybe I could even negotiate with the Imperial Court to support my endeavors as my own boss.”

Before I could respond, a slow clap echoed around us... not a physical clap, but a psychic one that reverberated in my skull. Everyone stiffened, their eyes darting to the now-open cargo.

From inside, Royal appeared, looking as composed and theatrical as ever. He sat on an ornate sofa. His trademark Venetian mask caught the light, his dark skin contrasting with the mask’s pale hue. Those piercing blue eyes scanned the crowd, alight with amusement.

Seated beside him, lounging as if at a gala instead of a smuggling operation, was a beautiful, fair-skinned woman with striking blue eyes and dark hair. The interior of the cargo wasn’t the cold, industrial vault we’d all expected... it was a lavishly decorated space, lined with luxury brands and amenities that screamed wealth and power.

Royal stood up, his movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. “Ah, Mathilda,” he began, his voice smooth and laced with mockery. “I’ve always suspected you, but your mental training made it difficult to confirm, even for me. Still, hearing your betrayal in your own words… there’s nothing quite like it. A different kind of pleasure entirely.”

Mathilda froze, her confidence shattered. Her eyes darted to her crew, who were visibly rattled. She forced herself to remain calm, though her voice wavered slightly. “You’ve been hiding inside the cargo this entire time… There was never a Precog-9…”

"Yes, that's indeed the case," Royal chuckled, his laughter a rich, mocking melody. “The art of misinformation is rather... challenging to master. Still... What better vantage point to confirm my suspicions? You see, Mathilda, I was eagerly waiting for you to kill the bait I sent. But you… You went above and beyond. Using a borrowed knife to remove him? Ingenious.”

Mathilda’s fists clenched, but she didn’t back down. “You think I’d kill him directly, knowing your tricks? I know you, Royal. I know about your telepathic technique... how you can mark people and see the last thing they witnessed before death.”

Royal’s eyes twinkled with delight. “Bravo! Bravo, Mathilda! I never realized you knew so much about me. It seems you’re sharper than I gave you credit for.”

The tension in the air was palpable. I glanced at the others. Lion King’s claws twitched with barely restrained energy, the Triplets exchanged uncertain glances, and even Blackout looked ready to bolt. Mathilda’s plan was unraveling before her very eyes, and... Royal wasn’t done.

He took a step forward, his tone light but dangerous. “But you made a crucial mistake, Mathilda. You underestimated the bait. We both did. Admirable performance, Eclipse.”

His gaze shifted to me, and for a moment, I felt exposed, like he could see through every lie and ploy I’d ever used. Then, just as quickly, his attention returned to Mathilda.

“And that mistake,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “will cost you everything.”

Mathilda’s voice was sharp and defiant. “Kill him!”

Royal’s response was a simple snap of his fingers. The sound echoed unnaturally, like a ripple in reality itself, and everyone froze in place. It wasn’t just physical paralysis. I could feel a crushing weight pressing down on my mind, locking my muscles in place.

For a brief moment, I considered pushing through with my intangibility, but instinct told me to hold back. I needed to play this carefully.

Mathilda, however, managed to resist. Her breathing was labored as she fought against Royal’s control, sweat forming on her brow. She exhaled sharply, her body shifting into a fighting stance. “It looks like I’ll have to do the job myself,” she said, her voice strained but resolute. "I am going to kill you, Royal. And I am going to enjoy it."

Her eyes burned with determination. “I will prove to the Imperial Court that I am superior to you!”

Royal tilted his head slightly, and I imagined a bemused smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, Mathilda… you never fail to entertain.”

Before Mathilda could make her move, the blue-eyed brunette who had been lounging in the cargo was suddenly gone. A blur of silver light streaked across the battlefield, and Mathilda’s head was severed from her body in an instant.

My mind froze. It had happened so fast, too fast for me to react. Superspeed? No, this was something else... something far deadlier.

Mathilda’s decapitated body remained standing for a second, her expression locked in confusion and horror before crumpling to the ground.

Her voice, weak and disoriented, came from the severed head, which was now gripped by the hair in the brunette’s hand. “I… what is happening?”

The brunette’s expression was serene and detached as she dragged the head across the blood-stained ground and presented it to Royal. Her movements were as elegant as they were ruthless.

Royal took the head with an almost casual air, turning it over in his hands as if inspecting a fine piece of art. “What is happening?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “I’m using my telepathic prowess to ensure you don’t die quickly, dear Mathilda. Death is far too simple for a traitor like you.”

Mathilda’s eyes, still wide with disbelief, darted wildly. “You… you bastard…”

Royal chuckled softly, his fingers lightly tapping against the head’s temple. “Maybe I’ll sell you to a bio-tinker here in Deadend. Have them attach your head to a pig or a cow—or whatever else strikes their fancy. Wouldn’t that be amusing?”

Mathilda’s expression twisted in terror, her lips trembling as she tried to form words.

“Or,” Royal continued, his voice turning even colder, “perhaps I’ll bring you home with me. Stuff you in an aquarium. After all, a little surgical assistance from a bio-tinker could heal you enough to serve as my most expensive and entertaining alarm clock.”

Everyone was silent, save for Royal’s laughter... a haunting sound that reverberated in the frozen air.

I forced myself to stay still, even as my mind screamed at me to run. Royal’s power and presence were suffocating. If there was a way out of this, I hadn’t found it yet.

Royal’s tone shifted, a thin veneer of patience masking something far darker. He regarded Lion King with a faint psychic smile, the severed head of Mathilda still in his grip. It was a strange feeling knowing someone was smiling despite the mask covering there face. “I’m already bored,” Royal said with a casual flick of his wrist, tossing the head to Lion King’s feet.

Lion King froze, his imposing frame stiff as he glanced down at Mathilda’s dulling eyes.

“My dear shifter,” Royal continued, his voice dripping with mock kindness, “you’re in luck. By now, your friends Gladiatress and Berserker are almost certainly dead. Yet here you still stand. Do you know why?”

Lion King’s jaw tightened, his golden eyes flickering with unease. He said nothing.

“It’s because I am a merciful ruler,” Royal said, spreading his arms in an exaggerated gesture of generosity. “And because I believe in giving second chances... when I feel like it. Like I said, luck!”

Lion King growled low in his throat, but Royal ignored it.

“This is what you’re going to do to earn that mercy,” Royal said, his voice hardening. He pointed to the head at Lion King’s feet. “Crush it. Slowly. I want to hear her scream so loudly that it makes your ears bleed. I want her to beg for the sweet release of death, and I want you to deliver it.”

The weight of the demand hung in the air, suffocating and cruel.

“Entertain me,” added Royal with a tone filled with mischief. “Go on, my lovely concubine is waiting…”

Lion King took a step back, his hands curling into fists. His gaze darted toward the brunette, the one Royal had called his concubine who stood motionless, her serene smile an eerie contrast to the carnage she had just wrought.

Royal’s smile faded, and the air grew heavier. “If you fail,” he said, his voice quiet and lethal, “she’ll take your head next. Succeed, and I will welcome you back to Pride. You’ll start at the bottom, of course, but at least you’ll still be breathing. As a cape yourself, it shouldn't take too much time to rise among the ranks, right? It's too generous an offer, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lion King’s breathing grew heavier, his massive shoulders rising and falling as he glanced between Mathilda’s head and Royal. He looked cornered, like a predator backed into a cage.

My heart pounded in my chest as I watched the exchange, every fiber of my being screaming at me to stay still and keep quiet. Royal was playing a game of dominance, and Lion King was his bitch context-wise.

Lion King’s lips curled into a snarl, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “You’re a monster.”

“Perhaps,” Royal tilted his head, his expression almost pitying. “No dallying, onwards with the performance!”

Lion King picked up Mathilda’s head, his massive hands trembling as he cradled the once-defiant leader.

“No, Stefan… don’t do it! Please!” Mathilda’s voice was desperate and panicked. "Y-you don’t have to do this…” Tears began to stream from Mathilda’s eyes.

Lion King’s face twisted with pain, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like his teeth might crack. Slowly, he clasped her head between his palms, his fingers digging into her scalp. Mathilda’s pleas turned into a raw, piercing scream as his grip tightened.

It was a slow and painful death.

Her acoustokinesis, born from desperation, amplified her cries into a powerful sonic assault that reverberated through the street. Sound waves rippled outward, shaking nearby buildings and sending loose debris clattering to the ground. Some of the waves coalesced and surged toward Royal, like living blades aiming to cut him down.

I felt like my eardrums were exploding.

Royal stood unmoved, his Venetian mask tilting ever so slightly in mockery. The sound waves slammed into him, dissipating harmlessly against an unseen barrier. He didn’t flinch.

Lion King’s hands clenched tighter, his knuckles whitening. Mathilda’s screams rose in pitch and intensity, the sheer volume making the air itself seem to tremble.

Deadend stirred. People began to gather, curious bystanders drawn to the commotion like moths to a flame. The brutal spectacle played out for an audience, their whispers barely audible beneath the cacophony.

And then, with a sickening splotch, it was over. Mathilda’s head crumpled under the pressure, her skull splintering and her flesh collapsing into a grotesque, gooey mess. Blood and fragments dripped from Lion King’s hands, pooling at his feet.

Royal clapped once, slow and deliberate. “Good enough, I suppose,” he said, his tone light and dismissive. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement behind the mask. “Though I must say, I was hoping for a bit more… drama. Perhaps a nice touch of blood dripping from your ears, Stefan.”

Lion King dropped the remains of Mathilda’s head, his breathing ragged and uneven. He didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, his shoulders slumping as if the act had physically crushed him too.

I watched in stunned silence, my stomach churning. Lion King, the proud shifter, had been reduced to nothing more than a pawn in Royal’s twisted game. His submission was a warning to the rest of us: resistance was futile.

The mental pressure holding me and the others in place lifted like a heavy fog dissipating in the sun. I staggered slightly, my body still tense and ready to bolt, but my mind screamed at me to stay put. Royal turned his masked face toward me, his voice carrying a disturbingly warm tone.

“You did well, Eclipse,” he said, his words dripping with condescension. “Look forward to your bonus... on top of the rewards I promised you and more.”

He turned to address the others, his tone sharpening ever so slightly. “As for the rest of you, Blackout, the Triplets... consider yourselves lucky. You keep your lives today… and perhaps for a long time, if you stay honest to your work.”

Blackout shifted uncomfortably, her hands still trembling from unlocking the cargo. The Triplets exchanged uneasy glances but stayed silent, their expressions carefully neutral.

Royal’s masked gaze shifted to the remaining gun-toting thugs. They stood frozen, their rifles slack in their hands, unsure whether to salute or drop their weapons.

“And you lot,” Royal said, his tone taking on a casual air, “you work for me now. Mathilda is dead, as you can plainly see.” He gestured lazily to the gooey mess at Lion King’s feet. “No need to dwell on the past, hmm? Consider this an upgrade to your employment.”

The thugs nodded stiffly, too terrified to argue.