Page 14 of Katya and the Young God

There’s a group of people inside, roughly fifteen, all sitting in the same uncomfortable metal folding chairs that every library and museum has somewhere in a back room, and her eyes don’t know where to land first.

There’s a hulking man with stone-like skin, some sort of Golem, with a smaller human next to him. There’s the stark white skin and voluminous robes of a Vampire, who watches her with narrowed eyes, and Katya’s gaze skitters away from them as soon as she can. There’s a dryad, with bark skin, a man with shimmering red eyes in a turtleneck, a Ghoul standing in mostly shadows.

Settled into the corner, as if he owns the place is...is…

Her mind skips, as it tries to make sense of the face from her nightmares in front of her. He’s bearded now, with black scruff and small lines around his eyes, but they’re the same slate gray that haunts too many of her flashbacks.

The other twin. The Demigod.

The one who teleported away with the bloody body of his dead twin. The one who watched as his brother twisted Katya’s shoulder back with a knife, who watched his brother laugh as he did so, until she passed out.

Before she can even think of it, her pistol’s in her hand, and her finger shakes around the trigger. Her feet fall into a quick shooting stance, a natural bracing of herself, for —

His eyes narrow, and he hunches deeper into the chair, like he’s expected her to shoot. Like he can see down the barrel, see the copper, and just...doesn’t do anything about it.

At his feet, a small motion, just enough to break her locked eyes, and…

It’s the dog. Stepan. With the bright red name on the pitch-black collar, and the fluffy gray and white fur and blue eyes.

Incongruous, it thumps its tail against the cheap tile at the sight of her.

Slowly, as if following her gaze, the Demigod hunches deeper, placing a protective hand over the dog’s shoulder, as if expecting her to shoot it instead.

It’s quiet, utterly quiet, except for the high-pitched whine of the fluorescent lights. All conversation silent, no one even breathing, like they’re all waiting for her to take the shot, and then, only then, will they act. Even Feketer stands back, as if waiting to see what she will do.

“What are you doing here?” She chokes out, and her hand is shaking, her aim is probably shit like this, but she doesn’t drop her arm.

Someone behinds her claps his hands, loud and sudden, and they both flinch at the sound, but they both don’t move besides that.

“Feketer, I thought I told you to disarm her!” A loud voice says, smarmy, and out of the corner of her eye she sees the man with the turtleneck move away from the side of the room. His eyes glimmer red, just a hint, and her stomach drops. “I didn’t want any bloodshed yet.”

She doesn’t move from her stance, instead staring back over at the Demigod.

“I got her to leave one gun behind, I didn’t know she’d have another one.” A trace of fear in the Pixie’s voice.

“I asked, what are you doing here.” Katya’s voice trembles, but she forces it out anyways.

The Demigod briefly looks down, before straightening, as if remembering he’s far more powerful than her, far more ancient, and far more intimidating. “I was invited.”

It’s just enough of a scoff, just enough of a casual statement, that she tightens her finger over the trigger, and —

His eyes widen, quick, and he jerks his hand, graceless.

There’s a loud snap, and her gun cracks in her hand, the barrel splitting, the magazine dropping and clattering the bullets to the floor, and everyone flinches.

The man, the obvious half-demon behind her, claps again, like he really believed that would break the tension. “Okay, now that that’s over —"

Katya drops the broken gun, tosses it aside, and it hits one of the plastic chairs with a clatter.

And the Demigod flinches. Again.

At the noise, the dog cranes his neck up, looking up at the Demigod, and Katya can’t remember if it’s Pieter or Vanya. She wrote up a report and everything, but the name of the dead one, in all of this, escapes her.

“Well, now that that’s done, can we all have a seat and start?” Behind her, the minor demon, or whatever he is, takes her by her broad shoulders and manhandles her into a seat.

She takes the seat, rattled, and the rest of the group slowly filters to their chairs, giving her a wide berth.

She could reach her copper knife tucked in the back of her belt, but then she’d have to throw it or get closer to him. She has her punching dagger, but it’s regular steel, and would only piss him off. She has her garrote around her wrist, she could use that, but she’d have to go up and touch him and —

---