Page 23 of The Order: Rise of the New Empire

"They always love to ask that question," I sigh, the deep-rooted betrayal each Maked feels when subject to death by our hands adamantly apparent.

It's one thing to be persecuted by those who fear what you are.

It's another to be hunted by your very own kind.

"Seems like you don't have an answer," the man spits, my stomach recoiling the longer I stare at his empty socket once housing an eye.

For Elyon, the kill of the Marked he chooses to flush out from the cities must always be theatric, resulting in extravagant torturous ways of forcing the Marked to bend at our will before ultimately ending their lives.

"I suppose I love the way your screams fill the air each time I push you a little further," Elyon gripes, twisting one of the man's fingers. My hand clamps over his mouth before he can release another scream.

I hate this.

I fucking hate this.

Glaring down the alleyway, our guards stay on high alert, ready to tip us off at any given moment someone from the Precipice, that we'd rather not explain this to, decides to take a glance at our outlet for control.

"I've heard of you both, you know?" the man spits, his eye focusing on me. "You're Forest Evermoore. The one that started the Revolutionists," he hisses, wailing to me as if the woman he speaks of is long gone. "How in the hell could you be caught up with another faceless dictator? Your whole purpose was to save us all from the creator-"

"Things get complicated when you're related to said creator," I hiss, giving Elyon a long glance.

Now narrowing his eye at Elyon, the man shakes his head.

"You're the Prophet. The first Marked," he gasps. Elyon's face twists into a vindictive smile.

"I love to hear my reputation proceeds me," Elyon smiles, driving his hand into the man's chest, twisting and pulling until all life has left the man's one good eye.

"He should know the cost of knowing my true origin," Elyon gripes, poking the blood bag with one of his bloodied fingers. "Plus, we got all from him that we could."

Watching the Marked slump to the ground, I rise to my feet, observing as Elyon helps himself to several mouthfuls of the rich liquid. Devouring it with little to no shame, he wipes his mouth, extending the treat out to me. The last thing on my mind is the urge to partake in any of the liquid.

"Imperfect Marked," He smiles. "But damn good blood."

Shaking my head at the offer, I bite back bile once more. Slowly taking in breaths, I try to regulate the flood of anxiety rolling through me.

Keep it down, Forest.

Keep it down-

Unable to stop myself, I let the release happen, doubling over with nausea, expelling myself until there is nothing left in my stomach. Leaning into the wall, I wipe my mouth clean, watching Elyon's wide eyes observe the action. His hand holds the blood in the air between us.

"Since when does a kill bring you sickness?" he questions. Doubt festers in his mind.

"I told you," I hiss, staring the man down. "I was fucking hungry!" I snap, grabbing the blood bag away from him, forcing down several drinks of the liquid, hoping it settles more comfortably in an empty stomach rather than a full one. "And your driving was fucking horrendous," I gripe, taking a step toward the fallen Marked. "But do not question my willingness to kill in your name," I push, holding my hand out, forcing my Hold on the man's skull, closing my palm until every bone within the man's cranium has shattered, leaving a bloody mess to poolfrom every open hole on his face. His eye rolling toward me with a horrible squelch, I stop it with my foot. Bending down to peel his Veil off the pupil, I wipe the remnants of the Marked's brain matter off of it. I add it to the collection around my waist, taking all of Elyon's self-doubt away with the action.

Glaring at the horrendous display of force, Elyon shrugs his shoulders, giving me a wide-eyed grin.

"And you say I live for the theatrics," he smiles, squeezing my shoulders. His hands are as cold as ice. "I was willing to let the rats do the work in deforming him," he pushes. His lips are inches away from my ear. "I suppose I'll be more cautious on our drive home."

Feeling his hand pat my lower back to urge me to move, I shove the blood bag into his chest, making my way close to the alleyway entrance, putting an end to this horrendous interaction. Wiping my mouth clean of blood, Elyon casually walks next to me, trying to figure out what is going through my mind.

"You've been off," he says casually as if that much is not apparent.

"I'm in a new place and have been doing nothing but dirty work for nine months. You sure know how to make a woman feel special," I snap. His mouth is pulled into a smirk.

"As if you don't live a life of luxury back home," he pushes, once more reminding me how little say I have in what I am allowed to consider a home.

"I just feel off," I admit, forcing as much sympathy into my voice as I possibly can. "All of this is so new, and the last thing I want to do is disappoint you because I don't know what I'm doing," I admit with some honesty.

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