Page 78 of The Ascended
He followed my gaze. The golden stag stood maybe thirty yards away.
What if there aren't enough prey to go around?Thatcher's mental voice carried an edge.If resources are limited and he gets that stag...
Gods. Is that the catch?
Could be.
Thatcher's expression darkened.We should take him out. Quick strike before he knows we're here.
"No,” I said. "He could have killed me earlier when I was climbing. He didn't."
Marx's eyes flicked between us. "Are you two having some kind of silent conversation right now?"
I met her gaze briefly. "I'll explain later."
"Twins are strange," Marx remarked, spinning a dagger through her fingers. "Whatever you're debating, decide fast. Contestants are already forming hunting parties. Turning on each other. If you don't take what you can now..."
She didn't need to finish. We both knew what she meant.
"He's not threatening us right now. We're not executioners." I locked eyes with Thatcher. "We find another way."
That was before three people tried to murder Marx. Before we added to the body count.Thatcher's jaw tightened.The rules are changing.
Marx sighed. “Some of us prefer our conversations audible."
"We're debating whether to kill him," I said bluntly.
Thais, don't forget we have a goal at the end of this. We have to become ruthless. Become people that we're not. We made a pact, remember?
Marx's laugh was sharp. "Debate faster. He's about to take the shot."
She was right. The contestant had drawn his bow to full extension, muscles steady. A heartbeat from loosing.
“I'm not above stealing that stag.” My voice was steel. “But we’re not killing him.”
I can try to lock his muscles,Thatcher sent.Make it so he can't release. Can't move at all.
"Do it," I whispered aloud.
I watched Thatcher work, though there was nothing visible to see. No grand gestures or glowing effects. Just intense focus as he reached out with senses that shouldn't have existed anymore.
The change was instant.
The contestant's bow string went slack.
"Go," Thatcher gritted out, sweat beading on his forehead. "Can't hold him forever."
I was already moving, Marx beside me, both of us sprinting for the stag. The creature's head came up at our approach, crystal antlers chiming softly as it moved. For a moment, it just looked at us.
Then it ran.
"Shit!" I pushed harder, legs burning as I tried to match its speed.
Marx’s hand went to her belt, came back with a glittering blade, and she threw.
The knife took the stag in the haunch.
It screamed—a sound no deer should make, high and keening and almost rabid. Golden blood sprayed across the grass as it stumbled, crystal antlers ringing as they struck the ground.
