They moved past the hallway and entered what looked like a casino. Orn raised an eyebrow at the sight. It became very obvious what this place was the moment he saw it—but the casino itself was not the main attraction.
It was the bodies. Dozens of them, scattered everywhere.
Many of them were naked, their skin bruised and burned. Some were missing their heads entirely, but the wounds didn't look like clean cuts. The heads had exploded, leaving nothing but charred stumps and splattered brain matter across the ornate floors and walls.
So there was a mental Psionic among the assassins. A telepath or mind-controller. They might even be watching right now.
There were two spiral staircases leading up to a second floor. A body hung from one of the railings—a woman with a pool cue stabbed completely through her back and out her mouth. Blood dripped steadily down the exposed wood, creating a spreading puddle on the floor beneath her.
"Great Aegean!" one of the soldiers muttered in shock.
Orn couldn't blame him. This was a massacre. The Black Sun assassins had killed everyone here with extreme cruelty. The deaths were gory and drawn out. There was no honor in any of this. They had played with their victims, tortured them, made them watch each other die slowly.
Orn hissed softly as something shifted inside him. The world seemed to fall away. His posture changed completely, straightening with an arrogance that hadn't been there before. He stood up fully, exposing himself in clear view of any enemies watching.
"Orn, what are you doing?!" Hera hissed at him in alarm.
His only reply was to reach up and remove his helmet entirely. He took a deep breath of the blood-scented air, then turned to look at her.
"Not Orn," he said simply. "Cornelius."
Hera was confused for a moment—until one of the soldiers beside her grabbed her arm tightly, shaking his head rapidly in warning. She couldn't see his eyes through his visor, but she could feel the fear radiating from his body language. His grip on her arm was almost painful as he and the rest of the soldiers slowly backed away.
It was as if they were praying—hoping desperately—that Orn wouldn't turn and look directly at them.
The terror they felt was real. Hera could see it clearly. But what were they so afraid of?
She didn't understand until she raised her head and accidentally met Orn's eyes. He had turned slightly to the side, but he was watching her. Studying her. Assessing her like a predator deciding whether something was prey or pet.
Her knees shook involuntarily.
Then Orn raised one finger, pointing directly at her, and spoke a single word:
"Stay."
Her entire body locked up instantly. No matter how hard the soldiers pulled on her arms, trying to drag her to safety, she wouldn't—couldn't—move.
What kind of power was this?
She had thought him foolish for acting so fearlessly in front of the Empress Dowager. But this level of control? He wasn't even fifty years old yet. He hadn't reached the golden jubilee of mastery at one hundred years, or even the centenary threshold. He was barely in his third decade of life.
It was like he was a completely different person.
Hera suddenly realized the truth—it wasn't him making her stay. It was her. She wanted to stay. The soldiers couldn't move her body because she didn't want to be moved.
It was those eyes again. But this time they were different. Deeper. More intense. Closer to something she couldn't name.
She reached out toward him instinctively—and then he closed his eyes.
Hera shook violently, as if she'd been hit with a jolt of electricity. A deep, primal fear washed over her like ice water.
She knew Orn. She'd known him since he was fifteen. They'd attended the same academy, hated each other for years. But in all that time, she had never seen this side of him.
The soldiers behind her had, though. They'd seen him like this before—seen it enough times that they abandoned all protocol and military discipline just to get away from him.
Who—or what—was Cornelius?
"Do you have a death wish, Aegean scum?" A voice called out from somewhere in the casino's shadows. "I'm not sure your military taught you properly. But you must have some skill if you managed to kill Nasaba."
Cornelius turned toward the voice and smiled. Hera couldn't see his expression beneath the mask he still wore, but somehow she knew he was smiling. She could feel it. And it was terrifying—an expression that felt completely alien to the Orn she knew.
"I apologize," Cornelius said, his tone mocking. "I wanted to do this properly, you know? Like a soldier. Give you the honor of dying on the battlefield as a true warrior should." He paused. "But I see I was mistaken in my assessment of the Theocracy. You're honorless dogs who have drawn my anger—which, I must say, is a very hard thing to do."
He spread his arms wide. "So let's not waste each other's time. There are five of you, including the one hiding among the hostages. Come out, all of you. Please."
Even the way he spoke was different now. Hera watched as Cornelius walked forward into the open center of the casino, completely exposed. He stopped in the middle of the room, surrounded by gambling tables, overturned chairs, and corpses.
"I must admit, Aegean, your mind is strong," the hidden assassin replied. "But we have consumed the minds of those far stronger than you. Whatever bluff you're attempting, it's wasted. You've thrown your life away. Now you will face the wrath of the Black Sun."
Cornelius raised one hand casually. "Wait, wait! I still have some questions to ask, if you would permit me this one request... before you try to burn me with your sun."
He smiled again—that killer's smile that Hera somehow recognized despite not being able to see it.
"If only I could be certain you haven't set a trap," the assassin said slowly, "I would gladly kill you now. But this is the way of the mind. Very well. I will engage you in conversation, Aegean dog."
Cornelius clapped his hands together once, the sound echoing through the ruined casino. "Excellent! Now please, my dear sirs... did you do this?" He gestured broadly at all the dead bodies surrounding them.
There was a pause before the voice answered. "Some of it was us, yes. But if you look carefully, Aegean dog, you'll notice the naked ones are our people. Prisoners of war that your elite used for entertainment. They were tortured in ways I won't even speak of—ways that make me shudder to remember. We came here to save them. We arrived too late."
The assassin's voice hardened. "So you dare speak to me about honor? You Aegeans are the ones without honor! Do you truly believe your senator is worth saving?"
Cornelius tilted his head to the side in what looked like genuine surprise. "What are you talking about? Who said anything about saving the senator?" He laughed softly. "You're all going to die here today. But I do thank you for explaining what the senator did. We don't need you to discipline our own people. We're more than capable of handling that ourselves."
"I see..." the assassin said quietly. "Then you must die, Aegean. When you meet your ancestors, tell them that Sakan, son of Daban, sends his regards. Now die!"
The games were over. About time.
Cornelius felt the onset of a migraine hit him almost immediately. So this was how they wanted to play it—a direct mental assault.
He could feel intense pressure building inside his skull, second by second. This was probably the same attack that had been used to kill many of the people scattered around the room. He could sense the powerful mind behind it, pushing against his mental defenses like a battering ram.
He chuckled softly and released the limits on his own power. His voice seemed to echo strangely through the casino.
"Pulse."
Disruptive Psionic energy exploded outward from his body as the center point. There wasn't much to see visually—just a formless, invisible wave spreading out in all directions. But every electronic device within range immediately went haywire, sparking and dying.
Even the corpses reacted. Their bodies twitched and spasmed as whatever electrical charge remained in their nervous systems responded to the pulse.
Almost immediately, Cornelius heard a scream of pain from somewhere in the shadows. He quickly dropped behind a table for cover.
The surviving assassins opened fire. Bullets tore through the air where he'd been standing moments before.
Cornelius moved low, rolling over a couch and diving behind a bar counter. Shots rang out continuously. Bottles of expensive alcohol shattered above him, raining glass and liquid down on his armor.
He frowned. Times like this, he wished he had telekinesis. Or that he'd trained his Psi enough to create proper force shields to stop debris from falling on him.
But he'd make do.
Orn—Cornelius—rose up slightly and squeezed the trigger once. An assassin hidden in the ventilation shaft fell silent as a hole was blown through their chest.
"Are you guys even trying?" Cornelius called out mockingly. "Please tell me you can put up a better fight than this."
He chuckled as he ducked back down. Another volley of shots came his way. He took a deep breath, then suddenly stood and flung his hand toward an assassin hiding behind a decorative curtain.
The heavy fabric burst into flames instantly. The assassin leaped out with a shout—and Cornelius put a bullet through their thigh. They screamed and collapsed.
The remaining assassins immediately increased their fire, trying to suppress him.
Cornelius quickly grabbed a broken glass bottle from the bar, holding it up carefully to use as a makeshift mirror. He could see in the reflection that someone was trying to help the wounded assassin.
"Well, we can't have that," he muttered to himself.
He used his Pulse ability again, releasing another blast of disruptive Psionic energy.
This time his vision went completely black for a moment. A wave of dizziness hit him hard, followed by a sharp spike of pain in his brain that made him grit his teeth.
He could probably only use Pulse one more time in this fight. And he needed to save it for the Norkel waiting outside.
The two exposed assassins screamed as their brains were essentially rebooted by the Psionic interference. Cornelius only had a few seconds to capitalize on the opening before the others recovered enough to help them.
According to the Empress Dowager, there were supposed to be seven assassins total. Two were already dead.
And two more died as Hera suddenly opened fire from the doorway, her rifle punching rapid holes through both stunned targets.
Cornelius chuckled as she ducked back behind cover. The woman had more spine than most men developed in their entire lives.
The other soldiers had retreated, paralyzed by their fear of Cornelius. But Hera had taken action instead, making sure the opening he'd created wasn't wasted.
Honestly, the Black Sun assassins were fighting poorly—but that was understandable. Trying to form coherent thoughts after taking two Psi-Pulses would be nearly impossible. Their brains were struggling just to shake off the damage. The best they could do was rely purely on instinct and pray it was enough to keep them alive.
Cornelius jumped out from behind the bar just as the remaining assassins concentrated their fire on Hera's position.
That exposed where they'd been hiding.
Flames appeared in the air around Cornelius, rapidly shaping themselves into blazing javelins of fire. The heat was so intense that the flames burned white-hot—almost like miniature suns.
The assassins realized the danger too late.
The fire javelins shot across the room at speeds that rivaled bullets. One of the gambling booths burst open as an assassin dove out of the way—revealing the bloodied senator and what appeared to be his family huddled together in terror, directly in the path of Cornelius's attack.
Their screams as the fiery explosion consumed them created a strange rhythm—a symphony of death.
The remaining javelins missed their primary targets as the last four assassins evaded desperately, scattering into the open. But now they had nowhere to hide.
"My brother really didn't like the way you killed all these people," Cornelius said conversationally. "You made him angry enough that I had to come out and deal with you. You should be grateful it's me you're facing. I'm the nice one."
"I see..." the lead assassin said slowly, finally stepping into view. "You are powerful, Aegean. But every blessing carries a curse. To be Psionic is to live with a curse. Yours was well hidden."
The assassin's eyes narrowed. "A master of two minds. A fractured soul split in two. It was our mistake—underestimating you, not realizing we were fighting two opponents instead of one." He raised his weapon. "I assure you... it won't happen again!"