Page 73 of Violence and Vice

I feint left, spin, and catch him with a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. The sound it makes is wet and satisfying. He stumbles, dazed.

I follow—grab his arm, wrench it into a lock, and snap the elbow joint. He howls.

Behind us, I hear Roman yell something, a sickening crack of a neck-breaking. But James is still mine.

He lashes out, claws raking my shoulder, but I slip under and slam him to the ground with a double-leg takedown.

But we both look, for just a second, as Juliet pins Markus to the ground. She places her hands on either side of his head.

She twists.

And she rips.

“No!” James screams like he’s possessed as we watch Markus’s decapitated head drop to the ground.

It’s so damn savage.

I feel it—like the air implodes. Like the marrow of the world sucks inward.

The Blood Father convulses violently on the table, his half-formed body arching up in a grotesque spasm. His skin cracks open like old parchment. Veins shrivel beneath translucent flesh. One of his eyes collapses into its socket with a sickening wet pop.

He begins to desiccate.

It’s like watching time attack him at hyper-speed. Muscles blacken and peel from bone. Organs rupture, deflating like rotted fruit. His ribcage shrinks inward, snapping with dry, brittle crunches as his chest caves in.

James stumbles across the stage, desperately trying to get to the withering nightmare. “No. No, no, no—please—” he begs, sliding on the blood-slick floor, his hands reaching out like he can stop it.

He can't.

It's too late.

The Blood Father turns to ruin, rotting by the second.

The whole room feels suspended as we all watch the nightmare.

And then there’s nothing left but bones again.

James kneels beside him, eyes wild, hands trembling above the remains. His breath heaves. And for three seconds, it feels like it’s over.

Then something in James snaps.

He spins—feral—his eyes scanning those surrounding him. So fast, I can hardly see it, he launches at Ares with a roar.

I scream, but I’m too far away.

Ares blocks the first strike, knocks James back with a solid elbow—but James is unhinged. He drives forward, pulling something from his belt like it’s been waiting for this moment.

The sound of it plunging into Ares’ chest ends my whole world.

A dull thunk. A sharp exhale.

Ares’ eyes go wide. He clutches at the stake, his lips parting in confusion—no words, just pain.

His knees buckle.

“Ares!”

I scream so loud it rips my throat. The world tilts.