The shadows of the embankment were stained a shimmering, toxic silver as Dahmer Lukas stepped beyond the halo of light protecting Malcolm. The three Alphas—Beron and his two enforcers—recoiled, their predatory instincts screaming at them that the hierarchy had just been violently inverted. The man in the mask felt like a localized black hole, sucking the oxygen and the confidence right out of the clearing.
"So," Beron hissed, gripping a jagged piece of his broken iron rod, his voice trembling despite his bravado. "The rumors were true. The King of Deviloy hasn't just been playing with interns; he's in bed with the Architect of GEM himself. What a cozy little arrangement. Does the board of Deviloy know their King is being kept as a pet by a laboratory freak?"
Dahmer didn't move. He stood with his arms relaxed at his sides, his silver eyes fixed on Beron with a terrifying, unblinking stillness.
