41. P O W E R : Aftermath

The Sacrosanct Resurgence.

ONE DAY BEFORE THE TRIAL OF THE GODS

Eve was... content.

Was she sore about her failure? Yes.

Was she feeling like a failure herself? Yes.

Was she harbouring a deep-seated hatred for everyone who'd taken part in putting a stop to her plans, and secretly plotting her revenge?

Also yes.

But she was content.

The SUPERCELL wasn't too bad; basically a spacious room with nothing in it except a cot and a toilet—graciously covered at that. The straitjacket was uncomfortable, but she supposed it was a necessary illusion of sorts—to show the public that she was "under control".

Cute.

Eve hadn't gotten many visitors over the last few weeks, barring the interrogations. Those mostly involved either Hatchet, Salvia, or Kardios grilling her about breaking the hex she'd placed on herself and her daughter.

The nerve. They had no idea what other hexes she'd cast—no idea how much they'd benefited from her hexes! After all, she'd hexed the Tower, hadn't she? That hex had protected it from collapsing when they destroyed the engine and drill! Heck, it probably even protected the Power Well chamber from imploding!

And they had the gall to berate her for her hexes.

Talk about ungrateful.

In any case, Eve was still content. Content to wait, to bide her time, to watch her great-grandfather execute his own plan. Then, after he'd weakened the Safe Havens once more, she would pounce.

It was, ironically, a rather predatory plan. She figured Freddie would be proud.

The lights flickered.

Eve immediately stopped pacing around her cell, which she'd been doing to keep herself busy (Jenga had lost its appeal after the first few days). She looked up and around suspiciously, trying to discern whether there had been an issue with to power, or if it had been intentional.

The lights turned off.

Ah. Intentional it is.

Eve turned and faced the transparent wall that served as the cell door, peering into the darkness. No alarms were going off, but she could hear guards shouting at each other as they tried to figure out what was going on.

Those shouts stopped abruptly after only a few moments.

Eve tilted her head, taking another step forward.

"Eve Black Horn."

She froze.

Something was emerging from the shadows—no; someone. Two someones, in fact.

A woman. Dressed in white wrappings like a living mummy, her green flesh, hair, and eyes instantly revealing her identity.

A man. Dressed in white robes and seated in a wheelchair pushed by the woman, a cane resting horizontally on his lap. His upper facial features were obscured by the deer skull her wore, leaving only his mouth visible.

"Bravo, bravo," the man croaked, applauding politely as the woman—Spring the Tenth, obviously—pushed him up to the cell door. "You tasted victory before it was ripped out of your mouth." He cocked his head. "Tell me; what was the flavour?"