WAR STORM (Red Queen 4// Alternate Version)

Chapter 11

Hello, blessed followers! I'd just like to note that I'm on spring break this week, and therefore will be updating much more often!

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Mare

I want to strangle him, is all I can think as Jon strolls towards us, acting as though he doesn't have a death wish. But he is a seer after all and comprehends exactly what his outcome will be. My irrational half begs for blood while reason pauses the electricity from bursting forth. I will slay Jon posterior to gathering information and winning the war. Which I will win. I have to.  

 "Questions will be answered. But first, I do believe that an apology is in order, to the little lightning girl," unlike most, he doesn't smear my epithet with despisal and condescension.

"You owe me a thousand lifetimes of worshiping at my feet," I return, pushing apart that blockage of people that have crowded the hall. I want to hurt him, pain Jon until he-a grown man- weeps for a means to an end. I wasn't given one, so neither shall he be granted those privileges. "You, wretched man, are the cause of my sufferings."

Not enough distance severs Jon and I, his bloodshot eyes being far too vivid for my taste. He wears dirty ropes, his shoes virtually nonexistent, just as unkempt and ragged as his ancient beard, where literal dirt from the forest hangs in small clusters. Those eyes, though, I cannot fissure my stare from, entrancing and terrifying dually. They hold all the answers to all the mysteries. 

A perfectly neutral face turns to outright hysteria, as high-pitched laughter oozes from the unhinged man. "Naive lightning girl they should call you, though it doesn't hold the alliteration. Everything, every action, every word that I have brought about has been to protect you. If you believe things are bad now, you'd delight in seeing other realities."

"You categorize placing me under a sociopath's care, protection? The gift of sight has driven you mad."

Extending his smugness, Jon propels past the silver court and the Guard, like he owns the place, his ropes reeking of sweat when his shoulder brushes mine. I have to avoid a reflex to cough. 

"You dare come into my home when you've wronged so many? Merely allying with Maven is punishable by death," Volo informs Jon, but it's in vain. Jon will face no harm, otherwise, he wouldn't have chosen this moment to make an appearance. Unless he wants to die.

"You won't," Jon states, not an argument but a fact. "Because I have more information than the stars do themselves. Now, if you excuse me, I'll show myself to the dungeon." He stands, awaiting Volo's blessing.

An odd quality of confusion wafts around the room, even the King himself contributing. They all wonder what he'll do if they let him out of their sight for a second. "Very well. Guardsmen, please escort the oracle to an empty cell." Fascinating to know there are occupied holding units here.

"Oh, I can-" Jon starts, but is quickly halted.

"I'm certain you can. But I'm also certain that I don't trust you," Volo counters, not bothering with kindness.

"As you shouldn't." The Sentinels trail him closely. "I suggest that it be soon, when you decide to speak to me, Mare," are his last warnings, carried by his all-knowing voice. 

Tiberias, I'm only aware of -now, is beginning to uncripple himself, first rising to one knee, before taking a rest. I hadn't perceived the sheer devastation Tyton's ability causes; then again, he's never had a proper target, besides for on the battlefield. Two, three seconds, maybe, it took to replicate a brain aneurysm. In a fair fight, without stupidity and anger factoring into the outcome, I wonder who would win. Though still, Tyton's ability is quite straightforward-he can't miss his target like I can- and perhaps he would win. Their blood is a threat.