After Alex was done—
Every wound on Clara, Maera, Elias, and the other gravely injured members had vanished.
The torn flesh.
The missing limbs.
The holes through their bodies.
All gone.
The twisted expressions of agony on their faces had disappeared as well, replaced by calm, peaceful ones. It was as if everything that had just happened to them—the torture, the pain, the brush with death—had been nothing more than a nightmare.
Now they simply lay there with their eyes closed, breathing softly.
Sleeping.
Everyone else stood frozen.
Mouths hanging open.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across Alex's face beneath his mask.
James stared at him with such reverence it was almost comical—like a devout believer gazing upon a god descending from the heavens. His hands were clenched, his eyes shimmering.
Then he bowed his head slightly.
Alex couldn't hold it in any longer.
He burst out laughing.
"That's right!" he shouted. "Worship me, mortals!"
