The soft, rhythmic sound of General Morana’s gloved hands clapping was the most terrifying noise Chiron had ever heard. It was not applause of appreciation, but the slow, mocking judgment of a predator that had cornered its prey.
Chiron, still on his knees from Dax’s kick, slowly raised his head. His breath caught in his throat, and the world narrowed down to the woman standing twenty feet away. The memory of the black armor, the cruel, elegant face, the way the torchlight had played on her blade twelve years ago—it was all perfectly preserved in the fiery, agonizing chambers of his mind.
Immediate rage flooded him. It was not the righteous anger of a hero, but a raw, animalistic fury that drowned all thought, all tactical sense, and all the years of patient training. This was the monste
