The final four sat by the dinner table. They were dressed in finery, courtesy of Tartarus. Gowns for the women and suits for the men. They had even been given time to shower before they could change their clothes. It did not matter that Serafina was still reeling from the events of the day. Everyone else was still quiet, knowing that it could have been them that got the sharp end of the blade.
While they were sipping their soup and picking at their entrees, their minds were still filled with the blood and guts of a fallen competitor. Again, it could have been them. It was like a rhythmic reminder in their heads, already pounding with a headache.
They had to eat, though. At the end of the long table sat the ancient monster, in his Mr. Tarus glamor. This time, he did not wear a TV host’s
