Hades' Cursed Luna - Chapter 155

Chapter 155: Untamed
Hades

Chaos saturated the air, every person stumbling for cover as the Lycan lunged at the crowd. The horrified screaming intensified to a crescendo as Eve landed on some spectators in their attempts to escape.

They were immediately crushed under her weight like clay, blood spilling out of them in a viscous flood all over the weathered cobblestones.

She let out another horrifying roar that seemed to vibrate every particle in the air. The hairs on my neck rose in response. As she pounced again, the guards fired more full-time rounds of platinum into her hide. Yet again, it had no effect other than to further fuel her growing rage.

The platinum rounds embedded themselves into her midnight-black fur, only to be spat out by her body, the wounds stitching up and closing. My eyes widened, taking it all in.

Her healing was the most spontaneous that I had ever witnessed. Even Lycans did not undergo cell regeneration at such a speed. This was no ordinary Lycan.

People scrambled for safety, the few non-Omegas shifting into their wolves to cover more ground, only to worsen the situation as their shifting sent others flying in different directions and falling back onto the cobblestones, only to be stomped on in an agonizingly horrific manner by others.

Meanwhile, Eve set herself loose on anyone she could pounce on, tearing through flesh and bone with terrifying ease. More rounds were fired.

Could they not see that it wasn’t working?

Not only did the bullets fail to harm her, but ironically, strays were hitting the citizens instead. Most dropped dead in an instant. They were not saving the people—it was only causing more carnage.

Eve left mangled corpses in her wake. The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood and the deafening cacophony of screams and gunfire.

But my eyes were on Darius, who seemed rather…calm as he watched it all happen from the balcony. He did not take a defensive stance, nor did he retreat into the castle. No, he stood there, his arms crossed, watching it all like a pleased spectator.

I stood still in the pandemonium, as a storm of bodies slammed into me, trying to push me out of the way, but my feet were glued to the ground, letting my strength hold me firm against the torrent of people running for their lives. I watched him as I did so, Eve growling and roaring barely a yard from me, the guards shifting at the same time to subdue her.

Darius watched as Eve dwarfed his guards with her immense size, not giving a single one a chance to touch her before ripping them to bloody ribbons.

Darius glanced at his other daughter, Ellen, and whispered something to her as she also watched. Her expression was not like his. There was no satisfaction in her expression—hers was grave, her lips pursed.

Darius continued to speak with her as he eyed the carnage, as if he could not bear to miss a second of the bloodshed.

Strangely, slowly, a grin touched Ellen Valmont’s lips, but her turquoise eyes remained dead, a bottomless pit of nothing. It was an almost mechanical gesture.

Suddenly, Darius’s expression changed as he yelled through the microphone, his tone bizarrely desperate.

His voice suddenly cracked through the static-filled speakers, sharp and commanding, laced with an urgency that hadn’t been there before.

“Hold her down!” he bellowed, his tone bizarrely desperate now. “Contain her! Do it now!”

His sudden shift in demeanor made my stomach twist.

Up until now, he had been a passive observer, watching the carnage unfold with unsettling calm. But now? Now he was panicked. This was part of the performance.

Then I saw him.

A man emerged from the shadows behind Darius—tall, broad, his uniform marked by gold insignias that gleamed in the dull light. A more decorated figure than the others. He moved with uncanny purpose.

James Morrison.

Darius’s new Beta.

Their eyes met briefly. Darius gave him a single, sharp nod. Morrison didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He turned briskly toward the guards still firing their useless platinum rounds, his expression hard and unyielding.

Lifting a walkie-talkie to his mouth, he spoke.

There was a chilling pause.

The guards, still scrambling and firing blindly, suddenly froze. Without hesitation, they holstered their standard magazines and reached into their belts, pulling out a different set of ammunition—sleek, black-tipped rounds glinting with a faint, unnatural sheen.

My eyes narrowed.

This wasn’t standard issue.

One by one, the guards snapped the new magazines into place.

Click. Click. Click.

And then they opened fire.

The sound was different this time—sharper, heavier.

The effect was immediate because I also smelled it in the air.

Silver.

The first round slammed into Eve’s shoulder, and for the first time, she staggered.

Her body recoiled as if struck by something far more than just metal. She let out a guttural snarl, lower, harsher—tinged with something else.

Pain.

Her limbs faltered, claws scraping against the cobblestones. Blackened blood oozed from the wound, but this time it didn’t close. It sizzled, like acid eating through flesh.

My breath caught.

Those rounds were designed for her. A Lycan. This was planned from the beginning.

Eve roared in fury, lunging again, but more shots tore into her—each one slowing her, anchoring her down. The guards moved in unison now, their fear replaced by grim determination as they focused their fire on her joints, her spine.

She collapsed to one knee, claws tearing grooves in the stone as she struggled to rise.

Darius leaned over the balcony, gripping the railing, his voice booming again.

“Hold her down! Do not let her rise!”

Guards rushed forward, bolting steel-cable restraints into the ground, launching grappling hooks onto her limbs. The cables tightened, groaning under the strain, but they held.

For now.

Darius’s gaze cut to Ellen.

“Ellen,” he called. His voice was cold and commanding, yet laced with exhilaration that he almost succeeded in hiding. He even spoke through the microphone, even though she was right beside him.

She didn’t flinch.

Ellen turned her empty turquoise eyes toward him, her face unreadable. Inscrutable. Statues were more capable of expressions than she seemed to be.

“Finish it,” Darius ordered.