The Villain Who Seeks Joy-Chapter 78: Donor Dinner (3)

The Chimera hit the floor with the sound of wet leather slapping stone. It was a rich man’s nightmare—a lion’s heavy forequarters stitched to a lizard’s back, plated in anti-magic glass and studded with copper rivets.

It roared, a sound that wasn’t animal. It was the sound of air being forced through brass tubes.

Civilians screamed. The "panic" we had drilled for was here, and it was wearing claws.

"Drill!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the shrieks.

Lyra moved before the echo died. She didn’t run; she climbed onto a chair, her brass badge catching the light, her folio held high like a banner.

"Eyes on me!" she commanded. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was pitched perfectly to pierce the noise. "Funnel left! Move behind the oak tables! Do not run!"

Gareth and Pelham were already there. They didn’t look at the monster. They looked at the furniture.

"Flip!" Gareth barked.

They heaved the heavy banquet tables onto their sides, interlocking the legs to create a barricade. It wasn’t a fortress, but it broke the line of sight. Panic needs a view; take away the view, and you slow the panic.

The Chimera charged the nearest donor—a merchant in velvet who had frozen still.

Cael intercepted.

He didn’t use a weapon. He didn’t have one drawn. He used mass. He stepped into the charge line, dropped his aura into his heels, and became a wall.

Crunch.

The beast slammed into him. Cael slid back three feet, his boots carving grooves into the stone, but he didn’t fall. He caught the creature’s jaws in his hands, gauntlets straining, and held.

"Armand!" he grunted. "Open!"

I moved.

I didn’t run. Running shakes the hands. I stepped. Anchor Step. Heel, ball, toe.

The leash in my chest burned hot. I pulled.

"Marrow—out. Hollow—eyes."

The bone hound erupted from Shade, hitting the Chimera’s flank. Marrow didn’t bite; teeth would shatter on the glass plating. He drove his skull into the creature’s rear knee, a calculated break.

The Chimera buckled.

Hollow dove from the rafters, a white streak, pecking at the glass eyes.

The beast thrashed, throwing Cael aside. It spun, tail whipping like a chain, aiming for the crowd Lyra was herding.

I stepped into the gap.

I had my sabre in my right hand. In my left, I palmed a heavy bone pin I’d kept in my pocket since the ravine.

The Chimera lunged at me. It was fast, heavy, and designed to kill mages. It ignored the ward pressure in the room.

I didn’t use magic on it. I used geometry.

I slipped the bite—outside turn, coat grazing teeth—and stepped inside its guard.

"Set," I whispered.

I pulsed the Anchor Step. The cold current flooded my legs, locking me to the floor. I became immovable for exactly one second.

I drove the sabre into the soft leather seam at the creature’s shoulder. Not to kill. To leverage.

I used the blade to pry the joint open.

Then I jammed the bone pin into the gap, directly into the primary motor tendon.

"Break," I said.

I twisted.

The bone pin snapped the tendon.

The Chimera’s front leg collapsed. It pitched forward, momentum driving its chin into the stone floor with a sickening crack.

It tried to rise. It couldn’t. The leverage was gone.

"Marrow—neck," I said.

The hound clamped its jaws over the creature’s throat—not to choke it, but to pin it to the ground. Cael was there a second later, knee dropping onto the beast’s spine.

"Done," Cael breathed.

The room went silent. The only sound was the wheezing of the broken construct and the heavy thud of the locks still holding the doors shut.

I stood up. My cuffs were straight. My breathing was four in, two hold, three out.

Halvern was still on the stage, staring at the ruin of his plan. His bodyguards looked at the downed monster, then at Cael and me, and dropped their hands. They were hired muscle, not martyrs.

"Open the doors," Liora said calmly from the dais.

I walked to the wall ward. I pulled the bone shims free.

The shunt broke. The power cycled back to normal. The deadbolts retracted with a heavy clunk.

The main doors swung open.

Pierce was waiting on the other side. Behind him stood a squad of City Watch, crossbows leveled, led by the Captain we had worked with in the culvert.

"Timed perfectly," Pierce said, stepping over the threshold.

He walked up to the stage. He didn’t shout. He didn’t make a speech. He simply nodded to the Watch Captain.

Two guards stepped forward and shackled Halvern. The man didn’t fight. He sagged, the air going out of him.

"This is a mistake," Halvern whispered. "The Foundation..."

"The Foundation," Liora interrupted, reading from the ledger page projected on the wall, "authorized an unsafe discharge in a public hall. And attempted to utilize a Class-4 Prohibited Construct."

She closed the lockbox with a snap. "We have the receipts."

I turned away from the stage. I looked for the one person who hadn’t been shackled yet.

Seraphine stood by the VIP table. She hadn’t moved during the fight. She stood like a statue of ice, her face composed, her hands folded.

She saw me coming. She raised her chin.

"You survived," she said. "Impressive."

"We prepared," I said.

"Halvern was a fool," she said, her voice low, cutting her losses instantly. "He acted alone. The Duskveil family had no knowledge of his... eccentricities. We are victims here, Armand."

She smiled, a small, sad thing designed to garner sympathy. "I suppose I should thank you for saving me."

"Don’t," I said.

I reached into my coat pocket. I pulled out a small, sealed evidence bag.

Inside was the glass vial of resin we had found on the roof during the night sweep. The one with the draw-knife cork.

I held it up. The lantern light caught the smudge on the glass.

"We pulled a print from the resin," I said. "Mira traced it. It matches the hand that signed your RSVP card for tonight."

Seraphine’s smile didn’t fade. It shattered.

"That’s impossible," she whispered.

"It’s thorough," I said. "Plain language. No guesses."

I handed the bag to the Watch Captain, who had walked up beside me.

"Evidence tag 4-B," I told the Captain. "Possession of restricted sabotage materials. Attempted destruction of academy property."

The Captain looked at Seraphine. He didn’t see a noble lady. He saw a suspect.

"My lady," he said, gesturing to the door.

Seraphine looked at the bag. She looked at Halvern, who was being dragged out. Then she looked at me.

For the first time since I had woken up in this world, the amethyst eyes weren’t calculating. They were shocked.

"You’re destroying the board," she hissed. "You need me. We were supposed to rule this."

"I don’t want to rule," I said. "I want to fix the gate."

She stared at me for a long beat. Then, the mask slammed back into place. She smoothed her silk skirt. She lifted her head.

"This isn’t over, Armand," she said. "You’ve made enemies you can’t arrest."

"I know," I said.

She walked out, flanked by guards. She walked with dignity, but it was the dignity of a prisoner.

The room began to breathe again.

Lyra was organizing the donors, checking for injuries. She saw me across the room. She paused. She touched the bandage on her cheek, then gave me a small, tired smile.

Gareth and Pelham were righting the tables. Pelham looked pale but proud.

Cael stood over the carcass of the Chimera, wiping his hands on a rag. He met my eyes. He didn’t nod. He just exhaled.

I looked down at my hands. No shake.

Liora stepped down from the stage and stopped beside me. She looked at the door where Seraphine had vanished.

"That was the hard part," she said.

"No," I said. "That was the loud part."

I unpinned the Brass Token from my collar and put it in my pocket.

"Now we have to clean up," I said. "That’s the hard part."

"Boring," she said.

"Perfect," I answered.