The woods around the Thorne home were alive with movement. Figures shifted in the dark, hidden in the shadows, only revealed by the occasional beam of moonlight catching the flash of scales or the gleam of weapons.
A myriad of monsters had gathered, all intending to follow Kronos' bidding.
A dracaena warrior coiled and uncoiled her serpentine tail, her spear tapping against the ground in agitation, not wanting to waste time waiting and instead wanting to get this mission over with.
Nearby, a cyclops was crouching low, using his giant stature to pick up a centaur and treat him like a toy, mimicking a pony. A crowd had gathered watching as the centaur was toyed with, daggers digging into the cyclops' hand that gripped him, but the skin was too thick; he couldn't be released, and the onlookers didn't want to help, enjoying the moment and ridiculing the centaur.
Scenes like this were occurring all around the forest, while they served Kronos, none of them considered the other allies. This led to conflicts between different groups, and none believed it was wrong, for they believed in the philosophy of the strong devouring the weak.
Seeing the chaos spreading through the gathered monsters, Medea wasn't pleased.
"Vulgar Idiots," she murmured, watching the lack of order. It gave her a headache having to deal with these lowly beings.
Soon, Medea's appearance caught the attention of the surrounding monsters, causing them to pause and respectfully gather around her. They recognised her as the one who called for them, the one who was acting under Kronos.
A dracaena snapped her fangs, coming before Medea. "We have gathered as you ordered, yet you stop us from killing that mortal...have you betrayed lord Kronos?"
This dracaene had been the first of the monsters to reach the Thorne residence, yet before she could complete the task of killing the mortal herself and claim the glory, Medea had released a new order, not to attack the home. This latest order caused the dracaene to lose out on a sure kill, losing the glory and reward she believed Kronos would give her. This led her to hold Medea accountable, assuming she sought the credit instead, and so she sought to weaken Medea's standing with the surrounding monsters.
Medea's lips curved faintly, though no humor touched her eyes. She didn't bother to answer the accusation. Instead, she raised her hand, pointing at the dracaena, magic gathered at her fingertip as a black pulse was fired at the monster, hitting her. Within seconds, black veins spread from where the pulse hit, crawling across her whole body as the dracaena writhed in agony. Her pain-filled screams echoed over the horde, making even hardened monsters shiver, taking a step back from Medea, gazes filled with awe and fear.
When the screams stopped, the dracaena had turned into a lump of black meat, purple liquid oozing from the meat.
Medea lifted her chin, facing the gathered monsters.
A murmur of unease rippled through the monsters. Some drew back instinctively, others turned their heads, avoiding looking at Medea. Even the cyclops lowered his gaze.
Seeing as she had their attention, Medea gave a soft smile, one that would be considered seductive if not for what they had just witnessed.
"Is there anyone else who wishes to question me?" Medea spoke out, watching the shaking heads. "The reason for not attacking right away is that Hecate protects this home...There is one thing you learn as a witch, and that is never forcefully enter a witch's den."
Having explained why she hadn't ordered them to attack, Medea continued, telling them her plan.
"Since we cannot attack directly, we shall bring the mortal out of the house and kill him then."
A pale ghoul tilted her head, eyes gleaming scarlet. "And how do you propose we do that?"
"Through guile," Medea replied, eyes shining.
...
Inside the house, Steven Thorne sat at a wooden dining table, steam rising from a chipped porcelain cup in his hand as he enjoyed his tea. The lamplight beside him was the only source of light in the room, lighting up the picture frame Steven had laid before him: A picture of him and his son, Lucas, before he left home.
Steven put his tea down and picked up the picture frame, running a finger along the image before setting the frame onto the table, shattering the protective glass. He reached in, shaking off the glass shards and pulled the picture out of the frame, taking one last look before sighing, folding the image and placing it in his breast pocket, giving a final pat on the pocket as if to reassure himself the picture was secure.
He reached for his tea again when a knock at the door interrupted him. Steven bowed his head, his hair shielding his eyes from sight, before he lifted his head again, his usual smile adorning his face.
Steven stood, smoothing the sleeve of his shirt, and walked to the door. He opened it to find two men in uniform: police officers.
"Mr. Thorne?" one asked, voice neutral.
"Yes?" Steven's tone was calm, almost amused.
"We need you to come with us," the second said, producing identification. "Routine questioning."
Steven took the offered badge, glanced at it, and returned it.
"Questioning?" Steven asked mildly. "About what? And why would I need to come with you two gentlemen?"
"A formality," the first officer said smoothly. Cutting off his partner, whose eye was twitching in annoyance. "Please follow us to the station, and we can explain everything there."
Steven inclined his head. "Very well. Allow me a moment." He turned back toward the coat stand, slipping one arm into his jacket.
Behind him, the Mist faltered. For the briefest instant, the second officer's face shimmered, revealing serpentine eyes gleaming yellow-green, a forked tongue flicking between sharpened teeth.
Returning to face the officers, Steven smiled faintly, slipping fully into his coat. "Lead the way."
The two "officers" flanked him, their footfalls measured. Steven walked calmly, hands in his pockets, eyes glancing idly at the stars above as they left his home.
Behind him, the two officers exchanged a look.
The second officer's hand slid to the baton at his hip, gripping it like one would grip a sword, and drove the baton forward, towards Steven's back, right where his heart would be.