The scene outside was a descent into the abyss.The camp was no longer a place of industry; it was a slaughterhouse.
Under the influence of the Prince's pheromones, the Omegas and Betas had been stripped of their docility, and the Alphas of their restraint. They were a tide of raw, unfettered rage.
Guards were being dragged from their towers and torn apart by hand. The air was filled with the metallic scent of blood and the roar of a thousand voices that had finally found their scream.
The 'vassals' were now beasts, and they were feeding.
Alistair's face went stone-cold. He felt the vibration of the violence in his own blood, but his mind remained that of a King who understood the difference between a revolution and a massacre. He looked at the carnage, then turned his stern, piercing gaze toward the Prince.
"Asarmose," Alistair's voice cut through the screaming like a blade. "Stop this."
