Chapter 163: The Bloodbath Part II

Chapter 163: The Bloodbath Part II
Kenneth's POV

The girls moved as one, shifting, chanting, hands clasped.
The sorcerer’s grin faltered.
His feet began to dissolve into mist.
Lucy extended her hand.
“Stay,” she commanded.
The mist snapped back into flesh.
“No escaping,” she said calmly. “You chose this.”
Bratton laughed again, hollow and shaking. “So this is the little girl who stole my daughter’s mate? It happens that she is the rumoured white lioness. And she is friends with that green spy lioness. It seems today I'll finally reap a great harvest!" Bratton laughed.
Lucy didn’t flinch.
“Join your family where they are,” he sneered.
Pontione answered instead. “You mean your basement?”
The color drained from Bratton’s face.
One look at Lucy told me the truth had landed.
Time seemed to fracture.
She stood utterly still.
Then she smiled.
And the air screamed.
Zeus swallowed. ‘Oh boy.’

Lucy’s POV

For a heartbeat, the world tilted.
It felt unreal—like I had slipped into a dream stitched together from memories and nightmares that refused to make sense. Pontione’s words echoed again and again in my head, crashing against everything I had ever believed.
Your basement.
No. That was impossible.
As far as I knew, my family had died more than twenty years ago. Slaughtered. Erased. Their bodies never recovered, their deaths explained away with lies that had been forced down our throats until grief dulled into acceptance. Why would Pontione say something like that now? Why mention a basement?
I stared at Donald—no, Bratton—and the way his face drained of color told me everything my heart was afraid to believe. His lips parted, then closed again, his eyes darting like a trapped animal searching for escape. He hadn’t expected anyone to know.
The realization should have shattered me.
Instead, a strange calm wrapped around my mind, thick and heavy, like water muffling sound. Rage tried to rise from deep within my chest, a violent, scorching thing—but each time it surged, it was smothered, pressed down by something else.
Control.
‘Is this you, Lira?’ I asked quietly within my mind.
She nodded once, firm and unapologetic.
‘What is Pontione talking about?’ My voice trembled despite the calm coating my emotions. ‘What basement?’
Her answer hit harder than any blow.
‘They are alive, Lucy,’ Lira said. ‘Caged. Starved. Treated like rabid animals.’
The world spun.
I staggered internally, my thoughts scattering like broken glass. Alive. My parents. My brother. Alive. The rage returned instantly, boiling up from my core, threatening to tear free—but again, it was cooled, contained, forced back.
I swallowed hard. ‘How long have you known?’
Lira didn’t flinch. ‘Long enough.’
The betrayal burned sharper than the anger. ‘And you didn’t tell me?’
She turned away within my mind, retreating just enough to keep me from lashing out. ‘This is not the time. If you lose control now, you won’t save them. You’ll doom them.’
Her words were harsh, but they rang with truth.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms as I forced myself to breathe. One crisis at a time. One enemy at a time.
My gaze shifted to Kenneth.
I didn’t need words. The guilt etched across his face spoke volumes. He knew. He had known—and kept it from me.
‘Even my mate,’ I hissed internally, venomous. ‘The one person who is not supposed to keep secrets from me.’
His eyes widened slightly as our gazes met, pain and remorse flickering across his features.
‘Leave Kenneth out of this,’ Lira snapped sharply. ‘I made them keep silent.’
I rounded on her. ‘Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you defend him when this was your plan?’
She didn’t deny it.
‘Enough,’ she said coldly. ‘You can tear us apart later. Right now, you have a family to save and a monster to crush.’
She was right—and I hated that she was.
‘I’ll deal with you later,’ I told Kenneth through the link, my voice eerily calm. ‘Right now, I have a rat to kill.’
The shock on his face told me he had expected screaming, rage, devastation. Not this controlled fury.
I turned toward Pontione next. For a fleeting second, guilt flickered in his eyes—but it vanished just as quickly, replaced by that infuriating, regal composure.
‘Prideful lion,’ I muttered. Still, I understood. He hadn’t done this lightly.
My attention snapped back to Bratton.