The air in the Hall of Justice crackled with tension, thick enough to slice with a blade. Cyrus stood rigid, his senses on high alert as he surveyed the assembled crowd. His gaze flicked between the faces of those present, noting the mixture of fear, awe, and barely concealed curiosity etched upon their features. At the center of it all, commanding attention like a lodestone, sat Queen Leona upon her ornate throne.
Despite her weakened state—a fact known only to a select few—the queen exuded an aura of fierce determination. Her golden eyes, sharp as a hawk's, swept across the hall, daring anyone to challenge her authority. Cyrus felt a shiver run down his spine. He was certain that no one in the hall, save perhaps the queen herself, could handle the two formidable figures that stood before them.
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring, until Queen Leona's voice cut through it like a whip crack. "The team formulated by the prophet stays until I decide otherwise." Her tone brooked no argument, each word weighted with regal authority.
With an imperious wave of her hand, she summoned forth a group of four individuals. As if pulled by invisible strings, they entered the hall, their steps hesitant yet purposeful. Cyrus found himself instinctively stepping aside, creating a clear path between the newcomers and the queen.
The four figures moved forward, their heads bowed low as if pressed down by an unseen force. They sank to their knees before the queen, a tableau of supplication that sent a chill through Cyrus's very core. His eyes widened as realization struck him like a thunderbolt.
That gaze—he recognized it with a jolt of visceral memory. It was the same look he had worn before his own transformation, a mixture of trepidation, uncertainty, and a spark of something else... hope, perhaps? Or was it resignation? His heart plummeted as the stark truth hit him: these were humans, unwitting sacrifices on the altar of power.
Unable to contain his mounting horror, Cyrus surged forward. His mind raced, grasping for words, for any way to intervene. But before he could take more than a step, his path was suddenly barred. In less than a heartbeat, two Bites materialized before him, their presence an impenetrable barrier. They stood rooted to the spot, immovable as ancient monoliths, their eyes cold and unblinking.
Cyrus's gaze darted around them, seeking any opening, any chance to reach the kneeling humans. But it was futile. He could only watch, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, as the scene unfolded before him.
Queen Leona rose from her throne with fluid grace that belied her weakened state. She glided towards the kneeling figures, each step measured and deliberate. The hall held its collective breath, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of the queen's robes against the polished floor.
With a grace that seemed at odds with the brutality of her intent, the queen bent towards the first figure. Her fangs, gleaming like polished daggers in the hall's ethereal light, sank into the trembling neck. A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers, quickly stifled as the queen moved to the next victim.
One by one, she bit into each of the four humans. Their bodies jerked with each bite, as if struck by lightning. As the queen's fangs withdrew from the last neck, the humans crumpled further, their foreheads nearly touching the ground. They looked like marionettes whose strings had been suddenly cut, all strength fleeing their limbs.
Her grim duty done, Queen Leona straightened. Her hand danced with macabre elegance as she produced a silken handkerchief, dabbing at the crimson staining her lips. The contrast between her regal poise and the brutality of her actions sent a shudder through Cyrus.
As the queen glided back to her throne, resuming her seat with the same fluid grace, the air in the hall suddenly filled with agonized screams. The transformation had begun.
The cries of the humans-turned-victims pierced through Cyrus like physical blows. He flinched with each wail, feeling their fear and anguish seeping into his very bones. Their bodies began to contort, twisting in ways that defied natural law as the change took hold.
Golden energy, reminiscent of the lion canine, leaked from their writhing forms. It pulsed and swirled around them, a beautiful yet terrifying sight. The screams intensified, reaching a fever pitch that had several onlookers clapping hands over their ears.
Cyrus found he could not look away, even as he wished desperately to seal his ears against the tormented sounds. His eyes, keen as an eagle's, caught a fleeting grimace on the queen's face. It was there and gone in an instant, but he had seen it—a flash of pain, quickly masked by her usual impassive expression.
The transformation seemed to stretch on for an eternity, though in reality, it lasted mere minutes. One by one, the screams began to die down. Three of the figures slowly rose to their feet, their postures straight and strong, exuding an aura of power that hadn't been there before. But the fourth...
Cyrus's heart clenched as he watched the last figure continue to writhe on the ground. With a final, heart-wrenching roar of farewell, the human's eyes dimmed, their body consumed entirely by the golden energy. The price of a failed transformation, paid in full.
The three successful transformees stood tall, their eyes now gleaming with an inner light. They bowed deeply to the queen, acknowledging their new existence, their new purpose. From this moment on, their lives had irrevocably changed. They had transcended their human limitations, becoming Bites—beings of immense power and potential.
As the spectacle concluded, Cyrus found his mind whirling with implications. The cost of this display was clearly not light on the queen—he had seen the momentary lapse in her composure. Yet he understood the necessity of her actions. This was more than simply ensuring protection for Leora on their impending journey. It was a display of power, a stark reminder to the elders and anyone else who might question her authority.
By performing such a taxing feat in public, despite the risk of revealing her weakened state, Queen Leona had sent a clear message: her will remained absolute, her strength unassailable. In their world, perceived weakness could be as dangerous as any physical threat.
As the hall began to empty, the excited murmurs of the crowd filling the air, Cyrus remained rooted to the spot. His gaze lingered on the queen, noting the almost imperceptible sag of her shoulders as she dismissed her court. In that moment, he saw not just the ruthless leader, but also the weight of the crown she bore.
The scene he had witnessed would be seared into his memory forever, a stark reminder of the complex, often brutal world he inhabited. As he finally turned to leave, Cyrus couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. Whatever lay ahead in their quest for the primordial canine, he knew that the events of this day had set in motion a chain of events that would shape the future of their world.
With a heavy heart and a mind full of turbulent thoughts, Cyrus stepped out of the Hall of Justice. The memory of those agonized screams echoed in his ears, a grim soundtrack to the uncertainty that lay ahead.