Several loud knocks on a table overhead, woke Jason out of his induced slumber. Groggily, he opened his eyes, flinching as the light stung his eyes. The whispers of dozens of people echoed around the chamber. Jason raised his head and found the judgmental eyes of an old lady dressed in a black Victorian dress, choking her neck. She had enough expensive jewels adorning her spindly fingers to solve a starving country's hunger crises. By the looks of it, she was the main bitch in charge as she sat on her high throne. Hundreds of people with the same sour expressions splashed on their faces surrounded him. These men and women sat in tiered seats which coiled around the circular chamber. Two iron-wrought doors stood to his left and right, laced with magical runes, most likely to keep their victims trapped in the room until the vultures picked their carcasses clean.

Out of the sea of judgmental eyes stabbing him to death, four sets of familiar eyes caught Jason's attention. Ishmael, Astrid, Mallory, and Darren sat next to the 'queen'.

Jason wanted to move his arms, but found them bound in leather straps. Just great... tied into another fuck chair. They must have run out of cages. The wooden chair he sat in had no cushioning. His ass was already numb and his back burned as the wood bit into his back.

"Good... You're finally awake, demon," said the witch from her gothic throne. The wooden backrest she leaned up against was chiseled into the form of a gargoyle, with its wings spread out.

"Gargoyles are the vermin of the underworld, only to screech at your heels. Only humans would be so stupid to revere such creatures," Cyron said, scoffing at the throne.

The old crone's wrinkles creased even further into a scowl. "Are you even paying attention?"

Jason wasn't. He stared at the leather cuffs tying him to the chair. Jason got so fed up with everyone treating him like a plaything in their sick games of revenge or a prisoner because they saw him as a threat. He did nothing to deserve such treatment at their hands. Jason pulled on the leather restraints. The magical runes etched into the leather fought for control.

"Fuck them! I had enough of this bullshit!" Jason growled. The room shook, causing several of the monkeys in the pew to shriek.

"Then let us show them our power," said Cyron with a smirk.

As much as Jason hated the idea that he had demonic powers, he had to use them. If he continued to allow people to walk over him, he wouldn't have a bit of peace in his life. It wasn't as if he was trying to harm anyone, but he had to show these fools he wasn't a pushover they could kick in the dirt. Jason was determined to protect himself and his friends no matter what. Anyone foolish enough to fuck with him had better order themselves a tombstone to place on the graves he was about to shove them in.

The darkness inside of Jason boiled to the surface. He tapped into Cyron's conscious. A surge of information flooded his mind. Jason's voice deepened to a gravel as Cyron came to the front. They spoke with one voice,

Jason's eyes turned black. The white marbled floor under his chair became as dark as the void. A column of black fire engulfed the chair he sat in. Jason stood up from the disintegrating chair as the bindings burned to ash. For a split second, he thought his spell had backfired; the flames engulfed him too, but instead of screaming out in agony when the fire touched his skin, it never came. The fire, however, tickled his skin. Those around him ducked for cover, trying to escape the inferno. The eight guards surrounding him cast shields to protect themselves, but their wards evaporated to dust.

The old crone, bleached in the face, called out to the guards, "Stop him!"

The guards recovered from their shock as the flames that engulfed Jason withered away. Plumes of ash rained down upon them. Most of the crowd had evacuated the chamber, leaving only a handful of people, including his friends, who stared at him with gaped mouths. Out of the corner of Jason's right eye, one guard lifted their hands in the air to launch an attack.

said Jason.

As the guard threw a lightning bolt at him, a ball of black sludge shot up from the darkened floor. The ball formed a shield in the path of his assailant's attack. The shield Jason cast absorbed the attack, then another when the second guard threw a fireball at him. Several minutes later, most of the guards had collapsed to the ground. Their attacks had no effect on Jason; instead, their attack seemed to amplify his own.

"Black Aegis is a shield that absorbs spells cast against it and then amplifies the wielder's power in turn. Foolish warlocks," Cyron chuckled.

With the threat dealt with, Cyron retreated to the back of Jason's mind. Jason glared up at the head of the Collective. "Are you done playing around, witch? Or do you want me to hurt more of your subordinates in the process?"

Her beady eyes scanned over the crumbled forms of her honor guards. "Be careful, demon. I can have this chamber flooded with more guards than you can count. Don't get cocky."

"Says the one who has been drowning in her arrogance... Tell me, witch. How many of your own kind have you chased from these halls?" Jason strutted around the chamber, keeping his black eyes on the old crone. His tail flicked back and forth. "We came here for help, but it seems we've been mistaken."

The head witch scoffed while readjusting the chain of office around her neck. "And why in the heavens would we help you?" Her judgmental eyes narrowed on him. "The former vampire, Lord Alaric Mourningveil poses no threat to us... So why should we get involved?"

This bitch must have been off her rockers if she thought Alaric was about to stop at killing the Blooded Council and the Alpha King. He wanted revenge, but he was also ambitious. Eventually his lust for revenge would turn to ruling over all the supernaturals and then the world.

"Once he's done with his revenge plot, what's stopping him from not getting rid of the Collective too?"

"He'd be foolish to even try. We're untouchable."

Jason wanted to laugh at her ridiculous statement, but Ishmael cut him off. "Let's not waste each other's time with what ifs. Alaric has access to demon blood. With it he'll—"

"Limited though, is it not?" The old crone smirked. "As long as we keep you in custody, his blood supply will run dry. Without it, Alaric and his so-called army will kill each other from within to sate their craving for your blood.

"Alaric was foolish to create a hellspawn, and it will be his undoing. He condemned his men to an agonizing death once your blood passes their lips. The power they gain will be temporary without a stable supply, one that came waltzing into our home. I suggest you comply without further theatrics and get back into the cage where you belong."

"Oh, this bitch needs to die!" Cyron growled.

"Guards!" the old crone yelled out, snapping her fingers.

Dozens of boots hitting the floors filled the chamber. The iron-wrought doors opened. Men and women in gleaming silver armor flooded the room, carrying spears with crystal attached to the end. One guard stepped forward and shot a bolt of energy with the spear. The black orb sped forward and intercepted the projectile. Several guards followed suit, aiming their spears at Jason.

"Do you all want to die here?" Jason said, growling at them. "Continue to piss me off and I'll rip your intestines and skip with them."

They met his threat by firing off several bolts of energy at once, forcing Jason to strengthen his defenses. With a swipe of his arm, a wall of black sludge flowed up from the floor, creating a wall around him. However, the wall hardened and cracked as the onslaught of dozens of energy bolts overwhelmed the shield.

"Well, we might have a problem..." Cyron said, watching the cracks spread across the surface of the shield.

Jason's arm throbbed as he strained under the assault. "What do we do?"

"Without killing them?"

"Yes! No killing!"

Cyron grumbled and said, "Not much... Make a decision here. Either kill these fools and find other allies who will aid you, or give up and live in a dirty dungeon for the rest of your life, because they intend on keeping us here."

A snarl escaped Jason. The thought of spending another night in a dungeon didn't sit well with him. Fuck these fools! Jason hissed, pointing his hand to the ground.

A wave of black goo slipped underneath the shield. Seconds later, screams and shouts filled the air, followed by several clanks drumming the floor. When Jason lowered his shield, he saw all the guards chained to the floor. They tried to fight the black chains, but every time they moved, the bindings tightened around their armor.

"How dare you!" shrieked the crone, slamming her withered fists on the podium in front of her. "I'll make sure you're collared and thrown in the deepest dungeon I can find. No one crosses the Collective."

"Then we'll leave," Ishmael interrupted us, walking down from the pew. "It was a mistake coming here. Sorry, Jason, for putting you through this."

"Don't be," Jason said, shaking his head. "You believed the Collective would help us. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just a shame this place is filled with a bunch of egotistical assholes."

The head of the Collective laughed and said, "You're not going anywhere. Any of you—"

Before the old hag could threaten them further. A massive rumble shook the chamber, accompanied by a blaring siren. They were under attack.

"Guess who..." Jason muttered.

"Alaric, I take it," Ishmael replied. "We have to get you out of here."