7. Max
7
MAX
T his wasn't Max's first interrogation of prisoners. He'd done enough of these to know what to expect. He'd been present when Igor and his lieutenants had been captured, and at the time, he'd thought that they were as evil as they came.
He'd been wrong.
The Kra-ell leader and his minions had been bad, murdering the males of several Kra-ell pods and enslaving the females, and they had also severely oppressed everyone living in the Karelian compound, including a community of humans. But even they hadn't stooped so low as to horrifically abuse children as these Doomers and their so-called human clients had.
Guarding the scum and interrogating them felt like wading waist-deep in the murkiest swamp imaginable. A part of him longed for simpler times, a world where justice was swift, and evil was less insidious. He couldn't wait to leave the dungeon and be rid of the rot that clogged his airways.
On Kian's other side, Toven regarded the impudent Doomer with an impassive expression. "Don," he said, enunciating the name, "I believe that's what you call yourself, correct?"
The Doomer, whose posture was still defiant, opened his mouth then quickly snapped it shut, the flicker of fear in his eyes betraying his confusion. Finally, he gave a curt nod, looking like he was about to throw up.
Max stifled a chuckle. The poor fool had no idea what he was up against. Toven's compulsion made it impossible to resist answering direct questions, especially ones that required a simple yes or no. They didn't allow for evasions or clever comebacks, only compliance.
"What is your real name, Don?" Toven asked in the same calm and measured tone.
The prisoner's eyes widened, pupils constricting as he realized that there was no fighting the god. He was forced to give up the truth, and the tension in his jaw spoke volumes. "Do…Dondish," he spat out as though the name itself were a betrayal.
"That's more like it," Toven said, his expression still cool, with just a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "What's your cellmate's real name?"
"Noxmore," Dondish said, darting an uneasy glance at the other prisoner.
The Doomer who called himself Nox shifted but remained silent.
After all, Toven had addressed the question to Dondish, so Nox couldn't have answered even if he'd wanted to. He was just as susceptible to compulsion as the other dirtbag.
Toven nodded. "Very well, Dondish. I have several questions for you, and you will answer them truthfully and completely."
"Who are you?" Dondish asked, a slight tremor betraying the anger bubbling beneath his forced compliance. His voice sounded raspy like he was choking on his own bitterness.
"Who do you think I am?" Toven countered with a question instead of answering.
The Doomer's lip curled. "An immortal," he said, almost spitting the word. "Like the others. One of the betrayer's descendants."
That was new. Had Navuh spun a new tale about Annani where she was cast as the betrayer? Who had she betrayed? Mortdh? Or had Navuh told his followers that Annani had been responsible for obliterating the gods' assembly?
Max wouldn't be surprised if that was precisely the story Navuh was spinning. He and his followers were experts in inverting the truth, turning victims into oppressors and perpetrators into victims.
It was infuriating, and Max had no doubt that each of the males sitting on his side of the bars was seething with anger.
But Toven kept his outward calm demeanor. "My name is Tom," he said, ignoring the Doomer's sneer. "And you don't need to know who I descend from. What I do need is for you to tell me about the Brotherhood's pedophilia network—how it works, who is involved, and what purpose it serves. Let's start with my first question. Tell me about the network."
Dondish's face contorted with the effort to resist, his features tightening as if he were physically straining against a heavy weight or battling constipation. For an instant Max thought the man might pass out, shit his pants, or start frothing at the mouth. But Toven's compulsion was potent, and the words started pouring out of Dondish like a poison-laced confession.
As the Doomer described the network of corruption the Brotherhood had been building, he sounded furious and terrified at the same time, though Max wasn't sure what he feared more, Toven and Kian or his own leader's wrath.
Listening to every vile detail was like having nails scraped across Max's soul.
He tried to keep his face neutral, but his stomach churned at the things these monsters had done. The way they used vulnerable children, the perverse clients they catered to, the hush money that changed hands—every revelation was an additional layer of filth.
"Interesting," Toven said, his voice as measured and as detached as a physician's diagnosing an injury. He directed his gaze to the other Doomer. "Who benefits most from the intelligence you gather, Nox?"
Noxmore straightened, his cheeks twitching as he tried to fight the compulsion forcing him to speak. "Our leader ensures the information reaches those who can best use it to guide policy," he said, the words sounding by rote as if recited from memory.
"And what are those policies designed to achieve?" Toven asked, leaning forward, his gaze boring into the Doomer like a drill.
Whatever inner struggle Noxmore was waging must have come to a halt because the floodgates opened. With surprising clarity, he described how they used blackmail to influence legislation, promote destructive social policies, redirect resources away from the military and law enforcement, and funnel funding into organizations that sowed further destabilization. He detailed, in almost proud terms, the carefully orchestrated attack on society at its moral and institutional core.
"Destabilization through moral decay," he added, as though reciting a mantra. Perhaps the compulsion was forcing him to volunteer more than was asked, or maybe he took twisted pride in the Brotherhood's clever program. "Create chaos, erode trust in institutions, turn people against each other. When the economic empires fall, wars will erupt all over the globe, accelerating the decline of the world's population. Then, when everything lies in ruin, Earth will be ripe for enslavement by the Brotherhood. We will conquer without having to wage war. All of those who are in power today will grovel at our feet and beg us to step in and save them from their own stupidity."
A tense hush fell, and Max could feel the coiled energy in the room ready to spring. He slanted a glance at Kian, whose fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles had turned white. Kian's jaw muscle twitched, and even though Max couldn't see his eyes from where he sat, he was sure that Kian's eyes were blazing with the same anger that was boiling Max's blood.
They had all assumed that Navuh was busy building a smarter army of Doomers with his new breeding program to achieve that objective, but it turned out they had underestimated him. Policy manipulation and infiltration to strike at the heart of established governments and communities had always been part of his modus operandi, but before, his methods had been less vile and more obvious.
The Doomers' island was one big trap for men of influence, where pictures and videos of them in compromising situations were taken and later used for blackmail. It hadn't been the only tactic he used, though. His army of mercenary immortals had been great at starting regional wars and ensuring victory for Navuh's protégés.
Evidently, though, Navuh had discovered a much simpler, more insidious path to achieving his goals—one that didn't require an army to storm battlefields or mount large-scale attacks, nor did it require luring influential men to the island. He'd found a way to rot and collapse those who thought of themselves as advanced societies from within.
"How long has this operation been going?" Toven asked.
"About six years," Dondish said flatly. His throat bobbed in a hard swallow as if speaking the words tasted bitter. "It started slow, and at first, our leader was not enthusiastic about this operation, but once he realized how effective it was, he gave it his full support."
"Who is in charge of the operation?" Toven pressed.
"Hocken," Noxmore said, the name coming out in a breathy rasp. "It was his idea, and our illustrious leader let him run with it."
Hocken was one of Navuh's adopted sons, and his portrait hung in the gallery in the office building along with those of his brothers, for no other purpose than for every clan member to get acquainted with the faces of their enemies.
The fact that these two knew so much about the operation's history and its originator was surprising. Usually, the Brotherhood compartmentalized its secrets, like various heads of the same Hydra, ensuring that no single underling knew too much. Navuh believed in ruling through division and in never allowing any of his real or adopted sons to gain too much power. By constantly moving them around and reshuffling their duties, he prevented them from building a following or consolidating influence. It was a smart approach, but it had its drawbacks. In the Brotherhood, the left hand often had no idea what the right hand was doing.
Kian leaned toward Toven, his entire body radiating with barely suppressed rage. "I need a list of all the politicians and influencers they're extorting. I also need the names, locations, and contact information of other cells. We'll start with the ones located in the United States, and after we clean house here, we'll move on to Europe."
"That's somewhat ambitious, Kian," Toven said quietly.
"We'll make it a priority." Kian crossed his arms over his chest. "I hate to admit it, but Navuh is a fucking genius. We have to stop him before it's too late, and saving the kids he's ruining for his agenda is just the cherry on top. If we do nothing and let this continue, Navuh will win, and we will find ourselves in another Dark Age, perhaps for good this time."
The admission hung in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were the thrum of ventilation, the faint hum of overhead lights, and the muffled breathing of everyone present.
They'd come here expecting to chip away at Navuh's forces, to corner some of his lesser agents and discover a few tidbits of intelligence. Instead, they'd unearthed a grand-scale operation, a malignant web of influence that entwined itself into the highest echelons of power. And worst of all, it involved harming children in unimaginably vile ways.
Rage and disgust mingled in Max's gut, and his only solace was the knowledge that Kian was about to unleash the full power of the clan on this twisted web of evil.