Chapter 518: Legal Conclusion
Eastiel looked at her, his golden eyes still burning but no longer blazing. The fury that had driven him to tear a man apart with his bare claws was receding, ebbing away like a tide pulling back from the shore.
His massive chest, which had been heaving with the effort of his rampage, began to slow considerably. The growl that had rumbled continuously in his throat faded, humming now.
He was still in his lion form, but he looked more in control now.
"In the real world too... you will never take him back, promise?"
"Promise," Cecilia answered.
The rain began to fall.
It came without warning, starting with a gentle patter against the blood-soaked earth and grew steadily into a cleansing shower.
The drops caught the moonlight as they fell, silver streaks against the darkness, and where they landed, they began to wash away the blood.
The crimson pools that had collected in the churned mud diluted and spread, fading from deep red to pale pink to clear water. The rain drummed against the medic tents with a sound like distant applause.
Damon stood at the edge of the carnage, the rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead, and surveyed what Cecilia and her three husbands had left behind.
The people had hastily worked to isolate Ruby Vaiva’s decapitated body and Arzhen Vasiliev’s mess under a rainproofed tent.
Yellow crime scene tape was strung around the perimeter in neat squares, fluttering in the rain-soaked breeze.
The authorities moved with practiced efficiency, their flashlights cutting through the downpour, their faces illuminated in brief, stark flashes as they photographed and bagged and catalogued the remains of two people who had once been among the most powerful figures in the city.
The rain drummed against the tent roof with a sound like muffled drums, and the whole scene had the surreal, underwater quality of a nightmare being slowly processed into a file that would be stamped and sealed and buried in an archive somewhere deep beneath the state police headquarters.
Lay crumpled in the mud a dozen yards from her head, Ruby’s body still wore her white priestess robes. The expression on her severed face had softened in death, the terror fading into something almost peaceful.
Arzhen Vasiliev’s remains were considerably more difficult to catalog. They had been scattered across a significant radius, and the rain was making the task no easier.
Damon’s newly promoted assistant, Cha SoHee, approached carefully. "The witnesses have been gathered and are being briefed about the official story, sir."
"Good." Damon didn’t look away from the remains. "You already told them they are allowed to form their own arguments and raise their points, right?"
"Yes. But..." SoHee hesitated, her brow furrowing. "They might also tell the mainstream news or the internet about this incident’s... complications."
Damon chuckled. "That’s fine. We can afford one more conspiracy theory."
***
The death of Arzhen Vasiliev sent shockwaves through the legal proceedings that had consumed the city’s attention for weeks.
Under the Central Commercial Code, the death of a party to ongoing litigation does not automatically terminate the case. Instead, the court must substitute the deceased party’s estate, or the appropriate legal representative, to continue or conclude the matter.
Judge Venn, whose patience for procedural chaos was famously thin, issued a scheduling order within forty-eight hours of the news breaking.
The question before the court was no longer whether Arzhen Vasiliev had acted in bad faith by withholding the Barrier technology. The question was now who, if anyone, held the legal right to continue his defense, or to surrender it.
The answer arrived sooner than anyone expected. Anton Vasiliev, already in the midst of his own civil suit against his son for attempted murder, filed an emergency motion to be recognized as the executor of Arzhen’s estate and the controlling party in all pending litigation.
His argument was legally straightforward. As his father and the victim of Arzhen’s crimes rather than an accomplice to them, he was the most appropriate party to represent the estate’s interests.
The fact that he had also been the one to publicly expose his son’s misdeeds only strengthened his position. The court granted the motion within the week.
From there, the resolution came swiftly. Anton appeared before Judge Venn, waiting for the chance to make things right. He did not contest the Association’s motion for receivership, nor did he challenge the preliminary injunction.
Instead, he stood before the court and formally surrendered the Barrier patent into the public trust, waiving any claim to exclusive production rights and authorizing immediate licensing to the court-appointed manufacturer.
The Shield would be produced, the hunters would be protected. The backlog of containment operations would finally begin to clear.
Judge Venn accepted the surrender with her characteristic brevity. "The court commends Mr. Vasiliev for his cooperation," she said. "This matter is closed."
The larger battle, the restructuring of the Vasiliev corporate empire, took longer, but the outcome was never truly in doubt.
Anton Vasiliev, once thought dead and buried, was now the undisputed patriarch of the family’s remaining holdings. The subsidiaries that had been under Arzhen’s direct control reverted to the parent company, and the parent company answered to Anton.
He cleaned the house quietly, but also extremely efficiently.
Executives who had enabled Arzhen’s worst excesses were dismissed. Contracts that had been signed under duress or through corruption were renegotiated or voided.
The family business began the slow, painful process of becoming something closer to what it had been under himself.
And through it all, Thalia and Gregor stood at the old tiger’s side.
***
Meanwhile, Cecilia knelt inside the birth pool, the warm water lapping against her bare skin as she breathed in slow, measured rhythms.
The birthing suite had been transformed into a cocoon of soft lamplight and hushed voices, the sterile white walls softened by the golden glow of salt lamps and the gentle steam rising from the pool.
Somewhere in the corner, a diffuser was releasing the faint scent of lavender and chamomile into the air. It was, by all accounts, a peaceful environment.
But Cecilia was not feeling peaceful.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhh..." She moaned gutturally, her hands gripping the edge of the pool so hard her knuckles had gone white.
"Breathe, breathe, breathe—" Arkai knelt beside the pool, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, one hand on her shoulder and the other counting out the rhythm of her contractions on his fingers. His wolf ears were pinned flat with anxiety, but his voice was steady.
"In through the nose, out through the mouth. You’re doing great. You’re doing so great."
Eastiel lay passed out on the floor not far away. The blanket someone had thrown over him was twisted around his legs, and his manbun had come completely undone.
The cause of his collapse had been the birth canal.
He had glanced toward the pool at exactly the wrong moment, and every drop of blood in his body had drained straight out of his head.
He had swayed once, his lion ears going pale, and then toppled sideways onto the tile with a soft thud. No one had moved to help him.
Oathran hovered at the edge of the pool, a small plate of sliced dates in his hands. He had been cutting them into precise, bite-sized pieces for the past hour, and he offered one now hopefully, wanted to help and had been relegated to the role of snack bearer. "Chew this for energy, come on—"
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh-ah-ahhhhhh—" Cecilia’s moan rose in pitch, and she batted weakly at the date. "I don’t want dates! I want this baby out of me!"
Dr. Lazuardi knelt behind her, his gentle hands working in slow circles against her lower back. "Do you want to lie down? Lie down if you’re tired—"
"No mother I know gives birth lying down!" Cecilia spat, her head whipping around to glare at him. "They’re all standing up while giving birth! What kind of doctor are you?!"
"Maybe it’s true a thousand years ago, but now it’s popular to lie on your back to give doctors better intervention access..." Lazuardi said, his hands never pausing in their steady massage. "Alright, standing up does help you with gravity. But it’s best to water birth in this position!"
"I’m foolishly persuaded—" Cecilia’s voice cracked into a wail as another contraction rippled through her. "—this giving birth position hurts my dignityaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh—"