In his excitement, Peter hadn't heard the noise behind him as Robert Mills lowered himself into the
chamber. But the student heard him now, as a low, angry growl escaped from the professor's lips.
"Glaston! Glaston, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Peter tried to answer him, but no words would come. His right hand and arm were still tingling, as if
the ax head he held were sending out jolts of low-voltage current. His thoughts refused to focus.
There was a buzzing in his ears, low and rhythmic and throbbing. It almost sounded like voices
chanting.
Slowly, Peter rose from his knees to stand fully erect, swiveling to face the accusing gaze of his
teacher.
"Heaven knows, I've tried to make excuses for you, but this is unforgivable!" Mills hissed through
clenched teeth. "Who knows what damage you've done here? Come on—out! Now!"
Peter stood paralyzed, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. His mouth had gone dry and his
tongue felt thick and swollen, preventing any attempt at speech. Images flashed deep in his mind,
disturbing pictures that were gone before he could pin them down. The noise in his ears grew louder.
Yes, it was definitely chanting. But the words sounded completely alien, in no language that he had
ever heard.
"Are you deaf?" Mills barked. "I want you out of here before the room's completely contaminated!"
He reached to grasp Peter's arm, trying to tug him away from the altar, and found himself surprised by
the student's strength as he resisted. "Stop acting like a spoiled brat, or—"
The professor broke off as Glaston's right hand, the one clutching the ax, rose above his head. In the
light of his flash, Mills could see that the boy's face was blank and expressionless, but his eyes
glinted in a way Mills had never seen before.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Mills felt suddenly afraid. Something was wrong here. Glaston hadn't
spoken since Mills surprised him, and that look in his eyes was inhuman—even murderous!
He looked up at the ax head held high in Glaston's hand. As if refusing to accept the atrocity that he
knew with awful certainty was about to be committed, he took note of the artifact. The dark,
beautifully shaped stone. The curious left-hand spiral, like none he'd ever seen before. The
impossibly sharp blade, honed to a razor edge, that was coming down fast toward his head....