The Hypnotists' battle

THE DUEL OF WILLS

The grand ballroom of Clemente's Geneva mansion seemed to hold its breath as the crowd instinctively retreated, forming a wide circle around the two figures standing at its center. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across Georgia Koneva's schoolgirl uniform—an absurd contrast to the ancient power humming beneath her youthful facade. Her blue eyes, older than the Alps surrounding them, gleamed with predatory amusement as she twirled a blonde pigtail around one finger.

"Shall we begin?"

Her soft contralto was saccharine sweet, the kind that made men drop their guards before the knife slid between their ribs.

Vasudeva said nothing. The guru's stillness was absolute—the calm before the storm. The air around him thickened, charged with unseen energy that made the fine hairs on Talia's arms stand on end. She stood at Clemente's side, her fingers tightening around his forearm as she watched, her storm-grey eyes alight with something between arousal and awe.

Georgia struck first.

Her mind lashed out—a psychic blade honed to razor sharpness, aimed straight for Vasudeva's throat. The attack was invisible to the naked eye, but those sensitive to spiritual energy felt it—a ripple in reality, a distortion in the air like heat rising from asphalt.

Vasudeva sidestepped.

Not physically. His body didn't move an inch. But his consciousness twisted, his will coiling like a serpent evading the strike. The backlash of their clashing energies sent a vase of white orchids shattering against the far wall.

Georgia's smile faltered.

He was faster than she'd anticipated.

Vasudeva advanced, his power unfurling in a slow, inexorable wave. His voice, when he spoke, was velvet wrapped around steel.

"Sleep."

A waiter at the edge of the crowd—a young man who had been balancing a tray of champagne flutes with mechanical precision—collapsed mid-step. The glasses shattered against the marble floor, the sound startlingly loud in the sudden silence. His body went limp, his chest rising and falling in the deep, even rhythm of **** slumber.

Georgia hissed, her fingers twitching at her sides. "Minor tricks."

She retaliated, her power surging outward in a tidal wave of compulsion. The energy was thick, cloying—it slithered into the minds of the nearest guests, wrapping around their free will like chains.

"Kneel to me."

Five people—two socialites in couture gowns, a banker with a Rolex gleaming at his wrist, an elderly countess, and one of Clemente's own security detail—dropped to their knees in unison. Their eyes glazed over, their faces slack with vacant obedience.

Vasudeva laughed, low and dark, the sound curling through the room like smoke.

"Cute."

Then he flexed his will—harder—and the kneeling guests jerked upright, their bodies moving like marionettes with their strings cut and reattached to new hands.

"Walk."

They marched, their steps perfectly synchronized, their limbs moving with uncanny precision. The countess's pearls swayed against her chest; the security guard's polished shoes clicked against the marble in time with the others.

Jenny Caronte's grin froze. His fingers tightened around his champagne flute, the glass creaking under the pressure.

Georgia's nostrils flared. The first flicker of real anger crossed her doll-like features.

"Enough."

She lunged—not with her body, but with her mind, a scalpel of pure intent aimed straight for Vasudeva's core. This wasn't a test anymore. This was a killing strike, the kind that could shatter a lesser practitioner's psyche into irreparable fragments.

Vasudeva caught her.

His consciousness twisted around hers, a vise of pure dominance, his will crushing against hers with the weight of centuries. Georgia gasped, her knees buckling, her ancient blue eyes widening in shock as she realized—

She was outmatched.

"You're good," Vasudeva murmured, his breath ghosting over her lips as he stepped closer, so near she could see the flecks of gold in his crimson irises. "But I am better."

Georgia trembled, her pigtails swaying as she fought against the pressure of his will. Sweat beaded at her temples, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. For the first time in decades, fear flickered behind her eyes.

"Yield."

The word wasn't a request. It was a command, layered with power that vibrated in the bones of everyone present.

Georgia's lips parted. A soundless protest died in her throat. Then—

She nodded.

The moment her submission registered, the spell broke. The entranced guests blinked, shaking their heads as if waking from a dream. The waiter groaned, pushing himself up from the floor, his face flushed with confusion.

The crowd erupted in applause—some hesitant at first, then building into thunderous approval. Glasses were raised; voices overlapped in excited chatter.

Talia pressed against Vasudeva's side, her full lips brushing the shell of his ear. "I knew you'd win." Her breath was warm, her scent—expensive perfume and something darker, more primal—flooding his senses.

Jenny stepped forward, his earlier arrogance replaced by something hungry, something calculating. His gaze raked over Vasudeva with the intensity of a man who had just found the missing piece of his puzzle.

"Vasudeva... let's talk. Privately."

Vasudeva met his gaze, his smile knowing.

"Of course."