The old temple wasn't a ruin anymore. Not for a long, long time. Blaze had first stumbled upon it when its roof was a gaping maw to the sky, and its altar a crumbling stone, green with moss and decay. Now, the roof was a patchwork of tarred planks ripped from the husks of Greywick's abandoned warehouses. The altar, once a forgotten monument, gleamed with an obsidian sheen, its cracks filled with the grit of ash and the slick of old blood. Torches lined the walls, but their light was a losing battle against the shadows that had come to call this place home.
The townsfolk whispered its name—the Cursed Temple—as they clung to the safety of the church's bolted doors. No one dared to climb the canyon path, not after the old priest was found nailed to his own church. They called the place forbidden, a haunt of the dead. They were right about one thing: it was a haunt. It was his hall.
Blaze sat upon the altar, a throne he had claimed through blood and shadow. His posture was deceptively lazy, but his eyes were razors, sharp enough to flay a man with a single look. He waited, a king in his lair, as the echo of footsteps announced his subjects.
Kael was the first to arrive, a firebrand in human skin. The grin on his face was too wide, his teeth flashing in the dim light like a wolf's. He moved with an eager swagger, a hound held on a leash by the thinnest of threads. The blood spatter on his clothes was a testament to his nocturnal hunts, and his eyes burned with a fanatic light that never seemed to dim.
"My lord," Kael said, the words a mockery of formality as he gave a shallow half-bow. It was a jape, a parody, but the hunger in his eyes as he lingered on Blaze's face was anything but. It was pure submission, the look of a beast desperate for its master's praise.
Behind him came Garrick, a man forged of iron. His shoulders were broad, his face a road map of old scars, and his movements were as disciplined and efficient as a blade. His armor was polished to a grim gleam, though a noticeable dent on his left pauldron was a stark reminder of the day Blaze had struck him down. His expression was a permanent scowl, his lips a thin line, his gaze cold and calculating. He bowed properly, not out of reverence, but because it was the most practical way to acknowledge authority before seizing it for himself.
"Lord," Garrick rumbled, his voice as flat and steady as a hammer's fall.
Next was Ledo, his swagger replaced by a nervous shuffle. His hands twisted at his sides, a constant, frantic motion. Once, he had been a back-alley king, ruling with threats and a rusty knife. Now, his face was ashen, his eyes darting between Kael, Garrick, and Blaze like a rat cornered by wolves. Fear was a stench that clung to him, but beneath it, a deeper smell of greed. He bent low in a cowering bow, his voice a dry croak.
"Master," he rasped, "I—I came as summoned."
Finally, Asha appeared, a creature unlike the others. Her silver-streaked hair was cropped short, and the tips of her ears were sharp, furred—the mark of the wolf-blooded. She had always moved like a fighter, but now, with the vampiric grace Blaze had bestowed upon her, every step was a promise of violence. She wore hardened leather armor, and her amber eyes glowed faintly in the gloom. Unlike Ledo, she did not tremble. Unlike Kael, she did not grin. Unlike Garrick, she did not stand in rigid discipline.
She simply looked at Blaze, her head tilted, her gaze steady, unflinching.
"My lord," she said, her voice a low, gravelly challenge.
The four of them stood at the foot of the altar, their shadows stretching long and distorted behind them. Kael shifted impatiently, his grin widening as he locked eyes with Asha. Garrick crossed his arms, a silent statue of contempt. Ledo looked moments away from collapsing. And Asha held Kael's stare without blinking, the faintest curl of her lip a silent declaration of disdain.
Blaze said nothing. He simply watched.
Let them posture. Let them bicker. Let their true natures bleed out into the open. This was the test, the real measure of their loyalty. Not their words, but their instincts.
Kael, of course, was the first to break. "Well," he drawled, his eyes dancing with wolfish amusement, "this is the pack, is it? The nest? A sorry lot, if you ask me. A brooding soldier, a trembling rat, and a beast who hasn't learned her place."
Asha's eyes narrowed, but she didn't take the bait. Not yet.
"Better than a mongrel who only knows how to bare his teeth," Garrick said, his voice flat.
Kael's grin grew wider. "Say that again when I tear your throat out."
Blaze let the tension coil, a palpable thing in the air. Kael's bloodlust, Garrick's simmering contempt, Ledo's shaking fear, and Asha's defiant pride. Four different elements, each dangerous, each useful.
When the silence threatened to fracture into violence, Blaze finally moved. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the altar's cold stone, and spoke a single word.
"Enough."
The word was quiet, but it was a command, a hammer blow. The shadows in the hall deepened in response, pressing in, filling the air with a suffocating weight. Kael froze mid-step. Garrick stiffened. Ledo collapsed to his knees, his body wracked with tremors. Only Asha remained standing, though her gaze flickered with the effort of resisting his power.
Blaze let the silence drag, then slowly straightened. "You are not here to squabble like dogs over scraps. You are here because you are mine. And because this city is mine."
The shadows stirred at his words, swirling around the flickering torchlight, making the hall seem vast and endless.
"You will learn to stand together," Blaze continued, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through the stone. "Each of you is strong, but alone you are nothing. Together, you will be my teeth, my claws, my eyes in the dark. Together, you are the Crimson Council."
The words hung in the air like a sentence passed.
Kael's grin faded, replaced by something sharper, hungrier. Garrick gave a curt nod, his jaw tight. Ledo pressed his forehead to the floor, muttering frantic oaths. Asha tilted her head, her amber eyes gleaming. And for the first time, she smiled—a small, sharp curve of her lips, a silent acknowledgment of a worthy gamble.
Blaze reclined on the altar, the shadows curling around him like a mantle. His court had gathered. The true test would come soon, but for now, he let them feel the weight of his gaze, the pressure of his power, the truth of the words he had spoken.
Greywick was no longer a city ruled by rats and knives.
It had a council now.
And every one of them belonged to him.
A thick silence, heavy as a shroud, fell over the ruin of Greywick's manor. It wasn't an empty quiet. It was the taut, stretched-thin silence that came before a blade struck, the kind where every whisper of torchlight and every scrape of stone echoed with anticipation. The four new souls Blaze had brought before his altar-throne stood as still as statues, each in their own prison of nerves: Kael trembled with barely leashed ferocity, a caged beast; Garrick was a rock of grim resolve, his stillness a weapon; Ledo fidgeted and sweated, a cornered rat; and Asha was unnaturally still, her amber gaze taking in everything at once.
Blaze let the silence fester, then finally spoke, his voice a low rumble that cut through the tension. "Words are cheap. Fear bends knees, but it doesn't bind hearts. If I am to build a court worth the blood I have spilled, I need more than trembling oaths. Tonight, you will prove yourselves."
Kael's grin was immediate, a flash of white fangs. "At last," he breathed, a thread of wicked glee in his voice. "A test. By the blade, my lord? By blood?"
"By obedience," Blaze countered, the two words a bucket of cold water.
The grin faltered. A hairline crack in the facade.
Blaze rose from the stone altar he used as a throne, shadows clinging to him like a second cloak. His boots made a soft, deliberate tap against the floor as he descended, his gaze sweeping over each of them.
"You, Kael," he said, stopping before his first spawn. "Your loyalty has never been in question. Your hunger, however, blinds you." His eyes narrowed, burning like twin coals in the gloom. "Your test is restraint. I will deny you blood for three nights. You will not feed. You will not hunt. You will obey."
Kael's grin vanished entirely. A hard, tight line replaced it. His eyes flicked away, then snapped back to Blaze, searching for a loophole. There was none. For the first time since his turning, Kael bowed his head in something that looked a lot like humility.
"As you command," he rasped, his voice raw. His hands trembled, the effort of keeping them still a visible strain.
Blaze turned, his gaze sliding past Kael to settle on Garrick. The mercenary's expression didn't change, but his shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Garrick," Blaze said. "You crave order. Structure. You will have a chance to prove it. The docks are chaos—smugglers, thieves, mercenaries squabbling like gulls over fish guts. Within a fortnight, you will bring them under control. Without drowning the streets in blood. Show me you can command more than a blade."
Garrick gave a slow, measured incline of his head. "Consider it done," he said, the words clean and firm. No hesitation, no protest. Behind his eyes, the wheels were already spinning, calculating leverage, factions, and chokepoints.
Blaze moved on, his gaze landing on Ledo, who flinched as though struck.
"You," Blaze said, his voice as sharp and cold as an icicle. "You who once thought yourself a king among vermin. You will prove your loyalty with flesh."
Ledo's mouth opened and closed, a fish out of water. "M-my lord, I—I've sworn already, I—"
"Words," Blaze cut him off. "Bring me one of your own men. One close to you. And let me drink him dry before your eyes. Only then will I know you have cast aside all loyalties but mine."
Ledo's breath caught in his throat, coming out in ragged gasps. Sweat beaded on his brow and trickled down his temples. He twisted his hands together until his knuckles were white, looking for all the world like a man staring into the gallows. But then something shifted behind the fear—the familiar glint of a rat's cunning, of a survivor's instincts. His lips trembled, then stretched into a grotesque semblance of a smile.
"Yes, my lord," Ledo whispered, the words trembling. "I—I will bring him."
Blaze held his gaze for a long beat, then gave a single, sharp nod.
Finally, his eyes landed on Asha. She hadn't moved a muscle, her amber gaze sharp and intelligent. As Blaze addressed her, she lifted her chin, her ears twitching back slightly in a wolfish gesture.
"You," Blaze said, his tone shifting. It was no longer commanding, but probing. "You carry beastfolk blood. You are not like the others here. Greywick treats your kind as trash, tools, slaves. Yet you stand in my hall. Tell me, Asha—why should I trust that your loyalty lies with me, and not with some future rabble of your kind who promise freedom?"
A small, knowing smile played on her lips. "Because freedom is a lie," she said, her voice low and steady, a faint growl from her lineage in it. "The beastfolk have no unity, no vision. They fight like dogs over scraps, same as men. But you…" Her eyes glinted with purpose. "You have vision. Power. That is what's worth loyalty."
Blaze studied her, his crimson gaze boring into her own. She did not flinch.
"Words," he said again.
Asha's smile sharpened, the small canine in her glinting. "Then give me a test." She glanced towards Kael, who stood rigid with barely leashed hunger. "Let me fight one of your own. If I survive, you'll know my strength. If I fall, you'll know I was not worth your trust."
The air tightened instantly. Kael's grin returned, jagged and hungry. "Yes," he hissed. "Let me test her. Let me taste her blood."
Blaze said nothing at first, letting the tension coil. Then, a slow incline of his head. "Very well. A trial by combat. But not to the death. Strength is not always in the killing. Survive him, and your place in the Court is yours."
The wolf-blooded woman's grin widened into a feral slash. "Done."
Kael's laugh echoed harsh against the ruined stone. He licked his lips and flexed his hands, already imagining the taste of her blood.
Blaze stepped back, reclaiming his throne. Shadows curled thick around him, like an audience of silent watchers. His eyes glowed faintly, two crimson lanterns in the gloom.
"Prove yourselves," he said softly, his voice a promise and a threat. "And show me why you deserve to sit at my table."
The torches flickered, their light casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. In the charged silence that followed, the tests began, not with swords or speeches, but with the suffocating weight of survival pressing down on each of them.
The reek of the chamber was a thick, cloying thing, a foul perfume of fear, sweat, and the ancient, metallic tang of blood long since dried into the porous stone. It was a perfect test, a crucible meant to burn away all but the truest loyalty.
Reclined on the obsidian altar-throne, Blaze looked less like a lord and more like a predator at rest. A half-smile played on his lips, one hand propping up his chin. In the half-darkness, his crimson eyes held a faint, inner glow as he watched the unfolding dramas.
First was Kael.
The fledgling vampire moved like a caged beast, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Veins bulged at his temples and his fangs, far too long, far too sharp, were bared in a snarl. Three nights without a single drop of blood. To Kael, it felt like an eternity. The thirst was a constant, gnawing hunger that had stripped him bare, leaving behind only the primal, screaming need. He could hear it in everything: the trickling water running down the chapel wall, the thrum of heartbeats nearby—even his own shallow, rasping breaths.
Blaze watched the tell-tale signs: the tremor in Kael's hands, the way his gaze clung to Asha's exposed throat for a second too long. But still, he hadn't broken.
Now, he knelt, his entire frame trembling, sweat beading on his pale brow. "Master," he rasped, his voice raw, "I obey."
Blaze leaned forward, studying him. The hunger was a palpable force, a second skin clinging to Kael. It had sharpened him, honed him into a single-minded weapon. Yet still he knelt. Still he obeyed.
"You may feed," Blaze said at last.
Kael didn't wait for another word. He was a blur of motion, a darting shadow in the torchlight. He seized one of Ledo's trembling men—the fool had been too slow to step back—and a strangled shriek ripped through the air, cut short as Kael's fangs sank deep. The scent of fresh blood, thick and iron-rich, was intoxicating. It sprayed, catching the torchlight in a crimson-gold mist.
But Kael did not kill him. After several long, desperate gulps, he tore himself away. He was panting, shaking, but… controlled. A scarlet tear dripped from one fang. His eyes burned with a fever-bright glow.
He looked up at Blaze, lips slick with blood, and bowed again, this time with a primal, unshakable resolve. "I am yours."
Blaze's nod was barely perceptible. "You have learned restraint. Hunger bends you, but it will not break you. Rise, Kael. You are my Fang."
A sharp, triumphant grin broke across Kael's face, the title settling over him like a second skin. It fit him perfectly.
Next was Garrick.
The mercenary stepped into the circle of light with a quiet, unshakeable confidence. His was a different kind of trial, less a test of endurance and more one of pure, unadulterated discipline. Blaze had tasked him with bringing order to the chaos of the Greywick docks, and he had returned in half the time he was given.
He knelt now, unfazed by the blood and fear that still hung in the air, and laid a crude parchment map on the stone floor. Lines and markers divided the docks into neat, efficient districts.
"The smugglers pay on time," Garrick said in a flat, businesslike tone. "The thugs who didn't swear loyalty answer to the remnants of Ledo's crew. I broke the spines of two of their captains and let the rest swear loyalty. Coin flows. Ships move without quarrel. Not a blade is drawn without my word."
He looked up, his dark eyes steady. "The docks are yours, Lord. Quiet. Profitable."
Blaze's lips curled in a faint smile—not a grin, not a sneer, just a quiet curl of approval. Garrick had done it without spectacle, without a river of blood. His gift was discipline, and he had wielded it like a hammer, building a stable fortress where there had been only chaos.
"You are my Shield," Blaze declared. "The one who holds order when chaos gnaws at my walls."
Garrick bowed, the motion sharp and precise as a soldier's salute. "As you command."
Then came Ledo.
The rat-faced gang leader stumbled forward, dragging a man by the collar like a broken sack. His hands shook, his eyes darting everywhere but at Blaze. The captive, wide-eyed with horror, recognized him instantly.
"Boss—?!" the man stammered, his face crumpling in disbelief. "Boss, what are you doing?!"
Ledo licked his lips, tears already streaming down his face. "Forgive me," he whispered, though the words were meant for himself alone. "Forgive me, forgive me…"
Blaze said nothing, a silent, monstrous judge. He simply gestured.
Ledo shoved the man forward, collapsing to his knees with a wail. "Here!" he sobbed. "Take him, my lord! My brother, my right hand! Take him! I—I give him to you!"
The captive screamed, thrashing, but Blaze's shadows wrapped around him, binding him fast. Blaze rose, descending the steps with a deliberate, predatory calm. He sank his fangs into the man's throat.
The blood was hot, thick, laced with the bitter taste of utter betrayal. The man's heart pounded once, twice… and fell silent. Blaze let the body slump to the stone with a dull, sickening thud.
Ledo sobbed, forehead pressed to the ground, his entire frame shaking like a leaf in a storm.
"Your loyalty is stained," Blaze said, his voice low and cold as a grave. "But it is mine. You have proven that even your closest kin means less to you than your own survival. That is the loyalty of vermin… and it has its uses."
He raised a hand, shadows curling like hungry claws. "You will be my Whisper. You will crawl, and listen, and scurry unseen. Betray me once, and you will feed my spawn."
Ledo slammed his head into the stone floor, a small cut on his brow dripping blood onto the stone. "Y-yes! Yes, master! Your Whisper! Yours forever!"
Finally, Asha.
She stepped into the circle of torchlight with a wolfish grin, her amber eyes steady, blazing with purpose. Kael, waiting opposite her, returned the feral smile, his own fangs gleaming.
Blaze leaned back into his throne. "Begin."
Kael lunged, his claws slashing. Asha was a flash of motion, twisting aside with the fluid grace of her beast-blood. She ducked low, swept his leg, and rolled back to her feet in a single, seamless motion.
Kael laughed, a breathy, predatory sound. "Good! You fight like prey that refuses to die!"
He came again, faster this time, his claws raking. Asha blocked with her forearm, blood welling where his claws scored flesh. A low, wolf-deep snarl tore from her throat as she slammed her elbow into his ribs.
The impact cracked the stone beneath their feet. Kael staggered back, but his grin only widened.
They clashed again and again, a blur of fang and claw, of raw strength and cunning. Sparks flew as their strikes rang off stone. Droplets of blood sprayed, glimmering red in the hungry torchlight.
Finally, Kael caught her throat, lifting her off the ground. His grin widened. "Yield, wolf-girl, or I'll snap your neck."
Asha snarled—and instead of yielding, drove her knee into his ribs, again and again, until she heard the sickening crack of bone giving way. Kael dropped her with a choked grunt, staggering back.
Asha landed hard, rolled, and sprang upright. She did not pounce. She did not kill. She simply stood, breathing hard, blood on her lips, her eyes locked on Kael.
"I survived," she rasped, a statement of fact and a declaration of victory.
Kael wiped blood from his mouth, his laughter a breathless sound. "You did."
Blaze rose, shadows curling thick around him, and his voice cut through the silence like a drawn blade. "Enough."
The combatants froze. Blaze's crimson gaze swept over them both, lingering on Asha.
"You have proven your strength. You do not break, even when bloodied. You will be my Claw. The blade I unleash upon my enemies."
Asha bowed her head, one fist pressed to her chest. "I am yours."
The trials were complete. Blaze returned to the altar-throne, the four figures kneeling before him—Kael the Fang, Garrick the Shield, Ledo the Whisper, Asha the Claw. Bloodied, shaken, but bound to him by the crucible they had endured.
"Tonight," Blaze said, his voice soft yet carrying through the entire chamber, "the Crimson Court is born. You are my lieutenants, my council, my hands and fangs. Together, we will spread our shadow from Greywick to every throne of man and beast alike."
The torches guttered, their flames casting long, hungry shadows. Outside, the storm still raged, as if the heavens themselves recoiled from the darkness now sealed in this place.
The four knelt as one, their voices rising in a unified chorus. "We serve the Crimson Lord."
Blaze's smile was sharp and cold. The game had truly begun.