"We've got a little bastard here attempting kinslaying," William answered the president with a sinister grin, ducking a swing that cracked the floorboards.
Damn, this Frankenstein's strong.
"HEY! Don't just stand there!" William barked. "Capture that brat!"
And then, chaos unraveled.
Weapons clashed, voices rose, and the Barclays' lackeys, frozen at first, finally woke up to reality.
Obedience snapped them to motion. Steel flashed as they ran forward.
Sarenya's eyes burned as she saw the swarm angling toward Valen. She'd checked, no fatal wounds, but her son was down, bleeding, struggling to rise. That was enough to snap her restraint. Claws burst from her hands, sharp and glinting."Oh no you fucking don't."
The lackeys didn't even reach her. Because the Addams had moved, they didn't care about alliances, bloodlines, or standing in the Outcast society. They never had. Consequences meant nothing to them.
Morticia's red lips curved as she drew a blade as elegantly as one might draw a breath. "Mmm… it's been so long since we've had a little chaos to protect our love."
"Mi querida," Gomez replied, producing twin rapiers from who-knew-where, his grin feral, "chaos is our love."
They fell upon the lackeys like dancers at a midnight ball, blades gleaming, eyes glittering with romance and violence in equal measure.
The elders, however, were not watching the fight. They were already conferring in hushed tones, pale eyes cutting like knives. To them, it was simple, Valen had struck first. Bianca's barbs and curses meant nothing in comparison. The Barclays' heir could not be blamed, not here, not in their own land.
So fault fell neatly on the half-blood boy. Convenient. Delicious. The perfect scapegoat.
The President raised his voice, strained but steady. "Sarenya! Calm yourself! Hand over your child, I'll ensure no harm comes to him."
He tried to bargain. Blood had been spilled. The offense of attacking another clan member outside a duel was already grave. He couldn't shield Valen completely, but he could try to soften the blow.
Sarenya turned her gaze on him, icy and unflinching. "Are you serious? Hand him over? How about this-" She raised her hand, middle finger extended, "Fuck NO."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Serenya, the dignified, calm prodigy who had once been the pride of the Barclays, had never ever, spoken like that.
Morticia's chuckle was low, rich. "How refreshing."Gomez tipped his blade in salute. "Ah, nostalgia."
The President swallowed hard. "Very well… I will still help you." He nodded to the Barclay Patriarch. The old man's answering signal was sharp, decisive. The order was given.
The assault began.
Meanwhile, Valen stirred. His vision was still awash in red, his head pounding like war drums. His body refused him, twitching uselessly as he tried to rise. But when he saw the lackeys closing on his mother, rage clawed through the haze.Get up… get up…! His teeth clenched. Dammit, MOVE!
Nothing. His limbs were stone, his voice a whisper lost in the storm.
Then-
A streak of black and crimson light tore across his vision.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
The first lackey's scream split the air as his arm was severed mid-swing, his trident tumbling as a fountain of blood drenched the stones.
The crimson light spun end-over-end before embedding itself deep into a pillar, just between the President and the Barclay Patriarch.
The spear that had struck shimmered in the torchlight. Its shaft was slick, its blade wet, blood dripping slow and deliberate onto the stone. Chains coiled around it, clinking with each lazy swing.
[ Image here ]
And then came the smell.
It hit the lounge like a wave.
Blood. Not human, not beast. Something fouler. The stench crawled into lungs, coated tongues, twisted stomachs. Even the vampires shifted uncomfortably, pale faces twitching as their senses failed to name it.
Valen felt himself lifted. His blurred eyes met darkness which shone red. Armor black as obsidian, veined with crimson light that pulsed like veins, stepped into the ight. A helm shadowed the face, but the aura, the presence, was undeniable.
[ Image of the Armored person here ]
Behind him, the air had split. The fissure tore open, jagged and unnatural, as though space itself had been ripped apart.
Two hands. Massive. Demonic. Fingers gnarled and clawed, their black hide steaming as they forced the tear wider from either side.
The fissure pulsed, glowing red and black, threads of yellow light flashing through it, like explosions detonating just beyond the veil. Each pulse rattled the arena, shaking bones, making flames gutter.
The smell thickened, the nauseating stench of blood now joined by something worse. Burnt. Ash. Sulfur.
He stepped forward, another chain-bound spear dripping crimson, and the fissure seethed behind him like a doorway into hell itself.
"How dare you touch my family."
The voice was deep. Cold. Heavy enough that even the bravest stilled.
Sarenya's claws flickered away. Her lips parted, her composure shattering into raw affection. "Dear!"
Everyone froze. No one dared move, yet their hearts pounded like war drums, pumping blood faster than their bodies could contain.
As the armored man stepped forward, Valen cradled easily in his arms, the fissure behind him ripped wider. The colossal hands pulled again, and more figures emerged. Six in total-creatures clad in the similar obsidian armor, their presence radiating the same suffocating aura.
The stench hit harder. Foul, metallic, suffused with something alien. It clawed at throats, turned stomachs inside out. Some of the weaker onlookers doubled over, retching, their pride stripped bare by simple survival instinct. Whether it was the smell or raw, animal fear, no one could say.
The armored man ignored them all. He reached Sarenya, lowering Valen gently into her arms. His gauntleted hand rose, brushing her cheek with surprising tenderness, as though searching her face for wounds.
"I'm okay… but Valen-" Sarenya whispered, clutching her son.
"Don't worry," the man said, voice resonant and absolute. "It will take much more to kill him now."
Then he turned.
The crowd parted instinctively as he advanced toward the President, his every step echoing like a drumbeat of doom. On the way, his gaze flicked once... towards William.
William's body froze. His muscles refused to move. The look alone was enough to show him death- swift, merciless, should he twitch a finger. Sweat streamed down his face, his bravado evaporating into nothing.
The armored man stopped before the President. He loomed, taller, heavier, a mountain of blood. The President had no choice but to tilt his head back and look up.
"Julian… what is the meaning of this?" the President asked, his voice steady but edged with strain.
Julian, Valen's father, let the silence stretch, then tilted his helm slightly, as if amused.
"Meaning? Hm." His gauntleted hand reached the pillar, tugging the red spear embedded in free, its blood-stained blade dripping steadily as he leveled his gaze on both the President and the Barclay Patriarch.
"I am threatening you."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Julian's voice rumbled, calm but merciless. "It seems you all need a reminder. A thrashing. Only then will you learn not to touch my wife. Or my son."
At that moment, the six armored creatures spread. Five encircled the elders, silent sentinels, their auras pressing down. The sixth approached Valen.
A faint glow spread from its hand, healing energy, subtle but undeniable. Before the eyes of the crowd, Valen's body began to mend. The jagged bones protruding from his arms retracted, merging back into flesh. Cuts sealed, bruises faded. His tense brow relaxed as if some heavy weight had lifted.
Sarenya's lips trembled. She bowed her head slightly, whispering, "Thank you."
The creature gave only a nod. Its helm tilted, and though its mouth never showed, the faint curl of its smile was visible in its aura, warm to Sarenya, but to everyone else watching, it was a nightmare grin.
The tension in the hall thickened, suffocating.
The Sirens knew, every instinct screamed it, the newcomers were dangerous. The President had already tried to use his Song, weaving manipulation into his voice But it slid uselessly off Julian like rain against a roof. It didn't work shit.
And also that no one would help them. Why would they? The had no death wishes or anything to gain.
Just as the atmosphere threatened to break into slaughter, one of the five armored newcomers stepped forward. His gauntleted hand pressed down on Julian's shoulder.
"Hey, man. Calm down…" His scraping tone was startlingly casual, almost light, though his voice carried the weight. "We don't want a massacre here. Too much cleanup, and…" His head tilted toward the Sirens, his visor glinting red. "…no matter what, these shits are still your wife's family. Best to show restraint. We got what we came for."
His gaze drifted to Valen, who was now standing, shaky, his wounds already closing.
Julian's helm turned slightly. A low hum rumbled from his chest. "Hm." He nodded once.
The negotiator clapped his hands lightly, as though sealing the matter. "Alright, then. Let me handle this."
He stepped forward, placing one heavy hand on the Barclay Patriarch's shoulder and the other on the President's.
"W-what are you doing!?" the Patriarch snarled, outraged at the disrespect. He tried to shove the hand away, but it was immovable. The weight was crushing, like a mountain pressing down on him.
The negotiator leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a dangerous purr. "Listen here, fish-brains… do you know who we are?"
The President's lips trembled. He swallowed hard, pride bleeding out of him with the sweat on his brow. He shook his head.
The armored figure's smile was audible in his voice. "Unfortunate... Well, does the name Ashen Circle... ring a bell?"
The crowd stirred. Shock. Gasps. Widened eyes.
Ashen Circle.
The name rippled through the hall like a plague. A myth. A legend whispered in bedtime warnings and old clan tales, but never seen for centuries.
That's… impossible… they all thought.
As if hearing those thoughts, the negotiator chuckled darkly. "Oh, no, not impossible. Just… selective. It's just we don't like making public appearances." His helm tilted. "hmm... more like we don't have time for that... You know what I mean?"
A terrifying smile curved across the shadow of his face.
He spread his hands wide. "And yet, we're here. Why? Because our heir awakened today. And you… beat him... like a ragdoll."
The final word cracked like a whip. The air turned ice-cold. Every armored figure surrounding the elders shifted, their collective gaze hardening into frozen death.
The outcasts present shuddered. Some took a step back. Others cowered.
"N-no… we-we could never-" the Patriarch stammered.
The negotiator's voice cut him off, almost playful. "So considerate of you. Then we'll just be taking our heir back. Yes?"
"Yes… of course." The President rushed to bow his head, words spilling like a flood. "And we will see to it that the truth is known- that it was the Barclay heir who instigated the fight."
The Barclay Patriarch snapped his head toward him, betrayal etched deep in his face. But he dared not speak.
"How nice," the negotiator murmured. His gaze slid to Bianca, still sprawled on the floor, her face streaked with tears and snot. "Don't worry. I know. It wasn't her. She's just a child, what could she really do."
Then his helm turned. William.
The young man's blood drained from his face as the armored figure advanced. He stumbled back, legs trembling. "N-no! It wasn't me! I-I just did what Grandfather asked!"
"Oh, I know. I don't blame you," the negotiator said, claws extended with a slow rasp, glinting razor-sharp, his voice was almost conversational, a cruel smile in every word. "But a scheme against a child... Someone young got to pay."
He tilted his head, mock admiration in his tone. "I'll give you this much- I'm impressed. Bold move. Wrong target though."
His head tilted, almost amused. "And you know what they say… the dildo of consequences doesn't come lubed."
The claws struck.
Blood sprayed as William's scream tore through the chamber. One arm and one leg hit the floor, twitching. His voice cracked into ragged sobs, agony echoing.
The Barclay Patriarch clenched his jaw until it bled. But he said nothing.
The negotiator flicked his claws clean. "Consider this a reminder. And a gift. I should kill you, but I'm in a generous mood. After all…" his gaze returned to Valen, "…thanks to you, our heir has awakened."
He turned, striding back toward Julian. The other armored beings followed, shadows closing in around their leader.
Julian's helm tilted down toward Sarenya. His voice softened, warm, almost unrecognizable compared to the icy growl before.
"Darling… we talked about this."
"I know…" Sarenya whispered, her voice trembling. She clutched Valen tighter. "But Valen… he's still a child."
Julian's helm tilted toward her, his tone softening, almost human. "Yes. Which is why it matters even more. With his temper, he might kill without even knowing it. It's risky to live with Civilians. And don't worry- it'll only be for a few years. I'll train him myself. When we return, he'll still have a normal youth, just as you wish. And no responsibilities until he's ready. I promise."
Her lips parted, but no words came. She had known this day would arrive, yet she had prayed it would not come so soon. Tears slid silently down her cheeks as she nodded and pulled Valen into her arms.
Valen, his wounds gone, stood steady now. Normal again. But instinct kept him silent. He somewhat had an idea, what this was about.
Sarenya pressed her forehead to his, smiling through the tears. "Valen… I'm sorry. But you must go with your father. Take care of yourself. Sleep well. And don't fight." Her lips brushed his brow in a tender kiss, her smile fragile, bitter.
Valen only nodded. It was already decided, and his awakening seemed tied to this inevitability.
Julian exhaled, a sound like steel releasing tension. "Don't worry, darling. I'll take care of him." He embraced her, brief, firm, unyielding, then turned, his helm inclining toward the Addams family.
Gomez gave a gentleman's bow, blades still dripping, and Morticia inclined her head, lips curving in dark approval. The silent exchange was enough.
With that, Julian carried Valen toward the rift. The armored warriors followed in silence, their footsteps echoing like thunder.
The negotiator was the last. Pausing at the threshold, he turned to the council with a mock-cheerful grin and tapped two fingers to his helm in a playful salute."See you around."
The gesture was comical, but the weight of it pressed like a blade at their throats. Then he vanished into the fissure, and the tear sealed itself shut with a low, shuddering hum.
*
As Valen crossed the fissure, the world bent, folded, then snapped back into place.
Valen's breath caught. Awe flickered across his face.
"Awesome, right?"
He turned. The negotiator had stepped through behind him, helm cocked, voice dripping amusement. A clawed hand clapped down on Valen's shoulder.
"Welcome to China, kid... The Land of young masters."
*Chinese beats playing*
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A/N-
Damn, You guys really did it, 550+ powerstones and Top 15 in the month rankings! Fuck… now I owe you another chapter.
Okay so, I won't be setting any new powerstone milestones this week since I still owe you two chapters now, but hey, I'll never say no to more stones. Keep 'em coming!
And Finally, the festival arc is done! This might honestly be the longest chapter I've written so far. I thought about splitting it into two parts (regular + bonus), but I didn't want to cut it halfway, so I just pushed through and wrapped up the arc here.
Next up is the training arc! Don't worry, I won't drag it out too long, after that, we're finally heading to Nevermore!
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