I could feel the weight of the air around me—thick, charged with anticipation and something darker, something primal. This was more than just a ritual. It was a battle for dominance, a way for both families to show who was truly in control of this bloody war.
The public ritual had been set up for weeks, and the whole neighborhood had gathered to witness it. The Blackthorns and the Vortexes were supposed to perform their sacred rites, both families trying to outdo the other, displaying their power, their mastery of blood magic, and their ancient rituals. It was supposed to be a spectacle, a demonstration of strength. But I knew, deep down, that nothing ever stayed controlled when both families were involved.
As the sun began to set, casting the sky in hues of red and orange, I stood among the crowd, my nerves crawling under my skin. The tension was palpable. This wasn't just a public ritual anymore. It was a stage for our families to show who had the upper hand, who was the true force in the neighborhood. And both Empress and Noctis knew it. They had always known that power was something you didn't just hold—it had to be taken, fought for, and shown.
The Blackthorns began their ritual first, their movements precise and calculated. Empress stood at the center, a regal figure as she began chanting in the old tongue, her eyes closed, face unreadable. The energy in the air shifted as the ritual gained momentum. The dark power they were calling upon was old, forbidden—nothing like the flashy public shows the Vortexes usually put on.
Then it was Noctis's turn. His ritual was a show, designed to impress, to overwhelm. He didn't speak in ancient tongues like Empress. No, he commanded the elements—wind, fire, earth—and they obeyed him. The crowd gasped as flames spiraled into the air, and the ground beneath our feet trembled. Noctis had always been a showman, but there was something about the way he controlled the magic tonight that was different. Something… darker. The power felt raw, unstable.
That's when the cracks began to show.
The air buzzed with magic, and I could feel the tension tightening like a noose around my neck. I wasn't the only one who noticed. The Blackthorns and the Vortexes exchanged sharp, distrustful glances. This wasn't just about power anymore. This was a direct challenge. A challenge that neither side could ignore.
It didn't take long for it to explode.
Screams cut through the night, followed by the sickening sound of flesh meeting steel. A surge of magic collided in the air, and chaos erupted. It wasn't supposed to go down like this. This ritual was supposed to be controlled. But nothing in this war had ever been about control.
I didn't even see who made the first move. One moment, Empress and Noctis were standing at their respective altars, each directing their rituals. The next, blades were drawn, and blood spilled onto the sacred ground, turning the dirt beneath us into a dark, shimmering red.
I saw Emberfang, her fierce eyes locked onto Malefic across the clearing. She was the first to make a move, charging at him with a blade wreathed in fire, her steps sure, purposeful. Malefic didn't flinch. His eyes glinted with a cold fire of his own, and he met her charge with a swift, lethal motion of his own blade. The clash of metal rang out like a bell, echoing through the crowd, but it was more than just two fighters clashing. It was the culmination of years of hatred, years of rivalry, and it felt like the whole world was holding its breath as the two of them fought.
Emberfang and Malefic were evenly matched, neither gaining ground. The air crackled with tension, the ground beneath them scorched from their magic. Emberfang's strikes were fierce and fast, but Malefic parried them with ease, his movements fluid, graceful even. But there was no room for grace in this battle. It was raw, brutal.
I could see the blood splatter across the clearing—some from the ritual gone wrong, but most from the fight itself. Casualties were already piling up on both sides, bodies crumpling to the ground, blood soaking the earth. The Blackthorns and Vortexes weren't fighting for victory anymore; they were fighting to survive.
I could barely hear the screams over the pounding of my own heart. It was a frenzy of magic, blades, and blood. One by one, family members fell, their power drained, their lives lost in the ritual that had gone horribly wrong. The ground was slick with blood, a reminder of how high the stakes really were.
Through the chaos, I watched as Emberfang and Malefic continued their battle, each one refusing to give an inch. I could see it in their eyes—the fury, the resolve, the desperate need to prove they were the stronger, the better fighter. But nothing changed. Neither one gave way.
And that's when I realized something terrifying. This wasn't just a fight for power. This was a war. A war where no one would walk away clean.
The ritual, the bloodshed, the chaos—it was all part of the same brutal dance. We were all caught in it, spinning on a wheel that had no end. The Blackthorns, the Vortexes, it didn't matter. We were all losing.
As the fight continued to rage, I knew one thing for sure: if this battle didn't end soon, we would all be swallowed up by the storm. We were caught in a war of blood and power, and no one was walking out of this unscathed.