Chapter 11: Blood and Shadow
The air hung thick with tension as Elder Varis looked at Draven, his brow furrowed with both disbelief and concern. He had never been one for blind loyalty, but Draven's actions to defend the Shadow Clan had left him both grateful and uneasy.
"Why did you let Kael go back to his clan?" Varis asked, his voice steady but sharp. He didn't trust Kael, but the decision to send him back seemed reckless. "He's the last survivor of the Silverfang. He's seen everything. You can't let him just walk away."
Draven's eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained calm, almost cold. "Don't worry, I had a plan," he replied, his tone carrying a quiet confidence that put the others at ease, but also raised more questions.
The clan members exchanged uncertain glances. Mara's keen eyes watched Draven carefully, trying to read him. The quiet conviction in his voice gave them no reason to doubt, yet they couldn't ignore the feeling that something was off.
Draven turned to the rest of the clan. "Prepare yourselves," he said. "The Silverfangs won't take this lightly. We'll need every hand ready for what's to come."
The command was clear, but no one asked what exactly was coming. They trusted Draven at the moment, but unease lingered in the air. As they went to prepare, Draven's gaze lingered on the battlefield, his mind already calculating his next moves. The Silverfangs would come. And when they did, they would regret underestimating the Shadow Clan.
Meanwhile, in the Silverfang Clan's stronghold, Kael was on his knees before Ulrich, the Clan leader. His mind raced with the grim certainty of what would come next. Ulrich's cold, calculating gaze pinned him to the ground, and Kael could feel the weight of his failure.
"You failed," Ulrich's voice was low, but there was no mistaking the anger in it. "Not once, but twice. You lost your clan and my son, and now, you return to me with nothing."
Kael clenched his fists, bracing himself for the inevitable. He had expected this. Ulrich's temper was as high as his ruthlessness, and after the humiliating loss to Draven, there was little mercy for failure.
Kael tried to speak, his voice rough, "Forgive me, my Lord! I… I failed, yes. But the Shadow Clan… they've changed. Draven—"
"Enough!" Ulrich snapped, slamming his fist on the table. The force of the strike banged the walls. "I don't care about your excuses, Kael. You think I'll let you live after this?"
Kael's heart pounded in his chest. He knew the inevitable was coming. Ulrich would never let him live after failing twice. He had no choice but to fight for survival. The clan leader's eyes were already narrowing, and Kael could see the deadly intent behind them. He was going to die for his failure, but at least he would die fighting.
With a roar, Ulrich's hand shot forward, his claws extending as he lunged at Kael. The Silverfang Elite soldiers in the room drew their weapons, circling him. Kael barely had time to react, but the survival instincts honed over years of battle kicked in. His body moved faster than his mind could catch up, and with a swift motion, he blocked Ulrich's strike with all his strength, forcing himself to hold the larger man at bay.
"You think you can stop me, Kael?" Ulrich growled, his strength overwhelming Kael's defenses. The impact of the clash sent a shockwave through Kael's body, but he pushed back, struggling to gain distance.
Kael's mind raced as he realized he had only one option: escape and return to the Shadow Clan. He was no match for Ulrich in a direct confrontation, not after everything that had happened. With a quick shove, he broke free from Ulrich's grip and dashed for the door, his heart thundering in his chest. The Silverfang Elite were quick to respond, but Kael was faster. He ran, weaving through the hallways of the stronghold, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Behind him, the Silverfang Elite soldiers gave chase, their footsteps heavy as they closed in. Kael's mind was a blur, focusing only on getting away, on surviving this. He couldn't afford to fail again.
Back at the Shadow Clan stronghold, Draven stood alone in the courtyard, and his thoughts focused on the bodies of the Silverfang Clan. The stillness of the night surrounded him, but there was work to be done. Draven gave a simple order as the Shadow Clan members gathered the fallen bodies.
"Gather the bodies. All of them."
The clan members didn't question him. They obeyed without a word, though a sense of unease rippled through them. They couldn't understand what Draven planned to do with the remains, but there was no room for hesitation. Their loyalty was tested repeatedly, and the last battle solidified Draven's place as their leader, even if the true extent of his power remained a mystery.
Draven watched in silence as the bodies were collected, the scent of blood lingering in the air. When all the bodies had been gathered, he made a final command.
"Leave them to me."
The Shadow Clan members stepped back, exchanging wary glances as they retreated to a safe distance. Draven's eyes glowed with an eerie, unnatural light, and for a moment, it seemed as though the night itself held its breath.
Draven raised his hands high, his fingers curling as if drawing power from the air around him. A series of glowing symbols appeared beneath him, shifting and pulsing with dark energy. The ground trembled lightly as the magic circle began to form, glowing in an eerie violet hue. The runes around the circle writhed like living things, and the shadows themselves seemed to twist, drawn toward the ritual.
With a quiet murmur, Draven spoke the ancient words, and the circle activated.
A powerful pull surged through the air as the blood of the Silverfangs was drawn from their bodies. The blood rose from the dead, swirling above the circle before funneling downward into Draven's outstretched hands. Each drop entered him with a soft hiss, the power filling his veins, recharging his depleted form.
Draven's eyes narrowed as the blood seeped into his body, and he felt the strength returning to his limbs. The weak, drained body he had inhabited since his reincarnation began to stir with new energy. His bones felt less brittle, and his muscles began to tighten.
The power, however, wasn't the only thing Draven sought. As the blood reached its full capacity within him, he closed his eyes, focusing on the next phase. The bodies of the fallen Silverfangs, now drained of life, began to stir. Shadows curled and twisted around them, and the dead rose to their feet as though summoned by some unseen force.
Draven's voice whispered through the darkness. "Rise."
A shadow army, born from the very souls of the fallen.
The newly-formed soldiers stood at attention, their movements mechanical and unnatural, their strength tied to the power they once held in life. Draven didn't need to say a word more. They were his now, his loyal servants, bound to his will. The Shadow Clan had been bolstered by more than just their own numbers. With this army, Draven had created something far more formidable than anyone could have expected.
And yet, as he surveyed his new forces, a thought nagged at the back of his mind. What will the Silverfangs do next?
Far away, Kael was still running, his body screaming for rest, but his mind pushing him forward. He had no idea what was happening back at the Shadow Clan's stronghold, but he knew one thing for sure—he had to survive. There was no turning back now.
But as the Silverfang Elite closed in, something strange happened. Kael turned a corner and found himself face to face with a shadow, dark and formless, moving unnaturally fast. It wasn't human, but it was real—and it was coming for him.
To be continued…