Red Sect

The sun was slowly sinking into the gaping void of the horizon, its crimson glow bleeding across the heavens like the dying breath of a wounded god. While the western sky still burned with the last defiant light of day, the eastern firmament had already surrendered to the oncoming shroud of night.

Upon a forlorn island shrouded in jagged spires of stone, the Temple of the Chalice stood solemn and proud, bathed in the ruddy light of the setting sun. Its ancient walls, carved from polished marble and veined with age, glowed a deep, mournful red. All around the temple, countless swords pierced the earth like gravestones in a cemetery of forgotten warriors — a forest of steel erected in memory and menace.

Only a single path wound its way through the graveyard of blades. As dusk crept forward on silent feet, a faint, metallic cadence began to echo across the stone. Slow, deliberate... inexorable. The sound of adamantine hooves ringing hollow against ancient stone.

Then came light — two flickers of crimson flame igniting in the shadows. Eyes. The eyes of a steed cloaked in eternal midnight, its breath curling in the cold air like smoke from a funeral pyre. The beast's silhouette resolved into that of a stygian warhorse, massive and regal, crowned with dreadful horns. Its muscles rippled beneath its lusterless coat as it strode forward with the dignity of a monarch and the promise of death.

Upon its back rode a woman — or rather, a creature that wore the form of one. She was draped in black and white silk, a pale haori resting lightly on her shoulders, her long obsidian hair cascading like rivers of shadow down her back. Her skin was the color of old porcelain, bloodless and smooth, her beauty as otherworldly as it was unsettling. In her luminous amethyst eyes burned a cold, indifferent flame — gaze cold enough to freeze infernal hell.

Resting on her shoulder with casual ease was a long, cruel spear, forged from a crimson metal that shimmered like coagulated blood. Its double-edged blade, narrow and fang-like, seemed designed to pierce both soul and bone. Twisting ridges and jagged thorns adorned its upper half, resembling demonic wings or thorned vines. The center, shaped like a ribcage, served both as ornament and grip, while the slender shaft tapered into a wicked, needle-point pommel etched with spiral veins like some ancient binding curse.

Two paces behind her, two figures followed in silence. One was a towering demon with four muscular arms, his dark hair tied with a silk ribbon, his eyes lowered in solemn obedience. The other was a man — though far too beautiful to be ordinary. Clad in silk of midnight hue, his bright eyes and refined features could stir the hearts of mortals… though such charms meant little to the War Maidens who ruled this forsaken island.

The woman remained silent, detached. Her servants, however, were not so composed. The man — Kai — stole uneasy glances at the temple rising before them, tension etched into every line of his face. After a pause, he spoke, his voice low.

"...It's too late to turn back now, isn't it?"

Sunny shook his head grimly, than turned his gaze toward the blood-red spear and shuddered. That weapon… it emanated a terrifying finality, as if death itself were woven into the grain of its metal. There was no evading its strike — only delaying the inevitable.

Kai looked around, unnerved. The air was thick, stifling, as if saturated with invisible threats. He glanced at the demon and murmured, "Hey, Sunny… isn't it about time they showed up?"

Sunny said nothing. He merely nodded once, then stilled — utterly frozen, his presence becoming a statue of alertness. The other servant fell silent as well, his words dying on his tongue.

Nothing moved. The world was quiet but for the whispering wind that wove through the jagged pillars. Shadows deepened. The scent of iron drifted on the breeze — sharp and cold.

And then, they were no longer alone.

A dozen figures emerged from the veil of dusk, as if summoned from the stone itself. All were women — tall, graceful, and terrifyingly beautiful. Their robes of red silk clung to their lithe forms like flowing blood. Their skin shimmered like moonlight on steel, and in their hands, blades gleamed — hungry, honed, and held with the ease of lifelong killers.

They were breathtaking... and lethal. A murderous aura radiated from them, heavy as a curse. Their eyes — empty, glacial, and cruel — locked onto the intruders without a word.

Klaus, still astride his midnight steed, met their stares with eerie calm. His expression did not shift, his thoughts unmoved by panic. He assessed them coldly, calculating.

'Troublesome,' he mused. 'They're strong. Experienced. And from the look of it... entirely uninterested in letting us have knife without fight.'

A faint flicker passed through his eye. He could slaughter them — that wasn't the issue. But doing so within the temple's boundaries? That would mean restraint.

Shiva was out of the question. So was Poseidon. The collateral would be catastrophic.

That left only Bia, Astraeus, and Melinoë — lesser options, but sufficient, he supposed.

He sighed inwardly. 'Tch. Noctis wasn't lying… they really are beautiful. Shame they're raving lunatics.'

One among the crimson-clad sentinels stepped forward — a statuesque woman with a mane of fiery red hair and eyes as cold and unyielding as tempered steel. She studied the intruders with narrowed eyes, her voice rasping like a blade drawn across bone.

"What brings you to the Temple of the Chalice, demoness?"

Klaus met her stare with a glacial, empty gaze. His voice, quiet and detached, carried a chilling gravity that sent a shiver through the gathered women — a spectral resonance bolstered by the oppressive weight of his aura, which Conquest subtly magnified with each breath.

"I have come to claim the death of the Ivory Lord. Whether you approve or not… I hereby challenge the Temple of the Chalice."

The war maiden arched a crimson brow, then let out a low chuckle. It was a sound devoid of warmth — sharp, amused, and laced with menace. Her eyes gleamed with wicked anticipation.

"So the day has finally dawned… how fortunate we are, to witness such blasphemy with our own eyes. A soul bold enough — or foolish enough — to challenge the Red Sect for the ancient relic. I once thought this a tale for children… and yet here it stands before me, cloaked in flesh and madness."

Klaus tilted his head ever so slightly, the glow of the blood-hued spear on his shoulder pulsing with eerie light, like a heartbeat twisted by malice. His lips curved into a sardonic smile, mocking and reckless — enough to make both Sunny and Kai pale with alarm.

"Perhaps you won't live long enough to see how this story ends. Now, do you accept the challenge? Or shall I leave you groveling in the dust?"

The war maiden's gray eyes sparkled with perverse delight, her breath catching on the edge of a laugh. She licked her lips, tasting the blood in the air.

"You wear your pride like a shroud… and your aura reeks of conquest. But we shall see if your steel is as sharp as your tongue."

She took a single step forward, then paused, her voice lowering into something reverent and cruel.

"Still, it is not my place… to put you in yours. Come then, demoness. Let me welcome you properly… to the Temple of the Chalice."

With that, the women lowered their blades in unison — not in peace, but in ritual acknowledgment. Their leader turned, her silk garments flowing behind her like crimson smoke, and the rest followed. Klaus, Sunny, and Kai found themselves surrounded and had no choice but to march forward into the heart of the temple grounds, beneath the gaze of those murderous priestesses.

When they reached the ancient gates carved with sacred symbols, Klaus dismounted with graceful ease. As his boots touched stone, his dreadful steed dissolved into a whirl of black mist, fading into Sunny's soul with silent obedience.

Though the women had sheathed their swords, the air remained heavy with malice. Their stares cut deeper than any steel, sharp and distrustful, their hands never straying far from their hilts.

The group passed into the grand entrance hall of the temple — a vast chamber of pale stone and burning incense, the walls etched with the forgotten histories of war and sacrifice. Klaus and Kai scanned the surroundings with subtle recognition, their prior study of the temple finally bearing fruit. Even Sunny, silent and beastly as he was, had been briefed — his strange eyes roaming with an eerie awareness.

Their procession came to a halt. The war maiden who had spoken before turned to face them. Her gaze lingered on Klaus for a breath too long, and then a frigid smile touched her lips.

"...Wait here, demoness. I will inform the elders of your arrival — and of your sacrilegious challenge."

Klaus stood in stillness, flanked by Sunny and Kai, his gaze drifting slowly across the temple's dim expanse. The three remained silent, a cold vigilance hanging over them like a storm on the brink of breaking. Klaus appeared calm — unshaken, precise — but there was a coiled readiness in his stance, like a blade waiting to be drawn.

They had studied this place before, the ancient Temple of the Chalice. He and Kai had risked proximity more than once, daring to brush against the temple's edge despite the danger of being discovered. It had been reckless, but necessary — they could not walk blindly into the den of the Red Sect.

Their vantage points from afar had not granted them perfect insight. While they could peer through the walls with their powers, the labyrinthine interior still held secrets. Kai's vision had proven superior in raw range and depth — he could pierce through matter with frightening clarity, seeing far beyond Klaus's own sight. Walls meant nothing to him.

But Klaus's Divine Eyes offered a different kind of vision — not of distance, but of truth. His gaze unravelled the essence of things. He saw structure, composition, flaw and purpose. The very bones of the temple whispered their secrets to him. Yet, this divine insight came at a cost: overuse could strain his senses, blinding him temporarily. That was his curse — power, but not without consequence. Kai, meanwhile, suffered no such limitation.

Klaus turned to his companions, a glint of wicked amusement playing on his lips as he offered them a devilish smile.

"Well, my little slaves," he said in a silken, mocking tone, "we've already gone over the plan. Don't hesitate. Don't falter. And above all, don't show weakness. We know where the Glass Knife is hidden… and I have a way of retrieving it."

His voice dropped into something colder — a razor's edge of command.

"Follow my orders. Act on your own only if everything falls apart — if I'm unable to guide you, or chaos breaks loose. Until then… play your roles."

Both Kai and Sunny nodded wordlessly.

Kai's eyes were fixed beyond the stone walls, tracking the War Maidens as they moved through the distant corridors. His gaze was unwavering and analytical. Sunny, on the other hand, was a barely leashed beast — his monstrous instincts stirred by the strange, oppressive energy of this place.

Klaus and Kai already knew what kind of temple this truly was — a place soaked in ancient blood and sacred violence. Sunny, however, was still learning.

That was when it began.

From somewhere deep within the temple's dark belly, a sound echoed — distant, but clear. A dull, rhythmic thud... the unmistakable noise of something heavy striking flesh again and again. Intermittently, the clink of chains followed — dragging, rattling, screaming against the stone.

Sunny stiffened slightly, ears twitching, his jaw tightening. A low growl escaped his throat.

Klaus merely smiled.

A cruel, knowing curve of his lips.

His eyes glowed faintly, his pupils igniting with an eerie light as he looked forward, past the shadows, past the stone.

"So they come…" he whispered, voice dripping with dark delight.