The First Strike

Chapter 12: The First Strike

The remnants of last night's storm still clung to the air — the scent of rain, the trembling earth, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Kael crouched atop a ruined watchtower with his women arrayed around him, the city's northern garrison spread out below like a beast awaiting slaughter.

This stronghold wasn't just a military base — it was a vault of cultivation resources, a hub of power for the Slavemasters. Capturing it would send a message. A declaration: they would no longer kneel.

Kael's gaze was steely as he studied the guards' patterns, noting their complacency. "They've grown fat on easy victories," he murmured, lips curling into a smile. "Tonight, they bleed for it."

Behind him, the others prepared.

Talia stretched her limbs like a panther, blades strapped to her hips.

Selene conjured tiny sparks between her fingertips, her blood singing for battle.

Rina tested the balance of her twin daggers with a cold gleam in her eyes.

Lyria checked her bowstring, murmuring to the spirits of the wind.

And Lira... Lira stood utterly still, her eyes half-lidded as she bent the very shadows around her fingertips into tendrils — writhing, whispering extensions of herself.

Kael gave a sharp nod. "Move."

They descended like wraiths.

The first perimeter guard barely managed a grunt before Lira's shadows wrapped around his throat, pulling him into the dark with a sickening snap. Another stepped forward — Rina was already there, her dagger slipping between his ribs.

In perfect silence, they crept toward the courtyard. Kael watched with dark pride — his women moved like seasoned predators, the blood of last night's awakening still thick in their veins.

Two guards at the main gate laughed, oblivious.

Selene ended the moment with a surge of lightning that left both men twitching corpses, their armor melted to their flesh. The smell of burning meat filled the air.

Kael rammed the gates with his shoulder, enhanced strength blasting them open.

"INTRUDERS!"

The alarm went up too late.

Kael and his squad poured inside, a relentless tide of violence.

Talia vaulted over a crate, driving a blade into a soldier's eye.

Lyria loosed an arrow that split another man's throat wide open, blood gurgling as he collapsed.

Lira sent ribbons of shadow coiling across the battlefield, slicing tendons and dragging enemies into the darkness, their screams muffled by the black.

Kael cleaved a path straight to the heart of the garrison. Every strike of his fists shattered bone; every sweep of his stolen sword painted the walls red.

But it wasn't just physical.

The Sovereign Core throbbed within him, hungrily absorbing the chaos, the fear, the death. Feeding him, evolving him.

In the inner sanctum, they found it — a thick iron door, runes glowing softly along its frame.

"A vault," Talia whispered, eyes wide.

Kael placed a hand on it. Energy pulsed beneath his palm — a security formation, sophisticated but brittle in the hands of someone with sufficient raw power.

He gritted his teeth, summoned the storm within his blood, and shoved.

The runes shattered like glass, the iron door buckling inward with a roar.

Inside: wealth beyond imagining.

Cultivation pills in crystal vials.

Spirit stones, each one humming with latent energy.

Ancient scrolls that radiated forbidden knowledge.

Weapons of darksteel and soul-infused metals.

Selene gasped. "This... this is a fortune!"

"No," Kael corrected grimly, his voice low. "This is freedom."

They moved fast, filling their satchels, knowing time was short.

But the garrison wasn't dead yet.

A fresh wave of elite guards, faces twisted in rage and fear, surged toward the vault entrance.

Kael turned to meet them with a snarl.

He caught the first captain mid-charge, driving his knee into the man's gut hard enough to shatter armor.

Talia and Rina danced through the confusion, their blades flashing.

Selene summoned a barrier of crackling energy, deflecting a volley of desperate arrows.

But it was Lira who turned the tide.

She raised her arms, and the shadows of the dead — dozens of slain guards littering the courtyard — rose at her command.

Phantom hands gripped ankles, phantom blades pierced backs.

The elites faltered, horror dawning in their eyes as the darkness consumed them.

Kael moved like a god of war through their ranks, cutting them down with brutal efficiency, savoring every snap of bone, every wet scream of agony.

When it was over, only silence remained.

Heavy, victorious silence.

Kael stood amidst the wreckage, chest heaving, blood dripping from his blade. His women gathered around him, battered but alive, the faint glow of power rippling from their bodies.

They had done it.

The Slavemasters' invincible northern garrison... destroyed.

And the city would wake to ruins.

---

Hours later, back in the hidden warehouse, Kael dumped the spoils onto the cracked stone floor.

Selene collapsed into a heap, laughing breathlessly. "We actually pulled it off."

Lyria knelt beside the spirit stones, her eyes wide with awe. "This will push us through multiple stages."

Talia leaned against the wall, blood smeared across her cheek, smiling fiercely. "We just shifted the city's balance."

Rina inspected her new blades with a gleam in her eyes. "They'll hunt us now. Fear us."

Kael looked around at them — his warriors, his women, his future.

"No," he said quietly, a dark fire burning in his voice. "They won't hunt us."

He raised his hand, clenching it into a fist.

"We are the hunters now."

The Sovereign Core inside him pulsed in agreement, and Kael knew — this was just the beginning.

Tomorrow, the city would tremble not from storms of wind and rain.

It would tremble from them.

The storm had a new name.

And it was Kael.