Blood and Chains

Chapter 14: Blood and Chains

The night before the assault was a slow boil of preparation and carnal indulgence.

Kael rose before the others, his body still aching pleasantly from their earlier frenzy, but his mind sharp, coiled tight with focus. He stood bare-chested at the edge of the warehouse, staring out at the cityscape — the twisted alleys, the crooked towers, the yawning abyss of power waiting to be seized.

Behind him, his women stirred.

Selene was the first to rise, wrapping herself in a thin sheet that did nothing to hide the bite marks on her throat and breasts. She approached Kael silently, resting her forehead between his shoulder blades. Her touch was a silent promise — loyalty, hunger, love, all wrapped in one.

"Tonight," she whispered, "we become legends."

Kael grunted his approval, then turned, seizing her chin in his hand. "No mercy. No hesitation."

Selene's lips curled into a savage smile.

One by one, the others rose:

Talia buckled her sword belt, naked save for the weapon; Rina adjusted the poisons strapped to her thigh; Lira simply materialized from the shadows, her eyes gleaming a deep, inhuman violet; and Lyria — quiet, pale, and unreadable — walked from the far end of the chamber, her long white braid trailing behind her like a ghost's tether. She bore no weapon, yet danger clung to her like frost on steel.

Kael nodded to her, and she inclined her head in silence.

They armored themselves in pieces — not in steel, but in stealth, fury, and the Sovereign's will.

The hours crawled.

At dusk, Kael gathered them around the stolen map. He knelt, tracing routes with one calloused finger.

"We slip in through the catacombs," he said. "They run beneath the southern command like a spider's web. Forgotten by most — but I found the old schematics."

Talia's grin was a razor. "A perfect slaughter."

"They'll expect a frontal assault," Rina said thoughtfully, "but the tunnels... they'll think the rats come, not the wolves."

Lyria's soft voice cut in, almost too quiet to hear. "They won't hear us until their blood soaks the stones."

Kael's Core pulsed once — an impatient heartbeat.

"No prisoners," he said coldly. "Only those worthy of the Sovereign shall live."

Selene flexed her fingers, sparks snapping between them. "And the women?"

Kael's eyes gleamed. "The worthy will kneel. The others will be broken until they do."

The plan was laid. The blades were sharpened. The Sovereign's court, once just an idea whispered between bloodied lips, would soon be real — an empire forged not by birthright, but by conquest.

---

Night fell.

The city, usually noisy even in darkness, was unnervingly silent — as if it, too, held its breath, sensing what approached.

Kael led the charge, a phantom among shadows, his body wrapped in a haze of suppressed lightning and cold fury.

The catacombs stank of rot and old wars — the bones of forgotten slaves crunching underfoot. But they moved with precision: silent, invisible, inevitable.

They emerged in the southern post's lower vaults, where a few hapless guards lounged, unaware.

Rina moved first — a whisper of motion and then two slumped corpses, throats neatly opened.

Talia followed, cleaving through the next with a single brutal strike.

Selene's magic flickered in the air, disrupting the few alarm sigils before they could even pulse.

Lira slithered into the shadows, her enemies dying before they even realized she was there.

And Lyria... Lyria walked straight through a warded archway, untouched. Her breath fogged in the air as the temperature dropped unnaturally. She raised one hand, and frost spiderwebbed across the stone walls — then through bone and blood alike. One of the guards froze mid-scream, his body shattering when he fell.

They ascended through the compound like death given form.

The clash began in earnest when they breached the main barracks.

Guards scrambled, shouting, but it was too late.

Kael's fist shattered skulls as easily as dry clay.

Talia was a whirlwind of flashing steel.

Selene's lightning reduced men to blackened husks.

Rina danced through the chaos, sowing death like seeds.

Lira — gods, Lira — moved like a living nightmare, choking life from the throats of their enemies with unseen hands.

Lyria strode through the slaughter like a winter storm — calm, frigid, and merciless — her magic freezing flesh and shattering minds.

The Slavemaster of the southern command — a gaunt woman clad in iron plates — rushed from her chambers, bellowing orders.

Kael met her charge head-on.

Her sword was a monster's fang, heavy and brutal — but Kael caught it bare-handed, muscles surging, veins glowing with Sovereign fire.

"Fool," he snarled.

With a roar, he shattered the blade in his grip, driving his other fist into her gut. She crumpled, gasping, and Kael seized her throat, lifting her high.

"I offer you a choice," he said. "Kneel... or perish."

Her eyes, full of rage, flickered with something else — fear. Submission.

She spat blood — but nodded.

Kael dropped her to her knees, towering over her.

Behind him, his women secured the highborn prisoners — dozens of beautiful, terrified young women, their fine silks torn, their wrists bruised from chains.

Some wept.

Some glared.

Some... some looked at Kael with wide, desperate eyes, recognizing instinctively the power before them.

Selene stepped forward, addressing them:

"You are slaves no longer," she said, voice cutting through the noise. "You are now his."

She gestured to Kael — a dark god haloed in blood and lightning.

"Serve him well," Selene continued, "and you will rise higher than you ever dreamed. Defy him..."

Talia grinned, licking a smear of blood from her sword's edge.

"You'll wish you hadn't."

The choice was made swiftly — fear and survival instinct stronger than pride.

One by one, the captured women knelt before Kael, heads bowed, lips whispering oaths of fealty.

The Sovereign's court was born in blood and terror and raw, naked awe.

---

Later that night, back in the stolen fortress, Kael stood before his new kingdom.

Talia lounged at his side, still half-naked and bloodstained.

Selene, flushed with triumph, perched beside his throne.

Rina and Lira stood as sentries, ever-watchful.

And Lyria — quiet and cold — sat cross-legged beneath the throne, tracing delicate sigils in the air, ensuring no soul could flee without his command.

And before them knelt a sea of beautiful women — broken chains at their feet, collars of silk around their throats, each bearing the brand of the Sovereign on their skin.

Kael rose slowly, savoring the sight, the power.

Tonight, he would take his time.

Tonight, he would claim — body, soul, will.

One by one.

The conquered...

The loyal...

The defiant...

They were all his now.

And this was only the beginning.