CHAPTER 11

 THE BLOOD MOON TRIALS 

Zephyrus seethed with rage, his hands clenched into fists. But he said nothing, standing in silence, fury boiling within him as he watched the siblings walk away, their arrogance filling the space like a suffocating fog.

When the last of the gods, demigods, and celestial creatures departed the grand hall, an eerie stillness descended. The air itself pulsed with tension, the divine realm shifting subtly under Maevhara's control.

She emerged from the shadows, her form casting elongated streaks of violet and shadow across the floor. Her eyes sparkled with cold amusement—and something older, darker.

"You amuse me," she said with a voice that could freeze flame. "But your arrogance is misplaced. For now, your mission is simple."

Kael stood tall, arms folded, his face unreadable. Aelina's eyes sharpened, calculating every word. Nyra's gaze held a void of emotion, icy and endless.

"You are to descend to the mortal realm," Maevhara continued. "A faction of rebel leaders rises from the ashes of my once-loyal territories. Your task: eradicate them. Leave no survivors. Burn their banners, silence their names. Do it however you wish—but I demand results."

She turned her back, her voice a silken whip. "Do not underestimate them. Mortal desperation breeds innovation. Failure will not be forgiven."

Kael scoffed, a slow smirk curling his lips. "Mortal rebels? You want gods to squash roaches?"

Maevhara's gaze turned, cold fury piercing him. "You will understand when you face them. You are not alone in this trial. I will send you a guide—one of my most trusted. But you will lead. This is your first test."

The siblings exchanged a brief look, then gave a dark, sinister smile, knowing this would be... fun.

Zephyrus stepped forward, still brimming with contempt. "You will depart after the Moon Fighting Competition. Your guide will await you on the border of the mortal realm."

Kael gave him a slow, mocking bow. "How adorable, Pipsqueak. You're almost useful."

Zephyrus twitched, barely restraining his fury.

Maevhara silenced them with a glance. "If you fail… it won't just be your necks. I will make eternity bleed."

Kael's grin widened, cruel and sharp. "Can't wait."

The siblings turned and left. Zephyrus simmered in the shadows.

"Master," he hissed, "look at them. No respect—"

"Enough," Maevhara snapped.

She watched them vanish into the corridor, her eyes distant. The gods and demigods watching from behind the veils of shadow knew this game was far from over.

The coliseum of the divine realm was unlike any mortal arena—skyborne, surrounded by storm clouds twisted into frozen spirals, spires rising like the fangs of titans. The Moon Fighting

Competition had begun.

Spectators filled the celestial tiers: gods, demigods, fae lords, sentient beasts, cursed beings, and those whose names were long forgotten.

A voice boomed overhead: "Let the competition begin."

The first match featured Ashen Creed, the half-phantom warrior, against a three-headed twin beast named Yevrox and Vaeda. The beast roared in chorus, flesh twitching, one body, two minds.

Ashen was beautiful—tall, silver-eyed, wrapped in torn robes of bone-thread. His blade, hollow-edged, sang a dirge.

They clashed like gods. Ashen danced on the edge of death, carving symphonies in flesh. Blood fell like rain. Gods leaned forward. Ashen moved like smoke, dodging claws and fangs, whispering death into every cut.

He twisted, rolled, then drove his blade into Vaeda's throat with surgical calm. Yevrox screamed, but Ashen didn't flinch. He buried the blade deeper. Flesh tore, bone cracked, and blood geysered into the divine air.

Ashen bowed once, silent. Then vanished in mist.

The second match was Aelina versus Veera the Dream-Eater, a half-nightmare creature cloaked in illusion. The battlefield twisted into a dreamscape—floating mirrors, inverted skies, rivers of glass.

Veera whispered, "Sleep, sweet child," as shadows coiled around her.

Aelina didn't blink. She moved like a phantom, her form flickering between real and unreal. Illusions shattered around her like dying stars.

She appeared behind Veera and whispered, "You should've stayed in your dreams."

Twin blades sank into Veera's spine. Screams rang out. The battlefield cracked. Veera collapsed, twitching in a pool of glittering ichor.

The crowd stirred, uneasy. There was no emotion in her. No satisfaction—only silence.

Next came Nyra against the masked devourer—Rakhul, a shapeshifter covered in shifting flesh and mirrored armor. The arena bent under their power.

Rakhul hissed, "Pretty thing. I will wear your face."

Nyra tilted her head. "Try."

Her magic was silent—black and violet flames spiraled up her arms, blooming like a dying star. She didn't move as Rakhul lunged. The flames met him in midair, peeling skin, burning soul.

He shrieked. Changed form. Became a child. A beast. A demon. But Nyra's flames consumed every form.

When the smoke cleared, Rakhul was nothing but ash.

The silence from the crowd was deafening.

The final match was Kael versus Gravos of the Iron-Fanged Clan.

Gravos towered with molten armor and bull-horned rage. But Kael smiled, dead-eyed, mocking.

"Do all your people stink of wet earth and failure? Or is that just you?"

Gravos snarled and charged. The battle exploded into chaos—Gravos fought with brute strength and fire-drenched fury. Kael dodged, ducked, then struck back with cruel precision. Blades sang. Bones cracked. Blood flew.

Kael's laughter echoed across the arena. He drove his blade into Gravos's thigh, twisted it, then slammed his elbow into the warrior's skull. Gravos staggered.

Kael leapt, smashed him into the spire-stone floor with a roar. The ground shook. Kael's boot pressed Gravos's face into the divine sand.

"You're not a warrior. You're a meat puppet."

The crowd gasped.

Kael twisted the blade again.

Gravos didn't rise.

Kael walked away, blood staining his fingertips.

The crowd rose to their feet, not with celebration but with unease. Gods whispered. Beasts growled. Creatures of shadow shifted nervously.

Maevhara sat still.

Emotionless.

The top commanders of her divine armies said nothing, but even they shared wary glances. Fighters who had sworn their lives to her—those who had never lost a battle—watched in amazement, disgust, or awe. No cheers. Just silence.

And then, one by one, the gods and creatures turned to Maevhara.

Her champions had not just won.

They had dominated.

Slaughtered.

Broken the rhythm of divine competition.

A single voice finally echoed from the divine tiers.

"The winners are clear. The champions of the Blood Moon Trials... are the siblings of shadow."

Kael, Aelina, and Nyra did not celebrate. They turned from the blood-soaked arena and walked away.

Above them, unseen by even Maevhara, the hooded man upon the highest spire remained unmoved.

His eyes gleamed with ancient gold as a crooked smile crept across his lips.

"Ah... the harbingers," he whispered. "Cursed children wrapped in stolen divinity. The storm begins."

End of Chapter 11