Baptism of Shadows

The night was quiet, save for the occasional whisper of the wind slipping through Vulcan's undercity. The streets were empty this late, bathed in a dull gray glow from cracked lanterns that hadn't been cleaned in years. Rain had washed the cobblestones, leaving behind a sheen that reflected faint traces of the moonlight. In the heart of this underworld maze stood Cain, cloaked in black, his masked face turned toward the cityscape below. His presence was silent yet commanding, an aura that pressed against the world as if even the shadows recognized him as their sovereign.

Behind him, Beatrix waited, arms crossed, her crimson hair damp from the mist in the air. Kael stood on the other side, silent and stoic, chains coiled loosely around his arms like waiting serpents. The four recruits—two men and two women—stood in a line, their postures uncertain, caught between awe and fear. Each bore the shadow lotus mark Cain had branded on them during initiation, a mark that connected their essence to his. None dared to meet his gaze.

"This city," Cain said finally, his voice cold and sharp, cutting through the silence, "is rotting from the inside. The people above have no idea what festers below their feet. But we do. And tonight, you'll learn why we exist."

His words were not loud, but every syllable seemed to weigh heavy on the recruits. Beatrix shifted slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips, as if she enjoyed the tension Cain exuded so effortlessly. Kael didn't move, his gaze locked forward like a statue awaiting orders.

"You are not soldiers," Cain continued. "Not yet. The Shadow Garden will not tolerate weakness. Tonight is your baptism, and the blood you spill will determine if you're worthy to stand under my banner." He gestured toward the run-down warehouse below them. "Inside that place is a gang known as the Iron Fangs. Petty criminals. No cultivators beyond the lower stages. A test of your precision and will. Eliminate them, leave no trace, and make sure no one sees your face."

One of the recruits, a tall man with a scar across his jaw, shifted uneasily. "And if we fail?" His voice was low, but the question drew the attention of the others.

Cain's mask tilted slightly toward him. The silence stretched until it became suffocating. "Then you won't leave that warehouse," Cain said, his tone void of any warmth. "Failure is death. If you're afraid, walk away now."

No one moved. Not one of them dared to take a step back. Cain turned to Kael and Beatrix. "Observe. Intervene only if necessary. They must fight like shadows—no mistakes, no hesitation."

Kael nodded once, while Beatrix's grin widened, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I'll enjoy watching this," she muttered.

Cain stepped to the edge of the roof. "Go," he commanded, and the recruits leapt down, their dark cloaks fluttering like silent wings as they landed near the warehouse.

The gang inside had no idea death was about to creep in through their doors.

Cain didn't move immediately. He stayed above, his sharp gaze following the recruits as they approached the entrance. They hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at each other. The scarred man kicked the door open, and the moment the hinges groaned, chaos began.

The first recruit—a short, wiry woman with twin daggers—moved fast, slashing the throat of the guard by the door before he could shout. The others rushed inside, weapons drawn. Shouts erupted from within, chairs and bottles crashing as the Iron Fangs scrambled to defend themselves. The fight began messy, clumsy even, as the recruits tried to work together but tripped over their fear and inexperience.

Cain sighed quietly, his arms folding across his chest. Beatrix chuckled behind him. "They're like newborn pups," she said. "Sharp teeth, but no bite."

"They'll learn," Cain replied. "Or they'll die."

Inside the warehouse, the battle raged. The scarred man swung his blade wildly, catching an enemy across the chest, but leaving himself open. A second gang member lunged at him with a club. Before the strike landed, a shadow flickered across the room and the attacker collapsed, a chain wrapped tightly around his neck. Kael's interference was swift and precise. The recruit barely noticed.

The second man among the recruits, a slender archer, loosed arrows with shaky hands. He missed twice before his third arrow found its mark in a thug's leg. Beatrix scoffed. "He needs work. I've seen academy brats with better aim."

The fight lasted longer than Cain would have liked. He could have cleared the warehouse in a breath, but this wasn't his battle. It was theirs. A test of not just skill, but resolve. The Iron Fangs weren't particularly strong, but they were vicious, and the recruits were seeing blood up close for the first time. Every cut, every cry of pain was a new weight on their minds. Cain could feel their fear and hesitation, like a stench in the air.

The last thug fell to his knees, clutching a wound in his side. He looked up just in time to see the scarred recruit's blade flash. The warehouse grew silent except for the recruits' ragged breathing. Blood stained their weapons, their hands trembling. They looked toward the doorway, where Cain now stood.

He had entered without a sound, his presence swallowing the room like a shadow sweeping over flame. The recruits stepped back, uncertain, their gazes lowered. Cain walked among the fallen men, his boots making soft thuds against the wooden floor. He stopped near the scarred recruit and looked down at him.

"Do you feel it?" Cain asked.

The recruit swallowed. "Feel… what?"

Cain's masked head tilted slightly. "The weight of killing. The stench of death clinging to your soul. If you feel nothing, you're no better than a beast. But if you hesitate, you'll die." He paused, letting his words sink in. "You're here because you're broken, because the world spat on you. I will give you a purpose—to take back your strength. But only if you're willing to kill as easily as you breathe."

The recruit's hands clenched tighter around his blade. Slowly, he nodded. The others followed suit, determination flickering in their eyes.

"Good," Cain said, turning toward the exit. "Clean this place. Burn it. No one will know you were here."

The recruits moved quickly, gathering the bodies, stacking them for disposal. Beatrix leaned against the doorway, watching them with an almost mocking smile. "I like them. They're rough, but there's fire in their eyes now."

Kael stepped forward, his tone even. "Fear can be turned into strength. They'll harden with time."

Cain didn't respond. He simply watched the flames rise as the warehouse burned, consuming every trace of the night's work. The recruits stood in the rain outside, their faces illuminated by the fire's glow. They were quiet, but something in them had changed. The fear was still there, but now it was mixed with something else—a grim understanding of what it meant to serve in the shadows.

As the building collapsed inward, Cain spoke again. "This is your first step. But understand this—Shadow Garden is not an army. We are not heroes. We are the knife in the dark, the hand that pulls the strings. You will obey me without question. Fail me, and I will end you myself."

The recruits bowed their heads, the shadow lotus on their arms faintly glowing in response to Cain's words. His power washed over them, not just as a leader but as something far greater—an unyielding force they could neither escape nor defy.

Beatrix moved closer, glancing at Cain's mask. "So what's next? We've lit a small fire. Do we let it burn?"

Cain's gaze shifted toward the horizon, where the lights of Vulcan's upper districts gleamed faintly. "No," he said, his tone calm but heavy with intent. "We sharpen the fire. Quietly. One step at a time. The world won't even notice we exist until it's too late."

The rain continued to fall, hissing as it met the burning embers behind them. The recruits watched Cain, their breathing slowing, their hearts still pounding from their baptism by blood and flame. None of them fully understood what they had signed up for, but one thing was clear: they had seen a glimpse of the abyss that was Cain Azaroth, and none of them would ever be the same.

As they walked back into the undercity, their footsteps echoing on the wet cobblestones, Beatrix leaned toward Kael. "You feel it, don't you? He's building something big. Something dangerous."

Kael's mask turned slightly in her direction. "Yes. And when it's done, the world will remember the name Chaos Reaper."

Cain didn't respond, but under the mask, his eyes were cold and calculating. He had taken the first step to forge the Shadow Garden into the blade he would one day wield against the Supremes. For now, the world slept in ignorance. But soon, the shadows would awaken, and when they did, no one would be ready.

The night swallowed them as they disappeared into the labyrinth of the undercity, leaving only smoke and silence in their wake. Cain's plan was only beginning, and the city of Vulcan had no idea that the tyrant's shadow had already begun to spread.