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“I have need of you,” said Cerberus, disguised as an incubus.
“You have disturbed me at an inopportune time.” With effort since he was still aroused, Lort zipped his pants and willed his fangs to recede. Why he did not view the stranger as a threat was a conundrum. Later, he figured he had been spelled.
Cerberus dismissed the vampire’s annoyed reception with a wave of his hand. “What I offer is a lifetime of satisfaction. As my general, you will take your place on Earth beside me when I rule. You shall own vast lands, great estates, and enough human slaves to quench your never-ending thirst. What I offer is your destiny.”
He followed Cerberus and raised an army called Arisen Dawn. Such was meant to be.
Now he waited on the steps of destiny for the male who would bring him to his rightful place at the top of the food chain.
Footsteps.
A shudder rolled along Lort’s spine. He was about to become the second most powerful being in the world.
Cerberus strode into the main chamber, his white robe shushing in the dirt, his head bowed, his face obscured by a cowl, his hands muffled in the sleeves of his garment. The mage cast his gaze to the floor. Energy, which crackled in the air, stole Lort’s breath, licking across his skin like a wild cat’s rough tongue.
Cerberus slowly tilted his chin and pushed back his hood. The warlock’s pupils were black pits. Holes in the fabric of time. Yes. He was the living representative of Lort’s hopes, dreams, and plans. Together, they would reign supreme over humans, Aeternals, and wildings.
The warlock moved to a spot in front of the firepit. His body stilled, gathering power.
A noise outside the temple drew Lort’s attention. Boden began his ascent of the marble stairs, leading the Blood Coven descendants by a chain, each bound to each as they shuffled in his wake, following like the good sheep they were.
Though Cerberus gazed downward, his eyes hooded, his chest expanded with deep breaths while Boden led the descendants to their places at the fire. When he unchained each witch and warlock, they assumed their positions as directed. Dressed in white robes similar to their powerful leader’s, they pushed the cowls from their heads. Their faces were serene, their lord’s will holding them in a trance.
Boden slipped away to stand beside Lort. In silence both males watched Cerberus for their cues.
With a flick of his fingers, their lord summoned the ceremonial blade from the altar. Boden had delivered it there at his request. When it flew into his hand, he raised it high in the air, reciting hushed words. He lowered it, touching it to his lips, his aura bristling with energy. At his bidding, a coven warlock stepped forward, grasping onto the chalice from the same altar. With slow steps, he trailed his lord to the first witch where Cerberus extended his palm. She lay her wrist in it. His thumb rubbed her pulse, his strokes gentle. With his black eyes gleaming like burning coals, he slashed open her vein. His acolyte collected the blood in the golden cup.
Cerberus glided to the mage beside her where he performed the same ritual. The remaining witches and warlocks stood in passive acceptance, their offerings dripping into the chalice, sizzling, mixing with that of the others. The lord turned to his appointed acolyte last, slashing a line across the male’s wrist, his red sacrifice trickling into the cup.
With the last blood tribute from the coven, they began a sybaritic dance around the fire, clutching hand to hand, their shoulders undulating, their bodies twisting beneath white robes which shushed across the tile at their feet. Their dreamy gaze fixed on their lord, the heart of their universe, the fulfiller of their desires. A chant arose, winding through the temple, begging for spells to be cast, begging for their lust to be assuaged.
His eyes wide with expectation, Lort pushed off the wall, his spine straight. It was coming. Chaos. Desire. He could feel the saturated air, the heaviness of fulfilled expectations.
In the center of the group near the fire, Cerberus raised the chalice aloft in one hand. The knife in the other. The circle stilled. Waiting for the lord of destiny.
With his lips barely contorting into a smile, Cerberus drew the blade across his right wrist. He held the open wound above the cup.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
His offering mingled with the blood of his coven. The awed expressions disappeared from the mages’ faces, replaced by a reflection of Cerberus’s hunger for power. His energy flowed into them as it had into the chalice, filling them with his own desires. Some would say corrupting, but Lort saw it for its truth. It was a fulfillment of what they were meant to be. They had become the new Blood Coven, those who would dissolve the separation between three realms and change the course of history. Like marionettes on a string, their feet left the marble tiles, their spines bowed, their arms flew wide, they drifted upward.
Cerberus muttered spells, his lips moving but the sound for his ears only.
Silence stalked through the temple. The time had come.
The golden chalice hissed and bubbled. Flames spilled over the lip to trail down the sides, traveling to the marble-tiled floor and on to the central fire.
When it completed its journey, the room shifted. The floor rose and tilted. Lort latched onto a nearby column. Others sought a wall or fell to the ground. Overhead, pitch black clouds rolled in, turning near-dusk to night. Rain gushed, thunder howled, and lightning splintered the earth. Fire spewed from cracks in the soil.
Outside the temple, chaos reigned. Arisen Dawn soldiers cried out in agony when the tumult grew. The Blood Coven screamed, their bodies contorting, bones snapping, flesh peeling away, organs rupturing. To complete the spell, a necessary cruelty, it was as if Cerberus’s energy and power consumed their lifeforces.
At the fire, flames licked the ceiling while the mages’ spent husks littered the tiled floor. They had fulfilled their destiny.
Lort’s future lay ahead. His grasp on the column tightened when a chasm opened near his feet.
Of the coven, only Cerberus survived, maintaining balance, his body synchronous with the movement of the ground. He raised his arms outstretched, his hair whipped around his shoulders, his eyes lit with a mad flame, and his robe tossed in the wind. A laugh boiled from his chest, passing out his mouth as a roar.
The earth ceased rolling, the rents closed, and the skies calmed. Lort feared to gaze upon his lord, who turned from the blaze, his face dark with deadly potential.
