Chapter 3 The Blood Pact

Kael’s body hit the cold, rain-slicked cobblestones. Each timed breath out at the raw-throated sound exacerbated an already feeble gasping in the pit of his fire-bright lungs as he lay amongst the rubble of his unspeakable mistake, weak and limbs shaking in fatigue, but the fire inside his mind only grew white-hot as the cotton-havened illusion of a world around him burned black in his mind's eye. Blood is thick in the air: the sickly perfume of death that clings to his skin. All around him, the city had turned into a mass grave, corpses twisted into grotesque final positions, the streets slick and gleaming with viscous red, shining under the pale glow of lantern light. Darius towered over him, the black steel of his sword glistening with the lifeblood of the innocent. He looked disappointed, his golden eyes gleaming with something that was worse than hatred: amusement. The older brother, a flawless killer, was the last word in what the Shadowborne were intended to be. Kael had been afraid of Darius for a long time, but faced with Darius on the cusp of death, that fear transformed into something different: a murderous determination. “You always were the weakest,” Darius murmured, wiping a glob of blood off his cheek. "Soft-hearted. Foolish. And here you are now, drowning in your own failure.” Kael sputtered and tasted iron in his mouth. His fingers groped blindly, still searching for the lost dagger. His sight was poor, but he still saw the silent men of Darius, his vision muddied, fading at the sight that played out before him, the waiting in the dark and silence for this, the night that slaughtered the whole city. End. Kael’s attention had been drawn away by something: a survivor, a man half dragging himself through the carnage, gasping for breath, finding it very hard. He must have been no more than twenty, his apprentice’s garb saturated with blood, his arm bent grotesquely at the elbow. He wasn't a threat. He wasn't even a fighter. And yet Darius saw him. Darius flicked his wrist with a flourish and tossed a throwing knife. It ensnared the man’s throat, silencing him, instantly. Kael's stomach tightened. “No witnesses,” Darius said flatly, as if commenting on the weather. "Loose ends are liabilities." Kael’s breathing became irregular. His whole life was spent gasping for air beneath the oppressive legacy of the Shadowborne, covered in blood he never wanted to. But now, as he saw the light fade from that man’s eyes, something broke in him. The instinct of a predator kicked in. In a speed that would have elicited nothing short of the most far-fetched incredulity, Kael rushed forward, fingers wrapping around a fallen scrap of metal. Before Darius could respond, steel met flesh, and the edge of the dagger carved a jagged line across his forearm. The senior assassin croaked in agony as the mask of mere mirth it wore shattered and reformed into something grim. "You dare?" Kael didn’t let him finish. He turned from that, cutting across the throat of yet another of Darius’s men before he’d even had time to draw his weapon. Blood sprayed steaming onto Kael’s face, and he didn’t flinch. He moved like a specter, like incarnate death, like a strike from the dark, a blow without mercy. He didn’t think; he just acted. The others lunged at him, but Kael was long gone, weaving through them as a shadow comes into form. He tore the first with a wound to the belly, twisting it viciously before ripping it out. One lunged at him; he caught the man’s wrist, felt the bone snap with a sickening crunch before he thrust the dagger under his chin, felt the warm rush of blood as it flowed, and coated his hand. Darius was on him in seconds, sword drawn, sun flashing off the silver. Kael ducked just in time, feeling the blade slash through the air a few inches from his scalp. He rolled, grabbed a fallen guard’s weapon, and countered his brother’s next strike directly. The blow reverberated in his bones, but he stood fast. “You’ve lost your mind,” Darius growled, shoving him away. “Do you honestly believe you can fight your way out of this?” His lips were cracked and bleeding, but Kael smiled. “I don’t have to struggle my way up. I just need to ensure you walk away from this." Darius laughed, and it sounded hollow. "You always were pathetic." They met again, swords ringing out in the festive night, moving in a blur of steel and blood. Kael fought with all he had, but he knew the truth; Darius was stronger. Faster. More precise. For every punch Kael threw, his brother threw ten, pressing him back and back and back. Pain screamed through his body, begging for relief, but his rage burned hotter, pushing him onwards. Then, a moment of hesitation. A single misstep. Darius's sword stabbed deep into Kael's side. A burning intensity shot through his body as his vision filled with black spots. He staggered, barely able to maintain his grip on his sword. Darius hissed, cruelly twisting the sword and then yanking it free. Kael fell to his knees, the blood collecting at his feet. Darius knelt before him, clutching his chin brutally. “You didn’t stand a chance, little brother,” he said, voice nearly gentle. "You were born a Shadowborne. And you will die as one." Kael’s vision faded to black, and his body turned cold. The shouts of guards converging on the second floor rang through the air but were worlds away. His heartbeat slowed. Then, from the depths of his blurry mind, he heard another voice. A whisper. Do you want to live?" The voice was ancient, slithering through his blood like liquid shadow. It was neither male nor female, neither kind nor cruel. It simply was. And it was promising him something beyond death. His fingers twitched. His breath hitched. The darkness coiled around him, pouring into his wounds, filling his body with a sick, unearthly power. Darius must have felt it; his fingers tightened into a grip, suspicious eyes narrowing. Kael lifted his head. And he smiled. His flesh convulsed as those shadows took hold, wrapping around him like tendrils of a living thing. His wounds closed, his pain vanished, and his heart beat with something foul. He could hear them, the voices, the power, the hunger. Darius stepped back, his confidence faltering for the first time. Kael rose, his shadow elongating across the sanguine ground. His eyes burned with a strange light, some ancient and monstrous thing waking behind them. Darius raised his sword. "What?" Kael moved faster than thought, faster than would have been possible. In one instant he was in front of his brother. Then, his hand closed around Darius's throat, and he picked him up into the air with ease. The oldest of the Shadowborne gasped for breath, its fingers scrambling against Kael's grip. "What have you done?" Kael cocked his head and smiled bigger. “I am something much worse than you. With a sickening crunch, he crushed the other’s throat in his grip and let his brother’s lifeless body drop to the ground. You are born anew, in a land all but forgotten, your strength returned, the whispers of the abyss begging you to come forth as the guards rage against the city walls. The massacre had only just begun.