When we are one
The lock—a heart of obsidian, beating once every hundred years—pulses with dark energy.
Behind it sleeps my army.
Monsters.
Not rogues, not slaves, not mortals with vendettas and broken loyalties. These are beasts born in the pits of damnation. Wolves who’ve turned cannibal. Vampires stripped of elegance, twisted by centuries of madness. Shadows with no form, no eyes, only hunger.
Creatures who have tasted divine blood once before—and crave it still.
“Awaken,” I say softly.
My voice is the key. The old lock clicks. Once. Twice. The third time, it groans open like the gate to hell itself. A foul wind pushes against me, thick with rot and rage. And then, the breathing begins.
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