Pact of the Broken Sun
Chapter 6 - The Ritual of Binding (1)
Location: Earth - The Collapsed Realm, Capital of the Feral Collective
Year: Y.P. 100
Designation: The Lunar Sanctuary
Kaelen Vance still had the rough, dark cloth wrapped tightly around his head, plunging him into a stifling, humid darkness. Yet, despite his blindness, a chilling certainty had settled in his mind: if what the Matriarch had said about four cycles passing was true, then he knew precisely where he was being taken. It was time for his dreaded Ritual of Binding—the forced induction ceremony into the Feral Collective. As he was roughly dragged through what he assumed was the main courtyard of the compound, a cacophony of sound reached his ears. He could clearly discern the jeers and, horrifyingly, the cheers from other humans—the remaining captives left behind, those who embraced their subservience. They were celebrating, as if he had won some glorious battle, not being led to his enslavement.
'Pathetic… spineless bastards!' Kaelen crushed the thought under his breath, a wave of bitter disgust washing over him. This wasn't something anyone should be celebrating! He was being taken hostage, for the love of all that was lost. He had yearned to join the Aetherium Collective, the true resistance, not be forcibly conscripted into the ranks of the Lunar Strikers! A cold knot formed in his stomach. He still couldn't comprehend what had happened to his meticulously crafted escape plan. Had he truly been incapacitated by that Thrall? Or had he been fed some kind of potent sedative, perhaps a specialized sleeping agent, to ensure he wouldn't leave the place even if he wanted to? The thought infuriated him.
It was for that exact reason, to avoid being drugged, that he had vehemently refused to eat anything offered to him for the last few cycles. Then how, by all the shattered stars, had he gotten himself tangled up in this inescapable mess? A fresh wave of defiance surged through him. He tried to muster his newly transformed, subtly powerful physique, attempting to wrench free from the iron grip of the Lunar Strikers dragging him. But against these full-fledged, monstrous beings, his nascent strength, though significant for a human, was still like that of a struggling toddler. No matter how much he thrashed and struggled, there was nothing he could do now. It was too late. His fate, it seemed, was already sealed.
Just like that, with a violent shove, he was thrown into the confines of a heavily armored vehicle. Two hulking Lunar Strikers, their forms radiating brute power even in his blind state, immediately moved to hold him down, their weight pinning him to the seat as the vehicle lurched forward. He could still faintly hear the fading cheers of the other humans, a chilling echo of their pathetic joy. However, soon everything dissolved into a heavy silence, broken only by the low rumble of the car's engine, its advanced technology cutting through the desolate landscape as it sped towards an unknown, dreadful location.
'Damn it, damn it, damn it!!!' Kaelen cursed inwardly, his mind a storm of frustrated rage. He was furious with himself, with the world. After everything he had painstakingly planned and executed in the last couple of cycles, all his hopes, all his meticulous preparations, had gone straight down the drain. He had wanted only one thing: to avenge his parents, to fight for a future where humans weren't livestock. And now, he wouldn't be able to do a single thing about it.
Once he was forcibly converted into a Lunar Striker, his capacity for rebellion would be utterly extinguished. Loyalty, in their twisted world, was not a choice; it was an innate biological program. The human gene, the spark of individual will, was replaced by the dominant instincts of the Collective. No matter what kind of personal disagreement or past grievance they held, a true Lunar Striker would have to stay true to their pack, to their Alpha Matriarch, their defiance crushed by their own biology.
However, for those rare, shattered souls who still managed to defy the pack and actively go against its will, two fates awaited them: the swift, agonizing death penalty, or worse… exile. Some might mistakenly think being exiled was better than dying, a chance at freedom. In reality, being cast out into the wilderness of the Collapsed Realm was far, far worse than a quick, merciful death.
The world outside the guarded territories was not a place to roam around without extensive preparation, without formidable power. The Silent Rot, the Vitae Dominion, and the myriad of Rift-spawned predators were all terrifying in their own right. But there were far worse things out there, horrors lurking in the deepest, most corrupted zones that no one even knew about. Whoever had dared to venture out, to discover these hidden monsters, had never returned.
Earth wasn't Earth anymore; it was chaos made manifest. The only semblance of order, the only pockets of relative safety, were the various fortified kingdoms and regions carved out by the new monstrous lords of the world. Right now, Kaelen and his captors were headed towards one such place: the majestic capital city of the Feral Collective, a sprawling fortress known as New Lycania, or often simply called The Lunar Sanctuary.
The Lunar Sanctuary was also the city where the Alpha Matriarch wielded an indomitable, almost absolute, influence. One could say she was the uncrowned queen of that city, a title that wasn't far from reality. She was, after all, one of the many illicit offspring of the current Feral King, born from various brutal 'alliances' and conquests. Though considered the most gifted individual among all the King's children, her birth out of wedlock meant the purists within the Lunar Striker society did not allow the King to formally acknowledge or treat her as his true heir. This injustice was the very reason she was dead set on making the royal family's life as miserable as possible, a constant thorn in their side.
All of a sudden, the vehicle jolted, then came to a complete stop. They had arrived at their destination: the Alpha Matriarch's sprawling, ancient mansion, repurposed and fortified. It might have seemed like a mere couple of minutes since their journey began, but it was all thanks to the Lunar Strikers' salvaged and repurposed pre-Rift technological advancements—their modified vehicles—that they were able to make what would normally be a cross-territory journey within minutes.
The hulking Lunar Striker sitting to Kaelen's right, its presence a suffocating weight, roughly grabbed Kaelen by the nape of his neck and unceremoniously yanked him out of the vehicle. His head was still covered by the coarse cloth, so he couldn't see a thing, but he could feel the eyes on him. Hundreds of them. Pressing down, scrutinizing. Some looked at him with raw, predatory hunger, while others—those perhaps closer to the Matriarch—regarded him with a peculiar, unsettling interest.
Suddenly, a new sensation pierced through the overwhelming fear and disorientation. A familiar yellow glow pulsed at the edge of his vision, accompanied by unseen text.
[You have obtained a new skill: Low-Grade Perception.]
>> Perception: A prime innate ability, common among beings with heightened senses and predatory instincts. It is the capacity to intuitively sense, hear, or become aware of subtle intentions, shifts in aura, or hidden details through enhanced senses. You can now detect the emotional intent and hidden agendas of lower-tier beings with this skill.
Grade: Low
Condition to upgrade the skill: Achieve maximum friendliness/hostility with any intelligent being, or use 5 Skill Points to level this skill up.
Current Skill Points (Echo Codex): 0
'Low-Grade Perception? Wait, what even is this—' Kaelen's thoughts, already reeling, were cut short. The system message, the sudden influx of information directly into his mind, was overwhelming, yet strangely clear.
All of a sudden, he was slammed down onto a cold, hard floor like a sack of potatoes, the impact jarring his teeth. The very next moment, the rough cover was violently yanked from his face, flooding his eyes with harsh light. His hands, however, remained chained, binding him securely. Kaelen forced his eyes shut for a moment, adjusting to the sudden brightness, before slowly, cautiously, opening them to survey his surroundings.
He was in an immense, grand hall. Several slim, elongated banners, crafted from what appeared to be dark, polished onyx, surrounded each of the ten colossal columns, casting a warm, flickering orange glimmer from concealed light sources within their depths. These banners illuminated the lower levels of what must be a throne hall, coating everything in a shimmering, ethereal glow. Numerous intricate, almost angelic paintings adorned the oblique ceiling, their figures seeming to dance in the flickering light of countless torches. Beneath them, intricately carved images of monstrous beings and grotesque gargoyles looked down from the high walls, their stony gazes fixed upon the smooth, polished limestone floor of the magnificent, sprawling hall.
A luxurious, teal-colored carpet ran like a river of jewel-toned fabric from the majestic throne at the far end of the room all the way to the massive, ornate doors. It was mirrored by smaller, circular carpets on either side of the hall, acting as designated spaces for attendees. Rounded banners with gilded tassels draped majestically from the high walls, each depicting the fearsome sigils of the Lunar Striker pack. Between each banner stood a tall, slender candle, many of which had been lit, their flames illuminating the impressive statuettes of ancient Lunar Striker heroes and revered leaders, standing proudly above them in their carved niches.
Numerous beings were seated on either side of the carpet, lining the length of the hall. All their faces were obscured by grotesque, elaborate masks carved from bone and hardened leather, masks that Kaelen thought eerily resembled their 'true' monstrous faces—a chilling mockery of human pretense. Behind each seated figure, high, tinted glass windows, impossibly clean, were contoured by heavy, luxurious curtains colored the same deep teal as the carpet.
A dignified, imposing throne of shimmering gold sat at the far end of the vast room, radiating an aura of ancient power. It was here, before this seat of ultimate authority, that Kaelen had been forcibly made to kneel, his head bowed, his hands bound. The immediate area around the throne was adjoined by four plain, yet remarkably comfortable, padded seats, clearly reserved for those closest to the Matriarch as she occupied the golden throne, her presence a heavy weight in the air. A fearsome Lunar Striker, its form captured in intricate detail, was carved directly into the wall above the throne, its eyes seemingly following his every move.
Then, the Matriarch's voice, clear and resonant, cut through the reverent silence of the hall, echoing from the golden throne. "Now that everyone is here," she declared, her tone carrying the weight of absolute power, "let the Ritual of Binding begin!"