Pact of the Broken Sun
Chapter 8 - The Price of Blessing (1)
Location: Earth - The Collapsed Realm, Capital of the Feral Collective
Year: Y.P. 100
Designation: The Lunar Sanctuary
"His blood tasted a bit weird…" the Alpha Matriarch murmured, her voice husky yet still carrying an underlying menace, as she slowly reverted back to her human form.
Her thick white fur receded, the bones that had shifted moments ago now softened and returned to their normal positions, and her body mass shrunk back to graceful, yet still muscular, human proportions.
"It's probably because he had the 'blessing', but still, it's an observation worth noticing."
One of her loyal retainers, a young Lunar Striker with a deferential expression, immediately rushed over to her and handed her, her ornate, sigil-embroidered coat.
The Matriarch casually wiped Kaelen's excessive blood from her face with the back of her hand before slipping into the garment. Once she was done covering herself, everyone else finally dared to lift their gazes and turn towards her.
"He's bleeding a bit too much. Get a healer to seal the wound and lock him up in his room," the Matriarch ordered one of her servants, her tone now returning to a cold, authoritative cadence.
"It should take one cycle for his powers to manifest, and then, we'll begin his training."
She then squatted next to the unconscious Kaelen, sprawled on the marble floor, and with a surprisingly gentle touch, caressed his bloodied face.
"I have high hopes for you, my precious pawn. You will become my new sword to tear the King's family in half."
She looked at Kaelen with a burning passion in her eyes, an intensity that made the other high-ranking Lunar Strikers in the hall jealous.
Even though they knew how important he was to the Matriarch—as a rare and valuable 'marked one'—witnessing the look on the Matriarch's face as the boy was being taken away was a bit… unsettling for some. Yet, at the same time, it also meant that harming the boy in any way would make the Matriarch lose her formidable composure.
Their Matriarch had turned many novices over the years. Countless pawns had been forged and destroyed over the decades, but none of them had been able to make the Matriarch so… protective of them.
Perhaps the kid truly was exceptional.
Perhaps the kid truly had received the 'blessing' that the Matriarch suspected—a genetic anomaly allowing for multi-faction assimilation. If that were the truth, then it would mean that Kaelen was the first and only human to receive something that only the three major monster races could get: the Lunar Strikers, the Vitae Dominion, and the Silent Rot.
"Matriarch, are you sure—"
"Do you still doubt me, Donovan?"
The Matriarch glared at the male who had raised his hand to ask her a question, a gesture of respect required in her court. Respect and knowing one's rightful place were the only unbreakable rules under her dominion.
Thus, even if someone had a suggestion or question for her, they had to seek permission before speaking. Donovan, however, was the sole exception to this rule. He was the Matriarch's First Mate, as well as the first Lunar Striker she had ever converted and personally trained.
Standing 6'1" tall, this caramel-skinned male exuded a palpable sense of power. Unlike everyone else in the court, he did not outwardly fear the Matriarch. Instead, he was her trusted blade, her chief confidant.
He had shoulder-length brown hair carefully styled into a beaded ponytail, matching his neatly trimmed goatee beard. His body was powerfully muscled, complementing his large torso. Two long swords were strapped to his fairly toned waist, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.
"…I do," Donovan spoke his mind on the matter, his voice calm yet firm. He was the only one who dared to verbally challenge the Matriarch.
"How can a human possibly have the genes needed to activate the 'blessing'? It's completely unheard of."
He paused, observing the Matriarch's expression.
"We—"
"It's precisely because it's unheard of that it would make it possible for me to give my father a scar to remember me by," the Matriarch cut him off, waving Donovan's concerns aside as if they were minor inconveniences.
"You were there that day, weren't you? The day that frail-looking 12-cycle-old killed one of your elite guards with just a baton, and with a single strike? You saw the crimson glow in his eyes, didn't you?"
"I—I did…" Donovan admitted, his voice slightly hoarse, the memory clearly etched in his mind.
"You know what that means, don't you?" the Matriarch pressed him, her tone shifting to something darker, more menacing.
"Yes, Matriarch…" Donovan replied, his head bowed slightly.
"Then stop wasting time and set up an appropriate training facility for the boy," the Matriarch said in a definitive tone, ending the debate.
"You and I, both, will give him the necessary training he needs in order to attend the academy.
Does anyone else have any questions?"
The Matriarch swept her gaze across the hall, her newly transformed yellowish eyes gleaming menacingly. No one dared to speak.
"Then, I'll be off to rest. Donovan, join me after you are done with the preparations."
"As you wish, Matriarch." Donovan bowed deeply, a sincere gesture of respect.
Everyone else in the hall bowed before her as she left the throne room, her lithe silhouette disappearing behind the massive doors.
Only when she had truly departed did the others dare to speak their minds openly. Although they were doing what the Matriarch asked of them, they still didn't completely agree with her bold and unprecedented decision.
Turning other humans into Lunar Strikers was not an issue. It wasn't uncommon for the Feral Collective to make use of humans to strengthen their ranks, that is, if they didn't feast on them first. But how could their Matriarch turn someone as unpredictable as this boy—a human who had just displayed a genetic anomaly—without doing proper research? It was beyond their reasoning.
"Sir Donovan, we must eliminate the boy before it's too late," one of the twelve ministers, an astute elder Lunar Striker, spoke in a deep voice. His face was still hidden behind an intricately carved bone mask.
"The boy would definitely become a sword worthy of the Matriarch's name, but his unpredictable nature might spell trouble for us later. Especially because he loathes us for taking away his traitorous parents."
Numerous others nodded their heads in agreement, ripples of doubt spreading among the high-ranking officials.
However, the moment the minister finished speaking, Donovan swiftly drew one of the swords strapped to his waist, its blade glinting sharply in the dim light of the hall, and placed its tip against the minister's neck.
Everyone was shocked by his sudden hostile reaction and immediately stepped back in fear.
"I will not persuade her to do otherwise. If she wants to train the kid herself, she must have seen something our eyes couldn't…" Donovan declared, his voice now cold and uncompromising, his sharp eyes fixed on the frozen minister.
He then withdrew his sword, sheathing it with a loud screech, yet his unspoken threat remained.
"However, if the boy fails her, I'll be the first one to dig my canines into his flesh. You can rest assured about that."