Chapter 26: The Birth of the Shadow Knights

The raw meat refused to be chewed. The muscle fibers of Silas's heart were too tough. Black slime smelling of bile burned Luka's tongue. He clamped his jaw.

His teeth moved mechanically. His canines tore the heart chambers. Thick fluid spurted, soaking the roof of his mouth. The stench of carcass and rusted iron invaded his nasal cavity.

He swallowed it by force. The rotting organ lump slid down past his esophagus. It felt searing hot. A chunk of glowing stone tore his airways from the inside.

The air inside the cave hall died. Hundreds of assassins held their breaths. The metallic tang of fresh blood drowned the blue phosphor glow on the cave walls.

The facial muscles of those executioners tensed rigidly. They stood petrified at the ruined-faced boy in the middle of the filthy puddle. Luka did not use his monster hand to siphon the soul. He used his bare teeth.

He tore the dignity of Oesteria's number one assassin group straight to the roots. A pure savagery breaking human reason.

A thud ruined the ears. Not from outside the mountain's belly. The sound originated from inside Luka's ribs.

Silas's soul exploded. The spiritual energy of the Stage Three Echo Ruler surged into Luka's vein casings. An unseen shockwave struck the entire cave.

The phosphor moss on the walls dimmed by force. The limestone stalactites on the ceiling crunched loudly. White dust and filthy water drops fell to the wet floor. Foul-smelling wind swirled around Luka's body.

The pressure blasted the suffocating air, pressing the lungs of anyone standing within a ten-pace radius.

Inside his head, the monolithic Slaughterhouse gate shook hard. Dense black smoke invaded. Silas's eyeless crow form thrashed in Luka's inner airspace.

The greedy monster flapped its defective wings. It vomited thousands of scrap weapons to the blood mud bottom. The creature demanded dominance, trying to tear Luka's sanity from the inside.

The Sin of Wrath retaliated. Thick iron chains wrapped the crow monster's neck. Boiling heat evaporated the remaining doubt.

The thick blood puddle in the Slaughterhouse spun, forming a giant vortex and swallowing the crow alive. Rusted iron clashed. That energy tug-of-war tortured his physical body.

In the real world, Luka's body froze. The red veins on his right arm bulged wildly. His thick scales rubbed, producing a sharp hiss.

His body temperature spiked drastically. Sweat mixed with blood dripped from his temples. The fluid seeped past the coarse stitches on his neck. He refused to fall.

Spiritual erosion battered him in succession. The tremor threatened to wrench more memory fragments from his skull. He ignored the sting. He pressed it to the pit of his gut.

If he fell kneeling now, the bloody hierarchy he built would shatter to pieces.

Luka twisted his neck. His cervical bones crunched loudly. He stared at Silas's corpse. The gaunt body lay rotting before the throne.

He stepped forward. His boots crushed the bloody water puddle. He bent low. His filthy left hand gripped Silas's pale hair.

He yanked the head by force. The neck veins he had torn severed totally. A wet tearing sound pierced the room. Luka raised the syndicate leader's head.

Blood dripped from the neck cut, striking the rocks. A constant rhythm of death.

He walked, climbing the limestone steps toward the rusted throne. Hundreds of scrap swords and axes composing the chair welcomed him.

Luka turned his body. He dropped his body onto the cold metal. The metals shrieked enduring the weight. He sat.

His posture was not straight. He leaned his body forward. His left elbow rested on his knee. His left hand hung free.

Silas's head dangled from his grip. Blood dripped, soaking his boots. His mutated right arm smoked thickly. The scaled hand supported his body weight on the side of the throne.

The rusted iron beneath his right hand curved and ruined, enduring the heat. His pitch-black eye swept all corners of the hall. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at him from behind the darkness.

The assassins. Executioners. Mercenary neck-choppers. They stood petrified. Terror strangled their knee joints.

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The man before them was no longer an exiled prince bringing gold coins. The man was a nerve-tearing monster.

"Starting tonight."

Luka's voice echoed through the hall. Low. Hoarse and gritty. His vocal cords ruined enduring the energy explosion, producing a rough tone. A pure predator's growl.

"Your souls belong to me."

Without any objection. The assassins barely dared to breathe. They held their hand tremors, fearing a rough breath would provoke death.

"Silas kept you inside this filthy cave." Luka raised Silas's head. He displayed the eyeless pale face to the entire room.

"He let you eat remaining carcasses, surviving as blind rats, fearing the sunlight, and moving to pick up loose change from the hands of corrupt nobles."

Luka threw the head. The round object flew, striking the limestone floor.

The head rolled past Brog's corpse. The object stopped right at the feet of a mercenary in the front row. The assassin ducked backward. His shoulder struck a stalagmite pillar.

"I am no merchant." Luka gripped the throne backrest. The sound of crushed iron echoed. "I am the throne heir of the Eisenhart Kingdom."

The killing intent from Luka's body spread. Pressing the chests of everyone there.

"The syndicate will no longer live in hiding." His words were sharp. Slitting the remaining doubt. "You will become the Shadow Knights of the new king. Shadow Knights. The official executioner forces."

At the farthest corner of the hall. Near a cracked stone pillar. Rhea stood calm.

Her gray wool dress tore at the waist. Filthy dust clung to her pale skin. Yet, the maid's body posture was highly relaxed. Her eyes stared straight toward the throne.

Rhea's lips curved upward. Forming a thin smile laden with calculation. Her prince had discarded kindness. His fangs had been honed sharp.

Atop the throne, Luka spoke again. "You do not kill for copper coins. You kill in my name."

The cave room absorbed his words. The assassins swallowed saliva.

"All your past sins." Luka's voice grew heavier. "All the blood you ever spilled for loose change. Erased tonight."

Luka stood. He spread both his arms. Challenging the entire room. His scaled red arm radiated a heat roasting the air's humidity.

"If anyone refuses," Luka growled. "Step forward. Face me. Show your necks. Become my next dinner."

Those words were no empty bluff. Silas and Brog's corpses were naked proof. Death scattered upon the limestone water puddles.

The cave froze. Only the sound of water falling from the ceiling. Drip. Drip.

Tension pulled the nerves to the breaking limit. The assassins glanced at each other from the corners of their eyes. They waited for someone to take the first step. Who dared challenge this entity?

Vance. The giant man stepped forward.

A massive serrated meat cleaver dragged in his right hand. The heavy iron produced a rough creaking sound. Its friction cut the strangling silence.

Vance stopped five paces from the throne. The wire-muscled body towered. His lower jaw stretched falling.

Three rows of shark teeth exposed challenging the air. His sharp eyes stared straight at Luka. In his head, he saw no noble. His class and path recognized the hierarchy of the wild.

Before him was the apex predator. Someone who chewed an enemy's organ with bare jaws. Vance raised his meat cleaver.

The other assassins hardened their muscles. Preparing to watch a fight.

The giant man embedded his cleaver tip into the stone floor. He twisted his body facing Luka. He bent one knee. His kneecap struck the wet limestone hard.

His head bowed deep. Staring at the filth on the floor.

"Vance." The giant's voice vibrated heavy. "Welcomes the Shadow Knights."

One pillar collapsed. On the left, a shadow crawled. Lysandra.

The woman with skin cold as ice stepped out from the darkness. She stared at Silas's corpse. Then stared at Luka. Her fingers twirled twin daggers.

She sheathed the weapons in one smooth motion. She dropped her knee side by side with Vance. Her head bowed obedient. Accepting the bond from a new master.

From atop a cave wall protrusion, Merrik jumped down.

His left eye consisting of three eyeballs twitched. Analyzing Luka's Soul Energy flow. He saw the thickness of lethal energy. His bone arrow shrank back into a normal finger.

The sniper joined kneeling. Merging his gaze to the stone floor.

The domino effect exploded. Hundreds of mercenary assassins dropped their weapons. The sound of daggers and swords clashing with stone filled the room.

They knelt in unison. Their heads bowed deep. Devoid of protest sounds. Lacking rebellion. The assassin syndicate bowed completely.

The Hollow Syndicate died tonight. Shadow Knights born from a sea of blood.

Luka stared at the sea of human killers kneeling beneath his feet. His forces. His new fangs.

He felt no victory. His gut twisted thrashing. The soul erosion inside his mind collected the toll for the energy explosion he forced out.

Pain battered every inch of his bones. His human flesh screamed ruined. His muscles shrieked enduring the remaining heat from the mutation. He shut tight that anatomical rejection.

He did not let his face show a single speck of physical suffering. He seated himself back down. Letting darkness rule the hall.

His vengeance had just gained physical form. Ulric would taste the tip of this sword.