Chapter 148 Blood Altar

Chapter 148 Blood Altar
The sprint felt like an eternity, their lungs burning as the chaos of the mansion’s collapse faded into a heavy, suffocating silence. The deeper they ran into the restricted perimeter of the estate, the more the air felt like a physical weight pressing against their chests.

When the narrow path finally opened up, Pandora slowed down, a violent chill running straight down her spine. She stopped, wheezing hard as she stared at the clearing ahead. "Is that... is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," Cierce snapped, not slowing her pace as she marched toward the center. "It is exactly what you think it is."

They had stumbled into the forbidden grounds of the Spire. Rising from an elevated stone platform was a terrifying, ancient ring of vampire statues, their marble surfaces stained with centuries of grime and old blood. But it was the centerpiece that made Pandora's stomach violently churn.

Right in the middle stood the Progenitor statue, its stone fangs barred in a permanent, horrific snarl. In its left hand, it held the severed head of a massive werewolf, stone blood frozen in mid-drip. Beneath the vampire's heavy boots lay the carved body of a woman, her chest violently gouged open to showcase a prominent, jagged crescent mark right over her heart.

Pandora felt the urge to scream clawing up her throat, but before a sound could escape, Cierce’s hand clamped firmly over her mouth.

"Don't act crazy now!" Cierce hissed, her eyes darting around the dark trees. "What happened to your poise as a princess?"

Pandora violently shoved Cierce’s hand away, her voice cracking with a mixture of horror and pure disbelief. "Poise?! Poise?! You’re really asking me about my poise right now? Look at this place!"

Cierce opened her mouth to argue, but Pandora beat her to it, pointing a trembling finger at the defiled monument. "This place looks completely forbidden, Cierce! It practically screams dark magic! How did you even find out about a spot like this?"

"Well, it is indeed forbidden," Cierce answered flatly, entirely unbothered by the macabre scenery.

Cierce walked directly up to the base of the centerpiece statue. She unzipped her canvas bag, reaching inside to pull out three large, polished red blood stones that gleamed with a sickly internal light.

Without a hint of hesitation, Cierce began inserting the gems into three hidden slots right below the statue's stone feet.

"As for how I found out," Cierce shrugged, not even looking back as she jammed the second stone into place. "People talk. Servants whisper, elders get drunk, and witches listen. It’s amazing what you can learn when people assume you’re just part of the furniture."

The moment the third and final blood stone clicked into its slot, the ground beneath them groaned. A sudden, whistling wind whipped into the clearing from nowhere, picking up dead leaves and ash until a miniature cyclone surrounded the altar. The space right in front of the statue began to warp, the air bending and tearing like wet parchment until a shimmering, unstable vortex stabilized into a glowing portal.

Cierce immediately closed her eyes, her hands extending toward the rip in reality as she chanted a single line of old magic. "Portal to Northwood."

The light of the vortex shifted from a chaotic purple to a steady, deep forest green.

But right as the path cleared, a series of high-pitched, echoing shrieks rang out from the woods behind them. The sound was unmistakable—the feral, starving screeches of a swarm of Nosferu that had finally tracked their scent.

Both women panicked, twisting around to face the dark tree line. Out of the shadows, a dozen grey, hairless bodies came sprinting toward the platform on all fours, their claws clacking against the stone stairs like a hail of bullets.

Pandora’s mind completely fractured under the pressure. The training, the royal heritage, the survival instinct—all of it dissolved into pure, paralyzing terror. She stood frozen to the ground, her wide eyes locked onto the incoming monsters.

"Damn it, Pandora! Move!" Cierce yelled, her voice raw.

But Pandora didn't budge. Her legs were dead weights.

Cierce gritted her teeth, glancing between the closing monsters and the glowing green light. Self-preservation shouted at her to just leave the dead weight behind, and she actually turned, sprinting hard toward the portal. She was about to jump through the threshold, but at the very last microsecond, she stopped.

She turned back, her face twisting into a mask of pure fury as she looked at the paralyzed princess. "This bitch," Cierce snarled under her breath.

With a desperate surge of speed, Cierce lunged backward, grabbing Pandora by the collar of her silk pajamas and yanking her with everything she had. Three Nosferu lunged at that exact moment, their yellow fangs snapping inches from Pandora’s face, but the momentum carried both women backward into the vortex.

The portal shut behind them with a sharp, concussive hiss, severing the monsters' claws in mid-air.

\---

In the Northwood pack territory, the atmosphere was entirely different, though no less tense.

Rylan stood in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling window of the Alpha study, taking a large, burning gulp of straight alcohol from his crystal tumbler. The liquid burned his throat, but it did absolutely nothing to soothe the massive headache brewing behind his eyes. Ever since Draven had vanished into thin air weeks ago, the crushing responsibility of managing the entire White Wolf Clan had fallen squarely on his shoulders.

Behind him, Maxwell sat on the edge of the mahogany desk, his arms crossed over his chest. "What are we going to do now, Rylan? The pack members are already whispering about Draven’s disappearance. They aren't stupid. They want the truth, and they want it today."

Rylan ran a frustrated hand through his messy hair, turning the glass in his palm. "It’s not like I’m sitting on my hands doing nothing, Maxwell."

Inwardly, his wolf, Imam, let out a venomous hiss. "Draven has always been a selfish jerk. Leaving an entire pack to handle his mess while he goes on an unreasonable vacation? It’s completely out of line."

"Well, he was the Alpha," Rylan muttered aloud, sighing as he turned to face his lieutenant. He walked over to the desk, setting the empty glass down with a heavy thud. "Maxwell, let me ask you something. When the Lycan King came charging into our territory, why do you think he kept insisting that Elara was here?"

Maxwell raised a single brow, his expression explicitly saying, 'you’re really asking me this right now?'

Rylan exhaled deeply, grabbing the bottle to gulp down one last drink before finally taking a seat in the heavy leather chair. "I knew my brother had a nasty, bordering on psychotic obsession with Elara because of the whole mate bond thing. But I didn't think even Draven would go that far. To actually kidnap her? Elara is the mate of the Lycan King now! That’s an automatic declaration of war against the most dangerous pack on the continent."

Maxwell shrugged, his tone dripping with a dry, snarky lack of surprise. "Well, with Draven, literally anything can happen. The man doesn't exactly operate on a standard moral compass."

Before Rylan could answer, the ambient light in the room shifted.

Outside the window, the sky didn't just darken; it turned a sudden, terrifying shade of blood red. Down in the courtyard, dozens of pack members who had been busy with their daily chores suddenly stopped in their tracks, dropping tools and crates as they looked up at the clouds with utter confusion, murmuring frantically among themselves.

A low, violent tumble echoed through the atmosphere, followed by a crack of thunder that rattled the windowpanes.

Rylan stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the floorboards as he launched himself back toward the glass. His gaze darkened significantly, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists against the sill.

"This smells like rot," Imam growled inside his mind, the wolf’s senses instantly picking up a foul, unnatural scent bleeding into the air.

"I can tell," Rylan hummed tightly. He didn't like the look of those clouds, and he liked the smell even less. He snapped his head toward the door, yelling over his shoulder. "Maxwell, secure the perimeter immediately. Gather the witches and have them cast a protective—"

Before he could even complete the sentence, a jagged, weeping rift tore open right in the middle of the manicured courtyard below.

Cierce and Pandora tumbled out of the tear, hitting the grass hard. They looked completely and utterly messed up. Pandora instantly doubled over, her hands on her knees as she gasped for air, while Cierce scrambled to her feet, turning back to look at the unstable rift with a deep, frustrated frown.

"This isn't supposed to look like this," Cierce thought, her brow furrowing as she analyzed the sickly purple edges of the tear. "It shouldn't have brought the magical corruption of the Spire with it."

The wet, miserable sound of Pandora violently throwing up on the pristine grass broke Cierce's train of thought. Groaning internally, she walked over and held Pandora's hair back, patting her shoulder with an expression of pure exhaustion.

In the blink of an eye, Rylan, who had been two floors up in the study a second ago, materialized in the courtyard via a burst of pure speed, Maxwell trailing closely behind him with his hand on his weapon.

As soon as Cierce’s eyes locked onto Rylan, she didn't waste time with greetings. She blurted out the words before he could even ask. "Draven has Elara. He joined the vampires, Rylan. He took her to their underground Spire, and—"

"War is coming!" Pandora screamed, cutting Cierce off as she wiped her mouth, her voice hysterical and completely devoid of her usual princess elegance. "They are coming for everyone!"

In their frantic panic, none of them noticed the thin, wispy tendrils of dark, violet energy that were slowly seeping out of the bottom of the rift, slithering like tiny snakes directly into the Northwood soil.

Rylan clenched his jaw so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. If he had any doubts about Cierce's wild story, he definitely believed Pandora. He had known the Southern princess for years as a woman obsessed with perfection and elegance, but seeing her standing here in ruined silk pajamas, covered in dirt, vomit, and soot? She looked entirely shitty.

Rylan hummed, a cold, dangerous sound, and turned his back on them to face Maxwell.

"Spread the news to every corner of the territory," Rylan ordered, his voice echoing with the absolute authority of a commanding Alpha. "Draven has betrayed the entire shifter community. All packs need to mobilize immediately and prepare for a full-scale war."

The moment the command left his lips, Rylan turned on his heel, striding with immense, purposeful steps directly toward the still-pulsing rift.

Cierce blinked in shock, taking a step forward. "Where do you think you're going?"

Rylan didn't stop. He merely glanced over his shoulder, his golden eyes flashing with a predatory promise of violence. "I'm going to fix my brother's mess. And I'm bringing back Elara."

He stepped toward the tear, completely unaware of what was waiting on the other side.