The Tribrid's Reign: Rise Of The Primordial

Chapter 3: The Apex Predator

The Spire was the tallest tower of the Academy, a needle of black stone that pierced the bruised purple sky. It was usually reserved for High Council meetings. Now, it was my tomb.

The guards didn't speak. They dragged me up the winding stairs, my feet scraping uselessly against the stone. The higher we climbed, the colder the air became. It bit at my skin, sharp as glass.

We reached the top floor. A heavy iron door stood open, framed by flickering torchlight.

"Inside," one guard grunted, shoving me forward.

I stumbled, catching myself on a stone altar in the center of the circular room. The door slammed shut behind me with a sound like a coffin lid sealing. I heard the heavy slide of iron bolts locking into place.

I spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The room wasn't a standard cell. It was a chamber of horrors.

But the walls weren't lined with iron. They were lined with silver.

I backed away immediately, my skin stinging just from the proximity. Silver was poison to magic. It suppressed it, drained it, leaving a witch helpless. But for me, it felt worse. It felt like an allergy, a deep, throbbing pressure that resonated with the dormant thing in my blood.

It burns, the voice in my head whispered. Make it stop.

"Quiet," I hissed, clutching my arms.

I looked around for a way out. High windows, barred with thick silver rods. No vents. Just the altar, a rack of silver tools, and the oppressive walls.

I sat in the corner, pressing my back into the shadow, as far from the silver as I could get. I waited.

I didn't have to wait long.

The iron door slid open.

High Priestess Ophelia stepped in. She had changed her robes. She now wore vestments of pure black, embroidered with silver thread—a color reserved for funerals and executions.

She was alone.

"You look terrified," Ophelia said, her voice echoing in the circular room. She walked to the rack of tools, inspecting them with a casual air, running a pale finger over a serrated blade. "Good."

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to steady it. "I'm a witch. I belong to the Coven. I passed the trials."

"You belong to no one but the dirt," Ophelia snapped. She picked up a curved silver knife, the metal gleaming menacingly. "You are an abomination, Sutton. A genetic mistake. And now?" She turned to me, her eyes glowing with a manic, feverish intensity. "Now you are a liability."

She stepped closer, the heels of her boots clicking on the stone. "That mark on your chest... that is the seal of Silas Alastor. Do you know what he is?"

I shook my head, pressing myself flat against the cold wall. "No."

"He is the Primordial," Ophelia spat the word like a curse. "The First Vampire. A creature so old he predates written history. He is death incarnate." She took another step, her voice dropping to a hiss. "And he has marked you. That means he intends to claim you. If he claims you, he gains your power. If he gains your power... the balance shifts."

She smiled coldly. "We cannot allow the Vampires to possess the Vessel. Especially not him."

"I'm not a Vessel," I argued, panic rising in my throat. "I'm just Sutton. I can't shift. I can't do anything but break floors."

"Not yet," Ophelia agreed. "But the potential is there. I can smell it on you. The dormant wolf gene is rotting your magic from the inside."

She lunged.

I scrambled to the side, my hands flying up to cast a shield. But the silver in the walls sucked the energy right out of me. My purple sparks died before they could even form, suffocated by the oppressive atmosphere of the room.

Ophelia grabbed my wrist, her grip iron-tight. She used her other hand to slam me down onto the silver-inlaid altar. The metal burned my back through my robes, making me shriek.

"Scream if you want," Ophelia whispered, leaning over me. "No one can hear you over the wind."

She pressed the tip of the silver knife against the skin over my heart. Right over the brand Silas had burned into me.

"Stop!" I thrashed, kicking at her legs, but it was like kicking a statue. She was using gravity magic to root me to the spot.

"The mark protects the flesh," Ophelia muttered, examining the red coiled snake with disdain. "He has woven a protective ward into your very skin. Clever."

She pressed harder. The silver knife hissed as it touched the brand.

Pain exploded through my chest. White-hot agony. I screamed, arching my back as the silver sizzled against the dark magic of the mark.

"I can't cut the brand," Ophelia said, frustrated. "The magic is too intertwined. If I cut the snake, I kill you."

She pulled the knife back, thinking.

"But I don't need the skin," she mused, a dark smile stretching her face.

She shifted the knife lower, pointing it at my stomach.

"I need the essence," she said. "The blood that holds the dormant wolf. I just need to bleed you out until the gene dies of starvation."

She raised the knife high, her eyes gleaming with fanaticism.

Move, the voice in my head snarled, louder than ever before. Kill her now. Rip her throat out.

The pressure in my gums returned, sharp and insistent. My fingers twitched, the bones aching to lengthen. But the silver... the silver was smothering it. It was like trying to breathe underwater.

"Do it," I gasped, tears streaming down my face. "Kill me. I won't be your puppet."

"Brave words," Ophelia sneered.

She brought the knife down.

BOOM.

The heavy iron door of the Spire didn't just open; it flew off its hinges. It slammed into the opposite wall, crumpling like wet paper.

Ophelia stumbled, the knife deflecting and slicing a shallow line across my ribs instead of plunging into my stomach. She spun toward the door, her balance lost.

The corridor outside was dark. Empty.

"Who's there?" she demanded, her voice shaking with the first tremors of fear.

Silence.

Then, the temperature plummeted. It wasn't just cold; it was the chill of the open grave. Frost began to form rapidly on the silver walls, crackling over the metal, coating the tools in ice.

Ophelia’s eyes widened. She backed away from me, away from the door.

"Show yourself!" she shrieked, raising a hand to conjure a fireball. But her magic sputtered and died in the freezing air.

A shadow peeled itself away from the darkness of the hallway.

It wasn't a man. Not yet. It was a shape, a tall mass of swirling darkness with two burning crimson eyes at its center.

It stepped into the room.

The air pressure was so intense it knocked the breath out of my lungs. The shadow flowed like smoke, elongating, then reforming.

It took the shape of a man. Pale skin. Black suit tailored to perfection. Black hair that tumbled over his forehead.

Silas Alastor.

He didn't look at me. He looked only at Ophelia.

"You are loud," Silas said. His voice was quiet, soft, but it shook the stone floor beneath my feet. "And annoying."

Ophelia fell to her knees, trembling so hard her teeth chattered audibly. "My Lord... I... I didn't know..."

"You raised a blade against my property," Silas cut in, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. His feet made no sound on the stone. "Do you know the penalty for that?"

"She is a Vessel!" Ophelia cried out, desperate, crawling backward. "She is a weapon! If she falls to your side, the witches are doomed!"

"She is already mine," Silas said simply.

He looked at me for the first time. His crimson eyes scanned my bruised face, the brand on my chest, the shallow cut on my ribs. They lingered on the blood welling up from the silver knife wound.

Something flickered in his gaze. Satisfaction? No. Possessiveness.

"Heal," he commanded.

The word wasn't spoken; it was pushed into my mind, a command that my biology couldn't refuse.

Instantly, the burning pain in my back vanished. The bruises on my arms faded. Even the dull ache in my bones from the silver proximity dulled to a manageable throb.

I gasped, staring at him, my chest heaving.

Silas turned back to Ophelia. "Leave us."

Ophelia scrambled to her feet, backing toward the ruined doorway. "Yes. Yes, My Lord. I will leave. I will prepare the ceremony—"

"I did not say leave the Coven," Silas said softly. "I said leave us. As in, leave this room."

Ophelia paused. She looked at me, then at Silas, her mind racing.

"I cannot leave the girl here with you," she whispered, terrified. "The prophecy... the alignment... it is in two days. We need her blood!"

"Leave," Silas said. The red in his eyes flared brighter, casting bloody reflections on the silver walls.

Ophelia turned and ran. She didn't look back. She fled down the stairs, her footsteps echoing frantically into the distance.

Silas watched her go. Then, he turned his full attention to me.

He walked toward the altar. I pressed myself into the corner, but there was nowhere to go. He stopped inches from me, his presence overwhelming.

Up close, he was terrifyingly beautiful. He didn't breathe. His heart didn't beat. He was a statue of ice and death.

"Sutton Reed," he said, testing my name on his tongue. "My investment."

"Why did you save me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Save?" He laughed, a low, dark sound that made the hairs on my arms stand up. "I did not save you, little wolf. I merely retrieved what is mine."

He reached out. His hand moved toward my chest, toward the brand.

I flinched away.

"Do not move," he ordered. The voice had the weight of the earth behind it.

He touched the brand.

Lightning shot through my nerves. I gasped, my back arching off the altar. It wasn't pain. It was pleasure. Dark, consuming pleasure that made my toes curl and my vision white out.

"Do you feel it?" Silas whispered, his face inches from mine. "The connection?"

"The wolf... it's quiet," I breathed, shuddering.

"Because I am the Apex," Silas said, his eyes boring into mine. "Even the wolves must bow to the night."

He withdrew his hand, and the cold pleasure vanished, leaving me breathless and weak.

"Get up," he said, turning away from me. "You are leaving tonight."

"Leaving? Where?"

"Far from this damp little cage," Silas said, walking to the broken doorway. "But we cannot leave yet. The wards are too strong. I cannot transport you past the ley lines while you are this weak."

He looked back at me, a silhouette against the torchlight.

"Go to your dormitory," he said. "Pack a bag. Destroy anything that ties you to this place. Leave nothing."

"I can't just walk out!" I argued, sliding off the altar. "The guards will stop me. The alarms will sound."

Silas looked over his shoulder. The red in his eyes was gone, replaced by deep, terrifying blackness.

"The guards will not stop you," he said. "Because I am going to make sure they are... otherwise occupied."

He dissolved into mist, flowing out the door and into the night like smoke on the wind.

I sat on the altar for a long time, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm.

He wanted me to pack. He wanted me to leave with him.

Why? Why me? A failure of a witch? A girl with a dormant gene?

I got up, my legs trembling. I walked to the shattered door and looked out into the corridor.

The corridor was dark. But as I looked closer, I saw the bodies.

The guards who had dragged me here were lying on the floor. They weren't moving. They weren't breathing.

I stepped closer, careful. There were no wounds on them. No blood.

They just looked... empty. As if their souls had been ripped out in an instant, leaving behind empty husks.

I covered my mouth with a hand to stifle a sob. I stepped over them, my bare feet silent on the cold stone.

I crept down the stairs, keeping to the shadows. The Spire was silent.

I made it to the lower levels without seeing anyone. The Coven was quiet. Too quiet.

I turned a corner, heading toward the dormitories. I just wanted to grab my mother's grimoire and run.

Then I heard the chanting.

It was coming from the main Assembly Hall. The doors were open a c***k. The glow of green fire spilled out into the hall, casting long, dancing shadows.

I shouldn't look. I should run.

But I moved closer, drawn by a morbid curiosity I couldn't suppress. I peered through the c***k in the heavy oak doors.

The Hall was full. Every instructor, every elder, every student. Hundreds of them.

They were standing in a circle, their robes pooling on the floor, their heads bowed.

In the center of the circle was a large, cauldron-like stone bowl. It was filled with a dark, writhing liquid that smelled of copper and sulfur.

And standing over it was Ophelia.

She was holding a knife. But not just any knife.

She was holding the silver knife she had dropped in the Spire.

And next to the cauldron, lying on a slab of raised stone, was a body.

It was Olivia.

My breath hitched. Olivia’s chest was cut open, her ribs splayed apart like the wings of a broken bird. Her skin was pale, her eyes closed.

"She is awake," Ophelia said to the crowd. Her voice was amplified by magic, echoing through the hall with unnatural resonance. "The Vessel has been prepared. The Alpha Blood is in the bowl."

My blood ran cold. My blood? They didn't have my blood.

They had... the monster girl's blood? No.

"We cannot defeat the Primordial," Ophelia continued, her eyes wild with fanaticism. "So we must create a weapon to match him."

She dipped the silver knife into the dark liquid.

"Behold," Ophelia screamed, her voice cracking. "The birth of the Omega!"

She poured the liquid onto Olivia’s chest.

Olivia’s body seized.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, watching in horror through the c***k.

Olivia’s skin began to ripple. Not like a muscle spasm. It rippled like liquid.

The flesh on her arms began to tear. Not split. Rip. Like wet paper.

But the flesh underneath wasn't pink. It was grey. Matted with thick, coarse fur.

Olivia sat up, her body jerking violently as her bones broke and reformed. Her jaw unhinged with a sickening wet pop. Her eyes snapped open.

They were red.

Just like Silas.

But they were different. Wild. Chaotic. Mad. There was no intelligence in them, only hunger.

Olivia let out a screech that shattered the windows of the Assembly Hall, the sound piercing my eardrums.

She wasn't a vampire. She wasn't a wolf.

She was a forced mutation. A chimera of rage.

Ophelia laughed, raising her hands to the ceiling. "Hunt! Find the Vessel! Bring me her heart!"

And then, Olivia’s head snapped toward the door.

She looked right at me.

I froze.

She smiled, baring rows of needle-like teeth that were too long for her mouth.

"Found you," she whispered.

And then, she was gone.

A blur of grey flesh slammed into the doors, exploding the wood inward.

I spun around and ran.