Chapter 4 – The Blood Trials Begin
1044 Words
The gong thundered through the marble chamber, shaking the floor beneath Serena’s boots.
“Competitors, step forward!” the High Inquisitor barked. His voice cracked like a whip, ricocheting off obsidian walls that seemed to drink the sound whole.
Serena’s palms slickened with sweat. Thirty others moved beside her, cloaks whispering like death’s breath. Some radiated magic—bright, electric currents in their veins. Others carried raw savagery, muscle and fang. She had none of it. No wolf. No gift. Just lungs, a heartbeat, and the sour taste of fear.
The dais shimmered ahead, carved with runes pulsing like molten veins. Serena’s gaze flicked upward—straight into Lucien’s. Across the circle, his ember eyes locked onto hers. For a dizzying second, his lips curved—almost a warning.
The Inquisitor slammed his staff against stone. “The Blood Trials are not games. They are not performances. They are survival.”
A ripple of unease cut through the crowd. Serena swallowed hard. Survival.
“Three tests await you,” he went on. “Riddles, combat, and the Labyrinth.” Sparks crackled from his staff as he stabbed it into the ground. “But remember this—the Trials themselves are alive. They decide who is worthy. And who bleeds.”
The floor split with a roar. Jagged platforms surged upward, forming a spiraling path. Chains swayed above, their hooks glinting. Fire hissed from vents in the walls.
Serena’s knees threatened to buckle. This wasn’t trial. This was execution in ceremony’s mask.
“Begin!”
Chaos erupted.
Competitors leapt across the shifting path, dodging swinging scythes. One man misjudged his jump—his scream ended in the abyss. Another’s arm was sheared off by a hidden blade.
Serena scrambled to the first ledge. Stone bit her palms; her fingers slipped—until a hand seized her wrist.
Lucien. His grip was iron, dragging her up just as the platform crumbled beneath her boots.
Her chest heaved. “You—”
“Move,” he snarled, shoving her forward before others could notice.
At the riddle gate, glowing script unfurled: *What dies when it is fed, but lives when it is starved?*
“Fire,” a girl gasped.
The gate creaked open—then a spike tore through her chest. Blood bubbled her lips as she collapsed.
Serena’s stomach lurched. The answer had been right. So why—?
The Inquisitor’s voice boomed: “Only the first answer earns passage. The rest… pay the price.”
A hush fell, colder than steel.
Lucien’s eyes slashed to Serena’s. “Don’t speak unless you must. They’ve rigged this to cull us.”
Every “test” was a slaughterhouse dressed in riddles.
By the time they staggered into the dueling ground, thirty had thinned to eighteen.
Names rang out. Serena’s blood froze when hers echoed.
“Serena Valewyn.”
Her opponent—a boy with bone-white eyes and a smile sharp as knives—drew his sword, humming as if her death was already carved in stone.
Her legs shook. No wolf. No weapon. No chance.
The boy lunged, steel slicing air. Serena dropped, rolling, the blade kissing her cheek. The crowd roared.
He came again. Savage, quick.
Her hand clawed for anything—sand. She flung it into his eyes. He cursed, staggering. Her fingers closed on the dagger at his belt.
She didn’t remember choosing. Didn’t think. Just moved.
The blade sank into his chest.
Hot blood gushed over her hands. His gasp was wet, broken. Then silence.
Serena froze. The crowd shrieked approval.
She had killed. Gods, she had killed.
A steady hand gripped her shoulder. Lucien’s voice was low, rough. “Don’t look back. He would’ve gutted you.”
Her breath shook, but she forced her legs forward, even as her mind cracked inside.
By the end, only twelve remained.
The Inquisitor lifted his staff, eyes gleaming cruel. “You think yourselves lucky? That you’ve survived?” His laugh was glass shattering. “You haven’t read the rules.”
Serena’s chest hollowed.
“The Labyrinth awaits. But the gates will not open until half of you lie dead. Twelve is too many. Only six may enter.”
A silence sharp as a blade. Then—chaos. Shouts. Curses. Steel drawn.
Serena’s blood iced. They weren’t done. They were the culling.
Lucien stepped close, his body a shield. “Stay behind me.”
Her throat burned. “Six? They expect us to kill each other now?”
“Yes,” he said grimly. His hand brushed hers—fleeting, almost desperate. “And they won’t stop until we do.”
The Inquisitor’s staff slammed down. The gates shuddered, locked.
“Begin.”
Serena turned, every eye in the circle on her.
The weakest link. The prey. The first to die.
Blades flashed. Competitors surged. Serena staggered back, pulse deafening—until Lucien caught a sword barehanded. Blood poured down his palm, but his snarl froze the attacker mid-strike.
“Touch her,” Lucien growled, guttural, “and you’ll die first.”
Gasps rippled. Even killers hesitated.
Serena’s knees trembled. But something deep in her chest flared hot. The same pressure she’d felt the day her father’s death was revealed. The wolf.
No. Not here. Not now.
But the heat spread like fire through her veins. Her vision blurred crimson. She clutched her skull, teeth grinding. Flame licked beneath her skin.
Lucien’s voice cut through, ragged, urgent. “Serena—fight it. Don’t let them see—”
Too late.
Her scream ripped the air, shaking stone. Flames erupted from her skin, igniting the carved runes. Competitors staggered back, shrieking as chains melted and fire rained from above.
Lucien seized her arm, burning but unyielding. His eyes blazed with pain, awe, and fear.
“Gods,” he whispered. “It’s you.”
The fire inside her roared, not just hers but answering something in him.
Her knees buckled. He caught her before she fell, lips brushing her ear, breath ragged.
“They’ll kill you for this. Unless we run.”
Around them, chaos reigned. The Inquisitor’s staff flared, sealing exits with a cage of light.
The marble floor cracked beneath her, fire shrieking higher.
And Serena knew—this wasn’t a trial anymore.
This was war.
- Writer
