The Devil’s court was growing.
But Kael knew whispers were fragile. Oaths could be broken. Fear alone was never enough. Fear made men bow, but blood made them stay.
That night, in the abandoned warehouse at the edge of the river, Kael decided the price of loyalty would be carved in flesh.
The building reeked of mildew and rust. Broken beams hung like crooked teeth from the ceiling. The windows were boarded, allowing only thin slivers of moonlight. The rest was lit by candles wedged into cracks along the wall. The flames flickered nervously, as though afraid of the man who had summoned them.
At the center of the floor, Kael had carved the Devil’s Mark into the stone. Thick grooves spiraled outward, and into them he had poured fresh blood. The Mark glowed faintly, pulsing like a wound th
