CHAPTER 3 — The Ritual of Blood
1045 Words
Charlotte smelled it long before she saw it.
Not death.
Not yet.
Anticipation.
The forest had gone quiet.
No wind.
No movement.
Even the magic in the air felt… wrong.
Pulled.
Her steps slowed.
Then—
Voices.
Chanting.
Low. Rhythmic. Controlled.
Charlotte moved closer.
Silent.
The trees thinned.
And then—
She saw it.
The settlement.
But this time—
It wasn’t broken.
It was waiting.
Torches burned in a wide circle.
Symbols carved into the ground—massive, intricate, glowing faintly with dark energy.
And inside that circle—
Humans.
Dozens of them.
Bound.
Kneeling.
Crying.
Some already too weak to move.
Charlotte’s gaze didn’t soften.
But it sharpened.
At the center—
The witches.
More than before.
Not three.
Eight.
Powerful.
Focused.
United.
Their voices rose together, the chant growing louder, heavier—each word pressing into the air like a weight.
Magic spiraled above them.
Dark.
Dense.
Hungry.
Charlotte felt it immediately.
Not meant for her.
Something else.
Something they were trying to call.
Or force.
A blade slipped into her hand.
Formed from instinct more than thought.
Unstable.
But real.
One of the humans screamed as a symbol beneath them flared—
Their body jerked—
Then went still.
The magic above twisted violently.
Fed.
Charlotte stepped forward.
A branch snapped beneath her foot.
The chanting stopped.
Instantly.
Eight heads turned.
Silence fell like a blade.
“…you,” one of them said slowly.
Recognition.
Charlotte didn’t stop walking.
“You chose the wrong sacrifice,” she replied.
The air shifted.
Then—
Exploded into motion.
“Take her!” one of the witches shouted.
Four moved instantly.
Fast.
Too fast for normal humans.
Magic lashed toward her—
Charlotte met it head-on.
Her blade cut through the first strike—
barely—
the impact rattling through her arm.
Too strong.
She pivoted—
ducked another—
but the third hit.
It slammed into her side, sending her skidding across the ground.
Pain flared.
She pushed up immediately.
No hesitation.
No pause.
She charged.
This time—
faster.
Her blade struck—
clashed against a barrier—
Cracked it.
But didn’t break it.
A witch raised her hand—
The ground beneath Charlotte exploded upward.
She jumped—
barely—
twisting mid-air—
But a chain of magic snapped around her ankle—
Yanked her down.
Hard.
The impact knocked the breath from her lungs.
Before she could recover—
another chain locked around her wrist—
then another—
They pulled her outward.
Restrained.
“Hold her!” one barked.
Charlotte struggled—
cut one—
But the moment it broke—
another replaced it.
Too many.
Too coordinated.
Behind them—
The ritual continued.
The remaining witches never stopped chanting.
Another human screamed—
Light flared beneath them—
And their body collapsed.
The magic above grew heavier.
Closer.
Charlotte felt it.
Whatever they were summoning—
It was coming.
Her jaw tightened.
No.
Her arm strained against the restraints—
muscles trembling—
The blade flickered.
Unstable.
“Drain her,” one of the witches said sharply. “She’s interfering with the flow—”
Energy shifted.
This time—
it sank into her.
Not to kill.
To take.
Charlotte’s breath hitched.
Her body locked.
Something was pulling at her core—
at her power—
at the very thing that made her different.
Pain followed.
Sharp.
Deep.
Unrelenting.
Her vision blurred.
The chanting grew louder.
Faster.
The air above split slightly—
like something pressing against the other side.
The humans cried harder now.
Some begged.
Some prayed.
Some had already gone silent.
Charlotte’s fingers dug into the dirt.
This—
was wrong.
Not morally.
Fundamentally.
Power misused.
Order distorted.
And she—
on the ground again.
Her breathing grew uneven.
Her body—
failing.
Again.
The pressure inside her chest built.
Too tight.
Too heavy.
The witches pushed harder.
“Take it all—!”
Pain exploded through her.
Her back arched—
a broken gasp tearing from her throat—
And something inside her—
answered.
Her eyes snapped open.
Not human.
Not anything they understood.
Her breathing stopped.
Then—
She inhaled.
Everything moved.
The ritual—
The magic—
The blood—
The air—
All of it—
Dragged toward her.
The chanting broke.
“What is she doing?!”
Too late.
The chains shattered.
The ground cracked beneath her.
The magic above twisted violently—
no longer controlled—
no longer theirs.
It rushed into her.
Too much.
Far too much.
Her body trembled violently—
veins darkening—
power flooding faster than she could contain—
The thing they were summoning—
stopped.
Interrupted.
Denied.
And the backlash—
hit.
Hard.
Charlotte screamed—
not in fear—
but in overload—
And the world—
broke.
The explosion tore through the ritual circle first.
Witches were thrown—
their bodies slamming into the ground, into trees, into each other—
Some didn’t get back up.
Others tried—
desperately—
to regain control—
But there was no control left.
The magic had turned.
On them.
It devoured everything in reach.
The circle shattered.
The symbols burned away.
The sky above snapped closed—
whatever was coming—
cut off completely.
And then—
the final surge.
It erupted outward—
violent—
unstoppable—
Throwing bodies.
Shattering ground.
Silencing screams.
Then—
Nothing.
Charlotte stood—
for a second.
Just one.
Her chest rising—
falling—
barely.
Then—
She collapsed.
Unconscious.
Around her—
The ritual was gone.
The witches—dead or dying.
The humans—scattered.
Some alive.
Most not.
The air still hummed with leftover power.
Far away—
Every major clan felt it.
Not just power.
Interruption.
A claim.
A presence that had just overwritten something ancient.
“…she’s here,” a voice whispered in the dark.
Back at the ruined ritual site—
Footsteps approached slowly.
Careful.
Observing.
They stopped beside her.
A pause.
“…you stopped it,” the voice murmured.
Quiet.
Certain.
Not surprised.
The figure crouched—
then lifted her without hesitation.
And carried her away—
from the blood—
from the broken ritual—
from the beginning of a war she had just unknowingly started.
- Writer
