Gathering Of The Cults I
The clink of a vodka bottle slamming against the polished table echoed through the luxurious room, shattering the strained silence. Evelyn resisted the urge to glare at the man responsible, keeping her face composed and impassive. Her fingers twitched slightly against the stem of her glass, betraying her annoyance.
"Why the hell are they late?" Vorgath growled, his gruff voice as heavy as the axe that hung across his broad back.
Evelyn's lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to maintain her poise. Vorgath Ironmaw, leader of the Savage Communion, was as much a brute in manner as in appearance. Nearly two meters tall, his sheer physicality seemed to dominate the room, his dark brown hair wild and unkempt, his movements brimming with an animalistic energy. He was every inch the warlord—brawny, rough, and unrefined.
'Barbaric bear,' she thought, the disdain flashing through her mind like a sharp blade.
But Evelyn kept her thoughts private. She understood the delicate balance of this Gathering. These were not mere rivals seated around the table—they were Radiant-rankers, leaders of the most dangerous cults on Earth. Each held a power equivalent to half a continent, and none of them could afford to show weakness, not even in the slightest.
Still, it was hard not to sneer at Vorgath's brutish antics. She sipped her wine, her dark eyes cool and distant, as if she were utterly unaffected.
The door shimmered, the air bending unnaturally, and a figure emerged through the warped space.
"I apologize for the delay," came a calm, silky voice.
Evelyn's gaze shifted to the newcomer, her expression carefully neutral. Kael Nyctharis, leader of the Umbravale Covenant, strode into the room with an air of practiced elegance. His inky black hair and matching eyes gave him a shadowy allure, and his impeccably tailored three-piece suit contrasted sharply with Vorgath's rugged attire. He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, his every step exuding precision and control.
Kael inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the others with the faintest trace of a smile. But Evelyn could sense the cold detachment behind his eyes. Of all the cult leaders, Kael had been the most relentless in his assaults on humanity's strongholds, Mythos Academy in particular. His methods were calculated, his strikes devastating, his hatred for humanity apparent in every move he made.
"Fashionably late, I see," Vorgath snorted, his voice dripping with mockery as he poured himself another drink.
Kael's smile widened imperceptibly, though his eyes didn't waver. "I see the Savage Communion continues to pride itself on punctuality and subtlety," he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm as sharp as a blade.
Vorgath slammed his drink down again, the bottle rattling dangerously. For a moment, Evelyn thought he might rise from his seat, his primal instincts overriding his sense of diplomacy. But instead, he leaned back in his chair, grumbling under his breath.
Evelyn turned her attention back to her glass, her mind calculating. She despised them all—Kael, Vorgath, and the other leaders who would soon arrive. Her contract with the Demon Lord of Pride ensured that her disdain for other black mana species was deeply ingrained. Each of them was, in her eyes, an inferior specimen clinging to borrowed power.
Yet even she could not deny their strength. Vorgath's brute force was legendary, his axe capable of splitting mountains in two. Kael's mastery of shadow magic could swallow entire armies in darkness. And as much as Evelyn loathed them, she knew better than to underestimate them.
The air in the room grew heavier as they awaited the others. Evelyn's thoughts lingered on the precarious nature of their alliance. The cults despised each other almost as much as they hated humanity, but their tenuous partnership held—barely. These Gatherings were a necessity, an attempt to maintain some semblance of order amidst the chaos they sowed.
A faint shimmer at the edge of her vision signaled another arrival. Evelyn's eyes narrowed slightly as she prepared herself. The Gathering had begun, and the tension in the room was only going to rise from here.
The next arrival was as imposing as Vorgath, though in an entirely different manner. The air around him carried a tangible weight as he strode into the room, draped in a cloak fashioned from the hide of a 9-star mana beast—a trophy of his own making. Each step was deliberate, exuding quiet confidence.
Xaldris Dreadfang, leader of the Abyssal Kin, took his place at the table without ceremony. His presence spoke for itself. Purple hair cascaded over his shoulders, matching the intense gleam of his violet eyes. Despite his towering frame, his demeanor was composed, his movements measured—a sharp contrast to Vorgath's brutish energy.
With a slight nod, Xaldris acknowledged the others before settling into his seat. His silence was not born of deference but of choice, a sign of his restrained power. For Xaldris, words were as precious as the dark mana he commanded.
Kael Nyctharis broke the momentary lull, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "So it's just the Red Chalice that's late," he remarked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade cloaked in velvet.
Vorgath snorted, leaning forward as if relishing the chance to comment. "Well, they do have a full-blown war brewing, don't they?" he said, his tone equal parts dismissive and intrigued.
The mention of the Red Chalice drew flickers of interest from the others. Despite the world believing the vampires and their cult to be extinct, those seated at the table knew better. The Red Chalice had always been a shadowed force, operating in secret, weaving its influence far beyond the notice of the mortal realm.
But even so, the news of an outright war was surprising. Wars on such a scale risked exposure, something the cults had carefully avoided for centuries. It wasn't just a bold move—it was reckless.
Xaldris folded his arms, his cloak shifting with the motion. His voice, when it came, was calm and deep. "Reckless or calculated, we'll soon find out."
Vorgath grunted, unimpressed. "If they bother showing up."
Kael tapped a finger on the table, his dark eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "They'll show," he said, his confidence laced with a hint of irritation. "Alyssara wouldn't miss this, not when there's so much at stake."
Evelyn said nothing, her expression as unreadable as ever. But inwardly, she bristled. 'Don't lump me in with her,' she thought, her disdain for Alyssara Velcroix, the leader of the Red Chalice cult, flaring momentarily. Whatever power Alyssara wielded, whatever obsession drove her, Evelyn had no patience for theatrics.
The air in the room grew heavier, the combined presence of the Radiant-rankers casting an almost suffocating weight over the space. Time stretched on, thick with anticipation, as they waited for the final piece of this dangerous puzzle to arrive.
"Hello~," a familiar, singsong voice chimed, filling the room as a pink-haired woman sauntered in, her every movement as theatrical as her tone. Alyssara Velcroix radiated a self-assured energy, her ever-present smile stretching wide as she slid into her seat with a flair that bordered on performative.
"You're late," Vorgath growled, his dark eyes narrowing into slits. His irritation was palpable, his massive frame seeming to bristle at her casual demeanor.
Alyssara tilted her head, her smile never faltering. "Oh, my deepest apologies," she replied, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. "But you see, I have a war to deal with. You wouldn't believe how much paperwork it entails. And then there's that pesky Selene Kagu—nearly took my head clean off!" She punctuated her words with a dramatic gesture, mimicking the slicing of her own neck.
Her nonchalance made Evelyn's jaw tighten imperceptibly, though her expression remained composed. Alyssara's frivolity grated against her calculated demeanor, and the mention of Selene Kagu—a formidable foe by any standard—only heightened her distaste.
"Perhaps," Kael said smoothly, breaking the tension, "a little less theater would be in order, Alyssara. This is a Gathering, not one of your little shows."
"Oh, Kael, always so serious," Alyssara shot back with a wink, leaning back in her chair as though she hadn't a care in the world. "Lighten up, will you? We're all friends here. Aren't we?" Her question hung in the air like a dagger poised to drop, her smile sharpening ever so slightly.
"Friends is a strong word," Xaldris muttered, his deep voice carrying a quiet edge. His violet eyes flicked toward her, appraising and unamused.
Alyssara shrugged, unfazed by the undercurrent of hostility. "Acquaintances, then. Frenemies, perhaps?" She chuckled, brushing a stray strand of pink hair from her face. "Call it what you like, but let's not forget we're here for a reason. Now, shall we get started? Or would you all prefer to glare at me a little longer?"
Her words stirred an audible grunt from Vorgath, but no one responded directly. The room simmered with tension, Alyssara's antics contrasting starkly with the gravity of the Gathering. But as much as her behavior rankled, it was hard to dismiss the undeniable power she wielded—a power that had earned her a place at this very table.