Ch 25: Controlling the City - Part 2

Fenrir gestured to the guards stationed nearby, and they moved swiftly to restore order. The crowd surged toward the exits, trampling over one another in their haste to escape the square.

Mary Ann, unfazed, raised her voice above the din. "Citizens, remain calm! This is nothing more than an act of cowardice meant to disrupt our unity. Trust in your leader, and trust in the strength of New Portland!"

Her words did little to soothe the panic, but Fenrir noted the precision in her delivery. She was already weaving the chaos into their narrative, solidifying her image as a steadfast leader in the face of adversity.

Rui slipped through the shadows, her heart pounding as she navigated the labyrinthine alleys of New Portland. She hadn't expected such devastation—the sheer force of the explosions left her shaken. But the sight of the crowd fleeing in terror brought a bitter satisfaction.

"They deserve to know the truth," she whispered, her resolve hardening. "Even if it takes the rest of my strength."

Unbeknownst to her, Fenrir's gaze lingered on the trail of destruction she left behind. He turned to Mary Ann, his voice low and deliberate. "Let her run. She'll come back to us soon enough. Our first priority is to calm the masses down."

The square bore the scars of recent chaos—overturned stalls, shattered cobblestones, and bloodstains still darkening in the sun. Yet, amidst the lingering tension, Fenrir and Mary Ann had acted swiftly. Injured townsfolk were carried to the temple, where the clerics worked tirelessly to mend broken bodies and soothe shaken souls.

The townspeople whispered praises as Fenrir strode through the square, his commanding presence and calm voice reassuring those who remained. Beside him, Mary Ann directed volunteers to rebuild what was broken. Together, they seemed unstoppable—two figures of hope in a city on the edge.

Their names were on every lip by sundown, their deeds spreading like wildfire. People flocked to their cause, banners with their symbols beginning to sprout in the streets. Yet, far from the city square, in a shadowy alley, Rui seethed.

"Damn them," Rui muttered, her voice a whisper that carried her venom. She paced back and forth, her ashen fingers brushing her hood nervously. "They're not heroes. They're manipulators! Liars! And I'll show everyone what they really are."

Perched high above, a raven watched with sharp, glittering eyes. It cocked its head, as if pondering her words, then took flight silently. Rui didn't notice, too absorbed in her growing plan.

______

Fenrir sat in his chambers, a rare moment of stillness in the wake of the day's chaos. The raven landed softly on his windowsill, its beak clicking as it relayed Rui's words. He smirked, leaning back in his chair.

"So, she thinks she can unmask me," he murmured. "Let her try. She has no idea what game she's stepped into."

Mary Ann entered the room, her brow furrowed. "She's a threat, Fenrir. We should stop her before she can act."

"No," he replied, his voice calm. "Let her come to us. She'll reveal herself in the process."

The next day, the square was bustling again, though an undercurrent of tension remained. Rui waited in the shadows, her dagger hidden beneath her cloak. Her plan was clear: stab Fenrir in public, prove his inhumanity, and expose him for the monster she believed him to be.

She spotted him amidst the crowd, his silver hair catching the sunlight like a beacon. Mary Ann was beside him, as always. Rui's grip tightened on the hilt of her dagger. Now or never.

She darted forward, her hood low over her face, and plunged the blade into Fenrir's chest.

A collective gasp echoed through the square. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Fenrir staggered, blood seeping from the wound. The dagger hadn't pierced anything vital, but the pain was real. He looked down at the blade, then up at Rui, his expression unreadable.

The crowd surged forward, some screaming, others shouting in confusion. Guards were on Rui in an instant, pinning her to the ground. In the struggle, her hood fell back, revealing her pale, ash-colored skin and the faint, unmistakable glow of her crimson eyes.

"She's a vampire!" someone cried.

The crowd recoiled, fear and hatred sparking like wildfire. Rui's plan had backfired spectacularly. Instead of exposing Fenrir, she had exposed herself.

Fenrir, still clutching his wound, raised a hand to quiet the mob. His voice was steady, commanding. "Enough. She's no threat now."

But as he met Rui's eyes, he saw not fear, but defiance. This wasn't over, not by a long shot.

Rui sat motionless in the dimly lit chamber, her wrists bound by iron shackles, the cold metal biting into her skin. The air was thick with the scent of incense, faintly masking the more potent aroma of blood seeping through the temple's cracks and crevices. It was maddening. Her head lolled back against the damp stone wall as her throat tightened. Hunger gnawed at her, feral and insatiable.

She could hear them—the acolytes moving like ghosts beyond the heavy door. Their murmured prayers were a cacophony to her heightened senses, each whispered syllable clawing at her sanity. Her teeth clenched as her body trembled, the primal urge to feed overwhelming her self-restraint.

"I'm losing myself…" she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "This isn't me…"

But it was her, wasn't it? This uncontrollable hunger, the yearning for the taste of life stolen from others—it was becoming her entire existence.

The door creaked open, and a young acolyte stepped inside, clutching a sealed parchment. His wide eyes betrayed fear as he approached. Rui fixed him with a glare, her amber eyes gleaming with predatory intensity. She wanted to lash out, to taste the fear that radiated off him like a beacon, but the chains held her fast.

He placed the parchment on the floor and scrambled back, his footsteps fading quickly. Rui stared at the message for what felt like an eternity before her trembling fingers tore it open.

The words blurred at first, her vision swimming with a mixture of desperation and suppressed fury. Then they crystallized into something she hadn't expected:

"Fenrir lives. He will recover."