The chamber was clean and bare, with six pillars encircling a sunken platform. A gentle glow illuminated every corner of the place, radiating from the crystals grafted into the smooth stone walls. The place was as utilitarian as could be. Still and somber; if one ignored the strangled groans and wailings permeating the air.

Bloodied grain sacks over their heads, the bound men and women struggled uselessly against their chains; clanging dully like a dreary hymn proclaiming their grisly fate. Sacrifices for a cause not of their own.

Chiseled groves connected the twelve to a hollow basin at the center where a crimson crystal hovered. Unsettling, eerie. An unfeeling witness to the misfortune about to take place.

Positioned between the pillars were hooded figures. Their robes uniform and pristine in pearly white; all bearing the same symbol of a mighty creature. Avian head with a hooked beak and powerful torso of feline breed, the griffin on their backs gripped a sword and a spear with each of its talons; its feathered wings spread widely in a majestic stance.

Levitating off the ground, the mages raised their arms in an imitation of the symbol they bore. With the people squirming beneath, though, it conjured a grim, foreboding sight instead of drawing any hint of awe.

As the arcane words began filling the chamber, the sacrifices tugged and pulled harder at their bindings. It was possible that they knew what was going to happen; perhaps they could feel the malevolent energies in the air. Regardless, one didn’t need to be quick of wit to see it. Or, more appropriately; sense it. Hard to peer through the sacks over their heads, after all.

Their time had come.

Agonizing cries gradually subsided and were replaced by wet gurgling as the sacrifices choked on their blood, overflowing from every orifice. Their lifeblood began filling the groves, joined together to form an intricate spell matrix carved into the platform.

The crystal basked everything in a sinister crimson glare, humming with power. Its candor grew and grew; aroused by the ever-increasing amount of blood in the basin. Evoked by the arcane chants, shadows danced indolently like twisted tendrils of dark magic.

Louder and louder, the words of magic reverberated through the chamber as the atmosphere suffused in the cloying essence of blood. Shimmering light burst out from the crystal, encasing the hapless sacrifices under a dome; pulsing like a spherical heart.

Though one of the victims didn’t give up just yet.

So intensely focused on the ritual nearing its end, the mages didn’t realize another voice had joined them in working the magic. Bound, gagged and hunched over just like the other poor saps breathing their last but for the black liquid leaking from the grain sack on their head. The person gritted their teeth; furiously muttering the words of power.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

By the time one of the mages saw an odd spark in the basin, it was already too late.

Crackling with power, the crystal pulsed ominously. The sight caused a slight stir among the gathered people, yet it was the mages who were most unnerved. A magical backlash of this degree would spell their doom, and could possibly cause a spatial collapse of massive proportion with their location as the epicenter. Thus, they decided to push on instead of breaking the ritual, be it from fear for their lives or genuine concern for innocent bystanders.

Or perhaps it was easier to clean up if the mess was more manageable.

After a few more moments, the crystal emitted a blinding light as the last victim slumped over lifelessly, their dying moans drowned by a violent tide of blood. It swirled like a maelstrom, a maw of a thousand teeth, tearing what left of them into no more than tiny pieces of flesh and bone.

Soon, the magic in the dome stilled, seemingly solidified into a unified mass with the same luster as the crystal at its core. Then, the sphere faded away, a strip of magic ripped out of reality and the room exploded with noise. Voices, from many people. All within the confines of the ritual circle.

These people, distinctly human, gasped when they saw the ones standing in wait, looking down on them from a small flight of stairs. Surrounded from all sides, they huddled around the comforting golden glow of the crystal in the center of the pristine platform; fearful, anticipating. Even though the group didn’t seem to have similar origins, they decided that banding together with familiar people would be safer. Or to be precise, not rushing to make contact with those too different from themselves.

With a few exceptions, they stood barely a hand’s width from the other, watching as hooded figures followed behind an armored man. The chamber was silent but the brassy sound of heavy footsteps meeting stone.

“Please, be at ease,” a female voice rang out beside the leading guy. “We wish you no harm.”

Being told that reassured absolutely no one. Especially when the six were as good as unarmed; one of them was even in pajamas. And they were facing quite an impressive military force.

The woman removed her hood, revealing long, silky blond hair framing her pleasant, gentle face. She smiled lightly and continued.

“Welcome to Basraeca, destined heroes! Our eternal gratitude be with you all for answering the ca-”

At that instant, the crystal exploded into a thousand pieces. Screaming in terror, the summoned people clambered forward, hiding behind the sturdier armored men, their hesitation thrown away when confronted with a real, urgent threat.

No shrapnel had launched more than a few centimeters outwards from the crystal, however. As if frozen in time, the pieces stayed immobile, hovering stiffly in place. After a pregnant pause of strained silence, they shifted. Slowly, at first. Then, as if urged by a command, the glittering fragments moved in a rapid, yet orderly fashion.

While it hadn’t been the best place to be, the chamber possessed a dignified, solemn air without being oppressive. Now, however, the wide, open space no longer felt adequate for this many people. The grey walls seemed colder, menacing. Creeping closer to box them in. Colors blended into one another as if pushed away. Fleeing from a dreadful omen.

In but a second, the fragments took on a humanoid form, and crystals turned to flesh. Taking the place of the glowing stone, a young man stood in the basin, his head framed by short, wavy hair the color of rich amber.

There were hushed whispers amidst the crowd, some loud enough to hear and some barely audible even in close proximity. Yet a single word stroked a chord in him and it drew his attention to the speaker, a youth in the same mage robe as those who directed the ritual; spines tingled as a chuckle escaped his lips.

“Ashling? Was that your name…?” a viridian glow shimmered in his eyes as he stared at the one who uttered the name.