The Ashen Fortress

[Kuzuru]

Sweet unadulterated victory belonged to the Ashen Blades. They had triumphed over the fledgling Society of Supervillains, and Ballad was now nothing more than a frozen corpse. It was a good day, hell in Kuzuru’s mind it was the best day he had since arriving in the Omniverse. As the remaining blades made their way back to headquarters the demon replayed the battle over and over in his head. Every visceral detail was etched onto his brain and all he had to do was close his eyes to watch the movie all over again. This eidetic memory existed for every conflict he had participated in, thousands upon thousands of battles captured within his memory. However, over time these memories would dull, every detail losing that crispness that he so enjoyed. This battle with Ballad would satiate his need for war for the coming weeks, perhaps even months. 

After several hours worth of travel the Blades arrived back at home sweet home. Their fortress, which was carved into the side of a mountain sat unmolested in their absence. Inside they found the comfort of a familiar home. Kuzuru retired to his room and set to work recording a video chronicling their recent victory. Despite the physical exertion of the day he was no more tired than a neurosis patient. The demon paced about the compound, with rapid-fire thoughts assailing his brain. Wired was no more an accurate to describe his particular case. One thought that kept surfacing was the potential for retaliation. Forces more powerful than his crew of misfits were at work within this world and soon enough the Blades would draw their ire. It wasn’t that he was afraid of death or really any form of retribution from the denizens of the Omniverse, but rather it would be dreadfully boring if the Blades were stamped out before they became a reasonable force. So, under this assertion, he set to work.

Using the omnilium he had amassed over the previous week he began to carve deeper into the mountain. With nothing more than the miracle substance and his willpower he erased entire swathes of solid stone. First he forged a large atrium, and at the center he formed a pool and in the center of that pool he created a pedestal. Metal beams were used as buttresses to brace against the ever present weight of the mountain. The entire design was something reminiscent of a temple, murals featuring grand conquests covered the walls. Blood, sweet as honey to the demon’s nostrils, filled the pool. Perched atop the pedestal an orb, black as night, became a permanent fixture. Once all was said and done he called a meeting, ushering all of the Blades into the new room.

“What is all of this?” Dawn asked.

Kuzuru did not answer, but instead stepped closer to the pool of blood, forcing the others to form a semicircle around him. Murmuring rippled throughout the warriors, and after a few seconds to collect himself Kuzuru finally spoke, “we will inevitably be attacked, all great warbands will eventually fall, this is a trend that has stood the test of time.”

“What are you on about?” Charles demanded.

“We live within a world populated by the powerful, the wicked, and the kind, and there will come a time when those wretches that we hunt will rally against us and try to eradicate every last trace of our existence, there will be those stronger than us, crueler even,” Kuzuru paused, taking a moment to slick back his hair, “this will be our answer to their assault, those of you who wish to stand with me, those of you who wish to partake in the shared power of our brotherhood must offer your blood to the well, and in doing so you shall receive the strength of your companions, if you wish to stay, this is not optional.”

The Blades shifted around nervously, unsure of what to do or say. The first to break the silence was Cinder Salt. She stepped forward, her tawny fur shining in the light of the room. “This will make me stronger?” Cinder asked Kuzuru.

The demon smiled and answered, “Indeed, it will make everyone stronger.”

“Then I have no choice,” she responded and stepped towards the edge of the pool. The coyotle girl bit the pad of her thumb open, releasing droplets of that crimson liquid. She held her hand over the pool and let the blood flow freely. The pool began to swirl gently as her blood intermixed with the blood of countless others. A ominous red light emanated from the core of the black orb, like veins beneath the skin, faint but noticeable. The coyotle could feel energy coursing through her body, and she felt unstoppable. “This is incredible,” she muttered.

“Indeed it is,” the demon said, “and it will only grow as it is not only fueled by our victories, but also by our defeats.”

“Fuck it,” Charles said, lighting up a cigar, “I’m next.”