It was meant to be a simple hunt.
Nikita led a group of five witches into the outskirts of Brussels, searching for natural protein sources to replenish the Command Base's supplies.
The forest still held ancient, fertile areas—relatively safe.
Or so they thought.
—
They had just found a promising trail when they emerged from the shadows:
Profanos.
Armed.
Unhinged.
They weren't simple hunters.
Their eyes were hollow, their teeth clenched, words incoherent.
As if possessed by something...
Something beyond human.
—
The clash was immediate.
Nikita reacted fast, taking down the first with precision.
Camila and Claudia formed a defensive arc, shielding the others.
But it all happened too quickly.
One of the profanos struck Samantha with a filthy blade, piercing her side.
Her scream cut through the forest.
And awakened something sharper.
Nikita.
—
With one hand, she hit the communicator.
— Kael. Ambush. Samantha's down. We need you. Now.
—
No reply.
But he was already moving.
—
The Stone tore through the forest like an ancient fury.
His cloak still trailing behind him, he leapt from a ridge and fell among the profanos like an avalanche.
Two words only:
— Step back.
Now.
The witches obeyed.
Kael advanced.
—
What followed was brutal.
Uncanny.
Kael seemed to anticipate every movement before it happened.
His blade was never seen—only the sound of the cut.
His gaze wasn't human—it was ancestral.
The witches rallied and fought at his side.
Together, as one.
—
When silence returned, all the profanos lay still.
Samantha was bleeding—but alive.
Kael lifted her in his arms.
— To the Base.
— Now.
—
The return was silent.
But not cold.
It was sacred.
Because that night, the Clan didn't just survive.
The Clan was reborn.