Arthur’s lancet made a precise, tiny clean cut across the tough, black leather of Grimm’s digital pad.
The blood that welled from the micro-clean cut was not red. It was a dense, shimmering fluid the color of liquid black glass, so heavy with crushing weight that three droplets fell like lead sinkers. It struck the stone basin of the stone stand with three distinct, metal clicks.
The blood didn’t splatter.
Upon contacting the star-iron basin, the fluid was drawn instantly into the tiny blood vessel channels by powerful tiny blood vessel action. Faint, thread-like veins of dark violet light began to spread outward from the center of the basin, racing along the etched glyphs of the stone stand.
Arthur right away applied a dab of razor-sharp styptic powder to Grimm’s pad, bandaging the tiny cut with sterile adhesive tape. “Good boy,” Arthur whispered, scratching the hound’s throat. Grimm gave a soft huff, resting his chin on Arthur’s gauntlet as the stone stand began to hum.
The ancient test array beneath the stone floor woke up:
A deep, musical ringing rang through the raised stone road.
The circular mandala on the face of the one-hundred-meter gate ignited. The stylized wolf carving along the upper arch began to blaze with brilliant violet-gold fire, the runes of the ancient Fenrir lineage lighting up one by one with blinding clarity.
