The Black Rock stood like a jagged tooth against the gums of the Oruko forest. It was a place of ill-repute, stained by ancient moss and secrets that refused to stay buried. As Scooby hiked up the winding trail, his oversized boots clattering against the stones, the air turned cold a supernatural chill that bit through his tunic.
"You came," a voice boomed.
Fogo stood at the center of a natural stone amphitheater. He was surrounded by the others. Lighter stood at his right hand, arms crossed over his massive chest, his eyes glowing with a faint, unnatural amber light. Kanpe was crouched by a small fire, drawing intricate geometric symbols in the dirt with a silver needle. Poro, the oldest, sat picking at a scab on his knee, looking confused as to why they were there at all, while Mama, the only female member, sharpened a serrated blade with a rhythmic shick-shick-shick that set Scooby's teeth on edge.
"I... I want to be strong," Scooby said, his voice trembling slightly. "I want to be someone who matters."
Fogo smiled, and for a moment, he looked almost angelic. "Strength is not found in the body, Scooby. It is found in the blood. In the connections we make with the shadows."
He gestured to the center of the circle. "Kneel."
As Scooby knelt, the ground beneath him felt strangely warm. Scorpion, the jester, stepped forward. He wasn't smiling now. He held a chalice made of dark obsidian.
"This is the nectar of the Shadow-Born," Fogo announced, his voice rising in a hypnotic chant. "To drink is to see the world as it truly is. To drink is to leave the 'goofy' boy behind and become a brother of the Crimson Moon."
Scooby looked into the liquid. It pulsed with a faint, bioluminescent red light. He thought of Ada the way she looked in the sunlight, the way her laughter felt like a promise of a better life. He thought that if he drank this, he could finally stand beside her as an equal, not a court jester.
He took the chalice and drank.
The effect was instantaneous. It wasn't just a drink; it was an invasion. It felt as though a thousand frozen needles were racing through his veins. The world tilted. The trees of the forest seemed to grow eyes, and the shadows cast by his new "brothers" elongated, turning into writhing serpents.
"Look at him," Mama cackled, her troublesome eyes gleaming. "The fool is waking up."
"Steady, boy," Lighter grunted, placing a heavy hand on Scooby's neck. It wasn't a comfort; it was a shackle.
Through the haze of the drug and the magic, Fogo's face appeared inches from Scooby's. "Now, little brother, we have a task. The merchant, Daddy John, has a vault. Inside that vault is a relic that belongs to the Shadow-Born. It is a stone of pure light the very thing that keeps Oruko in the dark while his house shines."
"Daddy John?" Scooby gasped, his mind fighting the intoxication. "But... that's Ada's father."
"Exactly," Fogo whispered, his breath smelling of sulfur and honey. "And once we have the stone, she will have no choice but to turn to us for protection. You will be her savior, Scooby. You will be the one to 'rescue' her from the poverty we are about to inflict upon her father. Isn't that what love is? Providing what is missing?"
The logic was warped, twisted by the magical high, but to Scooby's altered mind, it sounded like divine wisdom. He saw a vision of Ada crying, and himself clothed in shadow and gold wiping away her tears.
"What do I have to do?" Scooby asked, his eyes turning a dull, flickering crimson.
"Tonight, we rob the merchant," Fogo commanded. "And if anyone stands in our way... we show them the price of holding onto the light."
Kanpe stood up, cleaning his glasses. "The wards on the house are weakest at midnight. I have calculated the shift in the spiritual energy. We enter through the servant's gate."
"I like gates," Poro said, giggling to himself for no reason.
Scorpion leaned in close to Scooby, his bells jingling softly. "Don't worry, goofy. The first time is always the hardest. After the first drop of blood, the rest just feels like water."
The group began to move, a pack of wolves descending toward the village. Scooby followed, his movements no longer clumsy but eerily fluid, his shadow stretching out behind him like a hungry ghost. He felt intoxicated by the power, by the belonging, and by the delusional hope of winning Ada's heart through a crime she didn't yet know was coming.
Little did he know, the "catastrophic" chain had already begun to rattle.