Couverture de Ray Kross Presents: The Dark Protocol

Ray Kross Presents: The Dark Protocol

Ray Kross Presents: The Dark Protocol

De : Serialized dark fiction and audio dramas from the mind of Ray Kross.
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Some signals were never meant to be decrypted. The Dark Protocol delivers full-length independent novels serialized chapter-by-chapter. This feed serves as the master archive for Ray Kross’s speculative fiction, tracking a descent into psychological suspense and dark fantasy.


raykross.substack.com

Ray Kross Science-fiction
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  • Centrellus, Chapter 14

    Centrellus, Chapter 14
    Oct 2 2026
    Chapter 14: The March to TorsandOneDeep within the Xianne Palace, in a wing where the marble gave way to older, smoke-stained granite, the air smelled of oil, sweat, and suppressed sound.This was the Foundry Courtyard, a sunken, flagstoned square enclosed on all sides by the palace's sheer walls, originally built in secret centuries ago. The usual palace hum—the distant clatter of pans, the murmur of courtiers—was swallowed by the dense stone, leaving only the immediate, purposeful noises of men preparing for war.Edgar stood on a shallow dais, a silhouette against the grey light filtering from the narrow opening high above. He didn't just move with intensity; he was a still point of coiled force, his eyes tracking every detail. Below him, in the courtyard's gloom, his handpicked soldiers worked.They weren't in full ceremonial armor. They wore boiled leather, dark tunics, gear made for distance and silence, not parades. The *clank* of a crate being set down wasn't muffled; it was a sharp, definitive sound in the quiet. The crates themselves were unmarked, but their weight spoke of contents more lethal than linens: the dull thud of packed rifles, the heavier, solid sound of ammunition boxes, the dry rustle of explosives packed in straw.Edgar watched a squad muscle a small, wheeled field cannon onto a reinforced wagon. A smile, thin and cold, touched his lips. He descended the steps, his boots echoing. He approached a cluster of his sergeants, men with faces hardened by border skirmishes and palace intrigues. Their expressions weren't curious or concerned; they were professionally blank, waiting for the final word."You are not the finest warriors in Vennug," Edgar began, his voice not low, but clear and cutting, carrying in the stone box. "The finest warriors guard my father in the throne room. You are something better. You are the most useful."He let the distinction hang, watching it settle in their eyes. Useful men understood rewards."We march to Torsand," he continued, the name dropping into the silence like a stone. "Not to visit. Not to treat. To *claim*. Their wealth sleeps under mountains they are too soft to dig. Their magic is a garden they are too timid to prune. We will take it. And you will be the hands that do the taking."There was no ripple of surprise. These men had been chosen because surprise was a luxury they'd traded for advancement. There was only a slight tightening of shoulders, a sharper focus in their gazes.He turned to Mun. The lieutenant was a bull of a man, shoulders straining the seams of his tunic, his head shaved to grey bristle. A scar notched his eyebrow, pulling one eye into a permanent squint that gave him a look of grim assessment. He wasn't wary; he was utterly present, a tool waiting in the rack."Mun," Edgar said. "Final inventory. Water, food, powder, shot. Count it twice. We leave when the twin moons set."Mun slammed a fist to his chest in a salute that sounded like a meaty thud. "It will be done, Your Highness." His voice was gravel in a bucket. No wariness. Only the absolute certainty of a heavy door being shut.Edgar gave a single, curt nod. His gaze swept the courtyard—the loaded wagons, the armed men, the secret made manifest in steel and supplies. The march hadn't just begun. It was already a fact, waiting for the cover of darkness to slink out into the world.TwoIn the dim confines of a secluded chamber deep within the Xianne Palace, Prince Edgar sat opposite a pale, yet imposing man named Kaelen. The room was austere yet imposing, its walls adorned with intricate carvings depicting battles long past. A single flickering lantern cast elongated shadows on the stone walls, the subdued light lending an air of secrecy.Kaelen was a man whose presence commanded attention. His weathered face was marked by lines that spoke of decades spent navigating the harsh underground tunnels of Kryllos. His hair was streaked with silver, cropped unevenly, as if practicality always outweighed vanity. His sharp, calculating eyes gleamed like polished onyx, scanning Edgar with a quiet intensity that betrayed his shrewdness. Despite the calloused hands and rough appearance, Kaelen's posture was regal, his bearing a reminder that Kryllos, though hidden from the surface, was no lesser a nation."Prince Edgar," Kaelen began, his voice low and gravelly, the kind of tone honed by years of commanding men in the shadows. "You've heard the whispers of our people, but now you will see what those whispers conceal. Kryllos has remained in the depths for centuries—hidden, resilient, unbroken."Edgar studied him, a spark of intrigue flashing in his eyes. "And yet, here you stand. Your people ready to rise from the shadows at last?" His voice carried a subtle note of superiority, laced with his typical blend of charm and condescension.Kaelen didn't flinch. His lips curled into the barest hint of a smile, one that didn't touch his eyes. "Not out of desperation, Your Highness, but out of ...
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    48 min
  • Episode 7: Centrellus, Chapter 13

    Episode 7: Centrellus, Chapter 13
    Sep 18 2026
    Chapter 13: Passages and Power (Raisa's Story, Part 2)OneRaisa returned to what she still called home, though her heart longed for something more. The tiny village of Selvara, nestled in the shadow of Vennug's forested hills, had been her sanctuary for so long. It was a quiet place of familiar faces, the rhythm of its days marked by the tinkling of the river and the soft rustle of the trees.Raisa was able to find work as a seamstress and was able to save up enough gold to rent a loft in a barn, owned by an old friend of her late parents. It was small, but for now, it was her home.Raisa couldn't shake the feeling that Selvara had grown too small for her. The stories Hirum had shared gave her something to strive for. A vast world, full of possibilities, occupied her thoughts as her needle slipped through fabric, the repetitive motion soothing. A broader horizon was calling. Leaving Selvara seemed inevitable, though leaving all of Vennug wasn't yet part of her plans. She wasn't ready to go that far—at least, not yet.Then the fair came, bringing a rush of life and color into the village.Selvara's Spring Festival was a tradition, but this year it felt livelier than ever. Vibrant banners swayed above bustling stalls, while scents of roasting meats, spiced cider, and sweet honey tarts filled the air. Villagers mingled with visitors from across Vennug, their excitement contagious. For Raisa, it was impossible to resist.She wound through the throng, taking in every sight, sound, and smell. At a food stall, she tried a flaky pie stuffed with savory greens. At another, she admired hand-carved wooden animals while chatting briefly with the cheerful artisan who made them. The festival's lively music lured her toward the main square, where a troupe of dancers twirled and leapt in perfect synchronization. For a moment, Raisa felt weightless, swept into the joy of the crowd.But the moment shattered with a scream.A young boy had wriggled away from his mother and climbed onto a high platform strung with garlands of flowers. Raisa's breath caught as she saw the flimsy railing splinter, leaving the child swaying perilously on the edge. The mother's cries cut through the chaos, and the crowd froze in horror.Raisa couldn't think—she could only act. Her hand lifted instinctively, her magic pulsing to life. She felt its energy reach out, a force unseen but definitely there, steadying the boy and pulling him back to safety. He toppled onto the platform, unharmed, as cheers erupted around her.Relief washed over Raisa, but it lasted only a second before she heard the voice."Well done," came the man's voice, smooth and commanding.Raisa turned sharply to see a man emerging from the crowd. His attire—a rich cloak pinned with a golden brooch—was a stark contrast to the villagers' simple clothes. His blue eyes, sharp and penetrating, locked onto hers. He was unmistakably of noble blood."I believe you are called Raisa?" The man's smile was charming, but something about it sent a shiver down her spine."Who's asking?" she replied, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest.The man inclined his head slightly. "Prince Edgar Xianne, of Vennug."Raisa's heart pounded. The Prince. What was he doing here?"I've heard of you," Edgar said. "Your name reached me some time ago, along with whispers of your... unique abilities. And what I've just seen only confirms the truth."Raisa's pulse raced. She had been so careful, so cautious. Yet, somehow, she had drawn his attention."You must be mistaken," she said quickly, her voice clipped.Edgar's smile didn't waver. "Come now, Raisa. You've shown what you can do. And I believe you can do so much more." He leaned in slightly, his tone softening as if sharing a secret. "I'm offering you a chance—a position at my side as Royal Consultant. The palace could use someone with your talents. You'd live in the Palace, in a beautiful suite customized to your liking. You'd get to travel all of Vennug. You'd be well compensated and would want for absolutely nothing."Her stomach flipped. The offer was tempting. The thought of leaving Selvara, starting fresh in a grand palace, filled her with excitement. Yet there was something in Prince Edgar's eyes, an edge that kept her guard up."I don't... I don't know," she stammered, her emotions battling within her. Was this the opportunity she'd been waiting for—or a trap?"I'm departing tomorrow afternoon. I will find you before I leave. You can give me your answer then. Sleep on it, Raisa." Edgar continued to smile, staring directly into her hazel eyes. He would not take no for an answer.Unbeknownst to Raisa, Edgar's men had orchestrated the entire spectacle. The boy and his mother had been paid handsomely to play their parts, while the platform had been sabotaged to ensure Raisa's magic would be forced into action. Edgar was not a man who left things to luck—his plans were meticulous, his ambition boundless.As Edgar walked away, fading into the ...
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    53 min
  • Episode 6: Centrellus, Chapter 12

    Episode 6: Centrellus, Chapter 12
    Sep 7 2026
    Chapter 12: Ashes and Awakenings (Raisa's Story, Part 1)OneThe common room was a pocket of warmth carved out of the mountain’s perpetual chill. Firelight from the stone hearth pushed back the damp shadows that clung to the corners where the mortar had crumbled. The air was a thick blend of woodsmoke, drying herbs hung from the beams, and the earthy, mineral scent of the stone itself. A clay pot of tea simmered by the fire, its lid rattling softly with each bubble.The furniture wasn’t just old; it was a record. The oak table bore a deep, dark stain where Raisa’s grandfather had once spilled a whole jug of wine during a storytelling fit. The chairs had their personalities: one rocked stubbornly on a shortened leg, another had arms worn smooth by decades of anxious hands. The walls, uneven and cool to the touch, were a patchwork of soot stains and pale spots where tapestries had hung before being sold for seed.In the center of this worn, beloved space, seven-year-old Raisa stood like a conqueror. She held a stripped willow branch—her scepter—clutched in both small, grubby hands. The fire painted her in gold and dancing shadow. Her hazel eyes weren’t just bright; they were fierce with concentration, reflecting the flames. A spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks stood out against skin flushed pink from the heat and her own racing heart. Her dark brown hair, forever escaping the frayed green ribbon her mother had tied it with, fell in a wild cascade over the shoulders of her hand-me-down tunic. She wasn’t just playing a magician. In that moment, with her parents’ smiling faces turned up to her from their old, worn couch, she *was* one. The queen of this snug, smoky kingdom. She took a deep breath, inhaling the pine-scented air, and raised her scepter high."Behold!" Raisa proclaimed, her voice carrying all the exaggerated drama of a child's imagination. "The Great Raisa will now turn this pebble... into a diamond!"She placed a plain pebble, dull gray and smoothed by river water, onto the center of the scarred wooden table. With an elaborate gesture of her stick, she tapped the stone, her brow furrowed in fierce concentration. Her small hands trembled slightly as she focused, her lips pursed as though willing the magic into being.The room seemed to hold its breath. Suddenly, a faint shimmer enveloped the pebble, a flickering light like the dance of fireflies on a summer night. The glow was fleeting, but undeniable.A soft gasp escaped her mother, a woman of quiet beauty with dark, almond-shaped eyes and a nurturing warmth that seemed to radiate from her. "Did you see that?" she whispered, her voice trembling with surprise and just a hint of fear.Raisa's father leaned forward, his weathered face illuminated by the firelight. His broad shoulders, hunched from years of hard labor in the fields, seemed to tense as he studied the pebble. His dark eyes, sharp yet kind, narrowed slightly. "What was that, Raisa?" he asked, his deep voice carrying a cautious curiosity.The shimmer faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the pebble unchanged. Raisa's bright excitement dimmed, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. "It didn't work," she murmured, her fingers curling tightly around the stick.Her mother quickly offered a reassuring smile, smoothing a strand of hair from Raisa's face. "It's alright, darling. Magic tricks take practice," she said, though her gaze flicked briefly to her husband, a silent exchange of concern passing between them.Her father chuckled, though the sound was uneasy. He picked up the pebble, turning it over in his rough, callused hands. "Yes, even then, they're just illusions," he said, his expression thoughtful. His tone carried an edge of forced normalcy, as if trying to convince himself as much as his daughter. "You've got quite an imagination, Raisa. That's a good thing."The tension in the room was subtle but present—an undercurrent Raisa was too young to fully understand. To her, the moment simply felt incomplete, as if her parents were holding something back.Her mother broke the silence, her tone cheerful as she ruffled Raisa's hair. "Now, how about some hot cocoa? It's getting late, and you'll need to be up early tomorrow to help your father."The promise of cocoa lightened the mood, and the family settled into their evening routine. The fire crackled on, casting a comforting glow over the room. But as her parents moved about the tasks of tidying up, Raisa remained by the table, her small fingers flexing and unflexing.She couldn't shake the memory of the faint shimmer, the tingling sensation still lingering at her fingertips. She looked down at her hands, turning them over as though they might hold the answer. Deep down, she felt a strange certainty—a whisper of something hidden, waiting to be discovered. The glow had felt real, more than just a trick of the firelight.As the warmth of the hearth wrapped around her and the promise of cocoa hung in the air, ...
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    51 min
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