Blood-spears screamed downward in a crimson storm, each one streaking toward the priests huddled beneath their flickering barrier.
CLANG.
CLANG.
CLANG.
CLANG.
CLANG.
Each impact shook the holy dome violently.
Some spears shattered into red mist.
Some cracked the barrier, splintering it with lines of breaking light.
And others punched straight through.
The priests faltered. Their voices broke. Their sigils flickered like dying stars.
The barrier wailed—
then burst apart.
Holy light fractured like glass, exploding upward in a dying flare.
The next wave of blood-spears hit unprotected flesh.
Knights were torn open.
Priests were impaled where they stood.
Bodies slammed into stone, pinned like grotesque ornaments as crimson bolts ripped through armor, bone, throats, chests, skulls.
The courtyard became a butchered ruin.
And at its center stood Aldric.
His torso was torn wide open, three blades still buried in him, blood streaming down in steaming torrents. His grin was stretched wide, teeth bared in savage delight.
His blood spilled across the ground—
—and then rose.
It slithered.
It twisted.
It coiled in trembling strands of crimson, pulled upward as if gravity no longer mattered.
The blood hanging from his wounds sharpened in the air.
And with a wet, snapping sound,
spikes formed.
Dozens of them.
Aldric's smile widened—inhuman, hungry.
> "Round two."
The ground erupted.
A storm of blood spikes exploded outward in every direction, shrieking through the air at impossible speed—
Straight for Lucan.
Straight for Carvon.
Straight for Elliren.
Lucan reacted first.
His holy fire detonated outward as he swung, cleaving five spikes—six—each one bursting into boiling mist. A seventh grazed his cheek, slicing a burning line across his skin.
Carvon roared, throwing up a dome of golden mana but not fully.
Half the spikes shattered against it—
but several punched through, stabbing into his shoulder, his thigh, ripping open his arm in sprays of red and gold surge
Elliren dove aside.
Three spikes obliterated the stone he'd stood on, turning it to fragments.
Another piece straight for his ribs, spinning him across it Blade surging with Mana already in motion as he slash across the spikes cutting them into pieces.
But the spikes didn't stop.
More erupted from the blood pooled at their feet's —
vomiting up from the ground itself, as if the courtyard bled at his command.
More spikes.
More killing intent.
More red lines tearing the air apart.
And Aldric—
Aldric only laughed.
Blood poured freely from his wounds, feeding the next wave, though the wounds already begun slowly regenerating.
His wings spread, dripping crimson light.
His eyes burned like twin Crimson suns.
> "Come on—
y'all need to keep standing."
Another cluster of blood spikes formed beneath him, angling like hungry beasts ready to strike.
> "I want you still be alive when it hits."
His grin sharpened.
> "I want you to see it."
The next barrage launched—
faster, thicker, deadlier.
And the courtyard descended into hell all over again.
The new wave of blood-spikes erupted outward in a crimson tempest.
Lucan slammed his sword into the ground, holy fire bursting up around him in a blazing shield.
Carvon raised his dome of golden mana once more, cracks racing across it as spike after spike hammered against his guard.
Elliren twisted through the chaos with desperate precision, pale-blue mana slicing through the closest projectiles.
All three were forced back—stumbling, sliding, teeth gritted—barely keeping the storm at bay.
Through it all, Aldric simply stood.
His torso—once torn wide open—was almost fully healed, muscle knitting, bone sealing, crimson flesh crawling across his flesh like living threads. His grin stretched wide and savage, one newly regrown hand flexing lazily as if testing its strength.
But slowly—
The smile faded.
A twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth.
Teeth ground together.
A low snarl crawled from his throat.
"Dammit… that bastard's fire…"
His eyes narrowed on Lucan's burning figure.
"It's not just burning away my mana… it hurts. Inside. Like he's setting my damn lungs on fire."
Steam hissed from the still-healing gashes along his ribs. Holy flame had carved deeper than he'd realized.
With his wounds now sealed and one hand fully regrown, Aldric finally looked down at his other arm—the one Lucan had severed.
Where the limb had been cut away, the flesh was not bleeding.
It was burned black.
Charred.
Seared.
Dead.
Aldric clicked his tongue with irritation.
> "Tch. Not regenerating…? Annoying."
He lifted his good hand, fingers curling around the charred stump.
His grip tightened—muscle and bone groaning beneath the pressure.
Then—
CRACK.
With a sharp, vicious jerk, Aldric ripped off the deadened flesh entirely.
Blood sprayed across the already soaked floor, splattering warmth across his feet. The burnt chunk of limb writhed in his grip for a heartbeat—
—before he hurled it aside.
It hit the ground, smoldered, then turned to drifting ash, crumbling into the steaming air.
Aldric exhaled once, long and low.
And from the raw, blood-soaked shoulder, crimson flesh surged.
Tendrils spiraled upward, weaving bone, muscle, sinew—faster than before, spurred by rage.
His new hand formed, fingers twitching as life pulsed through them.
Aldric flexed them.
A slow, sharp grin returned.
> "Better."
He rolled his shoulder once, feeling the fresh limb settle.