The forest was no longer a forest.
It was a **grave**.
Trees lay shattered and twisted, trunks split open as if something had torn the life straight out of them. Knight corpses littered the ground in grotesque poses—armor still intact, faces frozen in terror—yet their bodies were **dry**, skin drawn tight against bone, every last drop of blood drained clean.
Above it all—
Lyriana flew.
Her wings were fully spread now, vast and terrible, their membranes veined with pulsing crimson light. Blood mist curled around her like a living cloak as she twisted through the air, **evading a golden slash** that carved clean through three trees behind her.
She didn't slow.
Didn't falter.
Both babies were held tight against her chest, wrapped in hardened blood constructs shaped like a cradle—protective, warm, unyielding. Their cries were muted, smothered by her will, shielded from the chaos raging around them.
Another golden arc screamed upward.
Lyriana rolled midair, wings snapping wide as the slash passed inches beneath her. Her eyes burned as she extended one hand—
—and **blood answered**.
Spears. Blades. Hooks.
They formed instantly and launched downward in a crimson storm.
"DOWN!" someone roared.
Below, Thane slammed his shield into the ground.
The remaining knights moved as one—those still alive, still foolish enough to stand.
Mana flared.
Thane's shield **expanded**, holy runes igniting across its surface as it grew into a towering barrier. Blood weapons struck it in a deafening barrage—*CRACK—CRASH—SCREAM*—each impact shaking the earth, splintering stone, gouging deep trenches into the ground.
Several knights were flung backward regardless, bodies slamming into trees, armor crumpling like tin.
Thane **held**.
His boots carved trenches through the dirt as he braced, teeth bared, veins standing out along his neck.
"Archers—NOW!"
Golden bolts shot skyward, trailing radiant light.
Lyriana's wings snapped inward.
She dove.
Not fleeing—**descending**.
She twisted between the bolts with impossible precision, feathers clipping light, one wing folding as she spun. Blood weapons tore arrows apart mid-flight. She came down hard, slamming into the clearing like a falling star.
**BOOM.**
The impact sent a shockwave ripping through the forest. Knights were thrown off their feet as blood erupted outward, carving jagged lines through the earth.
Lyriana straightened slowly.
Her wings remained spread, blood dripping from their edges like rain. Her gaze swept across the survivors—cold, furious, feral.
"Move again," she said, her voice low and trembling with barely restrained rage, "and I will strip the marrow from your bones."
Thane rose from behind his shield, breathing hard. His armor was cracked, blood running from beneath his helm.
"Monster," he spat, lifting the shield again. "You won't leave this forest."
Lyriana's lips curled—not into a smile, but something **worse**.
She adjusted the babies in her arms, ensuring they were secure, then raised her free hand.
The blood beneath every fallen knight **stirred**.
Thane's eyes widened.
"No—!"
Too late.
Blood surged upward in thick, writhing pillars, forming blades and chains that snapped toward the remaining knights. Screams tore through the clearing as armor was pierced, bodies lifted, drained in seconds as crimson light streamed back into Lyriana.
She didn't look away.
Didn't hesitate.
This wasn't cruelty.
This was **necessity**.
She stepped forward once—
—and the ground ahead **collapsed**, blood pooling and shaping itself into a massive, rotating lance aimed directly at Thane.
Thane braced, shield flaring blindingly bright as he roared, pouring everything he had into it.
"COME ON THEN!"
Lyriana's wings beat once.
The blood lance **launched**.
The forest screamed as red and gold collided—
—and somewhere deeper in the woods, something else was moving.
Fast.
Very fast.
Thane stood his ground.
Holy mana **surged** through him in roaring waves, light flaring so bright it carved shadows into the forest floor. Not a single scratch marked him from the collision—his shield cracked and scorched, but he himself stood tall, blade raised, its edge burning with radiant gold.
He inhaled.
"O Goddess of Light—"
Lyriana didn't wait.
Blood **answered instantly**.
The ground behind her ruptured as prepared constructs burst free—spears, scythes, chained blades—all launching forward in a synchronized kill-pattern meant to overwhelm him before the prayer could finish.
But Thane never completed the chant.
From the side—
A **fist** came out of nowhere.
No warning.
No flare of mana.
No sound.
Just **impact**.
The punch slammed into Thane's head with catastrophic force. His helmet **imploded**, holy runes shattering as metal folded inward like paper. The shockwave rippled outward, trees bending away from the epicenter as Thane's body was **launched** off his feet.
He never screamed.
His form tore through the forest like a living projectile—trunks exploding on contact, bark and bone scattering together—until he vanished into the distance with a final, thunderous crash.
The clearing fell into stunned silence.
Lyriana froze mid-motion, blood weapons hanging in the air like suspended executioners.
Then—
A figure stepped through the settling debris.
Aldric.
His coat was torn, his body still marked with scorched lines of white-gold where holy fire had burned him earlier. Blood ran freely across his arm, shoulder, and side—some his, most not. Several of Lyriana's blood weapons had pierced him clean through.
A spear jutted from his ribs.
A blade skewered his thigh.
Chains wrapped around his torso, biting deep.
He looked down at them.
Then he grinned.
Wide.
Sharp.
Thrilled.
"Tch… damn bastard," Aldric muttered, rolling his shoulder as blood began to **move**—flowing backward, dragging metal with it as his wounds sealed around the intrusions.
The blood weapons embedded in him **dissolved**, slowly reclaimed by his will.
He lifted his gaze to Lyriana.
Red met red.
"Didn't mean to interrupt," Aldric said lightly, cracking his neck. "But I heard chanting."
Behind him, deeper in the forest, the sound of collapsing trees finally caught up—Thane's distant impact echoing like a dying god.
Aldric stepped forward, blood spiraling lazily around him.
"And I really hate prayers."