"Crimson Emperor's Eye: Mark of Death."
Jorghan's eyes flared brighter, and suddenly he could see every soldier as if they were outlined in red light. Distance became meaningless, obstacles became transparent, and his perception expanded to cover the entire battlefield simultaneously.
He gestured, and the blood lances split—one thousand becoming two thousand, then four thousand, multiplying as he poured essence into manifestation. They filled the sky like a crimson cloud, blotting out the sun, casting everything in a red shadow.
"Rain of the Blood God."
The lances fell like judgment.
There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The spears tracked individual soldiers with implacable determination, adjusting mid-flight to follow desperate dodges, overwhelming defensive barriers through sheer volume.
The sound was like thunder mixed with screaming—metal piercing flesh, essence tearing through matter, death delivered on an industrial scale.
