Kael stood at the center of the camp, eyes glowing faintly red as the Veilspawn emerged from the shadows.
The creatures were twisted—Veil-touched horrors, wreathed in smoky tendrils, claws dripping with corrupted essence.
Lyra drew Veyrath. "They know we're here."
Darric notched a Veilsteel arrow, aiming with steady hands.
Kael's voice was low but fierce. "Then we give them a reason to fear."
Kael stepped forward, aura flaring crimson as lightning crackled along his arms.
With a roar, he unleashed Rivenhart's Wrath — a devastating chain of black lightning strikes that surged through the Veilspawn ranks, scorching the nearest creatures into ash.
The ground beneath him cracked with raw power, sending a shockwave that staggered the rest.
Lyra moved with deadly grace, her blade flashing like firelight.
She called upon Lotus Veil Dance, a rapid series of slashes weaving flame and shadow that tore through the advancing enemies, leaving trails of burning glyphs in her wake.
Her eyes locked with Kael's briefly—fierce, determined.
Darric's voice cut through the chaos.
"Cover me!"
He unleashed Shadowpiercer Volley — a rain of arrows tipped with Veilsteel, each finding cracks in the Veilspawn's twisted armor, piercing deep and felling them one by one.
Amidst the battle, Kael caught Lyra's gaze.
"We can't just survive. We have to win."
She nodded. "Together."
Darric shouted, "Incoming from the left!"
The Veilspawn surged again, more ferocious than before.
The acrid smoke of battle still hung in the air, the ground littered with smoldering Veilspawn remains. Kael's breath came heavy but steady, the red lightning crackling faintly beneath his skin.
Lyra sheathed Veyrath, eyes scanning the horizon.
"That was just a scouting force," she said grimly. "More will come. And bigger."
Darric tightened his grip on his bow.
"We need a plan — not just brute force."
Kael's gaze darkened.
"Then it's time to take the fight to them."
Kael raised his voice, calling to the few scattered bands loyal to him in the region — remnants of the Crimson Blades and local militia who had yet to fall under Malrik's shadow.
Campfires flared across the darkened hills as warriors answered the call.
"We fight not just to survive," Kael declared, "but to reclaim what was lost."
As dawn broke, Kael led a strike force toward the nearest Veilspawn nest—a ruined fortress swallowed by creeping Veil corruption.
Kael channeled his power, preparing to unleash Stormbreaker Offensive — a charged volley of black lightning that would shatter enemy lines and ignite the battlefield.
Night split open as Kael stood at the edge of the ravine, his crimson aura howling like a banshee in the wind. Red lightning coiled around his arms, snaking through the broken sky like veins in a bleeding god.
Below, the Black Host surged forward—ranks of armored wretches, twisted by the Veil, marching under banners stitched from skin and soot.
To Kael's right, Lyra tightened her grip on her twin curved sabers, breath sharp, eyes sharper.
To his left, Darric nocked an arrow, shadow-fletched, eyes scanning through smoke.
"We hit hard, strike fast. Burn the command node. We scatter them. Then we vanish," Kael growled.
"And if we don't?" Darric asked.
"Then I burn this ravine into a grave," Kael answered, eyes flaring red.
Kael slammed his hand to the ground.
"Stormbind: Crimson Surge."
The earth cracked—red lightning split the sky and rained in a vertical sheet. The first rank of Veilspawn screamed as their bodies convulsed under the force, armor melting, bones fracturing.
"Go!" Kael roared.
Lyra dashed ahead, her sabers singing. Her form became a blur of steel and crimson light—"Dance of the Fourfold Fang"—a deadly arc of four strikes in a single breath. Veil-warped knights collapsed like falling towers.
Darric fired a volley from above—"Shadowhail"—a barrage of black-tipped arrows that howled with echo magic, pinning squads in place as Kael leapt down like a falling comet.
Kael's body burned, aura wild and unstable. He slammed his gauntlet into a commander's chest—
"Crimson Breaker!"
Shockwaves blasted outward in a blazing circle. Three squads disintegrated in red flame and pressure. Veilspawn staggered.
"That's the mark…" one of them hissed.
"He carries the true flame—"
But they were cut off as Kael's blade ignited, now glowing with the hybrid force of lightning and blood.
"Veinblade – Second Sigil: Shatterpulse."
With one cleave, he severed both air and steel. The command node's signal to regroup shattered.
Lyra regrouped at his side, bloodied but smiling. "That was your new move?"
Kael gave a grim nod. "Not the last one."
Darric landed beside them, cloak tattered. "Command's broken. They're fleeing toward the eastern gorge."
"Then we cut them off," Kael said. "We end them here."
He raised his blade to the storm. The lightning above bent in his direction.
A figure stood cloaked in silence, watching the battle unfold. Pale skin, golden eyes. The markings on their arm matched Kael's—but inverted, crawling black lines instead of crimson.
They whispered one word, unheard in the wind:
"Brother."
Kael sprinted down the slope, his boots igniting sparks across scorched stone. Red lightning licked the ground in his wake, each step forging a brief trail of fire behind him.
Around him, the remnants of the Black Host scattered—some screaming, others chanting war-prayers to the Veil, hoping to stall the Crimson flame chasing them down.
"Don't let them regroup," Kael shouted behind him. "Break their rhythm!"
Lyra and Darric were already flanking left and right. The three moved like a blade's point, splitting the fractured army with surgical violence.
As Kael rounded the bend into the gorge, a blast of Veil energy struck the cliffside above him.
"Shieldcall!" he barked, slamming his fist down.
A barrier of crimson lightning erupted around him. The shockwave smashed rubble aside as two Veilwarped brutes charged from the narrow gap — twelve feet tall, plated in stone-flesh armor, spitting black mist from their twisted maws.
Kael narrowed his eyes. "You're in my way."
His blade lit once more — not just red, but now lined with flickers of black. He stepped forward and whispered:
"Storm Sign: Crimson Severance."
He vanished. Then reappeared behind them, his blade humming.
The two beasts stood still for a heartbeat—
—and then collapsed, severed into a dozen pieces, clean as glass.
"More incoming!" Darric's voice rang out.
From the far end of the gorge, a full unit of Veilstriders emerged—elite shock troops in segmented obsidian armor, carrying glaives that vibrated with cursed frequency.
Their leader stepped forward. His armor bore the symbol of a cracked moon. His eyes burned silver.
"Crimson-Blooded. The Black Host has heard of your flame. Let us see if it burns true."
Kael didn't answer with words.
He slammed his sword into the ground and unleashed his aura fully.
The entire gorge trembled.
Lightning arced from wall to wall, forming a dome of raw crimson current. Veilstriders stepped back—but it was too late.
"Crimson Domain: Sovereign's Judgment."
The sky above cracked.
Flame fell like divine punishment.
In the chaos, Lyra reached Kael. "Are you trying to burn the world down?!"
Kael looked at her, breathing hard. "Not all of it. Just… enough."
She shook her head—but there was a smile in it.
Behind them, Darric finished the last Strider with a triple arrow to the throat. "Clear."
Kael's domain faded. The lightning cracked once more, then disappeared—leaving silence.
Bodies smoldered. The gorge was littered with burned stone and scorched metal. Kael looked toward the far ridge, where a dark monolith now jutted from the earth—a Veil beacon, pulsating with unnatural energy.
"We're not done," Kael murmured.
"This was the vanguard."
Kael stepped forward alone.
The ground beneath the Veil beacon was scorched black, not from fire, but from absence. A circular radius of land had been drained — no moss, no blood, no smell — just stillness, as if existence had been erased in a perfect ring.
The beacon pulsed. Its surface was jagged, crystalline, obsidian and bone fused together. Veins of pale energy crawled across it like cracks in glass.
"It's not just a marker," Kael muttered. "It's feeding something."
Lyra approached warily, sabers drawn but low. "Can we destroy it?"
Darric, circling wide, unslung his crossbow and aimed. "I say we try."
Kael raised a hand. "No. Not yet."
He stepped within inches of the beacon, eyes narrowing as his crimson aura flared just slightly. The artifact responded — not with repulsion, but recognition. A sharp note echoed in the air, like the ring of a distant bell.
Suddenly—
A voice.
Not spoken aloud, but inside his mind.
It was not Malrik's. Not the Veil's.
Older.
Tangled in vines of pain, wisdom, and sorrow.
"You are not the first flame.
But you may be the last."
Kael staggered.
"Did you hear that?" he snapped, turning to Lyra and Darric.
They looked at him, alarmed. "Hear what?" Lyra asked.
Kael touched the beacon. In that moment, time shattered—
—he stood not in a ruined gorge, but a grand battlefield lit by twin moons. Warriors in radiant armor fell by the hundreds. At the center stood a lone figure in red and black, his body crowned in lightning—
—and behind him, a wall of shadow. A mouth. A voice. The Veil Itself.
Then the vision tore itself away.
Kael stumbled back. His hand smoked where it had touched the stone. The mark on his chest was pulsing — not wildly, but rhythmically. Like something had been awakened… or noticed.
"We leave it," Kael said. "Mark the location. We'll return with fire."
Darric raised an eyebrow. "Why not burn it now?"
"Because we're not the only ones watching," Kael said, glancing back toward the ridge.
His eyes narrowed — a brief flicker of golden irises, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
"Someone wants me to burn it. That's reason enough to wait."
As they retreated, the beacon's pulse slowed… then inverted.
Where once it gave off energy, now it drank.
And in the shadows of the mountain… something began to stir.