"You're dead."
Yorowin's icy voice tore through the still forest, venom dripping from every syllable. The world seemed to hold its breath, trembling under the weight of his fury.
Then it began.
Blood seeped from every pore of Yorowin's body, streaming out like rivers converging on him. It coiled and twisted, molding itself around him until it solidified into grotesque, menacing armor.
Thick, impenetrable, and pulsing with life, the armor radiated a bloodlust so suffocating it seemed to choke the very air.
Only Yorowin's glowing crimson eyes remained visible, cutting through the haze like twin daggers aimed directly at Atticus.
His voice, low and menacing, carried two words:
"Blood Veil."
The forest responded instantly.
A cold wave rippled outward, the ground trembling beneath its force.
A crimson light erupted, washing over everything in its path. Every living creature in the forest froze in place, their bodies trembling under the crushing presence of Yorowin's power.
The blood shadows, who had already been struggling to endure the oppressive atmosphere, suddenly stilled. Their expressions shifted, reverence and devotion replacing their initial fear and pain.
They knew what was coming.
And they didn't resist.
They embraced it.
"For the Grand Elder…" they whispered in unison, their voices filled with an eerie, haunting reverence.
And then, they burst.
Not into blood. Not into flesh and gore.
They dissolved into unrestrained crimson mist.
One by one, every creature unraveled, their forms spiraling into a haze that coiled and gathered around Yorowin.
The mist grew denser, thicker, until the forest was engulfed in an impenetrable crimson fog, alive and pulsating with power, a manifestation of death itself.
The air was so thick with it that visibility was reduced to nothing, the forest transformed into an endless sea of blood colored haze.
From within the mist, two massive scythes formed.
They extended seamlessly from Yorowin's armor, their edges gleaming with a deadly light that promised annihilation.
Yorowin's piercing gaze locked onto Atticus's calm, icy stare. For a moment, the world stopped.
The crimson haze was the complete bane of life. Breathing it in was akin to inhaling tiny, ticking time bombs.
The Vampyros race had dominion over blood. They could control their own, or that of their opponents. As a paragon, Yorowin embodied the pinnacle of this power.
The crimson haze wasn't just a fog, it was Yorowin's battlefield. Each particle of blood hanging in the air was under his command, ready to crush, suffocate, or destroy.
And yet…
Despite the suffocating haze, despite the countless deadly droplets surrounding him, Atticus began to descend.
Calmly.
He entered the haze without hesitation, his feet touching the forest floor.
Atticus did nothing.
No barrier. No shield. No visible protection of any kind.
He simply stood there, his katana already sheathed, radiating an aura of calm so profound, so unshakable, that Yorowin couldn't help but shudder.
Atticus inhaled.
The tiny droplets of blood entered his body, and vanished.
Yorowin froze. He couldn't feel them anymore. The crimson haze that should have consumed Atticus, suffocated him, or torn him apart simply ceased to exist inside him.
No crimson glow surrounded Atticus. His eyes retained their normal shades of azure and purple.
He didn't appear to have activated any visible defense, let alone his will.
And yet, as Yorowin attempted to take control of the blood now inside Atticus, it felt as though he had slammed into an unyielding steel wall.
A wall that didn't budge.
A wall that couldn't break.
No, it was worse, like trying to command the ocean itself to part with a whisper.
The connection was severed. His will, his control, his power, it meant nothing. The blood was no longer his to command.
It was as though a mortal had dared to seize the blood of a god.
Yorowin's crimson eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as the realization settled deep within him. His fist clenched so tightly that the air around him trembled, the atmosphere bending under the weight of his fury.
He had underestimated the boy.
He had dismissed him as nothing more than a nuisance, an ant to be crushed beneath his heel whenever he pleased.
A mistake.
A grave mistake.
But none of that mattered now.
Only one thing mattered.
Yorowin's entire being burned with a singular desire:
To rip this boy apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.
His form dipped, legs coiling with such immense force that the ground beneath him cracked and split, fissures radiating outward for kilometers. The earth shook violently, trembling as though some great beast was about to be unleashed.
Then he launched.
A streak of crimson tore through the air, his movement so fast that a deafening sonic boom followed in his wake, tearing through the forest with a tempest of swirling blood mist.
But Atticus was already gone.
A streak of blue and purple erupted from where he had stood, the ground beneath his previous position exploding outward, debris raining down like meteors from the sheer force of his departure.
They collided in midair.
The clash was monumental.
The moment their weapons met, the air screamed in protest, a high-pitched wail that tore through the crimson haze like a dying beast.
Azure, purple, and crimson energy erupted in all directions, jagged streaks of light carving chaotic patterns into the mist.
The surrounding trees, ancient and rooted deep within the earth, stood no chance. Entire trunks were ripped from their foundations, splintering and hurtling through the air like weightless debris.
The ground below fractured and crumbled, massive fissures radiating outward, consuming the forest floor in their wake.
Then came the shockwave.
It erupted with the force of a natural disaster, a tidal wave of air and mana blasting outward in all directions.
At the fortress, Candence and the others barely had time to react.
The shockwave slammed into them like a battering ram, sending bodies tumbling and debris flying. Cries of alarm rang out as soldiers scrambled to brace themselves, their footing ripped out from under them.
The fortress itself wasn't spared.
The onslaught struck its walls and towers with hurricane-like force. Stone and metal groaned and buckled under the pressure, entire sections crumbling as if they were made of sand.
Chaos reigned.
Dust and debris filled the air, turning the once-proud stronghold into little more than rubble. Soldiers coughed and shouted orders amidst the destruction, desperately trying to regroup.
But at the epicenter of the battle, the devastation was far greater.