Thump. Thump. Thump.
Zeke could not tell whether what he heard was the sound of his footsteps or the beating of his heart. Nor did he care. Not when the blood all around him called out in such a loving voice, like a child demanding attention from its mother.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Zeke was not entranced to the point of losing awareness of his actions or thoughts. If he had wanted to, he could have resisted the call without much effort. But he found himself so intrigued by this strange sensation that he did not want to resist.
He stepped outside the building and found the scene exactly as his perception had shown him. Yet standing here now, the experience was entirely different.
The shouting, the smell, the violence, the sheer scale of the battle were things his perception could never convey accurately. It was like reading about a storm in a book. Standing in the middle of it, with wind and rain lashing against your skin, was an entirely different matter.
Some soldiers glanced his way when he emerged, but his red hair made him look like one of them at first glance, so most of them turned away after a cursory look. One of them, however, did not. It was the man standing closest. His eyes lingered on Zeke, tracing his body up and down as his brows slowly furrowed into deeper lines.
Zeke calmly looked back. The man appeared to be an early Grand Mage. Perhaps a group leader of some kind, a rising talent in the Legion. It was clear that the man suspected something, likely because of his vastly different uniform.
And once doubt took hold, it would not take long for it to turn into certainty.
Zeke saw the exact moment realization struck. The man's eyes sharpened and his entire body tensed. But just as he was about to call out a warning, he suddenly went still.
He had become as motionless as a corpse.
The reason was simple. He was already dead. Dozens of fine strands had risen from the ground and pierced his entire body. From head to toe, not a single part remained intact. His body stayed upright only because of the newly formed scaffolding that had invaded him completely.
Zeke continued to watch, examining the deadly spell with interest.
He had been the one to cast it. But the process had been anything but normal. There had been no spellform, only intent. A burst of Mana that gave birth to his will.
Unstructured Magic.
That was what the instructors back at the Elementium had called it. The most primitive form of Magic. Undeveloped. Crude. A tool for brutes without a proper foundation.
Zeke had believed it as well. Compared to the sophisticated nature of a proper spell, it truly seemed that way. But lately his mind had begun to change. And now, with the blood all around seemingly calling out to him and begging to be used, he had suddenly felt the urge to try.
The result was an effortless kill.
The blood obeyed him as if it were part of his own body. He killed that man with the same ease it would take to turn his hand.
Zeke's thoughts were interrupted when the man standing next to the impaled corpse suddenly noticed that something was wrong. He touched the man's shoulder, trying to shake him awake. Naturally, the dead soldier did not respond.
Zeke's gaze shifted to this new man. Then, without forming a spellform, he made the blood of his first victim act. It burst from the corpse like a tree sprouting roots, impaling the second man and killing him instantly as well.
Zeke was stunned. He had known he was relatively strong for his level, but this was ridiculous. These were not cabbages he was slaughtering, but elite members of the Ehrenlegion, nominally on the same level as himself. And yet two of them had died in as many seconds, unable to even put up a fight.
Even more baffling was the fact that Zeke had barely expended any Mana. The two spells he had unleashed amounted to nothing more than a trickle. Nor had he used any of his own blood. He had simply used the abundant material all around him. Something of this level, he could likely keep doing it for hours.
...Surely not? Surely he could not be this strong.
His gaze slowly swept over the soldiers closest to him. Many of them had already noticed that something was wrong, turning around and searching for the enemy.
Zeke did not give them the chance.
Instead of targeting them one by one, he made the blood beneath their feet rise into a long blade that swept upward. It moved like the edge of a guillotine, dozens of steps long. Several soldiers died instantly, their bodies falling to the ground in pieces. Others lost limbs, while a few managed to dodge entirely and now began to surround him.
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But Zeke simply watched.
Since stepping outside, he had not taken a single step from his spot. Even now, when he had been discovered and the enemy had begun to act against him, he still did not move. He saw no need.
Standing in the middle of a sea of blood, there was no reason for fear. They had stepped into his world, like a calf entering a lion's den. And how could a lion ever run from its own den?
One by one, the figures surrounding him found themselves impaled, severed, sliced, or crushed. It was a one sided massacre. Zeke did not even have to properly cast. A mere thought was enough, and the blood obeyed. Even taking cover was useless. His Sphere of Awareness was focused on the small area around him, allowing him to see everything from every angle.
It could barely be called a fight. One side stood motionless while the other scrambled simply to stay alive. Every drop of blood could become a deadly thorn piercing their bodies. Every splash could turn into an executioner's blade.
Worst of all, each death deepened the crimson tide. Every fallen ally became ammunition against their own.
Blood Magic. Slaughter Magic.
Fiends. Butchers.
It was no wonder his kind carried such a reputation. Slaughter fed slaughter. Death gave rise to more death. It was a vicious cycle of endless destruction.
And in the middle of that storm stood Zeke, calmly watching it all unfold.
Until, finally, the area grew quiet once more.
In less than a minute, not a single person remained alive in the large area around him. It was like an oasis of calm in the raging storm that had gripped the entire city. However, the severed limbs and mangled bodies made the quiet surroundings grotesque, turning the silence into something foreboding rather than peaceful.
Zeke watched the blood seep from the dozens of bodies around him. The call in his ears grew louder with every drop that joined the pool.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent. He had made up his mind. This was exactly how he could best use his talents. Instead of searching for valuable targets, he would simply kill everyone.
Looking for the commander? There was no need. The commander would lose all importance once there were no more troops left to command.
Zeke took a step, and then a second. The blood that had formed a thin layer across the ground began to flow alongside him. It looked like a carpet that unfurled wherever his feet stepped. Or like a wandering swarm of locusts.
Soon, Zeke reached the backline of the troops currently facing his Bloodguard. They had entrenched themselves around a corner. Several Earth Mages had raised a defensive wall and were maintaining it. Flyers circled overhead, attacking from beyond reach, while Flamecallers bathed the streets below in a fiery haze.
Behind them stood a clustered group, huddled together as if frightened. Zeke could feel the potent Life Mana emanating from them. They were the very healers who had kept the Legion in the fight for so long.
Former elves.
Positioned at the rear, this was the group Zeke encountered first. However, they were not caught unaware by his approach. The enemy commander had clearly already noticed his actions and diverted part of the main force to intercept him.
The moment Zeke rounded the corner, a dozen attacks rained down on him. Windblades. Fireballs. Rocks.
But before any of the spells could reach him, the blood rose from the ground and formed a curtain. Each time the seemingly flimsy defense neared breaking, more blood streamed upward to repair it.
Nothing made it through.
Zeke raised his arms, and the blood responded. In an instant, more than a dozen people died. He had not targeted the group that attacked him, but anyone standing near a puddle of blood. There was no need to play the commander's game.
The cycle of slaughter would not be stopped. It could not be stopped.
The freshly spilled blood did not even have time to settle before erupting again, claiming more lives. It was like a torch thrown into a pile of oily rags, spreading uncontrollably.
The tide surged forward like veins in a human body or the roots of a tree. One body was pierced, replenishing the blood, only for it to burst toward the next victim. The same process repeated in every direction. The more tightly the troops clustered together, the faster they died and the more catastrophic the damage became.
Like a field of flowers blooming all at once.
Not long after, the bombardment ceased, and Zeke dispelled the curtain protecting him. The sight that greeted him was one of nightmares. No one had been left alive. The elves, the Legion, anyone and everyone were dead.
The fight had ended just like that.
From across the battlements, dozens of serpentine eyes watched him. It was his own Bloodguard who suddenly found themselves without opponents. At the very front stood a woman with white hair and a large spear in her hand. Zelkara, who had been fighting two of their leaders at once, now stood still and gazed at him with an unreadable expression.
Then she froze, as if listening to something, before promptly turning around. It must have been Akasha giving her new orders. Before leaving, she bowed to Zeke, her eyes seeming even more fanatical than usual.
Zeke did not interfere. The fact that Akasha had not contacted him likely meant she was willing to let him do as he pleased. She must have been surprised as well. Ever since they had been together, Zeke had never shown anything like what he had just displayed.
Not even he had known he was capable of this.
But he was beginning to understand it now. He was beginning to understand why everyone spoke so reverently about perfect affinity holders. Now, finally, after all these years, it was beginning to reveal itself.
His connection to blood.
It was a link on an instinctual level. He did not merely have the ability to cast spells. It went far beyond that.
Perfect affinity. Perfect compatibility. He was blood, and blood was him. It was a symbiotic relationship that would only grow stronger as he advanced in power.
The only thing he did not understand was how it was even possible for him to have an affinity for other elements when everything about him was blood. How could a glass that was already full contain something more?
But now was not the time to ponder theory. He had a battle to fight, a cycle to feed. Already, the blood around him was growing restless.
Blood begets blood begets blood.
How had he only now understood such a simple truth?
His mind was already sweeping outward, searching for pockets of resistance. But before he could settle on a direction, he picked up a trace nearby. It felt like cold reason, the very antithesis of the call of blood. He recognized it instantly. It was a trail of Mind Mana.
Zeke smiled. He knew exactly what this was.
An invitation. A challenge.
It seemed the commander had finally grown tired of watching him slaughter his way across the battlefield. Bold. Very bold.
But if they were so kind as to invite him, how could he refuse?