The tension in the air snapped like a drawn bowstring, and the Lord of the Scarlet Veil was the one who let it fly.

  With a sharp intake of breath, his eyes narrowed, his whole body thrumming with raw, primal power. He raised his arms, and in that instant, the world exploded. Blood, his blood, burst from him in a violent surge, cascading outward in hundreds of crimson tentacles that thrashed and tore through the air like living weapons.

  Alistair was thrown off his feet, Lifedrinker flying from his grasp as the force of the tentacles slammed him into a stone pillar. The impact reverberated through the temple like a thunderclap, the pillar cracking under the sheer force.

  The tentacles moved with blinding speed, lashing out in every direction. Screams tore through the air as assassins were impaled, their bodies wrenched upward and hurled with bone-snapping force. Blood splattered across the temple like rain, crimson arcs painting the walls. One assassin was slammed into the ceiling with such violence his skull burst apart, fragments raining down. Another was flung sideways, his body cratering into the wall, bones shattering audibly. A third tried to flee but was seized mid-step, ripped apart in a spray of gore before hitting the ground in pieces.

  It was chaos. Pure, unbridled chaos.

  Liliana’s father stood at the center of it all, unmoving, his face a mask of cold fury, controlling the massacre with terrifying precision. The blood tentacles lashed out, wrapping around throats, snapping bones, tossing bodies like they were nothing more than discarded playthings. One assassin was ripped clean in half, his legs still standing while the upper half of his body was sent spinning across the floor, leaving a gruesome trail of viscera in its wake.

  Rika’s eyes widened, stunned by the absolute brutality unfolding before her. “What in the gods’ names—”

  “Stay back!” Kale shouted, his voice barely cutting through the carnage. He pressed himself against the wall as a chunk of assassin hurtled past, a trail of blood streaking through the air and splattering across his face.

  The walls ran red, streaked with crimson like a torrential downpour. The floor was slick and treacherous, blood pooling around shattered bodies and severed limbs. The tentacles moved like living things, searching, striking, killing. An assassin screamed as one tentacle punched clean through his chest, his body flung high into the air before slamming down with a bone-shattering crash. Another tried to run, only to be caught mid-step, ripped apart in an explosion of gore. The air was filled with the sound of screams, cracking bones, and the relentless, wet thuds of meat hitting stone.

  Alistair groaned from where he’d landed, pushing himself up, a mix of pain and shock flickering across his face as he stared at the carnage unfolding before him. This wasn’t just a display of power, it was a message.

  The Lord turned, his voice cold and calm. “Did you truly believe your pathetic swarm of fleas could challenge me?”

  Another wave of tentacles shot out, piercing through assassins with ruthless precision. Their bodies convulsed violently as they were hoisted into the air, dangling for a heartbeat before being driven into the floor, sending blood spraying in every direction like a grisly storm.

  Alistair staggered to his feet, coughing blood, eyes wild. “You think this... changes anything?”

  The Lord didn’t even look at him, still focused on the slaughter. “It was never in your hands.”

  The temple floor gleamed wet beneath a sea of blood, bodies scattered like debris across the sacred ground. There was no time to pause, no moment to breathe. More assassins surged through the doors in a ceaseless tide, their eyes burning with a hunger for the kill.

  Kale’s boots slid on the slick floor. He cursed, struggling to find his footing. The bodies, the blood, it made every step treacherous. To fight in this mess was to risk a misstep, a slip—and that would be the end of him.

  “Stay light!” Rika shouted, her warhammer raised high, her footing just as precarious. She swung hard, the hammer slamming into an assassin with a loud crunch, sending his body skidding across the wet floor. “Or you’ll end up flat on your ass!”

  The blood-drenched floor wasn’t the only threat. As Kale cut down an assassin, he saw another one standing to the side, arms raised, muttering something dark under his breath. Blood from the bodies scattered across the floor began to pool toward him, coiling into the air like crimson ribbons. With a flick of his wrist, the assassin sent the blood streaming toward Kale in jagged shards.

  Kale barely had time to duck, the shards slicing through the air where his head had been. They embedded themselves in the stone wall behind him with a sharp crack, fissures spreading from the impact. Blood magic. So, their mages have finally joined the fight.

  Rika swung her warhammer like a wrecking ball, carving a brutal path through the chaos. But even she couldn’t escape unscathed. An assassin, his hands slick with blood, slammed his palms to the ground, sending crimson spikes shooting upward. One tore past her, narrowly missing, she stumbled, cursing, narrowly dodging another barrage of blood spikes as she swung her hammer at the assassin. The madness around her was relentless, every movement growing heavier, more frantic.

  “Shit! They’re everywhere!” she growled, slipping on the blood-slick floor again, barely keeping her footing as more assassins charged.

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  Another to Kale’s left raised his arms, blood pooling beneath him and hardening into a crimson shield. The man grinned, deflecting Kale’s strike effortlessly. He retaliated, flinging shards of blood like daggers, each one whistling through the air.

  Kale parried a few, but the floor was so slick with blood that every step felt like fighting on ice. He slipped again, the blood shards grazing his arm, leaving sharp cuts that stung like fire.

  “Damn it!” he hissed through gritted teeth. They were being overwhelmed, and Alistair hadn’t even begun to show his full hand.

  As if on cue, another assassin appeared on one of the balconies, blood swirling around his arms in tight coils. With a wicked grin, he thrust his hands out, sending waves of blood crashing down from above, a crimson flood aiming to drown them where they stood.

  Liliana’s father snarled, throwing up a wall of tentacles to deflect the oncoming flood, but the assassins just kept coming.

  One assassin hurled a spear made of blood at Rika, but she spun, smashing it to pieces before it could impale her.

  “There’s no end to these bastards!” she yelled.

  “Yeah,” Kale shouted back, “I noticed!”

  He dodged another wave of blood spikes, cursing as he lost his footing on the blood-soaked floor again. The assassins had turned the floor into a death trap. Pools of blood swirled and shifted, transforming into barriers, whips, and blades—each strike designed to rip the group apart.

  Kale’s heart raced. They were caught in a slaughterhouse, surrounded by enemies who commanded the very blood that slicked the floor beneath them.

  And in the middle of it all, Alistair advanced. His eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as Lifedrinker carved through the air, greedily drinking every drop of blood it touched. He swung the sword effortlessly, the cursed weapon glowing with dark energy as it severed tentacles, sliced through walls of blood, and cleaved apart the assassins the Lord hurled at him.

  Amidst the chaos, Kale caught sight of Liliana hovering just behind them, her eyes fixed on her father as he battled against the unrelenting tide of blood magic. But it wasn’t enough. The assassins pressed harder, their magic tearing through his defenses, each attack chipping away at his strength.

  Alistair’s grin widened, Lifedrinker thrumming with dark energy. “It doesn’t matter how much blood you throw at me. I’ll take it all.”

  Alistair surged forward, Lifedrinker slicing through another wall of blood as if it were nothing but smoke. The assassins cheered, their blood magic intensifying—more spikes, more whips, more blades.

  The blood flowed endlessly, a crimson tide drowning the battlefield.

  Kale ducked under a swing, his feet skidding across the slick stone floor. Another assassin lunged, and he barely had time to bring Mistress up in defense. The blade sliced deep into the assassin’s throat, blood spraying in a violent arc, but it felt hollow, just another corpse sinking into the river of red around them.

  Beside him, Liliana hovered, her eyes burning with rage. Every time she raised her head, another assassin exploded from the inside out, their bodies twisting and rupturing in grotesque displays of blood magic. It was as if she were conducting an orchestra of death, the twisted melody of their screams filling the temple.

  The familiar feeling of a level gained washed over them.

  The thought of a new skill flickered in the back of Kale’s mind, but there was no time for that now. Another wave of assassins charged, their blood weaving into spears and blades, their eyes dead and cold. No time for anything. Just survival.

  Alistair closed in on Liliana’s father, Lifedrinker gleaming with cursed hunger as it slashed through the writhing tentacles. The assassins pressed harder, their relentless assault pushing even the Lord of the Scarlet Veil to his limit.

  Kale could see it, the weariness in the old man’s eyes. He’d been fighting too long, draining his own life essence just to hold the tide at bay.

  Alistair broke through the chaos, Lifedrinker sweeping down. The blade bit deep into the Lord’s arm, the sickening sound of flesh tearing rising above the din.

  Black pus oozed from the wound, a vile infection spreading through the blood. Liliana gasped, her focus wavering as she realized what had happened.

  But the Lord remained calm, unshakably calm. He glanced at the wound, the barest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes, and then, with a grim, almost defiant smile, he did the unthinkable.

  In one swift motion, he tore his own arm off at the shoulder. The limb dropped to the floor with a wet thud, black pus leaking out across the stones. Blood surged from the stump, reshaping itself into a new, unmarked arm.

  “Nice try, boy,” he said, eyes locked on Alistair. “But it won’t be enough.”

  Alistair’s grin twisted, though his eyes narrowed. “You’re impressive, old man, but even you can’t keep this up.”

  Kale was struggling to keep up. He summoned blades with Swordcall, the storm of steel spinning around him, cutting down assassin after assassin. But every swing, every motion felt heavy. The blood-soaked floor was turning every move into a gamble, his feet slipping out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground more than once.

  “Damn it!” he muttered as another assassin lunged, a blood spear slicing across his arm. He gritted his teeth, summoning another blade and slashing the assassin across the chest. The man crumpled, his blood spilling into the crimson tide beneath their feet. Yet it didn’t matter. There were always more.

  Rika was in the thick of it, her warhammer smashing bodies aside with brutal force, but she was slipping. Too much blood, too many enemies. She swung again when—

  Crack.

  A blood spike shot from the chaos, slamming into her side and driving her to the ground. She roared in pain, her hammer slipping from her fingers as the blood mage responsible stepped forward, a smug grin plastered across his face.

  “Got you, you little—”

  Rika gripped the blood spike and broke it off with a sharp snap. She spat blood onto the floor. “You’re about to learn what bedrock tastes like.”

  Her hand stretched toward her hammer, but the blood mage was faster. Tendrils of blood coiled around him, swirling in a deadly dance as he raised his hands, ready to finish her off.

  Meanwhile, Liliana was in her element. More assassins closed in, but her focus sharpened. Her floating form pulsed with raw power, and with a low, deadly whisper, she muttered, “Boil.”

  The assassins froze mid-step, their eyes widening in horror as their blood began to bubble beneath their skin.

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  They exploded, their bodies ripping apart in showers of blood and gore, painting the already-soaked temple in new layers of death. Another assassin charged her. He didn’t even get close before his body erupted in a cloud of blood.

  But it wasn’t enough. There were too many.

  Kale skidded backward, another blade cutting through the air in front of him, his arms aching. He couldn’t keep this up. None of them could.

  “Shit,” he breathed, barely dodging another blood spear as it shot past him. They needed to escape, but how? Think, Kale, think.

  Alistair was still advancing on Liliana’s father. “You’re running out of time, old man. This temple might be soaked in blood, but none of it will save you from me. Lifedrinker doesn’t care where it feeds, it will take everything.”