Kargul charged headlong at the red orc, determined to finally smash the brute into the ground. His mace, already humming with the power of his skill, glowed with a pale braun light as he surged forward. Opposite him, the red orc’s axe burned with a crimson aura, bright and dangerous. In the span of a heartbeat, the two titans closed the distance, their weapons colliding with a thunderous crash.

Just before impact, both weapons expanded in size, swelling with raw power. The resulting explosion shook the entire chamber, hurling both orcs backward several meters. Neither stayed down. Snarling, they charged again, undeterred with expressions carved from violence itself. The red orc’s teeth were clenched in pure fury, while Kargul’s face was twisted in a wide, murderous grin.

Above them, another clash unfolded with equal ferocity. Vorlok collided with the undead red wyvern in midair, and the impact sent out a tremor that rattled the ancient stone beneath. Both beasts had changed since their last encounter. Vorlok had not grown much in size, but his transformation was more subtle and far more dangerous. His shell had thickened, becoming darker and denser, the material now resembling hardened obsidian. Even someone like Kargul would have a hard time cracking it if the sky turtle simply chose to retreat inside and wait the battle out.

The changes didn’t stop at the shell. The scales on Vorlok’s head had become jagged and almost monstrous. The leading edge of his flippers, the parts that would strike the ground first in a crash, had thickened to the point that the bone beneath seemed unbreakable.

The wyvern, by contrast, had grown in both size and menace. Now over twenty-five meters from snout to tail, its already massive form had thickened with dense, unnatural muscle. A dark red mist curled from its nostrils and scales, forming a visible aura that shimmered with malice. It wasn’t overwhelming, but the mere fact that even its breath carried power said all that needed to be said.

Its front limbs resembled tree trunks, gnarled and bulging with power. Compared to it, both Kargul and the red orc looked like insects. Its wings had expanded, the new musculature allowing it to lift its colossal frame with ease. When Vorlok and the wyvern surged toward each other again, it was like watching two bulls charge, horns lowered, bodies poised to destroy.

The impact was devastating.

The chamber trembled with a force far beyond that of the orcish duel below. This time, the exchange was not equal. The wyvern, heavier and stronger, clearly won. Its massive frame bulldozed Vorlok through the air, hurling the sky turtle back at nearly the same speed he had launched himself. Vorlok spun wildly like a broken wheel, crashing through the magical barriers guarding the chamber’s entrance. The shields shattered like glass, and ten human mages were obliterated in an instant, their screams lost beneath the roar.

The wyvern threw back its head and let out a triumphant roar that shook the bones in every chest and made hair stand on end.

“See? You’re nothing compared to us,” Groomash snarled, pointing to Vorlok’s battered form lying in a heap at the far side of the room. The red orc’s grin stretched in cruel satisfaction.

But Vorlok was not beaten. Dizzy and dazed, yes but still alive. His head slowly emerged from his shell, blinking through the haze of impact.

“Quiet,” Kargul said flatly, brushing Groomash’s words aside. It was time to smash. Why did people never understand that? Without another word, he hurled himself at the red orc once more.

Groomash’s eyes flared with rage. Kargul’s cold dismissal had struck a nerve, likely stirring memories of a different battle—one that hadn’t gone in his favor. He roared, raising his axe high as he stormed forward, eager to rip Kargul apart piece by piece.

But the war below was far from the only story unfolding in the chamber.

Elsewhere, Cathrin the Bloodwitch stalked the battlefield like a phantom, slaughtering her way through Thalion’s invading force. She wasn’t using her full strength, no need, but even at half power, she cut through the enemy like wheat before the scythe. Unlike the others, she avoided the elite warriors and targeted the weaker fighters, thinning the herd with cold precision.

Always at her side were her two pets, creatures the orcs would likely call warbeasts. Her spells surged with strength beyond anything normal mages could hope to match, even those ranked among the top prodigies of the tutorial. The only drawback was the drain: her power came in devastating bursts, but she needed moments to recover between casts. That vulnerability forced her to fight from a distance, rather than risk close-quarters combat.

Standing perfectly still, she let her magic rise.

From her chest, a ghostly red specter emerged, connected to her body by a thread of pulsating crimson energy. It floated without feet, its long arms ending in claws designed for carnage. Its face was a mask of terror, two hollow eyes and a mouth bristling with jagged teeth. As Cathrin’s eyes closed, the specter’s eyes snapped open and it bolted forward with unnatural speed.

It was one of her most lethal spells.

With the right summoning circle, she could have unleashed that spirit from leagues away, killing her target without ever stepping onto the battlefield.

That had been the initial plan, but two problems had forced a change. First, she couldn’t pass through the walls of the catacombs in her current spectral form. And second, something had begun siphoning her energy, aggressively and without permission. It was enough to completely destabilize the ritual she had been conducting to empower the undead beasts. The circle collapsed, its sigils unraveling in an instant, and the backlash of wasted effort left her seething with rage. The soldiers would pay for that mistake first, with their lives.

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The red, ghostlike specter shot through the air like a crimson hawk zeroing in on prey. It weaved effortlessly through the flickering crimson flames that licked the battlefield, flames it chose not to engage with, as its blood-bound nature made it sensitive to such magic. Cathrin saw no need to waste unnecessary power. Her recovery rate was far beyond what most suspected, and while the mana cost of summoning the specter was steep, it was nothing she couldn’t handle.

The first heavy warrior caught sight of the approaching spirit and swung a broad, gleaming sword at its core. The blade sliced straight through the ghost’s midsection, only for the wound to vanish a heartbeat later, the ethereal form reknitting itself as though it had never been harmed. The specter responded without pause. Its claws, glowing faintly like molten iron, tore through armor and bone alike. With a single sweeping strike, it shredded the warrior’s helmet and torso, reducing him to a heap of broken metal and flesh.

His comrades roared in fury and charged, weapons raised, eyes wild with vengeance. But one by one, they fell. The specter moved like a wraith in a storm, untouchable, unstoppable. Eight warriors died in mere moments, their efforts meaningless. None of their blows landed. None of their defenses mattered.

Then, for a moment, the specter stilled, hovering above the corpses it had left behind. The nearby soldiers hesitated, daring to hope the attack was over. But their relief curdled into dread as they realized what the spirit was doing: absorbing the blood of the fallen. Crimson light flowed from the dead, funneling into the specter’s form, which pulsed with growing power.

Before anyone could intervene, the ghost released that stolen strength with a piercing shriek.

The scream was not merely a sound, it was a weapon. A wave of blood-red force exploded outward. The first twenty soldiers caught in the blast collapsed instantly, dead before they hit the ground. The rest reeled in agony, clutching at bleeding ears and eyes as the screech carved through their senses. A shimmering red aura clung to the air like smoke from a burning battlefield.

It didn’t take long for the archers to identify the source. Arrows whistled toward Cathrin, who calmly dispelled the specter and raised a shimmering crimson barrier around herself. The shield shimmered like liquid ruby as enchanted arrows slammed into it. The force made the shield tremble, but not enough to truly threaten it.

Cathrin exhaled softly and summoned a cloud of blood-mist around her. Then she vanished in a blur, teleporting to a new vantage point. She had far more spells at her disposal. The specter was merely her most entertaining weapon, though without a ritual circle, even that fun was dampened.

While Cathrin was immersed in her slaughter, the battle around her raged on. Josh and Jack had joined Vorlok’s efforts to bring down the undead red wyvern. Vorlok had initially hesitated after being flung aside in his last charge, but when Josh landed a brutal kick against the wyvern’s leg and Jack followed up with a telekinetic blast to its face, the beast staggered back.

Vorlok's eyes lit up with familiar hunger.

Emboldened, the sky turtle launched itself forward again, determination burning in his every motion. Josh, meanwhile, was unleashing the full power of his augmentation skill. His frame had grown larger, half a meter taller and each time his claws struck the wyvern’s hide, he increased his body’s weight to maximize impact. The blows were powerful, but the wyvern’s scales were thick, and its regeneration was swift.

Fortunately, the newly grown scales were softer, more vulnerable. If Josh struck the same spot repeatedly, he could tear through them. But landing precision hits on a beast thrashing violently in all directions was no easy task. Worse, every time he tore a new wound open, a burst of red mist spewed from it, like the beast’s flesh was saturated with poison. Josh, well-prepared, held his breath each time and darted away to inhale fresh air before diving back into the fray.

Jack, for his part, was relentless with his telekinetic assaults. He hurled pressure waves at the wyvern, cursing aloud between attacks. “This damn thing is too tanky! Just let me use one of Lucan’s bombs already!”

Vorlok charged once more, but the wyvern lashed its tail like a whip, knocking the turtle back with terrifying ease. Adapting, Vorlok changed tactics. He began circling high above the battlefield, watching for the perfect moment to dive again.

For now, things were going well.

The vampires were losing ground. As long as the undead horde could be held at bay, victory remained within reach. Kargul was locked in brutal combat with the red orc. Vorlok, Josh, and Jack coordinated their efforts against the wyvern. Annie and Jakob pressed the vampire ranks, cutting them down one by one. Evelyn darted from squad to squad, healing those most in need, her magic shimmering like sunlight in the bloodied dust.

And at the heart of it all, Thalion stood within the inferno.

The vampiress fought him with savage grace, her blood magic lashing out in crimson arcs. Every so often, a bloodthorn or red slash burst from their clash and struck down any unfortunate soul caught nearby. Their duel blazed at a level beyond anything else on the battlefield, two titans locked in elemental war.

The outcome of their battle would decide everything.

If one fell, the war would tip in favor of the victor. Everyone knew it. And though they placed their hope in Thalion, no one envied the fight he faced. The vampiress was unlike anything they had ever seen. Her strength was monstrous. Her presence suffocating.

No one, not even the bravest among them, envied Thalion’s position. Not one.