The battlefield was fire and frost.
Broken stone hissed as molten flame met vampiric ice, each trying to erase the other from existence. Above the ruins, chaos danced in the air—embers shaped like serpents, swirling under the command of Ares.
The Heretic God was no longer smiling.
From his skin, black fire laced with red lightning erupted, twisting like a beast unchained. "You wanted power, mortal?" Ares growled, his voice distorted by the flames. "Let me show you the price."
Chaos Fire.
A power born from divine wrath and the madness of battlefields forgotten by time. Isshin barely had a moment to react before the sky itself fell upon him—a storm of fire that ignored reality, melting air and burning even shadows.
He threw himself to the side, but the fire bent unnaturally, chasing him like a curse.
[System Warning: External Heat Level Exceeds Armor Resistance]
[HP Drop Detected: 32% - Vampire Regeneration Initiated]
Hissing, Isshin let the flames wash over him as he activated another forbidden power.
[Vampire Skill: Poison Blood – Activated]
[Effect: Any entity within 5m exposed to user's blood receives degenerative corruption]
Slashing his own chest, Isshin let dark, oily blood spill from the wound. It hissed when it touched the ground—releasing fumes that twisted like specters. The Chaos Fire collided with it midair and screamed, dimming under the necrotic rot.
Across the battlefield, Ares's expression flickered.
Then he charged again, spear raised—piercing the poisoned mist with divine momentum. The two forces clashed in the heart of the ruin, blade and spear ringing against one another.
But now, Isshin's blood had coated the tip of Ares's weapon.
The god didn't notice at first. Not until his hand began to shake.
"A cursed blood," Ares muttered, stumbling a half-step back. "What… trickery is this?"
A hundred meters away, behind a broken column, a group of Greek witches watched in awe and terror. They were low-tier mystics, barely above hedge mages, drawn by the overwhelming magical signature of the fight.
"That's Ares…" one whispered, trembling.
"And who is the old man?" said another. "What mortal can stand against a god like that?"
The eldest among them—a robed seer with glassy eyes—shook her head slowly. "He is no mortal," she rasped. "He is something far worse."
Back in the battlefield, Isshin exhaled steam. His coat was in tatters, skin burned and regenerating in patches. One of his eyes had turned pitch-black, a side effect of the Chaos Fire's corruption.
But he grinned.
"You feel it now, don't you?" he said hoarsely. "My blood. It eats you from within. The longer you fight me, the more of yourself you lose."
Ares coughed, and for the first time—he bled.
His golden ichor fell onto the stone, hissing as it met the cursed ground.
"You're mad," the god snarled.
"I'm hungry," Isshin corrected. "And you… are a feast."
They lunged again.
This time, no tricks.
Steel met flame, muscle clashed with brute will. Every strike echoed like thunder, every blow turned the battlefield into a grave for gods. Neither could keep this up forever—immortality did not mean invincibility.
And finally… they stopped.
Breathing hard, weapons lowered, Isshin and Ares stood a few paces apart, bodies marred with wounds. Frost clung to Ares's legs. Poison bled from his arm. Isshin's torso was scorched black, his skin hanging loose where regeneration had failed.
Yet their eyes burned.
Locked onto each other in hatred, respect, and the hunger for dominance.
The witches watching from afar held their breath.
A mortal who would not die.
A god who could bleed.
And the night was not yet done.