Altharion stood at the cliff's edge, his crimson eyes locked on the battlefield below. The air was thick with the stench of iron and blood, the clouds above swirling in a violent spiral. A storm was brewing—not from nature, but from the clash of powers that defied mortal comprehension.
He gripped his obsidian glaive, the weapon pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. The Shadow Seal etched into his forearm burned, whispering promises of overwhelming strength… if he was willing to let the darkness consume more of his soul.
Below, an army of black-armored warriors clashed against the radiant knights of the Dawn Legion. Lightning from the storm struck randomly, vaporizing soldiers from both sides. Altharion could hear the desperate shouts, the ring of steel, and the cries of the dying—a symphony he had long since learned to appreciate.
He inhaled sharply, letting his qi circulate. But this time, he didn't just call on his qi—he reached deeper, tapping into the blood magic he had sworn never to use again. His veins glowed faintly with a dark crimson light, and shadows twisted around his frame like serpents.
Suddenly, a figure approached from behind—a man in silver-and-blue robes, holding a staff crowned with a floating shard of crystal. "Altharion," the mage spoke, his voice calm but wary. "If you unleash that power, you will tear the veil between realms. You know what that means."
Altharion's lips curled into a smirk. "I know. That's why I'm doing it."
Without another word, he leapt from the cliff, his glaive trailing a ribbon of darkness. Mid-air, he twisted his body and unleashed a Shadow Pulse. Waves of black energy tore across the battlefield, shredding enemy ranks. Some soldiers were sliced cleanly in half; others simply crumbled into ash.
The Dawn Legion's commander, a towering knight clad in gold-plated armor, raised his blade. "Face me, shadowspawn!" His voice boomed across the chaos.
Altharion landed, shadows exploding outward upon impact, forming a dome that swallowed the two of them into an isolated world. Inside, the only light came from the knight's holy aura.
The commander charged, his blade wreathed in flames. Altharion met the strike, their clash sending out a shockwave that shattered the ground. Sparks and shadow-flames intertwined as they traded blow for blow, neither yielding.
But Altharion's blood magic was insidious. Every time his glaive connected, tendrils of shadow slipped into the knight's armor, leeching his life force. The commander's movements slowed, his breath growing ragged.
Then came the moment. With a single feint, Altharion slipped past his guard and drove the glaive into his chest. A burst of crimson energy erupted, tearing through the commander's armor and heart.
The dome of shadows dissipated, revealing the battlefield once more. Soldiers froze, their commander's lifeless body collapsing into the mud.
Altharion's glaive dripped with steaming blood. The Shadow Seal on his arm now glowed brighter, and his eyes had taken on a faint, unnatural glow. He had claimed not just victory—but a fragment of the commander's soul.
The silver-robed mage, watching from the ridge, clenched his fists. "You're playing a dangerous game, Altharion," he muttered. "And soon… the game will consume you."
Altharion, standing amidst corpses and ruin, simply tilted his head toward the storm overhead. "Let it."
The thunder roared as if answering him, and the battlefield was swallowed in darkness once more.