The battlefield was drenched in the aftershocks of chaos. Smoke curled from the shattered ground, and crimson light from ruptured ley-lines painted the world in a surreal glow. Altharion stood motionless for a breath, his cloak torn, his blade dripping with the residue of eldritch blood. The air was thick with the metallic tang of magic and death.
But there was no time to rest.
The shadows whispered to him again—urgent, jagged voices from the Void beyond the veil. They are coming. The Veil is thinning.
He turned sharply toward the horizon. From the roiling darkness, shapes emerged—towering, winged monstrosities with eyes like molten silver. Their presence warped the air around them, bending light and crushing sound. These were no ordinary foes—they were the Shadowborn, entities born of pure chaos, able to rend reality itself.
Altharion tightened his grip on his sword. The runes along the blade flared, their light battling the encroaching gloom.
"You want a fight?" he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. "Come take it."
The first of the Shadowborn lunged, its claws slicing through the air with enough force to tear stone. Altharion moved like liquid shadow, sidestepping, his qi flaring in violent bursts. He channeled his Blood Magic, feeling his heartbeat quicken as crimson veins of energy laced his limbs. The sword carved upward, severing the creature's arm in a spray of black ichor that hissed as it touched the ground.
The others roared in fury, their wings snapping open with a sound like breaking glass.
Altharion shifted his stance. Shadow Step. His form blurred, vanishing into the darkness and reappearing behind the nearest foe. The blade plunged deep into its spine, but this time, he didn't stop at steel. His qi surged into the wound, igniting the Shadowborn from within. It screamed, collapsing into a heap of fading embers.
The ground trembled.
From the rent sky above, a rift widened—a tear bleeding violet light into the world. Shapes swam within it, more than he could count. His jaw tightened. "So… the real invasion begins now."
He reached inside himself, calling upon the most dangerous part of his arsenal—the Veil Arts. A forbidden fusion of Shadow Skill and Blood Magic, taught only to those who dared to sacrifice their own life force for unimaginable power.
The world slowed. Every sound dulled to a deep thrum. His shadow stretched unnaturally, rising from the ground like a living thing. It wrapped around him, covering his form in a shifting armor of midnight flame.
One Shadowborn dove at him. He didn't parry. He vanished.
When he reappeared, he was already in the midst of them, his blade moving too fast for mortal eyes. Each swing was a death sentence, severing limbs, splitting torsos, shattering wings. But every strike also took from him—a drop of blood here, a flicker of his lifespan there.
The rift pulsed, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. A massive silhouette emerged—ten times the size of the others, its eyes like twin dying suns. The ground cracked beneath its landing.
Altharion felt his pulse falter. That one… is a Voidlord.
For the first time, the shadows in his mind screamed in panic. Flee! they urged. You cannot kill this!
He smiled grimly. "Maybe not. But I can buy time."
He poured the last reserves of his qi into his blade. Blood-red light engulfed it, mingling with pure black shadow until it looked like a shard of night itself.
The Voidlord roared, a sound that shattered the very air, but Altharion charged. Their clash tore the world open—steel against cosmic power, shadow against the infinite void.
The battle was only beginning.