The thralls slammed into the military unit called "Hounds" like a tidal wave, but the line held. Horns locked, armored hides braced, and sheer force stopped the charge. Their discipline showed immediately. The Hounds moved as one, their formation split into two lines: the first blocked, the second pushed. Step by step, the thralls were forced back. Blocked, pushed. Blocked, pushed.
Near Marcus, Selene Ward, the second in command, blurred into motion.
Her Glint was a Banshee. She had long white hair that flowed to her waist, her feet hidden beneath a black gown that drifted like smoke. Her body was thin, her arms long with claw-like nails at the ends. Her eyes were pure white, and her mouth was cut at the corners, able to open far wider than normal.
She vanished, reappearing among the front line of thralls, and let out a piercing wail.
"SKREEEEE!"
The thralls froze, startled. Selene struck fast, her clawed hands slicing throats, severing tendons, and piercing hearts before they could recover. Their human-like forms only made it easier for her to find weak points.
Not far from her, the Hayashi twins moved.
Tarsen Hayashi's Glint was a Sun Eidolon, a tall, humanoid figure made of golden light. Segments of floating armor resembling medieval plate covered his body, a flared collar rising high around his neck. His head was a glowing orb of light with a golden halo hovering behind it. In his hands he wielded a glaive, a double-edged polearm with a golden blade. Larger pink fragments were embedded in the weapon, pulsing faintly.
A thrall lunged at him, claws bared. In a flash, Tarsen was already behind it, his glaive slicing its head cleanly from its body. His movements were smooth and precise, as if he were never fully solid in one place.
Beside him, Cara Hayashi joined the fight.
Her Glint was a Moon Eidolon, the opposite of her twin. Her body glowed with silver-blue light, her armor smooth and curved with crescent patterns etched across the surface. A crescent halo floated behind her head. She wielded twin lunar chakrams, each a semi-circular blade glowing with silver-blue light, pink fragments embedded at their center. She spun them in sweeping arcs, the weapons leaving trails of light as they cut through the air before returning to her hands.
Unlike most Glints who fought with human crafted weapons, the twins' weapons were part of their transformations. Their presence alone showed their power. Both were stronger than normal Glints. Both were Class S.
Not on Earth, the robotic voice and Argus observed the battlefield.
"As predicted, the three hero candidates have met and are now fighting the minions of what humans call a Caller," the robotic voice reported. The fight played live across the large monitor.
"Three Class S. That puts the transformed being at a huge disadvantage." Argus went quiet for a moment, clearly thinking.
"You are correct. The probability of them winning without gaining enough experience is 99%," the robotic voice replied.
"Hmm. Then improve the Callers. Give them super skills," Argus said at last.
"Are you sure? Super skills were only designed for the next stage of transformed beings," the robotic voice explained.
"I know. The Caller's body can't handle it, but add limitations and it will work."
"Affirmative. Updating transformed being. Adding super skills… Adding limitation… Done. Recalculating win probability… 50%."
Argus leaned back, grinning at the monitor. "This fight is gonna be fun. Thomas, show me what you've got! Hahaha!" His laughter echoed through the room as the battle raged on the screen.
Back on the battlefield, the DMW Gang fought at the front.
Big Roz led the charge. His Glint, a Fenrir, transformed him into a massive wolf-like beast built for raw aggression. His muscles bulged with power, his speed tripled, and his claws ripped through thralls like paper. His war cries mixed with laughter, echoing across the chaos as he tore enemies apart with reckless abandon.
But he wasn't watching his surroundings.
The vampire thralls adapted quickly, moving like a pack. While Roz ripped one apart, another leapt onto his back, sinking claws and teeth into his shoulders. He roared and shook it off, but three more lunged at him.
Then something deadlier arrived.
A Blood Stalker burst through the swarm. Taller than the other thralls, its wiry body was built for speed. Its skin was dark red, its eyes glowed brighter, and its long claws curved like blades. It darted forward and slashed across Roz's side, leaving deep cuts before he could react.
Roz staggered, blood dripping from his wounds. More thralls piled on, snapping at his arms and throat. He fought back, but their weight was dragging him down.
Then the ground shook.
Marcus, in his armored mammoth form, charged through the swarm. Thralls scattered as he crashed into them. A Blood Stalker leapt at him, claws outstretched, but it was no match. Marcus lowered his head and drove his ivory tusks through the creature, tossing it aside. Before it could rise, he stomped down, crushing its chest with a sickening crunch.
"Move," Marcus ordered.
Roz froze, still catching his breath, shaken by how close he had come to death. Marcus didn't wait. He pushed deeper into the swarm, his massive bulk crushing thralls and Blood Stalkers alike, holding the line where Roz had faltered.
Roz stayed back for a moment, his teeth clenched. Then he forced himself forward again, slower this time, his earlier confidence broken.
The rest of the DMW Gang weren't as strong as Roz. They rushed in without coordination, screaming and swinging wildly.
The thralls cut through them without effort.
The first man fell before he could even scream. A blur of claws and fangs dragged him into the swarm, his Glint form shredded apart as if it meant nothing. Blood sprayed across the broken stone, and his body vanished under snapping jaws.
The gang hesitated, but it was already too late. The thralls surged over them in a frenzy. One after another, six more were dragged down, their transformed bodies ripped apart, their blood soaking into the ruined ground.
The battlefield had claimed its first human lives.
Thomas, in his Oni form, stood at the edge of the fight. He barely moved, only swinging his fist now and then to smash a thrall flat. He wasn't focused on them.
He was looking for something else.
He was looking for the Caller.
The battlefield was covered in bodies. Thralls and Blood Stalkers lay scattered, crushed, torn apart, or impaled. A few Glints had fallen as well, their transformed bodies lying motionless on the ground. Blood pooled in the cracks of broken stone, mixing with the Pink Fog that rolled low across the ruins. The smell of blood and rot hung heavy in the air.
Then he appeared.
A figure stood on the castle's balcony, cloak torn and hanging loose, crimson eyes glowing in the mist. He looked down on the battlefield as if it all belonged to him.
The Vampire Lord. The Crimson Count.
He stepped off the balcony and glided down like a shadow. His feet touched the ground, and his form solidified among the carnage.
He didn't need words. His presence alone was enough.
Marcus was already moving.
"On me!" the armored mammoth roared as he charged. The ground split beneath his massive weight, his plated body driving forward like a living battering ram. His head lowered, tusks ready to crush the Vampire Lord on impact.
But the blow never landed.
The Crimson Count tilted his head, almost bored. Then his figure blurred and vanished.
Marcus's charge smashed into nothing but air, stone cracking under the force.
Selene was there the next instant. She appeared at the Count's flank the moment he reappeared, her claws flashing like daggers as she slashed for his throat and chest. Each strike aimed at a vital point.
None of them connected.
The Crimson Count drifted between her attacks with effortless grace, his cloak brushing past her claws without a single tear. A faint smirk crossed his pale face.
"Amusing. Heh… heh… heh…"
That was when Thomas moved.
He didn't wait. He didn't hold back.
His massive fist swung wide, straight for the Count, the ground trembling with the motion. The strike landed with the weight of a wrecking ball, shattering stone on impact.
The Crimson Count slipped aside at the last instant, sliding past the blow as if he had expected an opening.
But Thomas didn't stop. Even as his first punch smashed into the ground, his second was already swinging. It came faster, wilder, too wide for the Count to completely evade. This time, it clipped him.
The blow forced the Count back, his body gliding several feet before landing. He touched the ground as lightly as if he weighed nothing at all. His smirk deepened into a true smile.
"Ah," the Count murmured, his voice smooth and rich. "A challenge. Heh… heh… heh."
Thomas didn't answer. He only swung again, his massive frame moving with raw force.
The Crimson Count exhaled, his smile twisting into something sharper.
"Blood Surge."