The Count stepped back for an instant, his breathing heavy, but something changed in his crimson eyes.
A deeper shadow seemed to grow inside him, an ancient and wild energy that pulsed beneath the skin black as basalt.
The golden and scarlet veins shone irregularly, as if something were trying to break free from inside his body.
The ground trembled under one of his steps; it was not just brute strength, but something darker that moved along with his body, growling in unison with his rage.
Brianna raised her gaze, feeling the strange vibrations running through the field.
"This... is not good" she said, her fingers still tracing symbols in the air, her movements precise and graceful, as if she were dancing with each line of energy that was forming.
Each gesture was an invocation, a choreography of ancestral power, the silver filaments snaking around her.
The Prince did not avert his gaze from the Count. His black claws gleamed under the rain, sharp and ready.
"Yes..." his firm, cold and slightly sarcastic voice ran through the air. "I think this is the perfect moment to end the illusion of his invincibility."
The Count grunted, his teeth grinding. An instant of hesitation crossed his expression while something inside him struggled to emerge.
A dark aura twisted around his shoulders, like black smoke mixed with the storm, and the sound of something ancient and hungry echoed in his muffled roars.
The rain fell heavily, cutting the air with each strike that came, but an almost palpable tension filled the ruins.
Every muscle of the Count seemed to vibrate, each breath charged with energy about to explode.
Something was arising... something that not even Brianna or the Typhon had faced before.
Brianna then faced him, her arms lifting in circular and interlaced movements, her hands spinning and weaving in the air with ritual precision, each gesture resonating with the ancestral magic she mastered.
The filaments of energy spun like silver serpents, pulsing with their own force, and the rain seemed to obey her rhythm, cutting the space in sinuous lines of power.
"Phasmatos..." she whispered, her voice firm, almost sung, while lightning roared in the sky.
But they were not common lightning: each one seemed ancient, primitive, snaking through the air with ancestral patterns, with golden and scarlet glow, pulsing as if they had a will of their own.
They formed spears of pure ancestral light, pointing directly at the Count.
"I will end your suffering..." she continued, while the energy coiled around her wrists and arms, dancing as if obeying invisible commands, invoking ancient forces forgotten by time.
She completed, her voice firm and deadly:
"There is only one way... since I cannot touch your soul... I will pierce your heart."
The Prince raised a slight smile, the icy sarcasm in his crimson eyes:
"Ah... finally, the final spectacle. And I thought you would last longer trying to impress me."
The sarcasm did not diminish the threat, but emphasized the serene and cruel superiority that emanated from him, as if each movement were calculated to mock danger and control the situation.
The spear formed by Brianna's lightning descended toward the Count, cutting the air with a primitive roar, the thunder dancing like a thousand birds in flight, each spark vibrating with ancestral fury.
The Count tore his own chest with his hands, as if something inside him wanted to emerge, a pulsating shadow, alive, trying to break the control that still remained to him.
His roar mixed pain and defiance, an ancient voice that seemed to echo through eras.
Brianna kept her posture, the filaments of energy spinning around her like serpents of light, each gesture precise, ritualistic, conducting the strength of the sky toward her target.
"Phasmatos... Ignis Caeli Trahere!" her voice was firm, resounding among the thunder, each syllable charged with intention.
The Prince watched, crimson eyes shining with sarcasm and superiority. A slow smile drew on his face:
"Almost poetic... you really like to dramatize."
Before the spear could pierce the Count's body, a shadow emerged.
A slender body, wrapped in black mist that seemed to absorb the rain and the light around, slid out of the Count's shadows.
"I warned you to be careful" said a cold and melodious voice, charged with power and contempt. "Now I'll have to fix you again."
Moving with an almost supernatural fluidity, its hands pointed to the spear and, in a low tone, pronounced "Horomiti".
Brianna's spear was swallowed before hitting them, disappearing in a whirlwind of shadows.
The Count's body was swallowed by the black mist that surrounded him, while the figure turned to Brianna, facing her. Only one of its eyes was visible — a crimson red pulsing in the darkness.
Brianna remained in ritualistic position, each filament of energy still vibrating with the ancestral force, but now charged with tension.
The Prince crossed his arms, the sarcasm sharper than ever:
"Ah... so it won't be that simple. But, frankly, I already expected that."
He in a sudden movement advanced against the standing figure, his claws cutting the air.
An instant of contact — and, like smoke charged with an ancient energy, the entity dissolved, turning into black veils that twisted and snaked through the air before reappearing before Brianna.
The shadows spread quickly, sinuous and dense, surrounding the Prince and restraining his movements.
Each thread of darkness seemed to pulse with a life of its own, whispering promises of pain and power, as if they carried memories of ancestral battles.
"I would love to entertain you..." the voice was low, a whisper wrapped in contempt and dangerous amusement "...but the other side is restless. Consider yourselves... fortunate. You will not die here today."
Brianna lifted her chin, cold and firm, as if the wind and the rain could not touch her determination.
"I would even be worried... but a mere shadow does not scare me. I believe the shadow that tried to escape has something to do with you."
The black mist around the figure rippled, as if laughing. A single crimson eye shone in the darkness.
"It is not just a shadow, Brianna" murmured the entity, sharp and ironic at the same time. "A new prince has arisen. And that is causing instability in the Abyss. The balance that kept everything contained... is changing."
Brianna kept her posture, the filaments of energy still vibrating in the air, but now with a deeper tension.
"We will see each other again," said the entity, sharp as a blade, cutting through the rain. "And when that instability materializes, it will not be your claws that will stop it."
With a last glow of the crimson eye, the mist coiled around the Count and evaporated, leaving behind the heavy silence of a promise and the omen of something.
An absolute silence fell over the field, heavy and suffocating. The last words were not just a warning — they were a promise, and Brianna felt the weight of a war that still had no end.
After the figure departed, the shadows that surrounded the Prince dissolved. He raised his gaze to Brianna, while his nails returned to normal shape.
The cracking of bones echoed through the field, breaking and regenerating in a dry, almost rhythmic sound, that reverberated among the rain and the mud.
"Hah... seems like someone is not very pleased with the victory" he said, the cold sarcasm carrying an almost palpable tension.
Brianna kept her gaze fixed, her body still in ritualistic position, feeling the reverberations of the energy that had tried to escape from the Count.
Her chest still hurt from the impact, as if every fiber of her body had absorbed the echo of that brute and wild force.
"I don't have time for this... that energy... I felt even every bone vibrate with what he tried to release."
The Prince nodded, crimson eyes shining with sharp perception:
"Yes... and it is dangerous to play with forces like that."
But even as they digested what had just happened, something else was felt — distant, but overwhelming.
From the north, an ancestral presence advanced, cold and implacable, carrying a weight that compressed the air around.
The wind seemed to drag ancient shadows, as if the very world hesitated before it.
A sharp cold ran through the skin of Brianna and the Prince, making each muscle tense immediately — a force that should not exist in this plane.
The Prince raised his gaze toward the north, crimson eyes fixed on the distant horizon, and a sarcastic and defiant smile appeared on his face:
"Bastard... you really are thinking of starting another war?"
The screams of the last soldiers on the walls cut the air, reminding that the battle was not yet over.
Brianna hardened her gaze, feeling the pressure of the northern presence, but maintaining control over her own energy:
"It is not over yet."
She began to walk toward the silver wall, each step firm, ritualistic, while Typhon followed her, keeping the unshakable smile.
Their eyes crossed the horizon to the north for an instant, before turning to her — calm in the midst of the approaching storm.