Far from the battlefield—tens of kilometers away, the desert lay exposed beneath an unsettled sky.
Peonome hovered in still air, her staff resting lightly on her hand. Below her, the orc warlock stood at the center of a widening transformation. The sand around it darkened, then softened, then liquefied—turning into a viscous, bloodlike substance that spread outward in slow, deliberate waves.
Peonome's eyes followed the change, sharp and analytical.
"A terraformer spell," she noted calmly. "Changing landscape in your advantage, interesting."
The liquid continued to expand, swallowing dunes and filling shallow depressions until the desert itself seemed to bleed. Mana flowed through it in dense, overlapping currents—fire, earth, and something older, more corrosive.
The orb beat above the warlock's palm. Once. Twice.
The blood surged upward.
Spears formed by the dozens, then by the hundreds—compressed, hardened, and sharpened by mana pressure. They launched toward Peonome in a chaotic storm, trajectories overlapping, angles deliberately irregular.
Peonome lifted her staff.
Small mana barriers bloomed into existence around her—hexagonal plates of light appearing exactly where each spear would strike. Not a single barrier lingered longer than necessary. Spears shattered into mist, evaporating before they could fall.
"Impressive control," she said, her tone unbroken. "Most mages rely on volume. You understand precision."
She rotated her wrist.
Light beams descended in converging lines, striking at the warlock from above and flanks simultaneously. The bloodlike liquid responded instantly, rising to form thick, flowing shields that absorbed the beams and dispersed their energy into ripples across its surface.
Peonome watched the reaction closely.
"Adaptive medium," she continued. "Elementally neutral. That explains the efficiency."
The sand beneath the liquid shifted.
A stone spear erupted upward, driven by compressed earth mana, impaling the warlock through the torso with brutal finality. The force lifted its body from the ground before it sagged, the glow of its orb flickering violently.
Peonome did not lower her staff.
"That should—"
The body dissolved.
The spear passed through nothing as the warlock's form melted into the bloodlike liquid and vanished completely. A heartbeat later, the liquid surged and reformed several meters away, the warlock rising from it as though reborn.
Fire ignited in the air.
Multiple fireballs streaked toward her from different angles as fresh blood spears launched in tandem, the assault now layered and coordinated.
Peonome's brow lifted slightly.
"Multi-elemental casting," she smiled. "Looks like I'm not the only one who can do that."
She drifted sideways, barriers forming and dissolving in rapid succession. Fire scorched the air beside her. Spears shattered inches from her robes. Her counterattack intensified—light beams firing in rapid, staggered patterns, forcing the warlock to divide its attention between offense and defense.
Then the mana pressure changed.
Peonome felt it before she saw it—the sudden enclosure of space, the thickening of ambient energy, the way the air itself seemed to resist her presence.
She looked up.
The sky had darkened to a deep, bruised red. Thick droplets began to fall, splattering against the transformed ground with wet, heavy impacts.
Blood rain.
The warlock chanted in a language that clawed at the edges of comprehension. The bloodlike terrain surged upward, walls rising and curving inward as they grew, enclosing both of them within a vast crimson structure.
Peonome's eyes traced the geometry of the forming spell.
"A domain spell," she said quietly. "blood prison."
The walls sealed.
Immediately, the liquid lining the domain reacted. Blood spears erupted from every surface at once—ground, walls, even the air itself—launching in an omnidirectional barrage. There was no blind spot, no safe angle.
Peonome moved.
She spun her staff in a tight arc, barriers forming in layered shells around her as she drifted lower, closer to the warlock. Spears shattered in waves, striking from above, below, behind—each one met with precise, economical defense.
"Relentless," she observed, voice steady despite the pressure. "And costly. You're burning mana at an unsustainable rate."
She tested the domain with a focused beam of light.
No effect.
She struck again—harder, pouring more mana into the attack.
Still nothing.
The walls pulsed and began to shrink, the space compressing with slow, inevitable force. The domain fed on the terraformed ground, recycling its own substance endlessly.
Peonome lowered herself until she hovered only a few meters from the warlock, her gaze meeting its glowing orb.
"For a warlock," she said, and this time there was unmistakable respect in her voice, "you are exceptional. One in a generation, perhaps."
The warlock snarled, blood spears erupting once more, fire flaring at their tips.
Peonome exhaled.
"I've had enough of this."
Her body began to glow—softly at first, then brighter, the light intensifying until it rivaled the sun. The blood walls recoiled, boiling where the radiance touched them. The rain hissed into steam before it could reach her.
The warlock staggered back, panic finally cracking through its control. Its chant faltered. The orb in its palm pulsed erratically.
Peonome raised her staff.
"Ultimate Skill: Singularity."
The domain collapsed inward.
Then the world detonated.
The explosion consumed everything—blood, sand, spell, and warlock alike—obliterating the desert in a blinding surge. The shockwave tore outward for a kilometer, flattening dunes and vitrifying the ground beneath. A towering mushroom-shaped cloud rose into the sky, visible even from the distant battlefield.
When the light faded, there was nothing left.
At the center of a vast, glass-edged crater, Peonome stood alone, boots sunk into scorched sand. Her breathing was uneven—controlled, but strained. The glow that had once wrapped her body was gone. Every drop of mana had been spent.
She planted her staff to steady herself and reached into her storage ring, retrieving a small blue vial. A mana rejuvenation potion. She drank it in one motion. The cool energy spread slowly—barely enough, but sufficient.
A few steps away lay the warlock's orb, shattered and dark, its once-hostile pulse silenced.
Peonome approached it, eyes calm, calculating even in exhaustion.
She exhaled, a faint edge of respect in her tone.
"The second I've ever forced myself to go all out against."