"Elinea!"
The urgent shout, accompanied by a firm grip on her shoulder, jolted Elinea back to reality. She gasped, realizing how dangerously close she had been to sealing a dark pact.
"W-what was that..."
"No time for questions," Dia'Tia commanded, her aura blazing with intensity. "We must purge this cursed blood!"
Elinea quickly surveyed the scene. Chaos reigned in the camp. Soldiers writhed in the snow, their screams echoing in the night, while others stood immobilized, trapped in a terrifying trance. Their eyes were empty, reaching mindlessly for the swirling orbs of malevolence.
Without hesitation, Elinea responded. With a determined nod, her sword was unsheathed with a crisp, metallic sound. She summoned her mana, the icy air swirling elegantly around her.
In a heartbeat, she vanished.
A swift blur of wind and gleaming steel, she reemerged to cut through the hovering purple orbs, only to vanish again. Driven by urgency and determination, she wielded her Wind Magic to blink across the camp's right flank, slicing the lethal drops before they could reach the soldiers.
As her lieutenant expertly managed the right flank with deadly accuracy, Dia'Tia turned her fierce gaze to the left. She drew a deep breath, raised her leg, and slammed her heel onto the icy ground with earth-shattering force.
The ground trembled beneath her might.
Countless shards of rock erupted upwards, caught in a powerful gravitational surge. With a mighty leap, Dia'Tia ascended, suspended in the air amidst the sharp, floating debris.
This is far worse than I imagined, she thought, surveying the chaos enveloping her.
A handful of Immortal Stage warriors struggled to defend the north and south, but those of lower rank were powerless against the advancing Void Blood. She had to act quickly. A ruthless, sweeping strike was essential, even if it meant demolishing the barracks and endangering the very soldiers she sought to protect.
With intense concentration, she channeled her mana into a force capable of annihilating a minor sect. The air around her twisted under the immense pressure. With a fierce outward sweep of her arms, she released a shockwave, sending the suspended rocks hurtling downwards like a deadly meteor shower to obliterate the hovering blood.
---
A few miles from the chaos of Dawnfall's camp, five figures levitated in the high-altitude winds directly beneath the shattered sky. Raiking hovered at the front, the four Barbarian Warlords flanking him like massive shadows.
They watched silently as Dia'Tia's reckless barrage of meteors tore the military encampment to shreds. Watching the humans destroy their own base should have brought the warlords immense satisfaction. But the survival of the Vanguard Commander left a bitter taste in their mouths.
"You should have killed her when you had the blade at her throat," Bellathos grunted.
Raiking said nothing. His thoughts were miles away, dwelling on the true nature of this Alliance. It was built on Arshara's blood, sweat, and tears.
She had fought relentlessly to unite the continent. The Dwarves, the Elves, the Fae, and the Giant Clan were not answering the King's royal decree. They were marching to protect Arshara's legacy, tragically unaware they were fighting for the man who had plotted her death.
Does being a blind pawn excuse you from the grave? Normally, no.
But in this scenario, Raiking knew what Arshara would do. She wouldn't condemn the innocent for being led astray by a tyrant. She had devoted her life to breaking that exact cycle of pointless death. So, to honor her final wish, he would hold back his blade and prevent their total annihilation.
"Worry not," Raiking said, his dark robes fluttering in the wind. "Even if she stops them all from taking the blood, it changes nothing."
He vanished without a sound. As his presence faded, the shattered, purple-veined sky above slowly began to knit itself back together. The Warlords didn't stick around to marvel at the healing heavens; they blinked out of the sky, following their Demon King into the dark to initiate the next step.
---
[A Few Hours Later]
As the camp underwent a strategic transformation, Dia'Tia seized command with unwavering authority. She swiftly deployed the Water Magic users to tend to the men wracked with pain, while the Earth and Air detachments were tasked with reconstructing the devastated barracks.
With the chain of command firmly reestablished, Dia'Tia proceeded to the imposing medical pavilion situated at the heart of the ruins. A chaotic scene unfolded at the entrance, with a bottleneck of stretchers and frantic medics echoing the disarray of a defeated army. Encircling the tent was a formidable blockade of Immortal Stage guards.
Their presence was not a bulwark against invaders but a barrier to enforce a strict quarantine.
What fate awaits the men who ingested that purple blood? she pondered, releasing a frosty breath into the air as she stepped inside the tent.
The pungent aroma of herbs and sweat enveloped her immediately. A healer hurried over, snapping to attention. "Commander."
"Give me the assessment," she commanded, striding past him. Her eyes scanned a vast expanse of medical beds, each occupied by soldiers locked in comatose states.
"Rest assured, Commander. Their lives are not at risk."
"Is that so?"
Surprise flickered beneath her stoic exterior as her thoughts drifted to her encounter with Raiking. He was a master of deadly precision. How could a dark miracle potent enough to fracture the heavens prove to be harmless?
"We've had the military's best body refiners and Water Magic users examine them," the healer explained, wiping the sweat from his brow. "There's absolutely no evidence of external or internal harm."
Could your basic magic even sense it? Dia'Tia pondered with a grim expression. Looking at the nearest soldier, she asked, "If they're not hurt... why won't they wake up?"
"Their mana is completely drained. Every last drop."
"That shouldn't be possible..."
"We thought so too."
In military training, every cultivator learned how to stash a portion of their mana in their blood cells for dire situations. If they had to retreat from a losing battle, those reserves could mean the difference between surviving in enemy territory or falling prey to wild beasts. A soldier should never be completely depleted.
If it were just one soldier, Dia'Tia might have dismissed it as a panicked miscast. But an entire tent of hundreds? That was terrifyingly unusual.
"Have you figured out the cause?" Dia'Tia asked.
"We have a theory."
"Let's hear it."
"The entity that shattered the sky specifically mentioned the 'Children of the North.' We suspect the purple liquid was biologically engineered for the barbarian tribes."
"Total incompatibility," Dia'Tia murmured.
"Exactly. Finding itself in hostile and incompatible vessels, we believe the alien substance parasitically drained their mana to survive, feeding until the soldiers were left empty."
"I understand," Dia'Tia said, her expression hardening as she turned to leave. "Let me know the moment they wake up."
"Right away, Commander!"
The healer saluted as she walked away. Once she was gone, his weary eyes settled on the Essence Crystals placed on the bedside tables. The unconscious soldiers were instinctively drawing in energy from the luminous stones, like men dying of thirst. It was a desperate gamble, but hope was their only remedy now.