House of Blood

The Sovereignty of the Shadow-Blood Trial was an unrelenting nightmare of absolute violence.

Inside the pitch-black pocket dimension, the ocean of thick, congealed blood churned with terrifying fury. Valerian slid backward across the crimson mire, his boots leaving deep, foaming tracks in the sludge. His dark silk coat was shredded, drenched in a mixture of his own crimson lifeblood and the black, acidic gore of the trial’s guardians.

Hah... hah... hah...

Valerian’s chest heaved violently as he took heavy, ragged breaths. His slitted dragon pupils dilated in the dark, burning with a mix of exhaustion and raw, primal madness. Deep cuts littered his arms and torso, exposing pale flesh that slowly cauterized beneath the sheer heat of his boiling dragon blood.

Before him stood the colossal Blood-Shadow Abomination, missing two of its massive limbs—cleanly severed by Valerian’s spatial scythes—yet its remaining two arms swung a gigantic, fifty-foot blade formed from condensed blood-iron.

”Is that all?” Valerian rasped, a wild, blood-soaked grin tearing across his lips.

He twirled his twin scythes, the long void-metal chains wrapped around his forearms rattling with a deafening metallic hiss.

With a flick of his wrists, he launched both scythes forward.

The dark blades cut through space itself, crossing in mid-air to form an absolute spatial X.

”Abyssal Harvest: Spatial Sever!”

CRACK!

The space between Valerian and the Abomination detonated.

The dark blades sheared through the monster’s remaining arms, its chest, and its massive, jawed head in a single, blinding instant.

The creature released one final, muffled roar before dissolving into a massive wave of black shadow and liquid blood that crashed over Valerian, engulfing him completely.

He stood motionless within the torrent, his body trembling as he fought to absorb the guardian’s ancient, volatile core.

The trial had claimed another monster.

But Valerian was still standing.

---

Meanwhile, in the mortal realm, the defense of Bergis had initially turned into a glorious, overwhelming victory.

Outside the grand northern gate, the perimeter was an absolute slaughterhouse.

Castor and Pollux were laughing like lunatics, covered head-to-toe in black gore as their shadow-blades turned hundreds of abyssal direwolves into fine red ribbons. At the main entrance, Inquisitor Charles and his twenty-four Holy Knights maintained an unyielding golden wall of radiant force, spearing any beast that managed to crawl past the twins’ meat-grinder.

On the high battlements, the city watch roared in triumph, reloading ballistas and launching barrage after barrage of fire-rune arrows into the retreating ranks of the horde.

”We’re pushing them back!” a militia captain shouted, raising his bloodied sword. ”The tide is breaking! Hold the line!”

Wren stood on the stone ledge, her golden eyes scanning the battlefield.

Her daggers were still dripping with blood.

But her brows were furrowed tightly.

Something felt wrong.

The beasts were fleeing, yes—but their retreat was unnaturally erratic.

Less like defeated animals...

More like terrified prey fleeing from a predator infinitely more dangerous than the army of Bergis.

Then—

the sky went dead silent.

THUMP.

A subterranean pulse vibrated through the granite foundations of the valley.

It was not a physical earthquake.

It was a heavy, soul-crushing shockwave of ancient dark mana that washed over the entire mountain range.

From the shattered northern peaks, a dense, suffocating black aura spilled across the sky like ink in water, blotting out the sun and plunging Bergis into an artificial eclipse.

The moment the dark aura swept across the battlefield, the retreating beast tide froze.

GROOOOWL...

The eyes of every surviving monster—from the smallest direwolf to the colossal stone-hide boars—flashed with a sickening, molten-gold light.

Their bodies convulsed.

Hides swelled.

Veins bulged beneath their flesh before rupturing in showers of black blood.

Muscles grotesquely expanded.

Teeth elongated into jagged, bone-crushing tusks.

Their retreating panic vanished.

What replaced it was something far worse.

Unnatural rage.

”WHAT IS THAT?!” a soldier screamed from the lower ramparts.

A mutated stone-hide boar, now nearly thirty feet tall and dripping with corrosive black slime, slammed directly into the Holy Knights’ radiant barrier.

BANG!

The golden barrier cracked like fragile glass.

Inquisitor Charles gasped, blood spurting from his mouth as the recoil shattered his holy focus.

”REINFORCE THE GATE!” Charles roared, drawing his broadsword with trembling hands. ”RAISE THE SHIELDS—”

Before he could finish, a pack of mutated direwolves leapt forty feet into the air, clearing the lower barricades entirely and landing directly among the militia ranks.

Screams of terror echoed through the courtyard.

The empowered beasts tore through iron armor as if it were parchment.

Castor and Pollux were blasted backward, their shadow-blades scraping violently against the hardened hides of five mutated razor-crabs that barely reacted to their spatial cuts.

”Brother...” Castor wheezed, wiping blood from his eyes as his manic grin faltered for the first time. ”These ones are thick.”

”They’re not dying!” Pollux yelled, parrying a massive pincered limb that nearly took his head off.

On the battlements, Wren’s golden pupils narrowed into dangerous slits.

She watched the front lines collapse.

The militia was breaking.

The empowered horde was crawling up the very walls of the city.

”Saintess!” Wren barked, looking toward the high terrace. ”If you ever had a prayer worth damnation, use it now!”

Seraphina did not hesitate.

She stepped onto the edge of the battlements, her delicate hands clasping around her golden holy scriptures.

She closed her eyes.

Then her divine mana erupted.

A blinding column of pristine white-and-gold light pierced the artificial darkness, illuminating the battlefield like a second sun.

”Holy Domain: Grace of the Sacred Sanctuary!”

Her voice rang across the dying city like a celestial bell.

A massive dome of radiant light expanded from her body, enveloping the entire front courtyard.

The divine light healed the wounds of the dying soldiers, soothed their shattered morale, and burned against the black aura infecting the mutated beasts.

For a brief moment—

the monsters slowed.

It was enough.

Wren drew her twin dragon-skin daggers, her body exploding with intense crimson dragon-flame.

”I’m dropping in!”

She launched herself from the fifty-foot wall.

BOOM!

Wren struck the battlefield like a crimson comet, her daggers unleashing a sweeping wave of dragon-fire that incinerated three mutated direwolves instantly.

Beside her, Inquisitor Charles rallied his remaining knights.

Holy steel met corrupted flesh.

Dragon flame met abyssal blood.

For a few precious seconds, the defenders of Bergis fought as one.

But the horde simply kept coming.

The battle became an agonizing war of attrition.

For every ten beasts killed, twenty more surged over the ramparts, driven by the dark aura pulsing from the northern mountains.

The soldiers of Bergis were losing.

Slowly.

Brutally.

Foot by bloody foot, they were being pushed back toward the narrow inner gate.

Then—

CLANG!

The iron side-door of the battlements slammed open.

A single scout from the long-range reconnaissance squad stumbled onto the stone walkway.

His armor was shattered.

His left arm was missing from the shoulder down.

Dark crimson foam bubbled from his mouth.

He collapsed against the stone wall, sliding down into a pool of his own blood.

Wren slammed her daggers into the skull of a leaping beast before using Spatial Step to flash directly onto the high battlements.

”Scout!”

She grabbed him by his bloodied collar.

”What happened to the northern reconnaissance team?! Where is this aura coming from?!”

The scout’s eyes were wild.

Not merely frightened.

Broken.

He stared at Wren with the absolute, soul-shattering horror of a man who had seen something his mind could no longer comprehend.

He grabbed her forearm with his remaining hand, his fingers digging into her leather armor with desperate strength.

”Lady... Lady Wren...” he wheezed.

His voice was little more than a wet rasp.

”The... scouting team... they’re all dead...”

”Report!” Wren demanded, her golden eyes flashing with urgent dread. ”How many more beasts are coming from the pass?!”

”There...” The scout coughed violently, dark blood spilling from his lips. ”There is no end to them...”

His trembling finger rose toward the northern mountains.

”We thought... we thought it was a horde moving through the valley...”

He swallowed.

”But it wasn’t.”

Wren’s expression tightened.

”What did you see?”

The scout’s breathing became shallow.

His eyes slowly widened.

”The mountains...”

He stared beyond her.

”The mountains surrounding Bergis...”

His voice dropped to a terrified whisper.

”They were never mountains.”

Wren froze.

The scout’s fingers loosened around her arm.

”They’re...”

His breath caught.

”...a body.”

His hand dropped limp onto the cold stone.

The scout was dead.

Wren remained motionless.

For several seconds, she could hear nothing except the distant screams of soldiers and the thunderous roar of the battlefield.

Then she slowly raised her head.

Her golden eyes turned toward the vast, snow-capped peaks surrounding Bergis.

The mountains had stood there for thousands of years.

Silent.

Immovable.

Untouched.

Until now.

Five miles away, the colossal ridge of rock surrounding the northern valley shifted.

Not collapsed.

Shifted.

As though something beneath it had merely rolled over in its sleep.

The mountain groaned.

The earth trembled.

Then the enormous golden eye embedded within the cliffside slowly opened.

Wren’s pupils contracted.

The eye blinked once.

And beneath the mountains, something breathed.

BOOOOOOM.

The sound shook the entire valley.

The snow slid from the peaks.

The walls of Bergis trembled.

The beast tide roared in answer.

And Wren finally understood.

The creatures attacking Bergis had never been the threat.

They had been fleeing from it.

The entire northern mountain range...

was the sleeping body of a Titan.