House of Blood

The brass bells of Bergis did not chime for worship, nor did they ring for the sunset.

They wailed in a continuous, frantic rhythm that echoed off the jagged granite cliffs surrounding the valley, carrying a single, terrifying message to every corner of the province:

War.

From the high balconies of the Governor’s Manor down to the sprawling wooden slums of the lower district, the city transformed within hours.

Sir Van Liondale stood atop the central plaza’s stone podium, his voice amplified by wind-elemental communication artifacts. His aged face was grim, but his posture was as unyielding as iron.

"Citizens of Bergis!" Van Liondale’s voice boomed across the crowded streets, reaching tens of thousands of anxious faces. "A Beast Tide descends from the northern crags. Three days stand between us and the horde. Lord Valerian has foreseen such trials, and under his absolute decree, this city will not crumble!

"Every blacksmith will stoke their fires! Every merchant will open their granaries! Every able-bodied adult will report to the lower garrison for defensive assignments!

"We do not bleed for local lords today—we bleed for our home!"

The panic that usually accompanied a Beast Tide did not consume the city.

The recent public execution of the corrupt merchant council and the swift restructuring of the city watch had instilled a strange, desperate discipline among the populace.

The people had seen their new governor tear down the old rot in a single night.

They were not about to abandon the sanctuary he had forged.

Blacksmiths worked through the night, the heavy thud of iron hammers against anvils echoing through the commercial sector as thousands of spearheads, broadswords, and defensive wall-bolts were forged.

Carts loaded with heavy stone blocks, barrels of dark pitch, and bundles of iron-tipped ballista bolts rolled continuously toward the northern ramparts.

On the high battlements of the outer wall, Wren stood with her arms crossed, her golden eyes scanning the distant horizon where dark, ominous storm clouds were already gathering over the mountain pass.

Beside her, a sharp clanking of heavy plate armor announced the arrival of the Holy Kingdom’s forces.

Saintess Seraphina walked up the stone steps, her immaculate white-and-gold robes fluttering in the cold mountain wind.

Walking half a step behind her was Inquisitor Holy Knight Charles—a towering man clad in full sanctified steel armor, his heavy broadsword strapped to his back, his face scarred and hardened by decades of heretic hunting.

"Lady Wren," Seraphina spoke, her voice carrying a calm, soothing resonance that eased the tension of the soldiers working on the battlements nearby.

Wren turned her head slightly, her gaze cold and assessing.

"Saintess. I assumed you and your holy entourage would be using this chaos to pack your bags and scurry back to Lumeria."

Charles’s hand instantly twitched toward the hilt of his broadsword, his eyes narrowing.

"Watch your tongue, half-dragon. You speak to the divine voice of the—"

"Stand down, Charles," Seraphina commanded softly, raising a delicate hand.

Charles immediately froze, lowering his head in strict obedience.

Seraphina stepped forward, stopping right beside Wren at the stone crenellations.

She looked out toward the northern mountains, her sapphire eyes reflecting the distant shadow of the approaching catastrophe.

"The Lord of Light does not abandon innocent souls to the jaws of wild beasts, regardless of who rules the land," Seraphina said quietly, turning her head to meet Wren’s golden gaze.

"And... your governor made it abundantly clear that mercy without action is hollow. I will not stand by and watch this city burn while preaching about salvation."

Seraphina turned back to her Grand Inquisitor.

"Inquisitor Charles," she ordered, her tone shifting into that of an absolute religious sovereign. "Take all twenty Holy Knights. Report directly to Lady Wren and Vice Governor Van Liondale. You will form the vanguard defensive line at the main gate. Your holy barrier magic and radiant offensive arts will serve as the shield for the people of Bergis."

Charles bowed deeply, placing his gauntleted hand over his chest.

"By your divine will, Saintess. The Holy Order shall hold the gate or die upon its stones."

Wren let out a low, approving hum, a rare, wicked smirk touching her lips as she looked at the towering Holy Knight.

"Well, big guy... let’s see if that holy steel of yours can cut through abyssal hide as well as it cuts through soft air."

Charles grunted, his eyes flashing with grim resolve.

"Test me, girl. You will find the light bites deep."

As Charles turned to organize the Holy Knights along the lower battlements, Seraphina looked at Wren, a subtle flicker of worry crossing her face.

"And Valerian? Is there truly no way to reach him?"

Wren’s smirk faded slightly, her golden eyes darting toward the central manor deep within the inner ring.

"He’s in a place where light and prayer cannot reach," Wren murmured softly.

"All we can do is hold this damn wall until he tears his way back out."

---

Deep within the Sovereignty of the Shadow-Blood Trial...

Time did not move like it did in the mortal world.

There was no sun.

No moon.

No wind.

Only an endless, heavy silence broken by the slow, rhythmic squelching of thick blood beneath Valerian’s boots.

He had been walking for what felt like days.

Yet somewhere beyond the boundaries of this realm, only hours—or perhaps minutes—might have passed.

Nox had warned him before he entered.

The Shadow-Blood Trial did not obey mortal time.

A single day inside could pass like a heartbeat outside.

Or a heartbeat inside could become an eternity beyond the realm.

Valerian had no way of knowing which.

That uncertainty was part of the trial.

He could not afford to waste time.

Three days.

That was all Bergis had.

And Valerian had no idea how much of those three days had already passed.

His black coat was soaked at the hem with ancient blood. His dark silk blindfold had long been discarded, hanging loose around his neck.

His eyes burned with an intense, terrifying crimson light, his slitted black pupils tracking every flicker of darkness around him.

The air was so dense with dark mana and ancient malice that an ordinary mortal’s lungs would have turned to liquid within minutes.

Suddenly—

the ocean of blood beneath his feet began to bubble violently.

GURGLE... GURGLE...

Valerian stopped.

He didn’t turn his head, but his grip on his obsidian walking stick tightened.

From the thick, crimson sludge fifty paces ahead, a massive shape began to rise.

Blood poured off its towering form like a ghastly waterfall, revealing a terrifying, hulking entity twice the size of a mountain troll.

It was a Blood-Shadow Abomination—a creature forged entirely from condensed abyssal shadow and the ancient blood of slaughtered war-gods.

Its body was a mass of writhing black tendrils and jagged bone plates, its head devoid of a face except for a single, gaping jaw lined with hundreds of razor-sharp dragon teeth.

In its four massive arms, it held giant, rusted blades formed from hardened blood-iron.

ROAAAAAAAAR!

The Abomination opened its massive maw and let out a deafening, terrifying screech that shook the very foundations of the pocket dimension.

A wave of pure physical force rippled across the sea of blood, blasting toward Valerian like a hurricane.

Valerian didn’t flinch.

The black wind whipped his silver-laced dark hair across his face, but his expression remained as cold and emotionless as a frozen grave.

"A guardian of the art," Valerian whispered, his voice echoing smoothly through the vast, empty darkness.

"Good."

A cold smile touched his lips.

"I was getting tired of walking."

The Abomination slammed all four of its heavy blood-blades into the mire, propelling its massive, multi-ton body into the air with terrifying speed.

It descended upon Valerian like a falling mountain, its blades whistling through the dark air, intent on crushing the young dragon into red paste.

Valerian raised his left hand.

His voice dropped into a low command.

"Spatial Shift."

CRACK!

The space directly where Valerian stood folded like paper.

In a fraction of a millisecond, his body vanished into a streak of silver-black light, reappearing fifty feet to the left atop the ribcage of a colossal ancient beast.

BOOOOM!

The Abomination crashed into the blood ocean where Valerian had been standing a second prior, sending a fifty-foot wave of crimson sludge exploding into the dark sky.

Standing atop the ancient skeleton, Valerian raised his obsidian walking stick with both hands.

His crimson dragon core throbbed violently against his ribs, pouring vast streams of dark abyssal mana and fiery dragon blood into the weapon.

CLICK.

A mechanical, metallic ring echoed through the cavernous space.

Valerian twisted his wrists in opposite directions.

The seamless black shaft of the staff unlocked at the center, separating into two distinct, three-foot handles with a sharp, heavy CLANG.

"Form Second: Dual Scythes of the Abyssal Harvest," Valerian murmured.

From the top of each handle, a curved, razor-sharp blade forged from pure black dragon-scale steel snapped outward with a terrifying SHRING!

The blades gleamed with a sickening, iridescent purple light—the mark of high-tier spatial cutting enchantment.

But the transformation did not stop there.

From the hollow bases of both scythe handles, dark, heavy iron chains forged from ancient void-metal unspooled with a deafening metallic rattle.

The long, retractable chains wrapped tightly around Valerian’s forearms and chest, linking the two scythes directly to his body and his mana core.

The Abomination roared in fury, turning its massive, faceless head toward the skeleton.

It lunged forward again, its four rusted blades spinning like a whirlwind of death, sweeping across the ribs to cleave Valerian in two.

Valerian’s slitted crimson eyes flashed with lethal brilliance.

He didn’t retreat.

He didn’t block.

He flexed his wrists, letting both scythes drop toward the blood below, the long chains unspooling with a sharp, terrifying hiss.

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

"Let’s see," Valerian whispered, his voice echoing with the terrifying, overlapping resonance of an abyssal dragon, "if your blood is thick enough to drown my chains."

With a sudden, explosive burst of physical speed, Valerian leaped directly off the high bones—

diving straight into the maw of the monster.

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