The battlefield was chaos—flames crackled in the air, the scent of iron and ash filling every breath. Above the din, Altharion's voice rang like a death knell.
"Kill them all! Leave none standing!"
From the shadows, Quinn emerged, his eyes a deep, unsettling crimson. The blood magic within him pulsed like a living thing, eager to be unleashed. Around him, shadow tendrils writhed and danced, forming jagged spears that lashed out at the nearest enemies, impaling them with merciless precision.
A massive warrior in silver armor charged, swinging a glowing warhammer. Quinn's form blurred, dissolving into a smear of black mist. He reappeared behind the man, whispering in his ear, "Too slow." A single swipe of his shadow-forged blade severed the knight's lifeline, his body crumpling before he even realized he'd been struck.
Lightning streaked across the sky as Altharion descended from above, wings of dark flame spreading wide. He crashed into the ground with enough force to send shockwaves tearing through the soil. Those caught within the radius were ripped apart—bones shattered, armor twisted like paper.
Quinn's qi surged, merging with his shadow magic. He extended his hands, weaving a vortex of pure darkness that swallowed incoming arrows and spells. With a snap of his fingers, the vortex exploded outward, consuming a dozen foes in a storm of razor-edged shadow fragments.
"Push forward!" Quinn barked, his voice carrying an unnatural command that made even allied beasts lunge with renewed ferocity.
But the enemy was no mere rabble. From the burning ruins, a warlock emerged—his staff crowned with a pulsating crystal dripping with dark energy. With a hiss, he sent a wave of crimson fire surging toward Quinn. The blast collided with him, engulfing his figure. For a moment, silence fell.
Then the shadows peeled back like smoke, revealing Quinn unharmed—though his eyes now burned brighter, his veins glowing faintly. "You just fed me," he said with a smirk.
He launched himself at the warlock, moving faster than sight. The clash was a blur—sparks of shadow and fire colliding, qi energy erupting like miniature suns. In the end, Quinn drove his blade through the warlock's chest, then siphoned the man's life essence into himself. The warlock's scream was short-lived; his body withered into dust.
Altharion's roar split the air as he engaged the enemy commander, a giant draped in spiked obsidian armor. Every strike of Altharion's greatsword sent ripples of force across the battlefield, cutting through men and siege engines alike. At one point, the commander swung a colossal axe, only for Altharion to catch it with his bare, flaming hand—and snap the weapon in half before driving his sword clean through the man's torso.
With their leaders gone, the enemy faltered. Quinn seized the moment. "Shadowblood Domain—Unseal!"
The ground blackened beneath him, spreading outward like ink dropped in water. From it rose phantom warriors—faceless, armored silhouettes made of shadow and blood. They surged forward, cutting down all who stood in their way. The domain warped reality, making enemies feel as though they were sinking into endless darkness.
Those who tried to flee found their legs frozen by shadow binds, their screams muffled by the silence Quinn's magic imposed. It wasn't a battle anymore—it was a slaughter.
Minutes later, only the wind remained, carrying the scent of death. Quinn stood at the center of his domain, breathing steadily, his aura monstrous. Altharion landed beside him, sword resting on his shoulder.
"It's done," Altharion said, surveying the carnage.
Quinn smirked, shadows retreating into his body. "For now. But the real war hasn't even started."