The knights froze.
Just for a heartbeat.
Aldric stepped forward, poleaxe humming with blood mana that writhed like a nest of serpents. Rain evaporated before it touched him. Stone beneath his boots cracked like brittle ice.
The courtyard trembled.
The knights tightened their formation, hands shaking. Their weapons flickered with unstable holy mana, the glow dimming every time Aldric exhaled.
Priests wrapped in shimmering mana arms whispered frantic prayers.
Knights raised their shields.
And Aldric saw the fallen begin to stir—broken knights rising as priests' healing washed over them. Wounded became whole, and their holy mana surged stronger than before.
They surged forward.
The nearest knight barely lifted his shield before Aldric's poleaxe descended like a falling star. The shield split in two—then the man behind it—crimson mana burning through steel, flesh, and bone. Holy fire sputtered pitifully as it died in the rain.
Another knight screamed and charged.
Aldric didn't even look.
He shifted the haft of the poleaxe, let the man's momentum carry him forward, then brought the butt-end up with brutal precision.
A wet crack.
The knight collapsed, helmet caved in like a rotten fruit.
Lyriana's voice cut through the storm of violence—strained, breathless, one arm full of the tiny forms she shielded:
> "Ald—! Left flank!"
She was right.
Multiple knights broke from the back ranks, sprinting through the rain with blades blazing, eyes wild with zeal and fear.
Aldric moved.
A blur.
A predator.
A storm wearing human skin.
He tore through the first knight, wings flaring as he spun the poleaxe in a rising arc that opened the man from hip to shoulder. The second knight lunged for Lyriana—Aldric intercepted, catching the blade on the shaft. Holy fire hissed against crimson mana.
He snarled, eyes burning.
A twist—
the knight's wrist snapped,
the sword fell,
and the axe-head came down through armor and spine.
But even as he killed, he felt it—
the tug,
the pull,
the weight.
He stole a glance back.
Lyriana held the children tight, shielding them with her mana—fierce, focused, unyielding.
The children—
Lucifer asleep and whimpering,
Elenya pressed against Aldric's chest moments earlier—
They were slowing him.
The realization struck like a holy blow.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
A sharp, primal clarity.
> "We can't keep carrying them like this. It's dangerous for them—and it restricts me. Those bastards aim every swing at them. I can't keep blocking everything. If this continues, it's only going to get worse."
More knights regrouped, forming a second wave, blades blazing, voices shaking with renewed chants.
> "WITH THE LIGHT OF THE RADIANT MOTHER—CLEANSE THE DEMONS!"
Aldric's jaw clenched.
He tore his poleaxe free from a corpse, spun the blood-slick shaft, and stepped back toward Lyriana without taking his eyes off the advancing soldiers.
His voice dropped to a low, lethal whisper meant only for her:
> "Lyriana. Take the children."
She swallowed, eyes widening—understanding already blooming like panic.
He leaned in and gently transferred the sleeping Elenya into her arms.
> "They can't stay here."
A knight lunged.
Aldric intercepted, cleaving the man in two, blood wings flaring behind him. Another rushed the children—Aldric caught him by the throat, squeezed until bone snapped, and flung him aside like refuse.
He didn't stop moving.
Didn't stop killing.
Didn't stop protecting.
But he spoke between strikes, voice sharp as the edge of his blade:
> "Take them."
Another blow—armor shattered, crimson spraying.
"And get out."
A skull crushed beneath the poleaxe's haft.
"Go through the trees. Now. I'll handle the rest."
Lyriana's gaze flickered—fear, refusal, understanding—all warring at once. She nodded. Her mana flared, wrapping the children in a protective red barrier as she began to move.
Aldric advanced, poleaxe whirling with brutal efficiency. Three knights charged—he didn't pause. One sweeping arc sent them crumpling, crimson mana carving through armor and bone. Holy sparks hissed against him, but he never faltered.
Blood-made wings unfurled, vast and monstrous.
His voice rumbled:
> "Go, Lyriana.
I'll carve you a path."
He did.
His poleaxe tore through shields, splintered spears, and cleaved down every knight who dared stand in her way. Each step Lyriana took was surrounded by flame, stone, and peril—but Aldric carved corridors of safety through the storm.
And he became a massacre.
A wall.
A demon in truth.
Knights fell to her right, torn apart like dolls. To her left, another wave surged—and Aldric met them with a blur of blood magic, each strike controlled, efficient, merciless.
Crimson energy cracked like whips around him, every motion a promise of death.