Elara stepped into range.
Her blood whip coiled around her right arm, pulsing faintly like a living thing. In her left hand, she shaped a dagger—sleek, crimson, and humming with intent.
"You don't understand," she said softly, almost pitying. "Blood magic isn't just about offense. It's about control. And your bodies…"
She smiled—small, cold.
Thorne stood breathing hard. His wind magic was sluggish, still regenerating. Armor cracked, limbs bruised.
Beside him, Ryze knelt, his fire blade flickering. Blood dripped from a wound on his shoulder. His left arm was nearly numb.
They still stood. But barely.
Elara stood a dozen meters away, a halo of red-black droplets circling lazily above her—like a crown of death.
The ground beneath her pulsed—alive with blood, no longer inert. It crawled, whispered, responded to her will.
She tilted her head slightly, speaking only to herself.
Elara (whispers):
"Still breathing? Fine. Let's go deeper."
________________________________________
The battlefield warped.
Blood—thick and glowing—webbed across the dirt like cracked obsidian. Pools churned gently, reacting to her breath and heartbeat.
Elara took a slow step forward, her heels splashing in the shallow red.
Behind her, tendrils rose—swaying like serpents. Then she whispered:
"Dark Blood Magic: Rites of Dismember."
The pools surged upward, coiling and weaving midair. Twenty blades formed, all floating—sharp, curved, and aimed straight at the captains.
Ryze: "Move. Now!"
Thorne reacted instantly. He summoned a wind barrier, roaring as it spun into a dome around them.
The blood swords launched like missiles.
Clang!
Crack!
Whistle—SPLASH!
Seven blades shattered on the wind wall. But three made it through—one pierced the ground near Ryze and exploded in acidic mist. One grazed his thigh.
He screamed, staggered, barely standing.
Thorne retaliated—condensing wind into spinning orbitals, he punched one disc toward Elara.
She sidestepped gracefully, letting it pass—then caught it midair with a tendril, absorbing it into a swirling crimson vortex.
Elara (coldly):
"You're not adapting fast enough."
________________________________________
Bleeding and desperate, Ryze grit his teeth. He funneled every last ember of his strength into his fire blade.
Ryze: "Fire Blade Art: Crimson Collapse!"
His sword flared—igniting like a miniature sun. He dashed forward with reckless speed.
He slashed, whirled, roared—trying to break through.
Elara parried once. Twice.
Then she let him through.
He stabbed. The blade pierced her abdomen.
Ryze (stunned):
"I… got you…"
But his relief faded. His wrist began to go numb. He looked down.
Blood—like vines—was crawling up his arm.
Ryze: "What…?"
Elara:
"That wasn't me."
The real Elara stepped out from his blind side. The version he stabbed… was a blood clone.
Her hand slid along his back.
Elara: "Sleep."
A single tendril pierced his spine. Not lethal—but paralyzing. His magic core dimmed.
His eyes rolled back.
He collapsed, unconscious.
________________________________________
Thorne: "RYZE!"
With a roar, he slammed both fists into the earth.
"Wind Domain: Anvil Gate!"
The battlefield trembled. Air twisted. Weight doubled. Tripled.
Even Elara's tendrils slowed. Her steps became heavier. Breathing deeper.
Rocks cracked. Trees split. The entire field groaned under crushing force.
Thorne charged, now glowing with gravitational runes. His fists flared with compressed wind, collapsing inward with mass.
He leapt.
BOOM!
Elara's knees bent. The domain was working. Still—she smiled.
She flicked a finger.
"Hemospike."
A thin, invisible needle of blood shot from her ring.
Thorne blocked with his gauntlet.
Thorne (grinning):
"That it?"
Then the spike detonated inside the gauntlet.
BOOM!
His armguard exploded.
He staggered.
Elara moved.
Her eyes glowed blood-red. The battlefield's liquid rose—spiraling around her.
________________________________________
Blood hugged her body—forming armor, flowing like silk and steel.
A cloak unfurled behind her—long, jagged, alive.
Elara:
"Dark Blood Magic: Sovereign State – Crimson Throne."
Pressure surged.
Even Thorne's Wind Domain wavered. Her presence now bent the field itself.
She stepped forward.
Step one. The ground cracked.
Step two. Thorne swung—Elara ducked and slashed his ribs.
Step three. She raised her palm to his face.
"Collapse."
His own blood surged inside him—crashing against vessels. He fell to a knee, eyes swimming.
Thorne (desperate):
"Haaaaa!"
He forced all his magic inward.
"Collapse Titan!"
His body bulked—twice his mass. Skin turned gray. Muscles swelled.
He became a juggernaut—and charged.
________________________________________
Elara closed her eyes.
All the blood on the battlefield rose.
Chains. Knives. Blades. Whips. Needles.
Hundreds of weapons, suspended.
She raised her hand like a conductor.
Elara:
"Fall."
They obeyed.
BOOM.
A storm of crimson descended.
Thorne blocked. Dodged. Punched.
He took down ten. Then twenty.
But a whip wrapped his leg. A knife pierced his shoulder.
Then—Elara appeared behind him.
One hand glowing.
"Blood Seal: Null Heart."
Magic pulsed.
His body froze.
His enhanced mass collapsed.
Wind magic died.
He dropped—like a fallen monument.
And didn't rise again.
Elara stood still.
The blood armor peeled away, floating into mist.
She touched her lip—just a bruise where she'd taken a hit earlier.
Before her, Ryze lay unconscious.
Thorne—barely breathing.
Elara (quietly):
"Alive. But broken."
The blood receded. The ground was still.
And the battlefield… was hers.