The battlefield had become a canvas of blood, steel, and smoke. Morning light struggled to pierce the haze, illuminating shattered walls, bodies, and the streaks of fire that dotted the landscape. Rayon, Cairo, and Severin advanced as one, their movements fluid and predatory, while the Sanctum's top generals braced to meet them head-on.
Rayon stepped forward first, a sinister smile curling across his lips. His eyes glimmered with a faint, unnatural light, and the air seemed to bend around him. The golden-eyed general charged with a roar, spear thrusting like a viper striking at its prey. Rayon sidestepped with inhuman grace, his cloak whipping around the general's face, striking his exposed neck with the edge of his blade. A wet snap echoed, and the general staggered, his own blood spraying Rayon's boots. He wasn't finished. Rayon pressed forward, weaving illusions into reality, forcing the general to swing his spear at phantoms of Rayon himself. Every misstep drew another cut, another spray of gore, until the golden-eyed man's armor was shredded, his flesh torn in deep, jagged lines.
Meanwhile, Cairo faced the shadow-cloaked woman. She moved like a predator, whips slicing the air with a hiss that sounded almost alive. He dodged, weaving between attacks with a fluidity that seemed unnatural, his blade carving arcs of blood through the shadowy tendrils as they struck the ground. One whip lashed, cutting across his chest—but he anticipated it, and his counter struck her shoulder. The snap of bone was audible, followed by a scream that could curdle blood. Her own energy dagger plunged into her side in a misstep, and Cairo twisted, pulling it free and turning it against her. She fell, writhing, blood soaking her black cloak as Cairo's blade traced clean lines across her torso.
Severin's battlefield manipulation was on full display. He stomped the ground, and massive fissures split the earth beneath the warlock, sending shards of stone slicing into his legs. Spells of corruption were cast, but Severin bent the flow of energy, redirecting it into the general himself. The warlock's own spells struck his limbs, shattering bone and cracking skin, blood spraying in an eerie mist as reality itself seemed to warp against him. Severin's laughter echoed, dark and twisted, as the warlock screamed, clutching at the fissures that now gaped like hungry mouths.
Rayon flicked his wrist, and the golden-eyed general's head snapped back as if guided by invisible strings. He swung his remaining spear blindly—and it impaled one of his own men who had tried to charge in to save him. Rayon laughed softly, walking through the blood-soaked chaos, his boots sliding through gore as if it were nothing.
Cairo was a whirlwind of calculated violence. Every slash left another limb severed, every strike a red bloom in the mist. The shadow-cloaked woman tried to flee, but Cairo anticipated her every move, and with one swift motion, he cut through her spine. Her scream ended abruptly, leaving a silence that was almost deafening, punctuated only by the wet, final thud of her body.
Severin's manipulation of the environment left nothing sacred. He raised a jagged wall of stone, impaling a small group of soldiers who had tried to flank him. Blood painted the jagged surfaces crimson as he laughed, swinging his arm and sending a wave of kinetic force that turned several of the generals' men into a messy blur of flesh and armor.
The narrator's voice, calm yet grim, rose above the chaos:
"This was no longer a battle—it was a symphony of death. Every nerve, every bone, every drop of blood became part of their orchestration. Rayon, Cairo, Severin—they were predators, and the Sanctum's finest were prey. No spell, no armor, no training could survive against three people who had mastered the mind, the body, and reality itself. They did not hesitate, they did not falter, and they did not forgive. This was war stripped of civility, a dance of blood and pain that left nothing alive in its path."
By the time the smoke and chaos settled, the three generals lay dismembered, their corpses grotesque and twisted. Soldiers who had come to witness their might were either fleeing or already strewn across the ground, their screams silenced by steel, fire, and unrelenting skill.
Rayon's cloak was soaked, streaked with the blood of friend and foe alike. Cairo's breathing was steady, his blades dripping, yet clean in their execution. Severin surveyed the battlefield with a grin, his aura of destruction lingering in the air like a tangible force.
The Obsidian Web had triumphed, but at a cost—every step forward left a trail of gore, every victory stained with the unmistakable darkness of war. And as the smoke cleared, one truth remained undeniable: no army, no matter how disciplined, could stand against this trio when they fought as one.