As Voss stepped forward, the battlefield came alive.

Crimson tentacles erupted from the corpses scattered across the courtyard, writhing and lashing toward him. They coiled around his arms and legs, crushing tighter with every second, twisting to tear him apart.

Across the courtyard, Liliana stood, her breath ragged, her eyes pools of darkness. Black veins crawled from the glowing gem embedded in her forehead, pulsing in time with the power surging through her. It burrowed deeper, corrupting her from the inside. But she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

The tentacles constricted, their coils tightening, straining to crush the life from Voss.

Voss remained still. He glanced at the bindings, indifferent. "This will not hold me."

Liliana coughed, black blood splattering the ground, the toll of the gem's power wreaking havoc within her. She could feel it seeping into her veins, tearing her apart.

She was breaking.

But if she let go now—if she failed—Kale wouldn't have a chance.

Her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed to her knees, barely able to hold herself upright. Her arms trembled. Her vision blurred, the world tilting sideways.

"Kale," she gasped, choking on her own blood. "I… can't."

Her strength gave out.

Kale drove his blade through a soldier's chest and wrenched it free, the body dropped at his feet. He didn't look back. He had to keep moving.

As he stepped into the courtyard, he saw Liliana on her knees. Blood dripped from her lips, her body trembling. Across from her, Voss stood untouched, unshaken, the crimson tentacles binding him already beginning to unravel.

Kale moved toward her, but then he saw Rika.

She lay still, her stone skin cracked, deep fractures running across her arms and head. Her warhammer was shattered beside her, broken beyond repair.

No.

He had been fighting to reach them. He had been too slow.

"Don't worry, Kaley. I'll protect you."

Rika's voice echoed in his mind, warm and certain, the way it always had been. She had stood between him and death more times than he could count.

And now she was lying in the dirt. Because of him.

His gaze snapped back to Liliana.

She had done the same. Again and again, she had shielded him. She had thrown herself between him and Lifedrinker. She had jumped in front of him when Alistair struck, taking the blow that should have killed him.

And now, once again, she had fought for him, bled for him.

And once again, he had been too slow.

Too weak.

Too late.

A hollow silence swallowed everything.

Then came the rage.

It tore through him, ripping free like claws raking through his soul. His body locked up, a violent pressure crushing his chest, suffocating, unbearable. Pain lanced through every nerve, searing, blinding, absolute.

Then, nothing.

Nothing but fury.

It consumed him. It swallowed every thought, every doubt, every weakness. It was all he knew. All he was.

Something inside him had broken loose. No, something had escaped.

Whatever had been buried deep within him, caged and forgotten, had finally clawed its way free.

And now, there was nothing left of him but rage.

Red markings slashed across his skin, searing into him like molten brands. His muscles locked. His vision blurred, then sharpened into something else, something wrong, something that wasn't him anymore.

A crimson glow bled from his skin, flickering, pulsing, growing brighter with every breath. It curled around him in jagged waves, raw and untamed, writhing like living fire. The heat of it warped the air, crackling with something violent, something hungry.

Kale screamed, and a legion of voices howled from his throat, a furious, unrelenting roar that shook the courtyard. The ground trembled beneath him. The air crackled as the markings flared brighter, feeding on the fury.

For the first time, Voss seemed surprised.

There was a shift, a flicker of something in his eyes. Not fear, but recognition.

"Yes," Lifedrinker's voice slithered through Kale's mind. "You feel it now, don't you? No more hesitation. No more waiting. Take what is yours. Let me guide you. Let us end this."

Voss pointed his sword at Kale. "All on him."

Kale's fingers closed around the hilt of Lifedrinker, and the moment he did, power surged through him. It was instant. All-consuming. The weight of his body vanished, his exhaustion burned away, and for the first time, he felt truly untouchable.

He swung.

A single arc of the blade tore through the soldiers before him. Bodies split apart, armor and flesh offering no more resistance than air. Blood filled the courtyard in a sweeping crimson wave. They fell in droves, collapsing before they even had time to scream.

And with every kill, something poured into him.

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"Yesss," the whisper curled through his mind, smooth, indulgent.

Strength. Speed. A raw, intoxicating power unlike anything he had ever felt. It roared through his veins, filled his lungs, made his body feel weightless, unstoppable. Lifedrinker pulsed in his grasp, its edge humming with hunger, drinking deep from every body that fell.

It wasn't just feeding on them. It was feeding on him too.

He could feel it pulling at something inside him, siphoning it away with every strike. It should have terrified him. He barely noticed. The immense power that flooded his limbs far overshadowed whatever it was taking in return.

More soldiers charged and he cut them down like dry leaves swept away in a storm.

A step forward, another wide swing, and a dozen more collapsed, limbs severed, lifeblood spilling across the stones. They weren't enemies. They weren't even people. They were nothing. Obstacles. Fleeting. Meaningless.

Something wrenched him backward, tearing Lifedrinker from his grasp. The loss hit him harder than any blade ever could. The power, the invincibility, the boundless strength, it vanished in an instant, leaving behind a hollow, aching void.

Voss stood behind him, holding Lifedrinker in one hand.

"You were never meant to wield this," he said, turning the blade over, inspecting it.

Kale stood frozen, breath coming sharp and uneven, his hands tingling from the loss. It felt like something vital had been ripped out of him.

"Foolish boy," Voss said, shaking his head. "Are you that desperate for power?"

Lifedrinker was gone, but the fury still raged. It roared through him, burning hotter, deeper, surging into every limb, filling every nerve with searing strength. Red light pulsed from his skin, his aura twisting, writhing, coiling.

Aeloria's Promise carved through the air, a blow meant to cleave Voss in two. The moment steel met steel, the force of the impact shook the ground beneath them.

Voss blocked, but his feet slid back across the courtyard stones.

Once more a flicker of surprise crossed Voss's face. Just for a second.

Then the soldiers crashed into Kale.

They came all at once, piling onto him, swords and spears thrusting forward, armor colliding with his body. The weight of them threatened to drive him down, but the fury hadn't left him. Lifedrinker was gone, but he still had Mistress of the Enria in one hand, Aeloria's Promise in the other.

He did not stop.

He would not stop.

And they would fall all the same.

Kale moved, and the world became slaughter.

He twisted, swinging Aeloria's Promise in a wide arc, and with a single step, the air around him erupted in a crimson haze.

Whirlwind activated.

The first row of soldiers disintegrated. Their bodies came apart mid-motion, torsos cleaved from hips, heads sent spinning, limbs torn free in sprays of blood. Armor crumpled like paper, bones split like rotten wood.

He did not stop.

He could not stop.

He became a storm of blades, a force of pure destruction, a whirlwind of death tearing through the mass of bodies that threw themselves at him.

Aeloria's Promise sang in his hands, slicing through flesh as if it were nothing. Mistress of the Enria carved through steel and bone, snapping weapons in half, turning shields into shattered wrecks.

They tried to overwhelm him.

They were butchered.

One soldier lunged. Kale's blade met him mid-charge, and he was bisected from shoulder to hip, his insides spilling out in a steaming mess before his body even hit the ground.

Another tried to strike from behind. Kale twisted, his second blade flashing in a backward thrust, running the man through before ripping it free, gutting him in one smooth motion.

He spun faster, his blades an unrelenting blur. Arms, legs, heads—they all came apart in sprays of hot blood, painting the stones beneath him. Some didn't even realize they were dead yet, staggering forward before collapsing, their bodies struggling to keep up with the carnage.

The red aura around him pulsed, writhing, seething, hungering.

His breath was ragged, but he didn't feel tired. He only felt rage.

The ground beneath him was slick with blood.

The air reeked of death.

And still, they kept coming.

Still, he kept cutting them down.

The courtyard was drowning in blood.

It rained from the sky, flung high by the carnage, splattering across armor, soaking the ground beneath his feet. Severed limbs twisted through the air, torsos spun weightlessly before crashing down in wet heaps.

And through it all, through the haze of bodies being torn apart, through the whirlwind of slaughter, Kale saw him.

Voss.

Standing beyond the chaos, untouched. Unmoving.

Watching.

His sword remained at his side, his stance relaxed, his expression unreadable. He didn't flinch as a severed head flew past him, didn't blink as a soldier's bisected corpse crumpled in front of him. He simply stared through the storm of death, through the haze of flying limbs and falling blood, eyes locked onto Kale.

Waiting.

Another wave of soldiers rushed in, their movements frantic, driven by desperation rather than discipline. They had seen what had become of the others, had watched their comrades torn apart, but still, they charged. Perhaps they believed sheer numbers would overwhelm him. Perhaps they believed they had no other choice.

They were wrong.

Kale met them head-on.

Aeloria's Promise carved through the first man's throat, severing flesh and vertebrae in one smooth stroke. Mistress of the Enria slashed low, cutting through tendons and shattering kneecaps, sending another soldier crashing onto his back before Kale drove the blade through his chest. A spear thrust toward him, and he caught it mid-motion, twisting it free from trembling hands before reversing it and driving it through its wielder's stomach.

The red glow around him pulsed brighter, swelling, writhing, the heat of it warping the air. The bodies around him were piling higher, their blood coating the stones, his boots slipping through the mess as he moved, relentless.

They kept coming.

He kept cutting them down.

Another blade arced toward him, and he twisted, feeling the rush of air as it barely scraped past his shoulder. His own strike came in response, fast and merciless, Aeloria's Promise shearing through armor, splitting ribs, cutting deep into the flesh beneath. The man barely had time to scream before he collapsed.

Another.

And another.

The slaughter continued, the rhythm of battle turning into something instinctual, something beyond thought. It was motion, power, raw destruction.

The last soldier fell.

Kale stood in the aftermath, blades dripping, breath heavy, his body still thrumming with the relentless fury that had driven him through the slaughter. Blood soaked the ground, pooling in thick, rippling streams, painting the stones in deep crimson. The air reeked of death, thick with the metallic sting of iron, the fading cries of the dying swallowed by the silence that followed. He could feel the warmth of it still clinging to his skin, dripping from his arms, his face, streaking down in long, crimson trails. It was everywhere.

His heart pounded. His limbs still burned with raw, unrestrained power, demanding more, refusing to be still. But there was nothing left. The bodies lay in ruin around him, torn apart, their lifeblood feeding the earth. The battlefield, once a chaos of movement and steel, had become silent.

And then he noticed Voss was gone.

Kale scanned the carnage, searching through the haze of blood and floating embers, but there was no sign of him. No trace, no movement, not even the lingering echo of his presence. The man who had stolen Lifedrinker, who had watched him without moving, without flinching, who had barely acknowledged the massacre unfolding before him, had vanished, slipping away as effortlessly as if he had never been there at all.

The rage twisted inside him, coiling tighter, gnawing at the edges of his mind. Voss had let him slaughter his men, had stood still as the blood painted the sky, and then, at the first lull in the carnage, he had simply left.

Movement flickered at the edges of his vision. Not bodies collapsing, not men dragging themselves away in their final moments, something new.

A fresh wave of warriors surged forward, their approach sharp and disciplined, moving in unison, their formation cutting through the battlefield. The Scarlet Veil.

They came fast, their armor catching the light, weapons raised, their charge meant to turn the tide. He could see them, hear their boots pounding against the blood-drenched ground, but it felt distant, muffled, as if the world had been pulled just beyond his reach.

Something was wrong.

The fury still burned, but his vision blurred at the edges. His body felt too hot, too light. His limbs, once weightless, now felt like they were moving through water. The breath that had come in steady, seething bursts now wavered, uneven, slipping out of rhythm.

The Scarlet Veil drew closer, but the figures in his vision wavered, doubling, then fading. It felt as though the world itself was slipping away from him. The red glow that had pulsed around him flickered, faltered, the heat in his veins turning cold.

A deeper, thicker silence crept in, swallowing everything.

Everything went black.

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