Cindralis was a kingdom swallowed by fire.
The crimson glow of the blood moon cast unnatural light upon the streets, painting the cobblestones with streaks of blood and shadow. The clash of steel, the roar of beasts, and the agonized cries of the dying blended into a deafening, unrelenting storm.
The city was no longer a city. It was a warzone.
Adventurers and guards alike fought side by side, desperately holding back the tide of abominations that poured from the alleys and shattered buildings. Their weapons flashed in the red-lit night, blades hacking through twisted flesh as monsters clawed and shrieked.
Some fell — men and women brave enough to stand against the dark, cut down before help could reach them. Others rallied, pushing the monsters back inch by inch, forming makeshift barricades and carving out safe zones for the terrified citizens.
Mothers clutched crying children, cowering behind overturned carts while blood ran in streams between the stones.
A world on fire.
And at the heart of it, the Crimson Vow fought like legends.
Leon moved with lethal grace.
His Reinforcement Magic pulsed around him, muscles surging with unnatural strength, his golden eyes alight with battle fury. His katana blazed with a faint crimson aura, the blade humming with each swing.
He cut through a lunging horror, cleaving its torso in two, then pivoted, driving the weapon clean through another's skull. Blood sprayed, the ground beneath him slick with it.
His body ached, but his grip on the katana tightened.
The voice was there again, a whisper beneath the chaos.
"More… deeper… show them your strength."
Leon gritted his teeth and pressed on.
Darius and Gaius fought side by side.
A perfect pair forged in battle.
Darius's broadsword moved like a reaper's scythe, each swing felling monsters with merciless precision. His footwork, sharp and economical, turned every blow into a fatal strike.
Gaius was the unbreakable wall beside him, his great shield absorbing crushing blows, creating openings for Darius to strike. A monstrous wolf-thing lunged at them — Gaius's shield met it with a deafening clang, halting its charge. In a blink, Darius's blade separated its head from its shoulders.
They moved like twin storms, back to back, a frontline no horror could breach.
Kieran darted through the chaos.
Where others fought, he moved in the spaces between. His twin daggers flashed, finding the throats and hearts of isolated cultists before they could strike.
A scream drew his gaze — a young girl pinned beneath a fallen beam, a slavering beast closing in. Without hesitation, Kieran hurled a dagger into the creature's eye, rolling forward and pulling the girl free in one motion.
"Run, kid!" he barked, shoving her toward a group of guards.
Then he vanished into the shadows, making his way toward the sewers — toward the cult's hidden lair. He had a feeling the battle's true heart beat down there.
Selene's magic flared like wildfire.
She stood atop a shattered fountain, violet eyes gleaming beneath the blood moon, her hair a cascade of black fading into deep purple.
Arcane circles spiralled around her hands, and with a sharp command, walls of flame and lightning erupted, forcing the monsters back. She coordinated with the other mages, weaving barrier spells that shielded the wounded and hemmed in the advancing horde.
Fire met darkness, bolts of lightning scorched the night, and Selene remained unshaken, a sorceress wreathed in elemental fury.
Iris moved among the fallen.
Where death loomed, she brought light.
Her crimson eyes shimmered as she knelt beside bleeding soldiers and terrified civilians. Golden light poured from her hands, closing wounds and pulling the dying back from the brink.
Even as tears streaked her pale face, she kept moving — healing, stabilizing, refusing to let the darkness claim one more life if she could stop it.
When a beast lunged for her, Leon appeared like a phantom, his katana severing its head with a single blow.
"Stay close to the barriers," he warned, before diving back into the fray.
Iris whispered a prayer under her breath and did as told.
And overhead, the blood moon watched, unblinking.
The fires of Cindralis burned bright.
* * * * *
The city of Cindralis had become a churning battlefield of fire, blood, and terror.
And in the heart of that chaos, Velis and Sylva finally moved.
The two figures had stood still until now — Velis with her silver eyes watching the slaughter with eerie calm, her long dark hair dusted with ash, and Sylva beside her, daggers gleaming in hand, her pale face an unreadable mask beneath the crimson sky.
A monstrous brute lunged toward a fleeing civilian. Without hesitation, Velis vanished.
One moment she stood on the blood-soaked cobblestone. The next — she was there, in front of the beast, her hand buried into its chest as if it were made of wet paper. The creature gurgled as its life was extinguished in a heartbeat.
Velis smiled.
A soft, serene smile — as though this slaughter was a lullaby.
"Time to clean up," she murmured, her voice carrying an unnatural weight beneath the blood moon.
The ground at her feet darkened, shadows twisting unnaturally, responding to her will.
From the dark tendrils rose — spears, blades, jagged edges of living shadow. They danced around her like the limbs of some ancient god.
Sylva didn't flinch. She understood the unspoken cue.
In a single blur of motion, she leapt between the writhing shadows, moving like a phantom. Every step precise, every strike efficient. A flash of silver, a clean severing of a throat, a dagger driven cleanly through the eye of a beast.
No words passed between them.
No battle calls.
Only a shared glance — and they moved.
Monsters surged toward them, sensing the lethal threat.
But it wasn't a fight. It was a massacre.
Velis's shadows pierced flesh like paper, dragging creatures into the ground to be consumed by the darkness. Limbs vanished into the void, screams cut short as jagged tendrils severed spines and skulls.
Sylva danced through the carnage, moving with supernatural speed. She cut through the gaps Velis left open, darting from target to target, her daggers a blur of merciless precision.
Each movement was calculated. Each strike lethal.
They moved like wolves in perfect tandem — one creating chaos, the other carving through it.
The rest of the Crimson Vow and gathered soldiers watched in stunned awe.
Even seasoned adventurers, men and women who had stared down horrors before, found their blood run cold as Velis slaughtered with that same calm, serene smile — a child's face painted in blood, her silver eyes never wavering.
"Monsters…" someone whispered.
But Sylva moved beside her like a mirror, never hesitating, her motions cold and beautiful in their lethality.
The tide of creatures faltered.
And then stopped.
The battlefield, once a frenzy of claw and fang, grew still around them. The remaining beasts shrank back from the two girls who stood unscathed amid a sea of corpses and writhing shadows.
And then came a roar.
The dragon descended, its great wings stirring the wind, fire gleaming in its maw.
And upon its back — Ravon.
His bone-white mask split by a maniacal grin.
His bloodied staff raised toward the blood moon.
"So you have monsters of your own!" he bellowed, laughing. "Good, good! I'd rather my sacrifices bleed with teeth and fury!"
Velis and Sylva stared up at him, their crimson-stained forms a striking sight beneath the glow of flame and dying magic.
And in that moment, no words were needed.
They both knew what came next.
The true battle had begun.