By The Blood

And most of her strength had been expended fighting the flame men. She gritted her teeth, forcing her hand to change into a vine, twisting into the shape of a sword.

The flame man raised his gleaming white sword, ready to strike, but in a blink, it vanished, as if snuffed out.

For a mere moment, the woman thought the boy had exhausted his mana—perhaps he had even broken down. But those thoughts shattered as she felt a sudden surge of heat flare at her back.

She whirled around, eyes wide in shock, as a massive white fireball loomed just finger-lengths away from her face.

No!

The flame smashed into her face, reverberating through the air with a deafening boom.

Karl, still standing on the ground, his hands emitting white, sulfur-scented smoke, stared blankly as the flames engulfed the woman.

His mind raced, thoughts cascading quicker than he could grasp them, plans unfurling before his eyes. He had never felt so sharp, so focused—he loved it. This was the power he had craved, the kind that could reshape everything. True mystical power.

"Hmm, so she couldn’t stop you?" A female voice rang out from behind him.

Startled, Karl turned to see the woman he had just obliterated—alive, unharmed, standing as if the fight had never happened. What was going on? Was this some form of illusion, like Fredrick’s hypnosis?

Before he could speak, Vin, who had been trembling on the ground, managed to stand. She pulled out a small bottle of golden liquid and downed it in one gulp. Her eyes blazed with an intense golden light. Her rapier poised, golden light begining to snake around the blade.

With a wave of her hand, the woman hurtled toward Vin, as if pulled by some unseen force. Karl’s mind flashed to the power of the Newmans. Was that what vin was? He couldn’t be certain.

Vin raised her golden-imbued sword and swung at the woman, slicing through her like a stick through water. The woman’s body split cleanly, two halves falling to the ground, blood spilling from the severed ends.

Vin shot Karl a sharp glance, her gaze heavy with scrutiny. Perhaps she was marveling at his new state—white birds still circled above him.

But Karl felt the power beginning to fade. No! He couldn't allow that. He needed the power—it was his! Why should it leave him?

"Don’t you think this is pointless?" The woman’s voice echoed again, calm and unwavering. She stepped out from behind a nearby tree, completely unharmed, just as she had been before. Karl’s eyes darted to the lifeless halves of the woman still lying at Vin’s feet.

So not an illusion?

Suddenly, a loud cry echoed through the space—the wail of a baby. Karl felt his strength drain faster now, the power slipping through his fingers.

Gritting his teeth, he glared at the woman. She was doing this! She was trying to strip his power away!

His sickle ignited in white flames, and his whole body erupted into a fiery raven. This was the same form he had used to escape before. He launched himself at the woman, who lazily flicked her hand. A tangle of vines shot up from the ground, racing toward him.

Karl twisted and dodged the vines, weaving through them as they snapped dangerously close. He veered sideways, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow, then dove toward the tree, attempting the same tactic he had used before. But this time, the woman didn’t follow. She had learned.

Vin, meanwhile, dashed toward the woman, the wind whooshing around her like a vortex. She waved her Soundhand, and shards of stone flew forward. The woman, unbothered, raised her hand, and vines coiled around her in a protective dome, effortlessly deflecting the attack.

The baby wailed again, louder this time.

The feeling of powerlessness gnawed deeper at Karl. In his bird form, he glanced at the tree, realizing something crucial. The sound—it was coming from there. If he could stop the child, wouldn’t everything stop?

An idea sparked in his mind.

He flapped his wings, unfamiliar though they felt, the power more than made up for the discomfort of this strange form. He flew, soaring to the very top of the tree.

The branches there were grotesque, fleshy, and dripping with blood. They pulsed with veins and muscle, grotesque yet ignored by Karl’s singular focus.

At the center of the twisted canopy, there was a small clearing, devoid of any branches. A bed lay there, and on it, a man was in labor, his face deathly pale, blood soaking his lower half. He appeared lifeless—not that Karl cared.

A few inches from the man’s bloodied body was a newborn, drenched in blood, connected by a fleshy umbilical cord to the man’s body.

He actually gave birth? Karl marveled at the power of the Sanguines.

Landing on the lip of the tree, Karl shifted back into his human form as the flames dissipated from his body.

Blood and flesh dripped onto his face, staining his white coat and trousers. He gripped his sickle tightly and walked calmly toward the baby.

The wailing intensified, and once again, Karl felt the draining sensation pulling at his power. He gritted his teeth. "Stop doing that!" he shouted, his grip on the sickle tightening.

The baby’s tiny fists were curled close to its chest, its mouth opening and closing in pitiful cries. Karl glared at it, drawing closer.

It isn’t a baby, he told himself. Just a collection of components. And it’s trying to take your power away.

With that thought, he raised his sickle and brought it down swiftly toward the baby’s head.

Splurt!

The crying ceased.

Then, a thunderous voice roared through the air. "NO!!" It was the woman.

The strange tree began to tremble violently. Its fleshy branches shriveled and turned a sickly pale white before crumbling like brittle debris. Karl glanced at the baby, which now had a deep gash across its neck, blood gushing out. He smirked—now the cries wouldn’t be able to drain his power.

Yet still, the feeling of power fading gnawed at him. He despised it.

Approaching the edge of the branch, he leaped off, transforming once again into a white raven, gliding down. Just then, he caught sight of Vin. She was clutching a strange white feather, and suddenly, her entire body exploded with a brilliant golden light.

Karl’s vision went black as he lost consciousness.

_______

The Night was thick and suffocating. Due to the intense heat of the Dominations, the usual mist did not descend—instead, the ground grew damp with a heated moisture, almost like steam rising from the very soil.

The moon, however, cast its cold light upon the crimson sky, creating an eerie dark redness that bathed the rugged terrain and towering mountains of the western domination.

The Archon's Gallery of maps, dedicated to the study of the Domination, rested upon a small mountain of its own. The expansive structure had been carved into the mountain’s face, segmented into squared tiers that seemed to stack atop one another like ancient stone blocks.

Dunn passed by one of the Reachers, strange wooden poles with faint red hair-like tendrils growing from them.

These poles stood as tall as him, some even dwarfing his height. As he moved, the tendrils swayed in his direction, slithering close as if sniffing him out, but then they would suddenly retract, becoming stiff and immobile. Some of the poles sank back into the land, while others emerged in their place. Reachers, they were called.

In the distance, scattered pools burned with eternal lamps, and the surrounding buildings spilled their own faint light, adding to the dreamy atmosphere. Dunn passed a few guardsmen, all of whom bowed in respect.

Despite not holding a formal rank within the Legion, it was an unspoken rule—he was a shard-bearer, and that alone commanded deference from ordinary men.

Though for some, maintaining their pride in the face of such power was a difficult, if not impossible, task.

Dunn soon entered the gallery and followed the winding pathways lined with glass-encased eternal lamps, their light casting long shadows on the space.

At the end of one such path stood Archon Adept Rollo, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied one of the many maps.

Several guardsmen, stationed strategically around the chamber, stood at attention.

Rollo was a tall, dark-skinned man with thick, locked hair. His appearance bore the typical features of a Maw person, yet something about him was different. His ears, for instance, had strange blue beads embedded in them—not attached like ornaments, but seemingly a part of his flesh.

Rollo was a mixed breed, half Maw and half Tudorson. Dunn had always wondered how the two could even conceive together. If the Maws were brutes, then the Tudorsons were their elegant counterparts—equally terrifying when the need arose.

Today, Rollo was dressed in a simple black coat, buttoned to the side, and trousers. He wore none of the shard-armor, perhaps he was off duty?

Rollo had been chosen as the new Archon Adept after Ren, the previous one, had moved to the position of Archon.

Normally, Dunn, as a regular shard-bearer, would not be permitted to stroll into such a place unannounced. But today was different. He carried a mission—an order delivered by none other than a golden knight.

“Adept Rollo,” Dunn greeted, bowing respectfully.

Rollo glanced over his shoulder, his glassy blue eyes contrasting sharply with his otherwise rugged Maw face. Despite his imposing appearance, there was a trace of quiet elegance to his movements.

“Yes?” Rollo responded, his voice flat, barely sparing a look at Dunn.

Dunn’s gaze shifted to the map Rollo was studying. Various black-marked spots littered the map—locations where human forces had established a presence within the Domination. Some had even constructed small hive cities. The struggle for control over the Dominations had become a tug of war, with humans and giants competing for land.

At the moment, the giants were winning. Perhaps that was what the knight wanted to change.

“I have a message to deliver,” Dunn said. Though, in truth, it was more of an order than a message.

Rollo finally looked at him fully. “Walk with me,” he said, moving past Dunn without waiting for a response.

Dunn sighed inwardly. Men and their need to feel superior. Still, he followed Rollo down the path lined with maps, their way lit by the soft glow of eternal lamps. The guards trailed behind them, keeping a respectful distance but never far enough to be out of reach.

Each map they passed was meticulously detailed, inked with black for land under human control and white for territories lost to the giants.

No other colors were necessary, as the Dominations had little water to depict. This scarcity of resources had caused some to question the wisdom of the Crusade, but fortunately, there were certain relics and items that helped reduce the concerns.

The maps displayed the scattered human encampments across the Dominations, many of which were lost daily in the ongoing battle against the giants. The ultimate goal of every crusade was to discover the city of the giants, said to be hidden deep within the waning forests. But until that city was found, the crusaders were locked in a brutal war of attrition, fighting to maintain their foothold in the region.

As they walked, they came upon a wall plastered with sheets of parchment—lists of hive cities that had been built and lost, as well as the names of those assigned to defend them. Dunn had once been offered a position as a protector of one such city, but he had declined. The thought of settling down without the constant threat of battle held no appeal to him. He wanted the honor of dying in combat.

Rollo stopped before the wall, trailing his fingers across the parchment. “One day, I hope to command the greatest of these hive cities,” he said, turning to face Dunn.

Every shard-bearer has that dream, Dunn thought. The empire rewarded those who performed heroic deeds or achieved greatness with titles, land, and possibly even lordship over a hive city. Even if those rewards didn’t materialize, certain knightly houses often recruited outstanding warriors into their ranks. Dunn, however, had no such lofty ambitions.

He remained silent, waiting for Rollo to continue.

“So, what brings you here, Dunn?” Rollo asked, his voice now taking on the refined tone the Tudorsons were known for. Dunn wondered if Rollo could switch between his two heritages at will.

“A radiant sir is in the camp,” Dunn replied. It was best to get straight to the point rather than dance around the matter.

Rollo’s gaze sharpened his attention fully on Dunn now. "A radiant sir?"