GrandLord Dreath did not take his eyes off the advancing storm of red.

Their steps were no longer clumsy.

Their movements were no longer wild.

There was still rage in them, still that deep burning fury that drove them forward without pause, but now it moved with direction, with purpose, with a terrifying clarity that had not been there before. Every inch they closed felt heavier than the last, every step echoing with a weight that did not belong to beings at their level.

And Dreath—

For the first time in a very long time—

Did not know how to immediately answer it.

His gaze flickered.

Not to the ground.

Not to the sky.

But to the side.

To Elder Achilor.

His hand snapped up, pointing.

"You. Go."

The command came sharp.

Not a suggestion.

Not a request.

An order.

Elder Achilor froze.

For a brief moment, everything inside him resisted.

Not his body.

Not his blood.

But his thoughts.

"...Me...?"

Inside, the disbelief surged.

You are the one who provoked them.

You are the one who escalated it.

You are the one who refused to stop.

And now—

You call me?

He clenched his jaw.

His pride stirred.

His irritation rose.

But when his eyes met Dreath’s—

Everything stopped.

Because what he saw there was not arrogance anymore.

Not dominance.

Not the unshakable certainty that had defined the GrandLord.

It was something else.

Urgency.

And behind it—

The faintest trace of something Achilor had never expected to see in a being like him.

Concern.

Dreath did not speak again.

He did not need to.

The look alone—

Was enough.

Achilor exhaled slowly.

"...Tch..."

Inside, his thoughts still resisted.

But his body—

Moved.

"Fine."

His voice was low.

But firm.

"If you fall, don’t blame me."

And then—

He acted.

The blood within him surged, responding instantly to his will, his aura expanding outward as he forced himself into action, his presence no longer restrained, no longer held back.

He raised his hand.

The air trembled.

Ancient formations began to appear around him, glowing with a darker crimson than before, their patterns complex, layered, carrying a depth that spoke of long mastery and experience.

Unlike Dreath—

Achilor did not aim to destroy.

He aimed to delay.

The first spell formed beneath the advancing Moonshade members.

A massive circular seal that spread across the ground, its lines igniting as it activated, sending tendrils of blood energy upward like roots, wrapping around their legs, attempting to bind them in place.

They resisted immediately.

Of course they did.

Their bodies strained.

Their blood surged.

The tendrils trembled.

"...Hold them!"

Achilor growled under his breath.

He reinforced the spell.

The tendrils thickened.

Tightened.

Pulled.

For a moment—

It worked.

Their movements slowed.

Their advance halted slightly.

But then—

Their bodies pushed back.

The tendrils began to crack.

"...Already...?"

Achilor’s eyes narrowed.

"They’re adapting this fast...?"

He did not hesitate.

A second spell formed.

This time above them.

A rain of condensed blood needles appeared, hovering in the air before descending rapidly, each one targeting joints, muscles, pressure points, aiming not to kill but to disrupt, to interfere with their movements, to delay their advance.

The needles struck.

One.

Two.

Ten.

Hundreds.

They pierced.

Embedded.

For a moment—

Their movements faltered.

Their steps broke.

Their bodies jolted.

"...Good."

But then—

They moved again.

The needles did not remain.

Their bodies expelled them.

Their flesh tightened.

Their blood pushed them out.

And their advance—

Resumed.

"...You’re even rejecting suppression..."

Achilor’s voice dropped.

Not fear.

But realization.

Because what he was witnessing—

Was no longer something he could control.

Still—

He continued.

He layered spell upon spell, formations stacking over one another, each one designed to interfere, to slow, to hinder, to buy time, his mastery showing in the complexity of his techniques, the efficiency of his execution, the way he wove each spell into the next without pause.

Chains.

Bindings.

Pressure fields.

Disruption waves.

All of them—

Activated.

All of them—

Applied.

All of them—

Breaking.

"...This is insane..."

He muttered under his breath, his expression tightening.

Beside him—

Dreath moved as well.

No longer holding back.

No longer testing.

He released more spells.

Different ones.

Older ones.

Techniques that twisted blood in ways that few could comprehend, compressing space, distorting movement, attempting to force the advancing Moonshade members back with layers of force and control.

The two Ascendants—

Worked together.

For the first time.

Not in pride.

Not in dominance.

But in necessity.

Their spells overlapped.

Reinforced each other.

Filled the battlefield with a complex network of blood magic that should have overwhelmed anything within it.

The arena trembled.

The air thickened.

The ground cracked further under the weight of their combined output.

And yet—

The Moonshade family—

Kept moving.

Slower.

Yes.

For a moment.

But not stopped.

Never stopped.

They pushed through.

Step by step.

Their bodies trembling.

Their blood roaring.

Their resistance growing with every second they remained within the layered suppression.

"...They’re breaking through..."

Achilor whispered, his voice tightening.

Because it was clear now. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Every spell.

Every layer.

Every attempt—

Was being met with adaptation.

Not instant.

But fast enough.

Fast enough that nothing held them for long.

Dreath’s expression darkened.

"...This is getting out of hand."

His gaze flickered again.

To another.

"Vord."

The name came out sharp.

Lord Vord stiffened.

He had been watching.

Helpless.

Stunned.

Trying to understand what was happening before his eyes.

But now—

He was called.

"My Lord...!"

His voice shook slightly.

But he stepped forward.

He had no choice.

"...Join us."

Dreath’s voice left no room for refusal.

Vord swallowed.

Hard.

Then—

He moved.

His blood surged as well, though not as deep, not as refined as the two Ascendants, but still powerful, still capable of forming spells that carried weight, his hands moving quickly as he began to cast, layering his own techniques into the already overwhelming field.

Restraints.

Barriers.

Energy pulses.

All of it directed toward the advancing figures.

Three of them now.

Working together.

Their combined power—

Was immense.

The entire arena felt it.

The air trembled under it.

The ground groaned under it.

Even the surrounding vampires, still pressed down, could feel the sheer magnitude of energy being released, their hearts pounding as they watched the three strongest figures present combine their strength.

"This... this should be enough..."

Someone whispered weakly.

"It has to be..."

And for a moment—

It seemed like it might.

The Moonshade family slowed.

Their movements became heavier.

Their steps dragged.

Their bodies strained harder than before.

Their advance—

Halted.

For a brief moment.

"...We’re holding them..."

Vord said, his voice strained.

Achilor did not respond.

Dreath did not move.

They watched.

All of them.

Focused.

Waiting.

And then—

It happened.

The tremble began.

Not in the ground.

Not in the air.

But in the spells.

The layered formations.

The bindings.

The restraints.

They began to crack.

One by one.

Not all at once.

But steadily.

Relentlessly.

"...No..."

Achilor’s eyes widened.

Because he felt it clearly.

The resistance—

Was rising again.

The pressure they applied—

Was no longer enough.

The Moonshade family—

Pushed forward.

Again.

Their bodies surged.

Their blood roared.

Their eyes burned brighter.

And the spells—

Broke.

Chains shattered.

Barriers cracked.

Bindings dissolved.

And they moved.

Faster.

Closer.

Unstoppable.

"...Impossible..."

Vord whispered.

Dreath’s expression froze.

Achilor’s hands trembled slightly.

Because now—

There was no denying it.

Their combined power—

Did nothing.

Nothing.

Against what stood before them.

The three of them—

The strongest present—

Working together—

Were being overwhelmed.

Slowly.

But undeniably.

"...This... can’t be..."

Achilor muttered.

"...This isn’t real..."

Vord’s voice cracked.

"...What are they...?"

Dreath did not speak.

He simply watched.

As the red tide—

Closed in.

And in that moment—

All three of them understood.

Their combined power—

Was nothing.