Central Meeting Ground - Emergency Council

The clan leaders had moved to the elevated ground that provided sightlines to the northern ridge. From here, they could see the full scope of the Imperial deployment—and it was terrifying.

Thousands of soldiers arranged in perfect formation.

Artillery pieces that could bombard the settlements from beyond the effective retaliation range.

And moving between the human forces, visible even from this distance, were the Haelves—nine feet of engineered predatory perfection, their inhuman grace making them stand out even in an army.

"We can't fight that," Vel'moth said, his voice hollow.

"Three hundred warriors against an army. We'd be slaughtered."

"The settlements need to evacuate," Vel'sara said, her tactical mind already working through scenarios.

"If we move now, use the southern routes—"

"They've blocked the southern routes," one of the Ma'ulankr warriors reported, his enhanced vision tracking movements the others couldn't see.

"Haelve units in position. They've contained us completely."

"A siege," Korreth said grimly.

"They mean to starve us out or force us to surrender."

"You think too highly of yourselves. They are outright going to slaughter you, can't you see the way they are moving in from all the sides?"

Thel'endra was studying the Imperial forces with professional assessment.

"Forty halves. Against your combined strength, that's manageable, or not.

But the artillery changes everything. They can bombard you from safety while the Haelves prevent counterattack."

"We could surrender," a Nue'roka elder said quietly.

"Negotiate terms, save the civilians—"

"They don't want surrender," Eben said, his voice shaking.

"I told you—the Empire's goal is harvesting. They'll take everyone capable of providing genetic material. The rest—" he didn't finish, but his meaning was clear.

All eyes turned to Jorghan.

He was staring at the Imperial forces with an expression that mixed analysis with anticipation. His hands flexed unconsciously, blood magic already stirring beneath his skin.

"Well," he said finally, "looks like they came to me instead of me having to hunt them down. That's considerate."

"This is not a joke," Sarhita snapped.

"That's an army. Even you can't—"

"Can't what?" Jorghan interrupted, looking at her directly.

"Can't fight overwhelming odds? Can't face enemies who outnumber me thousands to one?"

He turned to address all the assembled leaders.

"You wanted to know if I could protect the clans. You wanted proof that fighting back was possible. Well—" he gestured toward the Imperial army, "—there's your test. Let's see if the Berserk Lord's heir is worth anything."

"You can't fight them alone," Sarhita said urgently.

"I'm not going to," Jorghan replied.

"I'm going to kill the commanders. Cut off the head, and the body dies. Those siblings—Caden and Constance—they're up there somewhere. I kill them, the army loses coordination. The Haelves might keep fighting, but the humans will break."

"That's your plan?" Thel'endra demanded.

"Assassination?"

"Decapitation strike," Jorghan corrected.

"There's a difference. Assassination is sneaky. This is going to be very, very loud."

Sigora grabbed his arm.

"Jorghan, please think about this. That's not three Haelves in the dark. That's forty of them with an army backing them up. If you go out there—"

"I come back victorious, or I don't come back at all," Jorghan said simply.

"But I'm not letting that army march down here and slaughter everyone. So the question isn't whether I'm going—it's whether you trust me enough to give me the time I need."

He looked around the circle, meeting each leader's eyes. "I need the settlements to hold defensive positions. Make them think you're preparing to resist. Keep their attention divided. I'll handle the rest."

"This is insane," Korreth said, but there was something in his voice that wasn't quite condemnation.

"It's war," Jorghan replied.

"Insanity is the baseline."

He turned to walk toward the northern ridge, toward the army waiting there, toward the commanders who thought they were hunters when they were really prey.

Behind him, Thel'endra watched with eyes that, for the first time, showed something other than skepticism.

Perhaps the Sol'vur heir was about to prove he was more than insufficient after all.

The desert sun climbed higher.

And blood was about to water the sands.

-

Jorghan walked alone across the sand, each step measured and deliberate.

The sun beat down mercilessly, but he didn't notice the heat. His focus was entirely internal, reaching deep into the bloodline, pulling on power that had destroyed kingdoms and made gods hesitate.

His eyes flared like molten lava.

[Bloodhound Creed: Summoning Protocol Initiated]

[Available Summons: 5/5]

[Warning: Multiple simultaneous summons will significantly drain essence reserves]

[Proceed? Y/N]

Jorghan's mental confirmation was immediate and absolute.

The ground around him erupted.

Blood manifested from him, pouring from his back, gathering in five distinct pools that pulsed with malevolent life. The pools began to rise, taking shape, becoming solid as the essence coalesced into physical forms.

Gorva emerged first—but transformed from what it had been.

The creature that pulled itself from the blood pool stood twelve feet tall, its body a nightmare fusion of canine and humanoid features. Its frame was massively muscular, like a yeti crossed with a werewolf, covered in crimson fur that seemed to be made of congealed blood rather than actual hair. Its head was still distinctly hound-like, but the skull had elongated, and the jaw could unhinge to reveal rows of teeth like crystallized blood. Its eyes burned with the same crimson light as Jorghan's, intelligent and cruel in equal measure.

Its hands—no longer paws—ended in claws that looked capable of tearing through steel. The muscles beneath the blood-fur rippled with contained power, and when it moved, there was an almost human grace to its motions, as if it remembered being something more than a beast.

The second pool birthed No-rva.

This one was leaner than Gorva, standing only ten feet but built for speed rather than raw power. Its form suggested a wild, primal beast, with longer limbs and a frame that looked designed for pursuit. Its fur was darker, almost black-red, and its movements were utterly silent despite its size. When it opened its maw, shadows seemed to pool inside, as if this creature existed partially outside normal reality.

Sol-rva came next—the largest at twenty feet, its body so massively muscled that it looked like it could uproot trees. This one resembled a yeti, with broader shoulders and arms that dragged the ground when it stood upright. Its fur was pale red, almost pink, and its face was flatter, more ape-like, but with the same burning crimson eyes and impossible teeth.

Zo-rva emerged with a form that was disturbingly elegant. Eight and a half feet, with proportions that were almost elven despite the monstrous features. Its fur was sleek and well-groomed, its movements carrying a grace that suggested nobility despite the horror of its existence. It moved like a dancer, each motion purposeful and controlled.

The final pool produced Tuk-rva—the strangest of the five.

This one stood only nine feet, smaller than its siblings, but there was something about it that suggested concentrated lethality. Its body was compact and densely muscled, and its fur seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. When it turned its head, the motion was uncanny, tracking targets with predatory precision that exceeded even the others.

All five Bloodhounds stood in a semicircle around Jorghan, waiting. Their presence was oppressive, reality seeming to bend slightly around them as if the world itself recognized they shouldn't exist.

[Bloodhound Creed: Five Units Manifested]

[Current Essence Drain: 50% of reserves]

[Estimated Combat Duration: 4 hours at current consumption rate]

[Bloodborne Rage: 87%... 92%... 96%...]

Jorghan felt the rage building, that familiar pressure behind his eyes, the sensation of power demanding release.

But this time, he didn't resist it.

This time, he reached for it deliberately, pulling it fully into manifestation.

[Bloodborne Rage: 100%]

[PRIMAL RAGE: ACTIVATED]

[TRANSFORMATION SEQUENCE: INITIATED]

The change was immediate and controlled.

His skin paled, the healthy tan fading to that characteristic light red of the activated bloodline. But unlike previous transformations, this one didn't stop at surface changes. His bones began to lengthen, muscles expanding, his entire frame growing with each heartbeat.

Six feet became six and a half.

Seven feet.

Seven-and-a-half.

Eight feet.

His tunic, designed for a normal-sized body, began to tear. The fabric split across his expanding chest and shoulders, falling away in shreds until he stood bare-chested, his pale red skin marked with patterns that seemed to shift and move—the bloodline asserting itself visibly on his body.

Eight feet, three inches.

The transformation stabilized.

Jorghan's proportions had changed as well.

Where before his enhanced size had been a larger version of his normal frame, now there was something more deliberately optimized about it. His shoulders were broader, his arms longer, and his legs built for explosive movement.

Every muscle was defined perfectly, no wasted mass, just pure functional power wrapped in pale red skin that seemed to glow faintly in the morning light.

His face had changed too—sharper, more angular, with features that were beautiful in the way that weapons were beautiful. His eyes blazed like furnaces, crimson light that cast visible shadows despite the bright sunlight. His hair had grown, falling past his shoulders in dark waves that seemed to absorb light.

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