Another three fell in quick succession—one from a blood tendril that wrapped around its throat and squeezed until the reinforced spine gave way, another from a sand manipulation that opened the ground beneath it and then closed it again with the Haelve trapped inside, and the third from Jorghan simply running it down and delivering a strike to its chest that pulped everything behind the ribcage.

[Blood Absorption: 21 Units]

The remaining Haelves—only ten now—were breaking. Not running, because their programming wouldn't allow that, but their attacks had become frantic and desperate, the perfect coordination completely gone. They threw themselves at him with the fury of cornered animals, knowing they were going to die but determined to at least damage him before the end.

Jorghan waded through them like they were children.

His body was absorbing blood continuously now, essence flowing into him from every corpse scattered across the battlefield. It enhanced him beyond what his transformation had already achieved, pushing his capabilities past theoretical limits into territory that should have been impossible.

He felt invincible.

He felt unstoppable.

He felt like what he was—the culmination of a bloodline that had once brought kingdoms to their knees.

But he wasn't finished.

Ten Haelves remained, clustered together now in a final desperate defensive formation. They were injured, exhausted, running on nothing but programming and the blind determination that came from being weapons rather than living beings.

Jorghan stopped thirty feet away, his chest heaving with exertion, his body steaming in the desert heat as blood essence radiated from his skin. He raised his hands slowly, deliberately, making sure they could see what he was doing.

Making sure they understood what was coming.

-

Jorghan reached deep into his sorcerous abilities, not blood magic this time, but pure elemental manipulation that he had mastered through the years.

Fire magic, refined and concentrated, pushed beyond normal applications into something far more destructive.

Between his raised palms, reality began to shimmer.

Heat built, visible as distortions in the air, as the temperature climbed beyond what should have been survivable. But Jorghan's enhanced physiology simply adapted, skin that should have burned remaining intact, hands that should have been consumed continuing to hold steady.

The heat intensified.

And between his palms, molten lava began to form.

Not conjured from nothing—that would have been impossible even for him.

Instead, he was transforming the very substance of the air, compressing and transmuting it through alchemical processes that combined elemental sorcery with bloodline power, creating matter that glowed white-hot and dripped with malevolent potential.

One sphere of molten lava formed, hovering between his hands, roughly the size of a human head.

Then another beside it.

And another.

He created ten in total, each one a miniature sun, each one containing enough thermal energy to melt stone and vaporize flesh. They floated in a line before him, held stable by his will alone, heat radiating from them in waves that made the air scream.

The process took time—perhaps two full minutes while the surviving Haelves watched in growing horror, their enhanced minds finally recognizing that they faced something beyond their capacity to fight, beyond their programming's ability to counter.

Some of them tried to run.

Jorghan completed the tenth sphere and smiled—an expression that carried no humanity, no mercy, just cold satisfaction at a job about to be finished.

"You should have run when I gave you the chance," he said quietly.

Then he pushed.

All ten spheres launched forward simultaneously, streaking across the thirty-foot gap faster than the eye could track. The Haelves scattered in every direction, their superior speed finally allowing them to—

The first sphere struck the ground where they'd been clustered.

The explosion was cataclysmic.

Molten material detonated with force that exceeded any conventional explosive, releasing thermal energy all at once, turning sand to glass and glass to vapor. The blast wave expanded outward in a perfect sphere, consuming everything within fifty feet.

The second sphere hit.

Then the third.

Fourth.

Fifth.

Ten explosions in rapid succession, each one creating a crater, each one releasing enough heat to briefly create a miniature inferno. They overlapped, the blast waves reinforcing each other, creating a sustained detonation that lasted not seconds but minutes.

The ground shook.

Not trembled—shook, as if the earth itself was trying to escape the violence being visited upon its surface. Fissures opened, sand liquefied from the heat, and the air filled with smoke and vapor and the screams of dying Haelves who'd been caught in the overlapping blasts.

The vibrations continued long after the visible explosions faded, rippling outward through the desert, felt for miles in every direction.

When the smoke finally cleared, there was nothing left but glass and ash and silence.

All forty Haelves—dead.

-

Settlement Observation Point

Every elf stood frozen, unable to process what they'd just witnessed.

"By all the ancestors," Thel'endra whispered, her voice shaking for the first time anyone could remember.

"That wasn't a battle. That was annihilation."

Sarhita had tears running down her face, though whether from relief or terror or awe, she couldn't have said.

"He did it. Against forty Haelves. He actually did it."

"He's still standing," Ka'ltun said, his voice carrying reverent disbelief.

"After all that—he's still standing."

Korreth's expression had transformed completely. The stern patriarch who'd dismissed Jorghan as an arrogant outsider was gone, replaced by someone who'd just witnessed divinity made flesh.

"I was blind. We were all blind."

"The Ma'ulankr will support him," Thel'endra said suddenly, decisively.

"The First Clan stands with the Berserk Monarch's heir."

Sigora was smiling through her own tears. "That's my son. That's my boy."

On the battlefield, visible even from this distance, Jorghan stood in the center of the devastation, his form silhouetted against the glass and smoke, looking like some ancient god of war surveying the ruin of his enemies.

And he wasn't done.

Gorva's roar echoed across the desert—the Bloodhound engaging the human army, keeping them from advancing while its master eliminated the primary threat.

-

Imperial Command Post

Caden stared at the tactical display with an expression of absolute shock.

All forty Haelve signals—every single one—had gone dark.

"That's... that's not possible," he said numbly.

"Forty enhanced units. Gone."

Constance's face was carved from ice, but her eyes blazed with fury that had nothing to do with tactical considerations and everything to do with personal hatred.

"Forty million credits of genetic research and enhancement, gone. All of it—because of him."

They stood silent for a moment, watching the distant figure on the battlefield, the crimson-painted warrior who'd just proven himself beyond anything their intelligence had suggested.

She turned to face her brother fully, and in her eyes was a promise of violence that matched anything Jorghan had displayed.

"We deal with him directly. No more Haelves, no more artillery, no more half-measures. We go down there, and we kill him ourselves."

"He just destroyed forty Haelves," Caden pointed out.

"He's more dangerous than any threat assessment suggested."

"So are we," Constance replied.

"Father was a soldier. Competent, experienced, but baseline human in an enhanced suit. We're different. We're what the Empire created specifically to counter threats like him."

"It was what we have been waiting for, little brother."

She drew her sword—a blade that hummed with contained power, technology, and magic woven together into something that existed at the cutting edge of Imperial innovation.

"Besides, he's exhausted. Look at him—he's still standing, but he's burned through massive amounts of essence. His reserves have to be depleted. This is when he's vulnerable."

Caden considered, then nodded slowly.

"We do it together. Coordinate our attacks, and use our enhancements properly. Don't underestimate him like the Haelves did."

"Agreed."

Constance's smile was cold and cruel.

"Let's show this Solvur's heir what happens when you kill Imperial family."

They began walking down from the command ridge, toward the battlefield, toward the crimson figure who stood waiting in the center of his self-made killing field.

Behind them, the human army held position, awaiting orders, but with growing uncertainty. Their Haelve support was gone. Their commanders were descending to engage in personal combat. And that figure down there—that blood-drenched warrior—had just proven himself capable of horrors beyond anything they'd been trained to face.

Some of the soldiers were beginning to question whether any amount of pay was worth this mission.

On the battlefield, Jorghan sensed the approaching enhanced humans, his bloodline screaming warnings about threats that exceeded normal parameters.

He smiled, showing teeth painted red with Haelve blood.

Finally.

The real fight could begin.

He absorbed blood essence continuously as the hounds were killing the human soldiers who were moving towards the settlement from the other sides. They were relentless and ruthless, too.

Four of the bloodhounds, massive in size, moved with swiftness. It was like they were hungry for blood as they killed and drank the blood of those whom they had killed. Just their presence made the soldiers shiver, and the amount of pressure they were emitting on the battlefield was equal to a general.

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