Derek darted forward again, light trailing him like a storm given flesh.

Vel'taroth's singular eye narrowed, the swirling ichor within it pulsing like a heart buried too deep to die. The chamber dimmed around him, as if light itself recoiled. "You force my hand," he intoned, voice smooth and empty, like clean silk drawn over a corpse's face. "Then let the Lord's blessing flow."

His arms rose skyward—unhurried, ceremonial. A sound followed, brittle and grotesque, like ancient bones cracking under divine strain. His body convulsed once, spine snapping into unnatural alignment. Then it began.

From beneath his stitched robe burst veins the color of scorched ink, growing like vines possessed. They wove into a cocoon of twitching threads, slithering over his body with the reverence of worshippers dressing a corpse. Runes on his flesh ignited, one by one, in searing red fire—sigils that bled mana like open wounds, each flare a scripture of madness and obedience.

" This is the blessing of the Lord ", Vel'tharoth's voice rang from the cocoon.

The cocoon cracked apart, not with a bang, but a hush—like the silence before a sacrificial scream.

What emerged was no longer the Vel'taroth they had faced—it was something exalted. Monstrously so. His frame had swelled with divine muscle; his robes now pulsed like a living organ, stitched sinew trembling with every breath. His claws had lengthened into curved sickles, glinting with slick blood that refused to clot. Behind him, two vast wings of coalesced gore hung motionless in the air, dripping soundlessly, like the hands of a clean executioner, blood falling only when the job was already done.

The pressure hit next. It wasn't wind—it was weight, as though existence itself had thickened around him. The chamber groaned underfoot; cracks spidered through the floor, crawling like frightened insects. Glyphs dimmed. The air stilled.

Derek didn't blink. He gritted his teeth, visor fractured, heart steady. "So this is your true form…"

He didn't finish the sentence. Vel'taroth was already there.

The claw struck his chestplate like a meteor, launching Derek backwards through a blood-veined pillar. Stone exploded in a fountain of crimson dust, the shockwave shaking dust loose from the vaulted ceiling. Debris fell like dry rain.

Yvalna cried out, her glyphs flaring into brilliant spirals of azure and emerald.

But she was already a heartbeat too late.

Vel'taroth's second claw was a streak of red light—elegant and cruel.

A bolt of blood magic pierced her chestplate and detonated, folding her body into the far wall like a discarded prayer scroll. Her glyphs flickered—then died, one by one, like stars being smothered.

"Yvalna!!" Derek's voice cracked the silence, hoarse and furious.

She slumped to the stone floor, unconscious. Still breathing. Barely.

Vel'taroth took a step forward, calm as ever. The light clung to him like it feared to move. "And now, the support dies first."

Derek answered with silence.

Only the faint creak of armor under strain.

Derek rose.

One knee. Then both feet. His helmet hung half-broken, a split from chin to cheek, exposing blood-smeared skin. One of his blades sparked erratically in his gauntlet, whining with residual charge. His stance was wrong. And then—right. Balanced. Fluid.

"…Not today."

He lifted a single hand. Blood dripped from his fingertips in slow, perfect arcs, spattering like ink across the ruined floor.

"Bloodburst," Derek muttered, his voice chilly.

A soft chime, like wind chimes over a grave rang in his mind..

[Bloodburst – Suppressed Mode: Activated]

[Warning: Host vitality consumption increased by 120%]

[All Attributes – Temporary Boost: +95%]

The air ripped.

Red lightning bloomed from Derek like a rebirth, arcs dancing along the edges of his armor and sinking into the ground. The energy didn't crackle—it sang, a high-pitched chorus of flying lights and humming resonance. His eyes burned crimson-blue, glowing brighter as if lit from inside by a second soul. Veins danced beneath his skin like living tattoos, glowing faintly with bloodlust and fury.

His breathing slowed. Shoulders rolled. A storm took human form.

Vel'taroth's smile faltered for the first time. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Derek said, spinning both twin blades once. Lightning jumped from their edges to the ground. "You're not the only one with blessings."

He took a step forward, and the ground trembled in his wake.

Meanwhile, near the sheltered zones, a different battle was going on.

Gunfire roared like rolling thunder, drowning out the panicked screams and beastly shrieks beyond the walls. The air above the half-constructed perimeter shimmered with heat as beam turrets fired in rhythmic pulses—each blast punching holes into the horde like a divine hammer. The top of the wall—only partially reinforced with steel lattice and exposed concrete—shook with every impact.

Andrew stood amid it all, commlink sparking, voice hoarse from barking orders.

"Hold the line! I said hold it, damn it—left flank, on me! Evelyn, redirect your shield vectors—south sector's leaking!"

Below them, in the bloody plains and rubble-strewn approach to the shelter zones, the beast horde surged—a stampede of grotesque forms: mutated hounds with ironbones, spider-things with blade-limbs, and aberrant flyers that darted between beams like vultures on meth. The First Squad, was buckling beneath the sheer volume. Flesh tore, concrete cracked, and plasma flared—and still, the enemy came.

But they hadn't broken.

Not yet.

Andrew wiped grime and blood from his visor with a trembling hand, inhaling through clenched teeth. Every other second, one of the four high-energy beam turrets hissed and released a screaming bolt of compressed mana, vaporizing clusters of beasts in a flash of white-hot light. That's what was keeping them alive—that, and the relentless work of the Genesis Squad.

Evelyn floated above the northern breach, her hands encased in telekinetic light, flinging collapsed wall segments and beast corpses like toys, forming impromptu barriers. Felix, a blur of motion, danced between the gaps, cutting down infiltrators with twin glaives—each strike followed by a trail of flickering afterimages.

Still, it wasn't enough. The casualties had been minimized—not avoided.

Andrew's boots sank deeper into blood-soaked earth, nerves wired tight.

"This isn't sustainable…" he muttered, watching a turret's barrel hiss and jam. "We can't keep this up. When the hell is—"

Then it happened.

The tide shifted.

As if pulled by an invisible string, the beast horde faltered, hesitated, and then turned.

Not chaotically, nor in panic.

But in unison. In obedience. The Apostle was calling them back through the Blood seed.

Dozens, then hundreds of monsters began to withdraw, bounding away from the wall as if summoned by something deeper than fear. The field was silent save for the sizzling carcasses left behind and the laboured breathing of those who'd survived.

"What…?" Andrew blinked.

One of the Genesis called it out. "They're retreating!"

" The plan is still in motion " Andrew said with a sigh, and then smiled. He could feel victory was at hand.

From high atop the unfinished battlement, Andrew could see the direction the beasts were retreating—southward, toward Vel'taroth's known position.

But they wouldn't get there quickly.

"All units!" Andrew's voice snapped like a whip across the comms, full of sudden fire. "Maintain formation and pursue cautiously! Keep firing! We're not letting them regroup!"

He leapt down from the wall, landing beside a mobile turret platform. "We stay at range—target the stragglers! Coordinate with Second Squad and begin pressure from the rear! If Derek's pulling them in, then we're the hammer!"

"Understood!"

The Genesis Squad surged forward, vaulting from the wall with frightening agility. The remaining beam turrets recalibrated with fresh mana cells, swivelling in smooth arcs to track the retreat. Pulse rounds filled the air once again, this time chasing the monsters instead of defending against them.

Andrew exhaled, finally allowing himself a ghost of a smirk.

"Let's close this trap, Derek… and give the bastards the end they deserve."

The sky above the shelters began to clear—only slightly—as the wall held strong behind them.

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