-The NARRATOR'S POV-
Here we go!
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In the heart of a frozen wasteland, where the skies were a bruised grey and the snow was no longer white but stained with war, a battlefield lay in eerie silence. Blood pooled and steamed on the cold, cracked ground—its crimson hue stark against the frostbitten landscape. The wind howled like a mourning widow, dragging across the lifeless bodies strewn across the ice. Shattered bones jutted out from twisted limbs, torn cloaks fluttered over broken forms, and the once-proud sigils of Chirosan vampire elites were now half-buried beneath the weight of defeat.
Fifty had stood at the beginning. Warriors of the Crimson Fangs, an elite cadre of vampire enforcers bred and trained for nothing but carnage. Their presence alone struck fear into rebellion and silenced the whispers of betrayal. They had been summoned not for war—but for execution. One target. One anomaly.
Now, only a handful remained, and even they wavered. They regretted.
Their breaths came out in white puffs, though not from exhaustion alone, but unease. They circled the figure at the centre—one drenched in blood, with gashes running deep across his torso, his cloak in tatters, and one eye shadowed by a curtain of dark, matted hair. He didn't move at first. He stood there, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. The wind did not touch him. The cold bent around his presence as if reality itself refused to disturb him.
"Agnirasva..." one of the vampires whispered, not in reverence but in horror.
They had thought this would be a cleansing. A rightful purge of an unwanted half-blood, born from an unsanctioned union. A disgrace to the purity of vampiric nobility. But now, the snow bore witness to the opposite—an ascension through blood.
One of them moved. Desperation overcame fear.
The vampire lunged, blood-imbued claws elongating into cruel blades. His body shimmered with Blood Phase—the vampiric state of heightened strength and speed.
Crimson veins lit up under his skin, surging with the alchemical might of their kind. But as he neared his target, the figure's head slowly lifted.
Golden eyes.
Not red. Not black. But molten gold—burning with eerie stillness.
In a blink, the vampire was gone. His body split into five ragged parts, collapsing midair before they even hit the ground.
The others flinched. One stumbled back. Two leapt forward in vengeance.
The second wave was more coordinated. One invoked Blood Mirage, creating multiple illusions that swirled around the battlefield, each echoing with snarls and slashing blades. The other summoned Crimson Chains—tendrils of blood whipped toward the centre, aiming to bind the half-blood and strip him of mobility. Behind them, another vampire crouched low, charging Vermilion Impact, an explosive technique meant to obliterate the ground beneath the enemy and bury him in an avalanche of frozen terrain.
It was textbook coordination. Ruthless, precise.
But Agnirasva was not textbook.
He vanished from the spot like a shadow breaking under a lantern's glow.
One of the illusions shimmered and burst. The vampire hidden behind it screamed—not from pain, but from realization—as Agnirasva materialized behind him, arm phasing through the vampire's chest. He wasn't just striking vital points—he was erasing them from existence. His hand glowed green with Vitalis Control, the forbidden power to manipulate the life essence of his opponent. The vampire turned to dust before he could utter another word.
The Crimson Chains never reached their mark. They twisted in the air, suddenly snapping back toward their summoner. The conjurer's eyes widened as the chains impaled him instead, driven by an unseen force—Agnirasva's aura, Phantom Stealth, was no longer just for hiding. It bent the battlefield around him.
As Vermilion Impact ignited the ice and snow in a blast of red, Agnirasva calmly walked out of the explosion, untouched. His boots didn't even crack the frost.
From the shadows, one of the last vampires called upon Blood Howl, a primal scream that incited frenzy and accelerated all blood-based powers in range. It amplified his allies—those who remained—and granted him a brief window of invulnerability.
Agnirasva stopped, letting the scream wash over him.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't wide. It wasn't cruel.
It was... tired.
But within that tiredness was power.
A power unbound.
He raised a hand, and the air shimmered around him. Space cracked like glass, and out stepped the silhouette of a beast—a phantom formed from void and vines, its eyes glowing with ancient runes. Mrityunjaya, his Soul Being, the Soul of Verdant Midnight. The embodiment of the forest's silence and death's finality.
The creature's presence silenced the Blood Howl.
Agnirasva moved again. Only now, it wasn't just speed—it was Null Existence. His steps no longer had weight. His figure no longer had resistance. The remaining vampires saw his approach but couldn't sense it. Their bodies wouldn't react. Their instincts betrayed them.
They tried to block. To parry. To escape.
But Undetectable Presence ensured they saw death too late.
One by one, they fell. Heads severed before their thoughts could register. Hearts ripped before their fangs could bite. Bodies collapsed before their powers could flare.
The snow turned black with ichor. The winds grew quiet.
And finally, only one figure stood amidst the carnage.
Agnirasva Vaystriel.
His shoulders slumped slightly—not from weakness but from the exhaustion of holding back so much of himself. His cloak was gone, and his shirt hung in ribbons, revealing the intricate markings of the Soul Pact etched across his skin—vines and daggers intertwined in divine, glowing patterns.
His eyes dimmed from gold to dull amber. His breathing slowed.
In the distance, bells rang from a fortress tower. Chirosa's horn of finality.
Reinforcements would come. They would see what had happened here.
But no one would understand.
They would call it a massacre.
They would call it rebellion.
They would call it divine punishment.
But none of them would call it what it indeed was.
The awakening of something ancient.
Something unkillable.
The Silent Anomaly... had survived again.
-To Be Continued-
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See you in the Comments.
-P.S. CONSTRUCTIVE ADVICE WOULD BE APPRECIATED. REFRAIN FROM SPREADING HATE.-