The sterile hum of the Supreme Laboratory couldn't hide the anxiety hanging in the air.
Rows of vials glowed faintly blue under the ultraviolet lights, each pulse synchronized like a heartbeat. The scent of metal, alcohol, and herbs clung to everything.
Est paced near the containment table, arms folded, his sharp eyes darting between the digital monitor and the antidote reactor.
"Come on, come on," he muttered, tapping the counter impatiently. "You'd think with all this god-tier tech it would mix itself faster."
Gawin leaned against the steel wall, his tone dry. "You've been saying that every five minutes for the last hour."
"Yeah, because every five minutes someone out there could be dying!" Est snapped back, voice cracking despite his sass.
Joss looked up from packing the injector kits. "You know Supreme wouldn't want you on the field, right? He sent you here for a reason. You're—"
"A human?" Est cut in, bitterness slipping into his tone. "Thanks for the reminder."
He exhaled sharply, pushing his hair back. "Look, I know I'm not like you guys. No fang, no glowing eyes, no cool ancient bloodline. But that doesn't mean I'm useless."
He walked toward the counter, picking up one of the vials that had just finished synthesizing. The blue liquid shimmered faintly with Felix's signature blend — an evolved version of the antidote, laced with fragments of light essence only Felix could craft.
"Supreme foresaw this," Est murmured. "He always does. That's why he asked Felix to enhance the formula before he even left."
Gawin exchanged a look with Joss, quiet understanding passing between them.
When the final batch was ready, Est sealed the container and strapped the crate to his chest. "That's it," he said, more to himself than anyone. "We're going back."
"Est—" Joss started, stepping forward. "You're not supposed to—"
"I don't care what I'm supposed to do!" Est turned, eyes fierce now, the exhaustion replaced by determination. "William's out there. The others are out there. I'm not staying behind while they bleed!"
Gawin sighed heavily. "You really have a death wish."
"Maybe," Est said, with a small smirk. "Or maybe I just have someone worth dying for."
The silence that followed was sharp, but telling.
Even Joss couldn't help but grin faintly.
"Fine," Joss grumbled, strapping on his twin blades. "But you stay behind us. You run when I say run."
Est gave a mock salute, though his heart pounded like thunder. "Yes, Captain Overprotective."
They moved fast — shadows in motion — leaving the cold brightness of the laboratory behind as they took the concealed transport corridor leading back to the frontlines.
The world outside was unrecognizable when they arrived.
The night was drenched in smoke and fire.
The forest burned in patches, black ash swirling under a sky that looked ready to split in half. The sound of battle — howls, roars, the hum of spells, the screech of creatures — filled every breath.
From the ridge, Est caught a glimpse of the battlefield. The Council's banners were torn and scattered. Creatures — dozens, maybe hundreds — swarmed the ground like shadows given flesh. The air crackled with the tang of burning magic.
"Holy—" Est couldn't even finish. His voice broke.
Magnus and Alexander's troops were pulling back toward the shimmering veil of the inner ward. William stood at the center line, his sword coated in the black blood of creatures, his once-crimson cloak now torn to ribbons.
Even from afar, Est could feel it — that pulse, that familiar gravity that only William's power carried.
And beneath it, a whisper of something personal.
He's still fighting. He's still alive.
Est pressed the crate closer to his chest. "We need to get to him."
Before they could move, the ground trembled — a low, resonant rumble that stilled even the screams.
Every creature paused. Every wolf, every soldier froze mid-strike.
Then — light.
White, blinding, absolute.
The temperature dropped. The sound of the battlefield dimmed to a hollow echo.
And there — at the heart of the chaos — he appeared.
Nani.
Materializing from light and shadow, his silhouette tore through the smoke like a blade.
Half of his body still bore faint traces of the burn from Sky's power, yet his presence was utterly unbroken — regal, terrifying, divine.
His long coat whipped in the unnatural wind, his eyes fixed forward — silver laced with ancient fury. Around him, the air shimmered, each particle vibrating like it was alive, responding to his aura.
Even the creatures hesitated. Their bodies trembled as if something older, far greater than them, had just stepped into the field.
William felt the pressure of it and turned.
The faintest relief flickered in his exhausted eyes.
He came.
And across the bloodstained clearing —
Dew stood waiting.
The black mist parted for him, forming a corridor between the two beings.
Two powers born of the same origin, now standing on opposite sides of destiny.
The battlefield, for a breath, fell silent.
Every side — wolf, vampire, witch, creature — could feel it:
The world itself was holding its breath.
As Nani's voice broke through the smoke, low and calm, carrying across the distance —
"Enough, Dew."
The words weren't loud. But they carried through every soul like thunder.
Dew smiled — slow, deliberate. "You finally came out, my prince."
Nani's eyes burned faintly with silver light. "You've taken this too far."
"And you," Dew whispered, his voice soft and almost tender, "still haven't taken me seriously."
The ground between them began to crack.
Light and darkness spiraled in opposite directions.
The world prepared to shatter — again.
---
The battlefield was no longer a place — it was carnage shaped into a landscape.
Fire. Smoke. Blood.
Every sound was either a scream or the echo of something dying.
Nani stood at the heart of it all, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage with a silence that could hollow a man's soul.
Bodies — vampire, wolf, witch, creature — scattered among the charred soil. The air thick with ash and the metallic tang of blood.
William, still standing though his arm bled freely, turned toward him.
"Supreme—"
Nani lifted one hand, stopping him. His eyes — twin shards of silver flame — burned with quiet resolve.
"Fall back," he said, voice calm but carrying across the chaos like a command from the heavens.
"Get everyone inside the inner ward."
Magnus bristled, jaw tight. "We can still fight—"
"Recuperate," Nani cut in, his tone soft but absolute. "Recover your men."
The weight in his voice left no room for argument.
Even the wind seemed to obey.
Alexander clenched his fists, frustration flashing in his eyes, but one look at Nani — at the faint golden veins pulsing beneath his burned skin — silenced him.
Whatever Nani was about to do... it was something beyond their reach.
William hesitated only a breath longer, then gave a sharp nod to his lieutenants.
"Fall back!" he ordered. "Everyone inside, now!"
The soldiers and wolves, battered but alive, began retreating toward the shimmering veil of the ward.
As they crossed it, Nani turned his gaze downward — to his own hand.
He slowly raised it to his mouth.
And bit.
A single drop of crimson fell to the scorched ground.
The earth shuddered.
The blood hissed upon contact, and the air bent around it, reality itself rippling like heat over glass.
Then, in a voice that seemed to come from the very marrow of the world, Nani began to chant — low, ancient, and fluid.
The words weren't of any mortal tongue — older than vampire, older than moonfire — a dialect of the First Bloodline, passed through centuries of power and isolation.
The ground split open in jagged cracks, glowing with blinding red light.
Symbols — intricate, shifting, alive — crawled outward from his feet, expanding in a perfect circle, swallowing the entire battlefield.
The sky darkened.
Wind howled.
Lightning forked through clouds that weren't even there.
The energy tore through the soil, the forest, the ruins — carving sigils into everything it touched.
And then — it stopped.
Silence.
The light pulsed once — and erupted upward.
A towering dome of scarlet and silver flame encased the inner ward, rising high into the heavens.
The barrier sang — a low, resonant hum that vibrated through bone and blood alike.
Every creature that came close disintegrated into ash the moment they touched it.
Witches' spells fizzled to dust before reaching its surface.
Even the air beyond the barrier seemed thinner, weaker, as though life itself refused to stand against it.
William stared in awe.
Magnus and Alexander froze, watching the impossible unfold before them.
"This..." Alexander whispered, his voice trembling. "This is... the Blood Ward."
Magnus nodded slowly, disbelief painted on his face. "Only the First Blood can conjure that kind of seal."
William's jaw clenched. "The Supreme."
Inside the ward, the soldiers and wolves caught their breath, the weight of survival settling in.
Outside it — only one man remained.
Nani.
Standing alone, between worlds — facing Dew and his army of creatures that seethed and shifted in the smoke.
The glow of the Blood Ward burned in the reflection of his eyes.
He looked almost serene, the faintest breeze moving through his silver-streaked hair.
Behind him, William shouted through the ward, voice muffled by the magical barrier.
"Supreme! Let us stand with you!"
Nani didn't turn.
He just raised his hand slightly, the faintest smile curving his lips.
"Your duty," he said softly, though somehow his voice reached them clear as crystal, "is to survive."
Then, after a pause — "Leave the rest to me."
And before anyone could respond, his gaze shifted — not to his generals, not to the council's trembling forces —
but to a shadow on the far ridge.
A small human figure, standing beside two vampires.
Nani's tone changed — almost fond.
"Est."
The boy froze, wide-eyed. "H-how—"
"Distribute the antidote," Nani said, his voice cutting through distance and wards as though they were nothing. "You have what Felix made."
Joss blinked in disbelief, glancing at Gawin. "He knows we're here?"
Est's heart pounded. "What—how—"
Nani's eyes softened for just a heartbeat. "And hurry."
Then his attention returned to Dew.
All traces of warmth vanished.
He stepped forward, the blood at his feet burning brighter, like the earth itself bowed to him.
His power gathered — a crimson storm coiling behind his calm gaze.
Across the field, Dew smiled — wide and delighted.
"Finally," he whispered. "The prince of the First Blood decides to stop hiding."
The battlefield had gone still.
Even the wind dared not move.
Only the hum of the Blood Ward filled the air, a low, unending vibration that felt like the heartbeat of the world itself.
Nani stood just outside the barrier, the silver light of his ward painting his burned skin in spectral hues.
Across the field, Dew smiled — confident, sharp, too certain of the victory he had crafted from lies.
"You think a wall of blood can stop me?" Dew's voice slithered through the still air. "You've forgotten what darkness can do when love burns it open."
Nani didn't answer.
He simply looked at Dew — not with hatred, but with something older.
Pity.
Then he spoke, softly.
"You shouldn't have woken me."
The ground split beneath his feet.
A pulse of power rippled outward, unseen yet undeniable — a wave that sent the air warping and the creatures trembling in sudden, instinctive fear.
Every beast that had once lunged forward now whimpered, claws digging into the dirt as if to anchor themselves to the world that was beginning to reject them.
The red glow beneath Nani's feet brightened — not just red anymore, but a deep, pulsing crimson threaded with gold.
His blood — the blood of First Creation — answered his call.
Then his body began to change.
It started with his hair, strands lifting in the wind that came from nowhere.
The silver bled away, strand by strand, until the color deepened — a river of crimson cascading down his back.
Longer, wilder, alive.
Every strand shimmered with molten light, like threads spun from flame itself.
The markings on his burned skin flared — sigils that none had seen in centuries, ancient runes older than language itself.
They crawled across his throat, his chest, his arms — glowing with a haunting gold that bled into his eyes.
His clothes — the black fabric of the Supreme's ceremonial uniform — began to burn away, replaced by a flickering armor of light and shadow.
Every step he took, the ground sizzled beneath him, the earth blooming red and gold.
And from his back, the air cracked —
energy spiraling out, forming phantom wings of flame, vast and weightless.
The feathers shimmered between light and ash, never fully there, never fully gone.
Around him, the Blood Ward trembled — not in weakness, but in recognition.
The barrier shifted hue, from crimson to a molten scarlet threaded with veins of lunar silver.
The mark of the Blood Star and the Moonfire, united.
Whispers rose through the ranks of soldiers behind the ward.
Magnus froze. "By the gods..."
Alexander's voice was a whisper. "He's—he's not just Supreme."
William fell to one knee, head bowed. "He's Kieran."
The name spread like wildfire through the whispers of every surviving being on the field.
Kieran.
The God of War.
The Cursed Prince.
The one whose wrath burned the moon itself.
And outside the ward —
Kieran finally raised his head, looking down at his own hand as golden sigils spiraled across his wrist and palm, each line burning brighter with each heartbeat.
His voice, when it came, wasn't entirely human anymore.
It was layered — one voice upon another, echoing through time and power.
"I was born of the First Blood," he said quietly. "I carried the curse of creation itself. You wanted war, Dew."
He lifted his gaze, crimson eyes blazing.
"Now you'll have it."
The creatures howled.
Not out of rage — but terror.
The earth shuddered again, louder this time, as if bowing beneath the return of something divine.
Kieran stepped forward.
The air bent around him — light distorting, sound muffling, existence itself shifting to make room for him.
Each step he took turned the ground molten.
Each breath drew sparks from the air.
He lifted one hand, palm open — and the sigil of the Blood Star ignited in the sky above, swirling with the pale reflection of the Moonfire.
For a moment, both lights existed together — the very union that once doomed the world.
And then his power roared to life.
The first wave of creatures lunged — and evaporated midair, turned to ash before they ever reached him.
Their screams echoed like glass shattering.
From within the ward, soldiers shielded their eyes.
It was too bright. Too holy. Too wrong.
The beauty of it made their hearts ache, the terror of it froze their bones.
The Supreme was gone.
Only Kieran remained —
and the war god had awakened.
Across the ruined field, Dew's confident smirk faltered — just a flicker, but it was there.
For the first time, his composure cracked.
Kieran's voice came again, low and almost tender, the calm before the final storm.
"You wanted to awaken Mara," he said softly. "But the god of war was bound to rise first."
He extended his hand.
And the world moved.
The ground buckled, the sky bled light, and every creature between them howled as their bodies twisted and burned in the halo of his wrath.
The sigils on his skin pulsed faster, alive — each heartbeat a drum of divine vengeance.
And through it all, Kieran stood perfectly still, eyes never leaving Dew.
The god of war had returned.
And the world remembered why it once feared his name.