33. Blood Bath
Marcelline finally returned to her lavish, enormous bedroom. The night was silent, the moonlight reflecting off the gilded walls.
She lay down on her bed, still carrying the chaos, laughter, and warmth of the day in her chest… but exhaustion quickly took over.
Her eyes closed.
And then… darkness swallowed her.
---
The Glitching Dream Begins --
The air twisted.
The room melted around her.
Her body felt weightless—then she was somewhere else.
A battlefield stretched endlessly before her.
Blood.
Red, thick, clinging, steaming, coating everything.
The ground was slick. Every step she took sank slightly into pools of red.
The smell of iron and burnt flesh filled the air.
Screams—piercing, ragged, horrifying—ripped across the sky.
Cries of pain and terror echoed endlessly.
Limbs were scattered. Heads rolled. Limbs flailed. Eyes wide in silent terror.
Marcelline's chest tightened.
Every heartbeat felt like a hammer.
Every breath she drew was shallow, ragged, poisoned by the smell of death.
---
Her Own Reflection in Horror
She looked down at herself.
And froze.
She was clad in armor she had never seen before—dark, jagged, gleaming with a crimson sheen.
The metal seemed alive, pulsating softly, as if fed by the battle's agony.
In her hands… a sword.
A massive blade, wider than any she had ever wielded, dripping with blackened blood that seemed to move of its own accord.
She had never held it, never even seen it… yet it fit perfectly, as if it had been waiting for her for centuries.
---
The Battlefield — Chaos Beyond Comprehension --
All around her, countless creatures clashed.
Beasts with fangs like daggers, eyes burning like fire.
Demons, hulking, twisted, some with dozens of limbs, ripping through anyone in reach.
Angels, wings torn, screaming, brandishing flaming spears and blades of light.
Fairies, glowing, sharp, slicing through skulls like they were paper.
The sky above was blackened with ash and smoke.
Lightning crackled across the heavens, illuminating mutilated corpses, screaming faces, and rivers of blood running like molten lava.
Every strike was final. Every scream was etched into her mind.
Bodies were shredded, limbs severed midair, heads crushed, blood spraying in grotesque arcs.
The sound of agony was relentless—a symphony of despair, pain, and raw death.
---
Her Fear Intensifies --
Marcelline stumbled backward.
The sword in her hand felt heavier with each step, almost pulling her toward the slaughter.
Her breathing was shallow.
Panic clawed at her chest.
Every nerve screamed.
Around her, the battlefield continued, unending, infinite…
Her eyes caught a horrifying detail: she could see herself in the midst of the carnage, swinging that enormous sword, slicing through friend and foe alike.
Her reflection in a shattered shield showed her own face twisted, eyes glowing crimson, mouth bloodied, expression unrecognizable.
And she realized…
She was not just a witness to this horror.
She was the storm itself.
---
The Death God Symphony --
Screams, crunching bones, metallic screams of clashing blades, and the burning howls of demons filled the air.
Beasts tore through each other like predators of old, their bodies melting into pools of gore.
Angels, once radiant, now fallen, were slashed mid-flight, wings torn, feathers stained crimson, collapsing into piles of blood-soaked earth.
Fairies danced through the slaughter, slicing endlessly, their laughter mingling with the cries of pain, creating a horrifying lullaby of death.
Marcelline's heart raced.
Her chest heaved.
Her hands shook around the sword.
She had never felt such fear.
Never felt such terror.
Yet, a dark thrill burned in her veins—the same blood coursing through the battlefield seemed to pulse with her heartbeat, calling her, urging her to fight… to dominate.
---
The Sky Cries Blood --
The clouds above were torn into strips of smoke and fire.
Lightning struck, illuminating horrific silhouettes: monstrous forms larger than castles, screaming, slashing, ripping the earth apart.
Blood rained from the sky in thick droplets, sizzling as it hit the battlefield.
Every second, the scene grew more grotesque.
More endless.
More hopeless.
Yet… in the center of this chaos, Marcelline stood alone, the massive sword in her hand, eyes wide, heartbeat racing, yet unyielding…
Even as her chest tightened, breath faltered, and terror gripped her…
She was ready to face it.
Because somehow, deep down, she knew: she had survived this before. And she would survive it again.
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