Nolan ran his tongue over his dry lips, his expression dark as he studied the horrific wounds covering his body.
Half of the hard scales that had once encased him had been torn away by Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear, exposing raw crimson flesh beneath. Several bones were broken.
He still carried a fair number of red potions, yet at this point they were nearly useless.
The battle had been far too brutal. Every time his hand moved toward the ring that held the potions, his savage opponent would already be upon him, giving him no chance to drink.
His enhanced physique granted him rapid regeneration, steadily mending torn flesh and fractured bone. But Mohg possessed a similar power.
Worse still, the damage inflicted by Scarlet Rot was far more troublesome than he had expected. Even the formidable regenerative strength of the Aspects of the Crucible was being suppressed.
Mohg remained on high alert, his gaze locked firmly on the young Lord before him.
His sharp claws gripped the sacred spear, the symbol of the Mohgwyn Palace's supreme authority. Even with such a weapon in hand, he did not dare relax.
"I am the Blood Lord! A lord must not know cowardice!"
With a furious roar, Mohg charged straight at Nolan, spear blazing.
Nolan rushed forward as well, and the Promised Claymore drove cleanly through Mohg's heart.
Enduring the searing agony, Mohg forced his massive twin wings to beat. Carrying Nolan with him, he shot straight up into the sky.
Freezing air screamed past their ears. On the distant horizon, a graceful, mysterious arc slowly came into view, like the boundary between earth and sky.
As they rose higher, the immense canopy grew larger in their sight, vast and towering like a green fortress.
The Empyrean held the Lord tightly in his arms. His slender frame felt like forged iron, tense and unyielding, as though even the slightest slip would let harm come to the one he held.
Mohg suddenly lashed out, one claw flashing with blood-red light.
Nolan wrenched the Promised Claymore free from Mohg's heart and cleaved through the attacking arm. Yet in that same instant, the spear in Mohg's other claw thrust forward, punching through Nolan's chest.
...
Leyndell.
The battle of the Demigods had already raged for hours.
Both sides displayed extraordinary power and unbreakable resolve.
They confronted one another, testing, probing, and then striking without hesitation at the most critical moments.
The battlefield stretched from the towering outer walls all the way into the grand royal palace.
Everywhere lay shattered stone and collapsed structures. The city's former splendor had long since been reduced to ruin.
All of the strongest warriors from both factions had been committed to the front. Even the soldiers once held back as the final reserve had been thrown into the fray, locked in chaotic slaughter across the devastated grounds.
Yet no one could easily interfere in the fierce struggle between the four Demigods.
This war, which would decide the future of the Lands Between, gradually returned to its most primal and direct form.
The weak fought the weak. The strong faced the strong. Each found their rightful opponent.
Massive craters and jagged blade marks carved a path eastward, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Greatswords, long blades, and that twisted, uncanny sword collided again and again. Every violent clash sent out a surge of compressed air.
The gusts lifted dust from the shattered ground, but before it could fully rise, a powerful Gravity Sorcery forced it violently back down.
"Ha ha! Rykard, Malenia, how many years has it been since we last let loose like this?"
Radahn threw his head back and laughed. The sheer force of the Gravity Sorcery he unleashed even slowed the movements of the surrounding Crucible Knights.
His gaze swept the battlefield. As more and more champions poured in, the bold grin on his face gradually faded, replaced by a growing heaviness.
"Judging by the situation, we may have walked straight into a trap."
"If you hadn't chased so aggressively, it wouldn't have come to this. The best option now is to pull back and regroup with the main force."
The speaker was a man with pale golden hair. His expression was solemn, his tall frame straight and imposing, a gleaming Claymore resting steadily across his broad shoulders.
Few would have imagined that this usually refined and well-mannered Praetor could display such a fierce, commanding presence.
"Come on, cut your big brother a little slack, alright? Quit the lecture. I only made a move because I spotted a rare opening!"
"And when it comes to charging ahead, Malenia was faster than I was. Look at her, she's already at the front!"
Rykard shot his brother an exasperated look. Radahn's armor was in tatters, several javelins still lodged in his back, yet he somehow still had the mood to laugh.
In the brief time the brothers exchanged words, Malenia had already completed another sequence of the Waterfowl Dance Sword Style.
Her prosthetic blade swept out in relentless arcs. Each strike carried immense force and killing intent, driving the towering figure before her steadily backward.
Morgott was now down on one knee, breathing in heavy gasps.
Facing three powerful Demigods alone placed unimaginable strain on him.
He stood upon the battlefield in his true form, yet to outsiders he was still known as the Fell Omen, Margit.
Within the Royal Capital, the high lords and nobles would never trust one branded an ill omen, nor would they accept a Fell Omen as their ruler.
No matter how outstanding he was, that reality would not change. An unknown hero could lead them, but he could not.
Morgott was a name fit for a hero. He himself remained the despised Omen-born son.
"Malenia, Radahn, Rykard! You traitors. Atone for what you've done!"
Malenia felt as if she were truly going mad.
The Lands Between had already fallen into chaos. And yet at such a moment, the Golden Order Dynasty had produced a man so utterly devoted to it.
"What is the point of defending that woman's Dynasty?"
Blood ran from the corner of Malenia's mouth. She had drunk the Sacred Tear too many times. It would not take effect again anytime soon.
All she could do was seize this brief moment to steady her breathing and force her body back into fighting condition.
"What do you know?" Morgott trembled, shock flashing across his face.
It felt as though his deepest secret had been exposed, as if he had been stripped bare before her.
"Unacknowledged elder brother, she abandoned you long ago, didn't she? Why go this far for her Dynasty?"
Malenia could not understand it.
Cast aside by his own mother and thrown into the Subterranean Shunning-Grounds as a child, how could that not give rise to hatred?
Had he not suffered torment and pain? Had he never felt even a trace of resentment toward the cruelty of fate?