Elliren straightened.
The moment stretched no longer than a breath—then discipline snapped back into place.
"Enough staring," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the rain and the lingering heat. "If you're still standing, you're working."
He turned, eyes sweeping the shattered courtyard, locking onto the survivors with practiced authority.
"Form triage lines. Anyone who can walk—move the wounded out of the kill zone. Now."
"Priests," he added, already pointing, "you're on stabilization. Don't waste mana on miracles yet. Stop the bleeding. Keep them breathing."
Men and women snapped into motion at once.
Armor scraped against stone.
Orders echoed.
Holy light flickered—not in wrath this time, but in **desperate preservation**.
Elliren paced, sword still in hand, rain sliding off the blade as he continued issuing commands.
"Carvon—secure the perimeter. I don't care if you think it's dead. Nothing gets close to that crater without my say."
"Lucan," he added, glancing back, his voice lowering just a fraction, "catch your breath. You're still needed."
Lucan nodded once, forcing himself upright despite the exhaustion dragging at his limbs.
Elliren's gaze hardened as he looked past the ruined courtyard and into the forest beyond—toward the darkness that still pressed in from all sides.
"We move in five," he said coldly.
"Reform. Re-arm. Re-focus."
His grip tightened on his sword.
"The battle isn't over yet."
And in the rain-soaked silence that followed, everyone there understood exactly what he meant.
The crack was soft.
Almost lost beneath the rain.
Almost.
A faint **tick—tick—CRACK** echoed from the crater.
Elliren's head snapped around first.
Then—
The **white-gold fissures flared**.
Light surged violently through the burnt remnant as the cracks spread at an impossible speed, splintering outward like lightning trapped beneath bark. The charred surface bulged, warped—
—and then **split open**.
Bone pushed through.
Not clean.
Not whole.
Jagged ribs forced their way out—half-charred, half-regenerated—still glowing where holy fire clung to them. Flesh followed, raw and wet, knitting itself together in frantic, desperate pulses as blood boiled and reformed at the same time.
The rain screamed as it struck the glowing body.
Steam exploded upward.
Mana surged.
A pressure wave slammed outward, throwing nearby knights off their feet as the crater **ruptured**, stone shattering anew.
Carvon's eyes went wide.
"What the—!?"
He didn't finish.
He **roared** instead.
> "IT'S REFORMING—!"
The thing in the crater convulsed, its spine snapping straight with a wet, violent sound as muscles wrapped around bone in seconds. A horn forced its way out of a half-formed skull, cracking as it grew, still glowing white-gold where Lucan's fire had branded it.
Aldric's chest sealed last.
The hole Lucan had pierced burned brightest—holy fire fighting regeneration, sparks of white and crimson tearing at each other as flesh **forced itself closed anyway**.
The eyes opened.
Not laughing.
Not calm.
**Furious.**
> "…You really," Aldric rasped, his voice distorted, layered, burning,
> "*don't know when to stay dead.*"
Lucan staggered forward a step, disbelief flashing across his face.
"…No," he muttered. "That should've—"
Elliren was already shouting.
"ALL UNITS—FALL BACK! FORM UP, NOW!"
Aldric dragged himself fully upright, blood still dripping, his body incomplete in places—yet *moving*. Holy fire continued to eat at him from within, smoke pouring from his mouth with every breath.
He looked down at himself.
At the glowing cracks.
At the damage.
Then he smiled.
It was wrong.
Too tight.
Too sharp.
> "That," he said, his voice low and burning,
> "*hurt.*"
The pressure in the air **spiked**.
Blood across the battlefield answered him—not surging wildly, but pulling inward, condensing, obeying with renewed purpose.
Lucan tightened his grip on his sword, fire flickering weakly back to life.
Carvon set his stance, teeth bared.
Elliren raised his blade, eyes hard.
The demon stood half-burned, half-reborn—
—and very much **not finished**.
The battle had not resumed.
It had **escalated**.
Aldric's body wasn't whole yet.
It was **wrong**.
It shuddered.
Bone showed through growing flesh, ribs still half-exposed, veins glowing crimson where mana rushed to finish what regeneration hadn't. One eye sat too deep in its socket; the other burned bright with hatred. His wings tore free from his back in a violent spray of blood and mana—unfinished, jagged, but powerful—beating once as power detonated outward.
His gaze locked onto Lucan.
The smile was gone.
Only hatred remained.
"**Bastard…**" Aldric rasped, the word barely formed, dragged out of a throat still stitching itself together.
Then—
He vanished.
Not fast—
**Gone.**
No warning.
No buildup.
No distortion.
One instant he stood in the crater—
The next, he was **in front of Lucan**.
Carvon's eyes widened.
"LUCAN—!"
Too late.
Aldric reappeared directly before him, the air screaming as it folded inward. His half-regenerated arm—still more bone than flesh—shot forward in a brutal, merciless thrust with monstrous force. It didn't slash. It didn't pierce cleanly.
Lucan didn't even have time to raise his blade.
The bone hand **punched through**.
Armor shattered like glass.
Bone speared into flesh.
Lucan's eyes went wide as the impact detonated through his body, the force lifting him clean off his feet and **hurling him backward** like a broken doll. He hit the ground hard, skidding violently across scorched stone before finally coming to a halt in a spray of dust and debris.
Aldric straightened as flesh rapidly knitted over bone, regeneration surging now that holy fire no longer anchored him in place. Muscle wrapped his arm. Skin sealed.
Power rolled off him in suffocating waves.
Aldric didn't even look at Lucan.
He looked at his hand.
At what it held.
A heart.
Still beating.
Still warm.
He tilted his head, examining it with mild irritation as his body finished regenerating fully, flesh sealing over bone, wings flexing experimentally.
"If you truly wished to kill me," Aldric said calmly, his voice smooth now—dangerous, composed, "you should have made sure my heart was destroyed."
His fingers tightened.
The heart **burst** with a wet, crushing sound.
Blood splattered across his palm.
He clicked his tongue.
"…Though this is rather annoying," he continued, glancing aside,
"that it isn't *yours*."
His eyes shifted.
And the battlefield finally caught up to what had happened.
Lucan was still alive.
Barely.
He was on his knees, armor shattered, coughing violently—but intact.
Because **Carvon** was in front of him.
Or what remained of him.
Lucan's arms were wrapped around Carvon's body, holding him upright as if refusing to let him fall. There was a **gaping hole** in Carvon's chest—clean, brutal, punched straight through where his heart had been.
Blood poured down Lucan's arms, steaming faintly where residual holy fire touched it.
Carvon's sword lay nearby, abandoned on the ground.
His breathing was gone.
Lucan stared down at him, eyes wide, shaking.
"…No," he whispered.
Aldric watched them, his head tilting slightly.
"That bastard," he said with mild amusement.
"Had to jump in at just the right moment."
The rain fell harder.
He spread his wings slowly, shadows and blood responding in reverent silence.
Lucan looked up at him, eyes burning—not with fire this time, but fury and horror.
Elliren stood a few steps away, blade raised, frozen as his mind raced.
Carvon had saved Lucan.
And Aldric knew it.
The demon smiled again.
This time—
It was satisfied.
"Now," Aldric said softly, stepping forward as power rolled off him in suffocating waves,
"let us continue… properly."
The rain fell harder.
And for the first time since the battle began—
It sounded like mourning.
Elliren stood frozen for half a heartbeat—
Then his expression shattered into pure fury.
"BASTARD —!"
Aldric spread his wings fully now, regeneration complete, crimson mana roaring back into balance.
His smile returned.
Full.
Cruel.
Satisfied.
"Now," he said lightly, flexing his fingers,
"*that* was a proper opening move."
And the battlefield—soaked in blood and rain—
tipped fully into despair.