Chapter 25: The Red Rain and the Scholars of Sin
The sky didn't turn black; it turned a bruised, sickly copper. Then, the rain began. It wasn't water. It was a thick, lukewarm liquid that smelled of ancient rust and slaughterhouse floors. The Red Rain—the first manifestation of the Emperor's "Sanguine Seal."
In the camp of the Raven, panic was a wildfire. Horses screamed as the liquid touched their skin, and the Highland warriors looked at the crimson droplets on their palms with wide, ancestral terror.
"Stay in your tents!" Silas roared, his voice cracking through the sound of the downpour. He moved through the mud, his massive frame soaked in the red filth. He found a young soldier clawing at his own face, the rain beginning to blister the boy's skin. Without hesitation, Silas threw his own heavy cloak over the lad.
"Where is the Raven?!" a Chief shouted, his aura a Fractured, Hysteric Yellow. "He promised us conquest, not a sky that bleeds!"
The tent flap of the command center burst open. Alexander stepped out. He didn't wear a cloak. He didn't hide. As the red rain touched him, his Silver Aura didn't just repel it—it vaporized it on contact, creating a halo of white steam around him.
"The sky is not bleeding," Alexander's voice echoed, cold and steady as an iceberg. "The Empire is weeping. They are so afraid of your march that they have resorted to poisoning the very air they breathe. Are you going to let a little rain wash away the fire in your hearts?"
He looked at Silas, then at Elena, who was standing under a wooden overhang, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
"Silas, take the men to the stone caves of the lower valley. Now," Alexander commanded.
"What about you, Boss?" Silas asked, his aura flickering with a Deep, Protective Amber. "You can't fight the sky."
"I'm not fighting the sky, Silas. I'm fighting the men who pulled the trigger."
[The Arrival of the Red Scholars]
Through the red haze of the rain, three silhouettes appeared on the ridge. They wore robes of human skin, stitched together with silver wire. Their faces were hidden behind masks of bone, and they floated inches above the muddy ground.
These were the Red Scholars—the Emperor's personal necromancers, men who had traded their souls for the ability to manipulate the "Blood-Aura" of the living.
Their collective aura was a Swirling, Nauseating Crimson Vortex that sucked the color out of the forest around them.
"Alexander Milov," the lead Scholar spoke, his voice sounding like a thousand dry leaves skittering over a grave. "The Amulet you carry does not belong in the hands of a corpse. Give it to us, and we shall grant your army a quick, painless end. Resist, and we will turn their very blood into needles that will shred them from the inside out."
Alexander stepped forward, his boots sinking into the red mud. He drew his sword, and for the first time, the blade didn't just glow—it roared with a Silver Flame.
"You talk too much for men who have already sold their tongues to a golden mask," Alexander said.
[The Battle of the Ridge]
The Scholars moved. One of them raised a hand, and the red rain on the ground suddenly rose, forming jagged, crystalline spears of hardened blood. They launched at Alexander with the speed of arrows.
Alexander didn't dodge. He spun his blade in a lethal circle, his Aura Vision identifying the "Nodes" of power in the blood-spears. He shattered them in mid-air, the red crystals exploding into harmless mist.
"Elena! Silas! Get the men out!" Alexander shouted over his shoulder.
But Silas didn't move. He grabbed a heavy iron shield from a fallen wagon. "I told you, Boss... I'm the anvil. I don't move for ghosts in dresses!"
Silas charged the nearest Scholar, his axe glowing with the sheer heat of his willpower. The Scholar hissed, weaving a shield of liquid blood, but Silas's brute strength—fueled by years of suppressed rage—slammed into the barrier with the force of a falling star.
The Scholar was knocked back, his bone-mask cracking.
"Impressive for a beast," the Scholar hissed.
"He's not a beast," Alexander's voice appeared directly behind the Scholar. "He's a man you forgot to kill. And that was your final mistake."
Alexander's hand, wreathed in Void-Black Silver, plunged through the Scholar's back and out of his chest. He didn't just kill him; he used the Amulet to drain the Scholar's life-force. The robe of skin collapsed into a pile of dust.
[The Price of Loyalty]
The other two Scholars screamed in a frequency that made Elena's ears bleed. They combined their power, creating a massive Sphere of Boiling Blood that hovered over the camp.
"If we die, everyone dies!" they shrieked.
Alexander looked at his men. He saw the fear in the Highlanders' eyes. He saw Sokolov clutching his ledgers as if they could protect him. He saw Elena, her aura a Vibrant, Defiant Purple, refusing to back down even as the blood-sphere began to descend.
In that moment, Alexander realized something. He didn't just have a "utility" for these people. They were his Anchors. Without them, he would truly become the monster the Amulet wanted him to be.
"NOT TODAY!" Alexander roared.
He didn't attack the Scholars. He turned his blade toward the sky. He funneled every ounce of his Aura, every memory of his father's smile and his mother's touch, into the Black Amulet.
A pillar of Pure, Blinding White-Silver light erupted from the Amulet, piercing the blood-sphere and the copper clouds above. The explosion was silent but absolute. The red rain stopped. The copper clouds shattered, revealing a cold, starlit sky.
The two remaining Scholars vanished, vaporized by the sheer purity of the energy.
[The Aftermath]
Alexander fell to one knee, gasping for air. His aura was almost invisible, exhausted. The Amulet was ice-cold against his chest.
Silas ran to him, helping him up with a hand that was still shaking from the encounter. "You did it, Boss. You broke the sky."
Alexander looked around the camp. The men were coming out of their shelters, looking up at the stars in disbelief. They looked at Alexander not just with fear now, but with something far more dangerous: Faith.
"I didn't break the sky, Silas," Alexander whispered, leaning heavily on the giant's shoulder. "I just showed them that the Empire's gods are made of paper. But look..."
He pointed to his own arm. The red rain had left permanent, jagged scars that looked like lightning bolts.
"The Empire's 'Sanguine Seal' isn't gone," Elena said, her voice heavy with realization. "This was just a scouting party. The Red Scholars have thousands more in the Capital. And now, they know exactly what you are capable of."
Alexander looked at his scarred skin, then at the North. "Good," he said, a dark, blood-stained smile appearing on his face. "I want them to know. I want them to stay awake at night, wondering which of my shadows is going to reach for their throats first."
He turned to his inner circle—Silas, Elena, Sokolov. "We march at dawn. No more hiding. We take the main road. I want the world to see the Raven coming."