A pulse erupted from within Stiles' chest.
The blood-soaked world trembled, the rivers surging as they spilled over, turning the ground into a churning, sloshing swamp of crimson. The downpour intensified, each drop hammering against him, heavier, thicker—blood, not rain.
Then, the mountain of corpses—gone.
Not vanished. Consumed. Flesh liquefied, bones dissolved into pure, undiluted blood, twisting into violent torrents that coiled around him. They spiraled like starving beasts, orbiting his body, waiting—begging—for a master.
And Riven stood before him, watching, his grin widening into something wicked.
"Accept it," he growled, his voice a whisper yet somehow everywhere, curling into Stiles' ears like a venomous serpent. "Accept the damn Principle. Kill the dragon. Kill everything in your path. Tear through the weak. Carve a road paved in flesh and leave nothing but ruin in your wake."
His crimson eyes gleamed, a sinister hunger behind them.
"Emotions?" Riven sneered, stepping closer. "Dull them. Rip them out. They make you hesitate. They make you weak. And weakness—" he jabbed a finger at Stiles' chest, "—is the quickest way to die."
The swirling blood around them pulsed, reacting to his words, eager, waiting.
"You must learn only one thing, boy." His voice dropped to a whisper, slow, deliberate. "Kill."
He stepped around Stiles, his presence coiling like a shadow, suffocating.
"Shed their lives like raindrops." Riven's words slithered through the air, smooth, intoxicating. "Turn their screams into music. Let their fear be your feast. Take their power—no, take their very existence—and use it as a stepping stone. That is what true strength is. Not training. Not discipline. Slaughter.Blood.Carnage."
The blood storm raged harder.
"Think of everything that has wronged you," Riven hissed, his breath hot against Stiles' ear. "The gates that took your father. The monsters that nearly killed your friends. That filthy overgrown lizard playing with them like toys." His tone twisted, turning darker, more vicious.
"And don't you dare forget." His voice dropped lower, raw and merciless.
"Your sister."
The words hit like a dagger to the gut.
"You watched as that monster tore into her. You saw it rip her apart, felt her blood spray across your skin, heard her screams as her body was chewed—devoured—right in front of you." Riven let out a low, taunting chuckle. "Do you remember how warm the blood was, Stiles? How it clung to your hands? How powerless you felt?"
A clawed hand gripped his shoulder, forceful, demanding.
"You have a chance... to not be that powerless again. Let it consume you." Riven's voice was a growl, primal, urging. "Let all that rage, all that suffering, every single moment of your pathetic, wretched existence engulf you. That is the true essence of Bloodshed."
The storm howled, the rivers churned, the blood screamed.
And deep inside, something inside Stiles stirred.
He pushed himself up from the ground, his breath slow, controlled. The twin blades in his grasp pulsed, a radiant crimson glow searing through the darkness, cutting through the trees like a beacon of impending carnage. A new, intricate multi-slash pattern burned into the steel, but this was no simple enhancement—it was alive. The weapons hungered.
Then, without warning, the twin blades dug into his flesh.
Stiles didn't flinch. He didn't cry out. He felt it. Felt the steel carve into his skin, felt the warmth of his own blood trickling down his arms, merging with the very weapons he wielded. But it didn't hurt. No, it felt... right.
His long hair shimmered, dark crimson strands flowing like liquid fire. His eyes snapped open, and in that instant, the world around him ceased to matter.
There was only it.
The dragon. Its form burned into his vision, etched into his heart, carved into his very veins. His mana—was no longer present. Instead, it had been replaced, consumed, transmuted into something far more primal. Pure, undiluted bloodlust.
His grip tightened around the hilts of his twin blades, fingers locking with such force his knuckles turned white beneath the crimson smears. Riven's words echoed in his mind, their weight pressing down on him, each syllable sinking deeper, latching onto something buried within him.
"Powerless?"
His voice dripped with venom, his breath ragged with barely restrained fury.
"I was... powerless once. A pathetic, useless thing, clawing at scraps of strength, grasping at hope like a dying man gasping for air."
"Weak?"
His fists clenched so tightly his nails cut into his palms, drawing thin streams of blood.
"I've suffered weakness. So damn weak that I couldn't do a thing—nothing but watch. Watch as they died. My sister. My mother. My neighbors. My goddamn cat—all of them! Torn apart, devoured, crushed, erased from existence by these monsters!"
A deep, seething breath. His entire body trembled—not from fear, not from pain, but from the sheer rage threatening to consume him.
"I gained mana. I gained my class. I pushed myself to the brink of death, again and again, crawling through blood and fire, tearing my way to strength—to protect the people who were still alive and those who still matter. To protect myself, and my friends."
His teeth ground together, a violent snarl ripping from his throat.
"And yet… I'm still failing?!"
His blood boiled, his rage igniting into an inferno.
"Bullshit!"
The air around him cracked, pulsing with something raw, something monstrous. He refused to be weak. He refused to break.
His body moved on its own. A single step forward. Then another. With each step, the bloodlust thickened, expanding outward like a living force, pressing against the world itself. The trees quivered, the air grew heavy, suffocating. It was no longer just his presence—it was a force, a creeping, tangible malice that spread like an infection.
And with every step, memories surfaced.
Terrible things. Bloody things. Things he had sworn to never speak of, to bury so deep that even he would never find them again.
Yet now, they rose, one by one, clawing back into existence, whispering, taunting.
He clenched his jaw, his breathing ragged. With each resurfaced sin, his rage swelled, growing hotter, darker. His grip tightened, his muscles coiled, his mind honed to a single, undeniable truth.
"I refuse to be weak any longer."
His voice cut through the air like a blade, raw, seething, filled with unrelenting defiance.
"I refuse to accept defeat at the hands of a damn monster."
The ground beneath him trembled. The blood-soaked air thickened, writhing with his rage, with his unyielding will. The very trees quivered as if recoiling from the presence of something far worse than the dragon before them.
"I refuse to lose."
His bloodlust surged outward like a tidal wave, swallowing everything in its path. The air became suffocating, heavy with the weight of something dark, something primal. It wasn't just killing intent—it was absolute malice.
"I refuse to die."
The sky above darkened, the very light bending beneath his sheer presence. A monstrous force, unchecked, uncontrollable, roared to life within him, seeping into every fiber of his being, into every ounce of his blood.
"I REFUSE to fail... again."
The dragon snarled, its crimson-red eyes narrowing as the very air trembled with its power. With a roar that split the sky, it unleashed a wave of red lightning, crackling and surging forward like the judgment of a wrathful god. The ground beneath Stiles quaked, the scent of burning ozone filling the air.
But before the lightning could reach him—
Something pulsed.
A force, ancient and insatiable, erupted from within Stiles.
The rivers of blood that had once pooled beneath his feet within his mind surged forward, twisting and writhing into a monstrous shape. From the crimson tide, a massive blood-forged serpent rose, its fanged maw stretching open with a guttural hiss. It launched forward, colliding with the dragon's lightning in a violent clash of power. Sparks danced, blood boiled, and in a single devastating moment—the serpent devoured the lightning whole.
The battlefield fell silent for half a breath.
A shockwave burst outward from Stiles, his entire body pulsing with unnatural energy. His veins burned, not with pain, but with raw power. The dragon's own red electricity coiled around him, no longer an enemy, but a force bound to his very existence. It danced along his skin, surging into his blades, his muscles, his mind—enhancing everything.
His vision sharpened. His speed quickened. His strength multiplied by an unknown amount.
Stiles exhaled slowly, crimson lightning arcing from his fingertips as the blood-serpent coiled protectively around him before dissolving back into the air. His eyes, now glowing pools of murderous intent, locked onto the dragon.
Dante and SteelArm groaned as they pushed themselves off the ground, the last remnants of the paralyzing electricity fading from their bodies. A dull ache throbbed in their skulls, their senses still sluggish from the attack. Clutching their heads, they blinked rapidly, their vision adjusting to the battlefield before them.
Before them, Stiles walking towards Vix.
His entire body pulsed with a furious crimson glow, arcs of red electricity snapping and crackling around him, illuminating the battlefield in its eerie light. But there was something more—something unnatural.
"W-what the hell is that?" Dante muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper as he watched Stiles advance.
SteelArm forced himself upright, his muscles still aching, but his focus locked onto the phenomenon before him. He gulped, then shut one eye as if trying to get a clearer read on the energy radiating from Stiles.
"I'm not sure…" he admitted, his voice tense. "But the way it feels… it's nothing like mana. And yet, there's something familiar about it—something close, but not quite." He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening at his sides. "That's all I can say from just looking at it… but whatever it is, it's dangerous."
Vix's piercing eyes locked onto the man approaching, an unsettling chill creeping down his spine. This wasn't the same warrior he had struck down moments ago. Something had changed.
With a deafening roar, the sky itself obeyed the dragon's wrath. A storm of electricity churned overhead, and in an instant, the heavens split apart. Bolts of crimson lightning rained down like a relentless hellstorm of destruction.
Stiles tilted his head up, his expression unreadable as the storm descended upon him. Then—it emerged.
From the swirling tides of blood, the massive serpent manifested once more, its form coiling around him like a guardian of carnage. With an ear-splitting hiss, it opened its abyssal maw and swallowed the storm whole. The bolts, meant to annihilate, were devoured effortlessly, their raw energy siphoned away.
The moment the last spark vanished, the world shuddered.
Stiles' body surged as the absorbed lightning merged with him again. The red electricity flared brighter, wilder, its presence growing ever more oppressive. His muscles burned with newfound vigor, his veins thrummed with unchecked power, his every breath igniting the battlefield with raw, unrestrained dominance.
And yet, as his strength swelled beyond reason, his steps never faltered.