The battlefield stood silent, but the air screamed with an unseen force.
At the heart of it all, the Abyssal Cage loomed—a grotesque masterpiece of intertwining elements and raw, unfiltered hunger.
Its towering, jagged fangs jutted from the cracked earth, pulsing like living things. The formation radiated something far worse than just magic—it exuded bloodlust.
Not just any bloodlust.
This was killing intent given form.
A presence so suffocating, so thick, it drowned the very air.
A mortal who so much as brushed against it—would die instantly.
The pressure alone could stop a heart, rupture lungs, and shatter minds.
It was not a cage—it was a predator. A living, breathing hunger.
Lightning crackled within, streaking through the mist like veins of a dying god. Arcs of blue-white energy scorched the air, the very fabric of reality trembling under its presence.
Lava dripped from the fangs, sizzling upon contact with the earth, releasing an unholy steam that clouded the senses. The mist, once purely disorienting, now carried with it a scent of charred flesh and death, warping vision and corrupting perception.
The cage itself felt like an abyssal maw, hungry, waiting.
And within it—Antru was its prey.
—
Antru’s once-massive form trembled violently, his body locked in an uncontrollable spasm.
He felt it—the cage.
It wasn’t just magic.
It was an execution ground.
He tried to move, but his limbs felt disconnected—as if the prison was actively gnawing at his existence.
His eyes flickered to a small, fragile vial tucked within his grasp.
Inside—his last hope. The final drop of blood.
His fingers twitched, barely able to grip it. He forced himself to raise it, his vision blurred but his will still intact.
He had to—
Then, pain.
A blinding, tearing agony from deep within.
His core rebelled—his body collapsing inward, muscle and bone twisting, unraveling as the transformation was ripped from him.
His monstrous claws shrunk, his hardened flesh peeled away, revealing fragile, vulnerable human skin beneath.
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His fangs shattered in his mouth, his monstrous eyes dulling—all the power stolen now fleeing.
The vial slipped from his fingers, its contents lost to the scorched earth.
And then—Antru collapsed.
What remained was not a warrior.
Not a proud fighter.
Just a man, left breathless in the aftermath.
His body had been pushed beyond its limit, yet his mind remained intact.
He still breathed, his eyes filled with exhaustion—yet they remained aware.
He had paid the price for stolen power.
And now, he was left with only himself.
Eo stood, watching.
Not with triumph—but with calculation.
His gaze shifted, not to Antru, but to the prison itself.
It was… working. Functional.
But something was still lacking.
This wasn’t the first time he had used formation magic. He had experimented before—on a much smaller scale. Yet this was the first time he had pushed it to the limit.
And the results were... unexpected.
The magic responded too aggressively. The formation felt too alive. It was almost like it had developed its own instincts, reacting beyond his original calculations.
Why?
Was it the way he structured it? The energy flow? Or had something within the elements themselves changed upon interaction?
Eo’s mind split, one side analyzing the Abyssal Cage, the other locked onto Antru’s downfall.
His mental notes stacked quickly.
The formation devoured energy at an extreme rate. Not sustainable in prolonged battle.
It responded autonomously, almost as if it had a will. This was unusual. Was it because of the blend of elements? Or something deeper?
While powerful, the formation did not maintain perfect control over its own power output. Some of its energy was wasted—leaking into the surroundings, affecting even those outside the immediate radius.
Eo shifted his will, testing something.
The mist thickened.
The lightning grew unstable, clashing with the lava, sending shockwaves of heat and static into the air.
The formation pulsed.
It responded.
Too much.
Eo narrowed his eyes. This was the problem. The design had an instability, a lack of central control.
If he refined it… if he adjusted its structure… could he make it more efficient?
Could he push it beyond just a prison?
Was this the foundation of something greater?
The battlefield remained still.
But Eo’s mind? It was moving faster than ever.
Thorne and Aelith were still locked under constraint, their bodies struggling to resist the backlash of Eo’s earlier reflection.
But now?
The residual magic in the air—the raw killing intent leaking from the prison—was eating away at them.
Even those not directly trapped were suffering.
Wind and debris whipped across the battlefield, carried by the rage of Antru’s failed transformation and the wild magic still lingering.
Caelum stood nearby, frozen.
His body trembled.
This wasn’t magic.
This wasn’t a simple battle.
This was something else.
Something beyond his understanding.
He was trembling.
Not from weakness. Not from exhaustion.
But from realization.
He bowed.
Completely.
He had seen enough. Eo was not a being to be followed.
He was a being to be worshipped.
—
Eo turned his gaze back to Antru’s broken form.
A man who had consumed something unknown—and paid the price.
And yet…
How?
How could a mere drop of blood bring about such a drastic transformation?
His thoughts drifted back.
To Frid.
To the moment Frid had almost been destroyed—because he had consumed a blood tainted with Old Magic.
It was a pattern.
A single drop—yet overwhelming consequences.
And now, Antru had suffered the same fate.
This wasn’t coincidence.
It was a law.
A fundamental truth of the world.
Blood.
Its power.
Its cost.
And yet—something didn’t add up.
Frid had survived.
Antru had barely clung to life.
Why?
What was the difference?
What made one drop a catalyst for destruction, and another a bridge to something greater?
Eo’s eyes narrowed.
He would find out.
