Chapter 70: The Crimson Pact
The skies over the ruined battlefield had turned black. Not from the coming of night—but from the swirling miasma of corrupted mana tearing open the fabric of reality.
Valerian’s breath was ragged. His black cloak fluttered violently, torn at the edges. His blade—Sablefang—dripped with the ichor of Wraithborn and warped abominations. Around him, bodies smoldered. The taint of death was thick, choking.
But he didn’t flinch.
Before him stood the Crimson Monk, that ancient entity who had feasted on centuries of blood rituals. His skeletal face, wrapped in crimson bands, bore no eyes—only glowing sockets of vile hunger. Arcane runes pulsed along his gaunt arms as he hovered above the ground, hands bleeding pure red mana into a growing sigil below.
"You are too late, child of fate," the Monk hissed, his voice a whisper and scream at once. "The gate shall open."
Valerian clenched his jaw. His corrupted arm—black and veined with red energy—ached as the sealed mark glowed. Umbra stirred inside his mind, hissing with laughter and warning.
"He’s trying to bind the World Womb... If he succeeds, even the gods will burn."
Behind Valerian, Kael, Selene, Seraphina, and Lira regrouped. Bloodied, scorched, but alive.
"Can we break that ritual circle?" Kael asked, twin blades already crackling with lightning.
"Not unless we kill him first," Selene replied, her breathing sharp as she tightened her grip on her staff. "His barrier feeds on death."
"I’ll break the circle," Seraphina growled, her eyes flaring with divine fire. "I can create a rupture using Solar Flame."