Chapter 203: Thorned Execution

Viks’s fingers tightened around her sword hilt, the silver aura around her blazing brighter, sharper, as if the blade itself was eager for blood.

“I’ll kill you.”

She surged forward.

Isolde’s blood blade swept up to meet her—steel clashing against hardened crimson in a shower of sparks and dark spray. The vampire’s lips curved into a cold smile.

“I’ll start with you, then.”

She pressed the attack, her blade driving Viks back with the force of her strikes. The first cut—a diagonal slash aimed at Viks’s shoulder—was deflected. The second came from the side, faster than the first, and Viks twisted, her own blade catching the edge inches from her ribs.

She didn’t retreat. She counterattacked.

Her sword swept toward the gap in Isolde’s guard—the space between her blade and her body, the moment between strikes. The edge bit into the vampire’s side, shallow but real, and Isolde’s eyes widened.

“Persistent,” Isolde hissed, retreating a step.

Her gaze sharpened, wary now. This human moved differently than the others. Her strikes were not just strong—they were precise. Every cut aimed at a place that would matter.

’She’s dangerous.’

Isolde’s blood—the pools that had gathered across the floor, the droplets that had splattered on Viks’s boots, the thin trail that marked where her earlier wounds had bled—answered her call. It rose in a silent wave, wrapping around Viks’s ankles, pulling, unbalancing.

Viks stumbled.

Isolde’s blade swept forward, catching her across the stomach.

“Kuhhgg—!”

Viks doubled over, blood spraying from the wound, her silver aura flickering. She dropped to one knee, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other still gripping her sword.

Isolde raised her blade for the killing stroke.

Then she felt it.

A pressure at her back. Immense. Burning. Her head snapped around.

Serris stood several paces behind her, his sword lowered, but that was not what commanded her attention. The air around him shimmered—heat, light, power gathering in a sphere that blazed like a second sun in his palm. His grey eyes, fixed on her, held no fear. Only cold, focused intent.

“You’re not just a swordsman.”

She left Viks where she knelt and turned to face the new threat.

Vedran stepped forward, his shield raised, its surface blazing with the light of the Aegis. His voice rang out, steady despite his fear.

“I won’t let you touch him!”

Serris didn’t wait. The sphere in his hand condensed, sharpened, became a lance of pure, blazing light. He thrust it forward.

“Photon Javelin!”

The light shot forward—faster than thought, faster than Isolde could dodge. It struck her square in the chest, and she screamed.

“AAHHGG!!” The sound was raw, torn from somewhere deep, as the light burned through her, searing flesh, boiling blood, eating into the dark power that sustained her. She stumbled back, her crown of thorns flickering, her blood blade dissolving in her grip.

“Damn you… humans!” Her voice cracked with fury and pain. Smoke rose from her skin. The wound on her chest refused to close—blackened, cracked, weeping thin, pale blood.

Serris’s breathing was ragged. His arm trembled from the effort of the spell. But his eyes never left her.

“Finish her,” he ordered. “Now.”

The remaining soldiers surged forward.

Isolde’s hands swept out. The blood that had pooled across the floor answered her call. It rose in a vortex, spiraling around her, feeding her, healing her. The burns on her chest began to fade. The wound on her side closed. Her crown of thorns blazed back to life, brighter than before.

“I’ll drag you all to hell with me.”

The blood storm gathered above her, dark and terrible, pulsing with a light that was not light. She raised both hands, and the storehouse itself seemed to tremble.

“Blood Dominion: Crimson Requiem.”

The spell exploded outward—a cataclysm beyond wave or storm. The blood that touched the soldiers did not burn them. It consumed them. Armor, flesh, bone—all of it dissolved, absorbed into the crimson tide, feeding the vampire’s power.

Screams filled the air. Men fell. The storehouse, already a charnel house, became something out of nightmare.

Vedran stared at the carnage unfolding before him—the blood that consumed his comrades, the way their bodies dissolved into the crimson tide, the screams that died too quickly. His shield, still blazing with the light of the Aegis, trembled in his grip.

“So this is the power of a high demon…” His voice was barely a whisper. “This is… impossible…”

The blood found him.

It rose from the floor in a silent wave, wrapping around his legs, his torso, his arms. The Aegis flared, pushing back, but the blood was everywhere—seeping through the gaps, crawling across his skin, finding the places where the light could not reach.

He didn’t scream. There was no time.

His body came apart in sections, dissolving into the crimson tide that had already claimed so many. The Aegis clattered to the floor, its light flickering once, twice, then dying.

Serris watched his second fall.

His hands, still raised from the Photon Javelin, dropped to his sides. His sword hung limp in his grip. The soldiers who had been fighting beside him, who had trusted him, who had believed he could lead them through this—they were gone. Crumbling into blood. Feeding the monster that had slaughtered them.

“Damn it…” His voice cracked. “This isn’t… this isn’t my fault… Why did this happen…?”

The storehouse spun around him. The blood, the bodies, the shadows—all of it blurred together, and for a moment, Serris could not tell which way was up.

A whisper brushed against his ear.

“Die beautifully, human.”

He turned.

Lilith’s crimson eyes were the last thing he saw—wide, patient, terrible. Her smile was serene, and her threads, already wrapped around his throat, tightened.

The world tilted. Spun. Flipped.

Serris’s body crumpled to the blood-soaked floor, his eyes still open, his lips still parted around words that would never be spoken.

Viks watched it all from where she knelt, one hand pressed to the wound on her stomach, the other still gripping her sword. Her silver aura had dimmed to almost nothing. Her soldiers were dead. Vedran was dead. Serris was dead.

And she could not move.

Isolde appeared behind her, the blood blades at her back gleaming like the teeth of a predator.

“This is payment for wounding me, human.”

The blades struck.

One pierced the back of Viks’s skull, driving through bone and brain and emerging from her forehead in a spray of crimson. The others followed—through her chest, her throat, her heart—each one precise, efficient, final.

Viks’s body jerked once, twice, then went still. Her sword slipped from her fingers and clattered against the stone.

The storehouse fell silent.

Isolde stood amidst the carnage, her crown of thorns pulsing with dark light, her blood blades retracting, dissolving back into the crimson tide that now covered every surface.

Lilith stepped over Serris’s body, her threads retracting, her smile sharp and satisfied.

“Well,” she said lightly. “That was entertaining.”

Isolde’s crimson eyes fixed on her. “You didn’t help.”

Lilith shrugged. “I helped enough. I killed the commander, didn’t I?” She tilted her head, studying the vampire with an expression that held no fear—only curiosity. “Besides, you seemed to be enjoying yourself. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Isolde’s jaw tightened. Her crown flickered.

“We are not allies, spider.”

“No.” Lilith’s smile widened. “We are not.”

Isolde’s chest heaved. Her crown of thorns flickered weakly above her brow, its dark light dimming with each labored breath. She pressed a hand to the wound on her side—the one that refused to heal, the one that still smoldered with the remnants of Serris’s light magic.

’Damn it… I’m running out of strength.’ Her crimson eyes darted toward the door, toward the torchlight that flickered beyond, toward the distant sounds of celebration that had not yet realized what happened here. ’That man’s spell… it burned me worse than I thought. I’m not sure I can defeat her…’

Lilith stepped closer, her shoes leaving no prints in the blood-soaked floor. Her threads curled around her fingers like sleeping serpents, patient and waiting.

“You seem like an important figure in the demon kingdom.” She tilted her head, studying the vampire with predatory interest. “I’m curious. Why would someone like you want to be captured and brought to Solaria’s capital?” Her smile widened. “Are you a masochist?”

Isolde’s eyes blazed with fury. Her hand, still pressed to her wound, clenched into a fist.

“Who are you calling a masochist, you damn spider?!” Her voice cracked with exhaustion and irritation. “You’ve been prying and prying since we met—it’s disgusting. If you want something, just say it!”

Lilith’s smile didn’t waver. Her threads tightened around her fingers, gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“Fine.” Her voice was soft, almost gentle. “I’ve changed my mind.”

She took another step closer. Isolde tensed, her blood rising weakly around her feet, readying for a final desperate strike.

“I’m going to capture you alive.” Lilith’s crimson eyes gleamed. “And I’ll extract every piece of information from that vampire head of yours.”

Isolde’s lips curled into a snarl. Her crown of thorns pulsed—once, twice—then steadied.

“You can try, spider.”

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