The Blood Ascension III

The Blood Ascension III
The creature lunged.

Not toward the nobles. Not toward the king.

It shot straight toward Raphael.

His body was still floating, limbs spread in the air as if crucified to the stars, utterly vulnerable beneath the glow of the blood moon. He could not move. Could not scream. The ritual had claimed every muscle, every nerve.

A monstrous claw, large enough to slice a man in two, arced through the air, aimed directly at his chest.

And then—

BOOM!

The earth cracked as Valerion appeared from his throne in a single blur, faster than even most vampires could see. One second, he was seated—composed and observing. The next, his fist had slammed into the cobbled courtyard stones with cataclysmic force, splitting them in a tremor of shadow and fury. The shockwave sent the malformed Lycan flying back mid-lunge, crashing into the black marble colonnade like a meteor.

Dust exploded. Shards of stone rained down.

Complete silence followed.

Then the Lycan rose, slow and deliberate, rubble falling from its twisted form. A low growl vibrated from its throat, deeper than thunder, its teeth glinting in the bloodlight.

It roared. A sound that cracked windows. That shook the bones of every being in the courtyard.

Valerion floated above the ground, cloaked in an aura of consuming shadow. His long snow-white hair billowed around him like a halo, his crimson eyes glowing with a cold, ancient rage. His voice echoed through the blood-soaked night, layered in a dozen tones, the voice of kings and monsters.

“You dare.”

He lifted one hand.

The Lycan’s shadow stretched beneath it—then stopped.

It twisted. Convulsed.

And then, as if shackled by unseen chains, the Lycan’s massive body locked in place. Screeching tendrils of darkness erupted from its feet and spine, tethering it to the earth. The beast thrashed, snarling, but could not move.

Valerion began to float forward, his crimson eyes sparkling like rubies as he stared into the Lycan’s eyes.

When he spoke, it was one word. Low, commanding and absolute.

“Submit.”

The creature’s body froze.

Its growl faltered into silence.

For one breathless moment, the Lycan stared back.

Then—slowly—it began to lower its head.

Lilith’s eyes widened in astonishment. Avalon’s grip tightened on his blade. Even the witches faltered in their chanting for the span of a heartbeat.

“By the gods,” whispered one of the nobles. “He’s… taming it.”

Valerion narrowed his eyes. “You were never born. You were made. Someone forged you from pain and rage. But even forged beasts obey.”

The Lycan trembled beneath his gaze.

But just as Valerion reached out his hand—.

The creature broke free.

It shrieked, feral and wild, shattering the last remnants of its restraint, and lunged forward. Valerion dodged in a blink, a blur of shadows dispersing like smoke as the beast's claws tore through the space where he’d been a breath ago.

“Kora Akasha Il–zen!” Lilith’s voice cracked like a whip, her hands raised high. The ground beneath the Lycan erupted in a volcanic surge of colorful jagged crystals, massive and blade-like, impaling the creature from behind—shoulder, gut, chest, thigh—driving through it with violent precision until blood sprayed in crimson arcs and the beast was pinned mid-air, grotesquely suspended.

It snarled, choked, and fell still.

Blood gurgled from its mouth.

Silence returned.

And then—it moved.

One arm twitched. Then another.

With a deafening roar, it ripped itself free, leaving chunks of its flesh stuck on the crystal blades. As they watched in horror, its wounds closed. Skin knit itself. Veins rethreaded like serpents. Bone snapped back into place.

It pulled a jagged crystal from its side—and hurled it like a spear at Lilith.

“LILITH—!”

Avalon was there in an instant, grabbing her by the waist and vanishing in a blur. The spear of crystal slammed into the earth where she’d stood, exploding in a hail of deadly shards.

She landed in his arms, shaken but alive.

Lilith scowled and shoved away from him. “Thank you, husband.”

Avalon wiped blood from his cheek. “You can repay me by not dying before this is over.”

She snarled and raised both hands, lifting her skull-crown high.

“Valtha Morra Kreel!”

The skulls rose into the air, twisting, warping—expanding into giant, flaming monstrosities. They surrounded the lycan, opened their mouths, and let out an earth-shattering shriek, sonic destruction that shattered glass and dropped several guards to their knees.

The Lycan reeled, claws slashing at the air, ears pinned back as the sound tore through its malformed mind. Blood gushed from its nostrils. It howled in pain—then leapt, roaring—and slashed through the flaming skulls, shattering them to ash and ember.

Valerion appeared again without warning.

One moment he was distant. The next, he slammed into the creature with his hand was buried deep inside the it’s chest.

His expression remained calm as he grasped the Lycan’s massive, still-beating heart.

And crushed it.

Black blood spilled in torrents.

But the Lycan did not die.

Valerion’s eyes widened in shock as the heart began to regrow—blood vessels reforming, muscle tissue regenerating—until a new heart beat against his palm.

“What manner of sorcery is this…”

Before Valerion could react, the creature’s foot collided with him, launching him like a meteor across the courtyard. He smashed through a marble pillar, then shattered through the stone wall behind it, disappearing in a cloud of debris.

Avalon roared and charged.

He tackled the creature in a feral blur, slamming it into the ground. His fists rained down, each blow cracking bone and stone alike. He broke its arm at the joint, tore out one of its jagged fangs, and drove it into the Lycan’s eye.

The beast howled and retaliated—biting Avalon’s shoulder and tearing away a huge chunk of flesh.

Avalon screamed in agony, but retaliated with a brutal headbutt, sending both of them flying backward. Stone cracked beneath their impact.

But the Lycan was already on its feet.

With a swipe of its massive arm, it hurled Avalon like a ragdoll—straight into the wall where Valerion had crashed.

It turned back to the floating twins.

To Azrael.

To Raphael.

Lilith’s voice shook with power.

“Barriera Sanctum!”

A dome of glowing white light erupted around the twins and the ritual circle.

The Lycan slammed into it—and rebounded like a cannonball.

“It’s after them,” Lilith said through gritted teeth. “It’s after the twins. It wants to stop the ritual!”

“GUARDS!” she screamed. “Form ranks! Bind it! NOW!”

The guards charged in formation as they simultaneously attacked the lycans with their bladed weapons but it was futile. The creature overpowered them instantly. Screams echoed through the night as It tore through armor, limbs flying. It bit into a soldier’s chest and ripped it open, devouring his heart. It grabbed another by the throat and slammed him into the ground so hard his skull shattered. It slaughtered them so mercilessly until the courtyard was nothing but dismembered body parts, blood, flesh and organs.

Valerion reappeared, his cloak tattered, wounds rapidly healing.

His fingers twitched—and the Lycan’s blood obeyed.

It froze.

Then twisted.

Veins pulsed outward like puppet strings as Valerion bent its own blood against it, forcing the creature to the ground, its body fighting itself, spasming in rage and agony.

Avalon sped across the stones, leapt—and landed on the creature’s shoulder.

With a roar, he dug his hands into the thick muscle of its neck—

And ripped its head off.

Blood geysered from the stump like a fountain.

For one breathless second, the courtyard fell still.

Then Valerion closed his eyes, lifted a hand—and clenched it into a fist.

The second he shot his hand wide open, the Lycan exploded.

Flesh, blood, bone—every piece of the creature rained down, covering the entire courtyard in gore. Some of the fearless nobles flinched. Even Lilith shielded herself.

The witches chanted without stopping. The ritual was nearing its peak.

Valerion stood in the center of the carnage, breathing heavily.

It was done.

Or so he thought.

The blood—soaking the stones.

The flesh—splattered across walls.

The bones—crushed and scattered.

Began to move.

Pooling.

Shifting.

Merging.

One drop. Then another. Then more. A river of blood flowed together, bones slithering toward the center like insects.

Everyone stared.

The nobles gasped. A few cried out.

Lilith’s voice was a whisper. “No. That’s not possible…”

Arianna’s smile widened under her veil.

Valerion narrowed his eyes.

Avalon stood barely upright, his torn shoulder healing. “What in the name of the Gods—”

The creature reformed.

Right before them.

The malformed Lycan rose once more, its body rebuilt from the slaughter, its eyes glowing brighter, darker—hungrier.

It grinned. And then—