House of Blood

The descent through the storm was soundless.

Valerian fell three hundred feet through the torrents of rain, using the wide span of his wolf-fur cloak to catch the thermal drafts rushing up the gorge. Millimeters before his boots met the slick basalt floor of the Iron-Tooth Pass, he killed his downward momentum with a precise, triple-pivoted roll, rising instantly into a low combat stance.

Beside him, Kaelen landed with a heavy, muffled thud, her bone bludgeons already raised. Castor and Pollux materialized a second later through a quiet spatial ripple generated by Castor’s array needles.

The entrance to the Eldritch Sun Sanctum’s primary eastern supply depot lay carved directly into the belly of the mountain—a massive double archway constructed from jagged, black void-iron.

Eight heavy-tier cult enforcers clad in obsidian plate armor guarded the threshold, their halberds glowing with dark, corrupted mana.

Or rather, they had been guarding it.

By the time Valerian’s acoustic perception swept the archway, all eight enforcers were already dead.

Four lay face down in the mud, their throats severed by twin short-sword arcs so clean that no blood had spilled onto their chest plates—the unmistakable signature of Morrigan’s zero-deceleration execution technique.

The remaining four were pinned to the black void-iron doors, their chest cavities caved inward by the massive kinetic impact of a heavy scythe butt, their armor marked with fresh, smoking blood-red war runes.

Not a single alarm had been raised.

Not a single drop of aura had leaked beyond the perimeter.

’Your siblings don’t mess around, partner,’ Wren chuckled softly inside Valerian’s mind, her phantom ribbon form expanding slightly around his shoulders. ’They cleared the front porch and swept the mud off the rug before you even landed.’

”Perimeter status: completely neutralized,” Castor whispered, his monocle gleaming in the dark as he inspected the dead guards. ”Aura signature dispersal rate is zero. The three external vectors executed their vectors in approximately 1.4 seconds.”

”Clear the doors,” Valerian commanded quietly, his pleasant voice cutting through the sound of the howling wind.

Castor stepped forward, flicking three silver needles into the keyhole of the void-iron doors.

CLICK-CLACK.

The massive spatial locks groaned, shifting inward as Castor’s array inverted the door’s internal mechanism.

The heavy void-iron gates swung open, revealing a vast, subterranean cavern illuminated by the sickly, purple glow of thousands of uncut, corrupted soul-gems stacked high in iron cages.

The air inside the cavern was suffocatingly hot, thick with the stench of sulfur, burning copper, and raw abyssal corruption.

Hundreds of lower-tier cultists and enslaved miners worked along massive conveyor belts, transferring the corrupted gems into heavy iron crates bearing forged Imperial seals.

At the center of the cavern, standing atop a high stone altar surrounded by a churning pool of dark void-fluid, stood the depot’s commander: Elder Vaelen of the Eldritch Sun Sanctum.

Vaelen was a high-tier abyssal bishop whose entire lower body had been replaced with seven writhing, obsidian tendrils.

In his hand, he held a tall, bone-carved staff topped with an eye that bled thick, tar-like dark mist.

The moment the void-iron doors swung open, Vaelen’s single crimson eye snapped toward the entrance.

”Instruders?!” Vaelen hissed, his voice sounding like two rusty blades grinding together. ”How did you bypass the perimeter barriers?! Guards! Annihilate them!”

Dozens of cult enforcers and mutated abyssal hounds turned, their eyes glowing with wild, demonic madness as they surged toward the entrance like a black tide.

Valerian didn’t hesitate.

He stepped over the threshold, his black faceless mask reflecting the sickly purple light of the cavern.

”Kaelen. Secure the exit,” Valerian ordered calmly.

”Pollux. Begin the purification.”

”WITH GLORIOUS JOY, MY SOVEREIGN!” Pollux shrieked in unhinged, ecstatic delight.

She leaped forward, unstopping four glass vials of corpse-salt simultaneously.

As she threw the salt into the air, Castor deployed a wide-range spatial pressure array, dispersing the grey powder across the entire cavern floor in a fraction of a second.

The moment the corpse-salt touched the corrupted soul-gems, a deafening hiss echoed through the cavern.

The purple abyssal mist leaking from the crates instantly calcified, hardening into brittle, harmless white ash before it could pollute the surrounding atmosphere.

”MY GEMS!” Vaelen shrieked in horror, his obsidian tendrils thrashing violently against the stone altar. ”YOU DARE DESTROY THE SANCTUM’S SACRED OFFERING?! KILL THEM! SLAY THE MASKED BRAT!”

A squad of twelve armored cultists lunged at Valerian, their heavy broadswords slicing through the air in a synchronized, wind-infused grid meant to chop him into pieces.

Valerian didn’t activate blood-aura.

He didn’t draw a blade.

He stepped forward into the oncoming blades, his newly carved ironwood bo staff executing a flawless, sweeping arc—The Phantom Tread.

CLANG! CRACK! BOOM!

The cold-iron caps of his bo staff struck the joint gaps of the cultists’ armor with terrifying, mechanical precision.

Using their own forward momentum, Valerian pivoted off his left heel, deflecting the first blade into the second cultist’s neck, before driving the butt of his staff upward into the third enforcer’s chin.

The sound of shattering bone and buckling steel echoed through the cavern like a rhythmic drumbeat.

Valerian moved through the cultists like a dark water current—fluid, precise, and completely unstoppable.

Every swing of his wooden staff was pure geometry; every strike severed a nervous cluster or broke a structural support bone.

In less than eight seconds, all twelve enforcers lay unconscious or dead on the stone floor, their weapons scattered in the dirt.

High above the cavern floor, hidden in the deep shadows of the vaulted stalactites, three figures watched the slaughter in absolute silence.

Marvos rested his heavy scythe across his knees, his wild eyes wide with unadulterated awe as he watched his blindfolded baby brother dismantle an entire armored squad without using a single drop of aura.

”Look at those angles,” Marvos whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of pride and bloodlust. ”He’s not even using strength. He’s using their own weight to snap their spines.”

”It’s the non-aura framework he built in the North,” Maelis murmured, her fingers lightly tracing her throwing daggers as her dark eyes remained fixed on Valerian’s slate mask. ”He adapted because his spirit was suppressed... and now that he’s unsealed, his physical leverage is absolute.”

Morrigan stood between the twins, her cat-like crimson eyes glowing in the dark shadows of the roof tiles.

Her hand rested on the hilt of her short-sword, her gaze sweeping over the far corners of the cavern where two high-tier abyssal monstrosities were beginning to break free from their iron cages.

”Let him fight the bishop,” Morrigan ordered quietly, her voice cold and decisive.

”If those monstrosities try to flank him...”

Her short-swords unsheathed an inch, releasing a razor-sharp thread of silent, crimson aura into the air above.

”...we slice them into dog food before they take a step.”

Down on the cavern floor, Valerian wiped a drop of black blood off the end of his ironwood staff.

He turned his slate mask toward the stone altar, where Elder Vaelen stood trembling with rage, his bone staff leaking violent, unstable bursts of abyssal void-fire.

”You think a wooden stick can stop a High Bishop of the Sun, little ghost?!” Vaelen roared, his seven obsidian tendrils expanding to twenty feet in length as he raised his bone staff into the air.

”I will melt your bones and burn that slate mask into your skull!”

Valerian stepped onto the lower stairs of the altar, holding his ironwood staff loosely in one hand.

Beneath his black faceless mask, behind the rune-carved frost-hide blindfold, Valerian’s Sovereign’s Guilt Eyes pulsed with a cold, terrifying spark.

”You speak too much, Bishop,” Valerian spoke, his pleasant, calm voice echoing clearly over the roar of the abyssal flames.

”The board is already empty.”