Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 96: The power unleashed

The landscape that had once been an arena was now nothing more than a memory carved into devastation. Where tiered stone seating had stood for millennia, there were only fragments scattered across an area spanning half a mile.

The ground itself had been cleaved in multiple directions, creating chasms that dropped into darkness, revealing underground layers that hadn’t seen light in eons.

It had become a huge pit, like a perfectly crafted well. River water seeping out of the crater walls, pooling down below.

The air around the combat zone was visibly distorted, warping like heat shimmer but far more extreme. Reality itself seemed uncertain in the space where their powers collided, creating afterimages and phantom echoes of movements that had already concluded.

Jorghan and El’ran stood perhaps fifty yards apart, both breathing heavily now, their forms still radiating power that made the space between them dangerous to occupy.

The blood scythe in Jorghan’s hands pulsed with crimson light, while El’ran’s blade had taken on an almost ethereal quality, surrounded by an aura of pure magical force.

”You’re stronger than any half-blood should be,” El’ran said, his voice carrying across the devastation without strain.

”That bloodline of yours—it’s not just rare, it’s something ancient, isn’t it? Something that predates modern classifications.”

”Who’s your father?”

El’ran was starting to suspect that Jorghan wasn’t an ordinary half-blood, and he must have inherited an old bloodline of the twelve clans.

”Does it matter?” Jorghan replied, shifting his grip on the scythe.

”You’re still trying to kill me.”

”Of course it matters!” El’ran’s polished amber eyes blazed with intensity.

”I’ve fought for seven centuries. I’ve faced armies, dragons, and beings that no one can perceive. And you—you’re making me work for this. That means something.”

”It means you’re getting old,” Jorghan shot back, and then he attacked.

But this time, he didn’t close the distance physically.

Instead, he channelled power through the blood scythe and released it as a projectile attack—a crescent-shaped wave of compressed blood energy that tore through the air with a sound like tearing fabric.

El’ran responded instantly, raising his blade and channelling his own power into a counter.

A beam of pure white light erupted from the sword’s edge, meeting Jorghan’s attack head-on.

The collision created an explosion that lit up the entire surroundings and far beyond it, too. The shockwave flattened what little remained of the arena’s original structure and sent massive clouds of sand billowing outward in all directions.

From their position nearly a mile away, pressed against the settlement’s outer walls, the assembled clans watched in stunned silence.

”That’s impossible,” one of the Nue’roka elders whispered. ”No one matches El’ran in raw power. No one.”

”The half-blood is matching him,” another replied, voice thick with disbelief.

”Strike for strike, he’s matching a patriarch who’s lived for centuries.”

Sarhita stood at the front of the evacuated group, her hands still glowing with residual power from maintaining the protective barriers that had gotten them to safety. Her eyes were wide, tracking every movement despite the distance.

”He’s holding back,” she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else.

”Even now, even against this, he’s not showing everything.”

Kal’thun, standing beside her, turned sharply.

”What do you mean? How can you tell?”

”Watch his movements,” Sarhita replied.

”He’s testing, learning and adapting. Every attack El’ran throws, Jorghan is analyzing it. This will be over soon, and the result won’t be as nice as their clan expects.”

”He’s only dragging this because he seems to learn from the patriarch and polish the clan’s techniques he learned a few days ago.”

Kal’thun and others were surprised at her statement.

They turned to Jorghan and watched him through the destroyed surface like a beast, quick and precise. Such a strange young man he was; they all had the same thought.

Back in the devastated combat zone, El’ran launched another assault. This time, he created multiple spheres of concentrated magical energy, each one pulsing with destructive potential. They hovered around him like orbiting satellites, and with a gesture, he sent them streaking toward Jorghan in a coordinated pattern designed to overwhelm through sheer volume.

Jorghan responded by slamming the butt of his blood scythe into the ground. Blood erupted from the point of contact, spreading outward in a wave that crystallized into hundreds of needle-thin projectiles.

They shot upward to meet El’ran’s spheres, intercepting them mid-flight.

The resulting explosions created a cascade of detonations that turned the space between them into a hellscape of fire and concussive force. The ground cracked further, entire sections of terrain simply ceasing to exist as the accumulated damage exceeded what the stone structures could withstand.

When the smoke cleared, both fighters were still standing, neither having given ground.

El’ran’s expression had shifted from excited challenge to something harder, colder. ”You’re beginning to irritate me, half-blood. This should have been over by now.”

”Sorry to disappoint,” Jorghan replied, his tone deliberately casual.

”Want to surrender?”

”Surrender?”

El’ran’s voice rose with incredulous anger. ”I am El’ran the Unbreakable!”

”You are just a puny little brat who knows nothing.”

”I think,” Jorghan said carefully, ”that you’re getting emotional. That’s a mistake.”

El’ran snarled and launched himself forward with explosive speed, his blade leading in a thrust that should have been impossible to dodge at such close range. Jorghan sidestepped it narrowly, feeling the displaced air burn against his skin, and countered with a horizontal sweep of his scythe aimed at El’ran’s exposed flank.

The patriarch twisted impossibly, his centuries of combat experience allowing him to contort his body in ways that defied normal anatomy. The scythe missed by inches, and El’ran’s counter-strike came so fast that Jorghan barely got his weapon up in time to block.

The impact sent both of them flying backward, their bodies tumbling across the broken terrain before they managed to arrest their momentum.

”You’re fast,” El’ran acknowledged, rising to his feet.

”But speed alone won’t save you.”

He raised his blade skyward, and the air above him began to gather, compress, and distort. Energy coalesced into a massive sphere, easily thirty feet in diameter, pulsing with power that made the very atmosphere scream in protest.

”Let’s see you block this,” El’ran said, and hurled the sphere directly at Jorghan.

It moved faster than something that size should have been able to move, crossing the distance in less than a second.

Jorghan had no time to dodge, no time to create a conventional defense.

So he did something else.

He dissolved.

His physical form seemed to come apart, transforming into a cloud of blood mist that spread outward just as the energy sphere passed through the space where he’d been standing. The sphere continued on, impacting the ground behind his position and creating an even deeper crater and the water flow into the crater just increased.

The blood mist reconsolidated fifty feet to the left, reforming into Jorghan’s physical body. He was panting from the exertion of that technique, sweat mixing with the blood that covered his skin.

”New trick,” El’ran observed, his tone grudging with respect.

”Hemomantic dissolution and reformation. That’s a ninth-tier technique at minimum. Where did a half-blood learn ninth-tier blood sorcery?”

”Trial and error,” Jorghan replied, which was partially true.

The system had been feeding him tactical suggestions throughout the fight, guiding his instincts, and helping him.

He was given these abilities as he progressed through the ancestral bloodline.

[Bloodborne Rage: 34% activation threshold]

[Warning: Extended high-intensity combat creates psychological stress]

[Sanguine Sovereignty: Multiple applications available]

[Recommendation: Escalate to match opponent’s increasing power output]

El’ran was gathering power again, this time not for a single massive attack but for something more sustained. His form began to glow, energy radiating from every pore, his blade becoming so bright it was painful to look at directly.

Being a ninth had its benefits, and being supplied with a surplus amount of mana was one of the aspects of being the ninth tier. El’ran was an elf, and elves have large amounts of mana pools in the mana core.

”I’m done being impressed,” he announced.

”I’m done testing your limits. Now I’m simply going to destroy you.”

He did say that, but he was having a hard time while blocking his attacks. Jorghan seemed to possess the same intellect as him when it came to battle. And maybe it was the reason their battle was being dragged on.

He moved forward, and this time his approach was different. He was no longer fighting as a swordsman who could use magic—he was fighting as a being of pure magical force that happened to be shaped like a person. His blade carved through the air, leaving trails of burning energy that remained suspended, creating a web of destruction that made the entire area lethal to occupy.

Jorghan met him with his own escalation. The blood scythe dissolved, its form becoming fluid again, and he manifested something new—twin blades of crystallized blood, each one pulsing with power that resonated with his heartbeat.