The Southern Lands weren't always shrouded in blood and darkness.
Once known as the Kingdom of Virenthia, the region was a thriving cradle of arcane scholars, divine beast tamers, and spirit weavers. Rivers shimmered with blessed light, and temples soared with heavenly chants. But all of that changed two centuries ago—when the Blood Moon Clan emerged from the rift beneath the Cradle Spire.
They claimed to be descendants of the fallen star gods, wielders of an ancient rite called The Night Sigil, capable of stealing power from both the living and the dead. One by one, cities fell. Kings swore loyalty or were devoured. The sacred temples bled dry. Virenthia burned—and was reborn as The Scorched South, a lawless, cursed zone ruled by fear and ritual sacrifice.
The Black Spire, a massive tower of bone, obsidian, and weeping souls, now stood at the center like a knife stabbed into the land's heart.
That was their destination.
And now, under a burning crimson sky, Renji stood atop a cliff overlooking the southern valley. Below, the Blood Moon camps sprawled in rows like a necrotic infection. Tents formed from skin-tanned cloth. Ritual flames danced unnaturally in the wind. Blood banners bearing a crescent fang fluttered across the fortress.
Beside him stood Zach, cold-eyed, face grim, but his silver hair wild with wind.
"They don't expect us," he said.
"Let's make them regret that," Renji replied, tightening the grip on his blade. His heart thundered—not from fear, but from clarity. This was war.
Behind them, Mira crouched on a rock, scanning with her fox ears perked. "Three guards at the north wall. Weak enchantments. I could blind them for twenty seconds."
Velahza chuckled darkly, brushing her fingers along her twin curved blades. "I'll carve the sigils. Let's tear their spine out."
Zach raised his fist, and the squad of Salzaharian elite warriors moved in silence. Each bore the insignia of the Imperial Void Sanctuary—black roses etched in steel, blades coated in nightshade and spirit venom.
"Three... two... one."
The raid began with fire.
A flashbang rune soared across the sky, detonating into a shower of white light. Screams tore through the air as Mira's daggers slashed silently, throats opening like paper. Velahza danced between shadows like a reaper's ghost, her blades painting elegant arcs of crimson.
Renji charged straight into the heart.
He activated Shadow Step—appearing behind the Blood Moon enchanters mid-chant. His blade struck like judgment. Limbs flew, spells sputtered, and blood sprayed into the ashen wind.
But then came the sound—the rhythmic chanting of dozens.
From within the Black Spire emerged Ascendant Scars, twisted elite warriors clad in robes of flesh and bone armor. Each had carved the Night Sigil into their hearts. Their eyes glowed with cursed embers, their weapons pulsing with forbidden power.
One charged at Renji, swinging a cleaver that radiated soul energy. Renji blocked with his forearm guard and staggered—too strong.
"Renji!" Zach yelled, tossing a silver spear. Renji caught it midair, infused it with Divine Justice, and hurled it like thunder. The cleaver-wielder exploded into ashes.
Velahza was already deep in bloodlust, her armor splattered in gore, shrieking a hymn of war from her homeland. She moved like wrath incarnate.
But the ground began to quake.
From the center of the camp, a massive dark gate rose—a summoning circle. Black mist poured out as an ominous presence loomed.
Zach's eyes narrowed. "They're calling something ancient."
"Then we shut it down now!" Renji roared.
As his Exile System pulsed in warning, Seraphina's voice echoed faintly in his mind.
"You must sever the link, Renji. That gate is one of the four Dark Crucibles. Let it stand, and the nightmare will consume everything."
He bolted through the bloodied paths, Mira and Velahza at his side. Together, they carved through enforcers, broke ritual stones, and reached the gate's edge.
Renji slammed his palm onto the sigil.
[ Exile System Command Accessed ]
[ Divine Override Activate ]
With a scream that shook the heavens, the gate shattered, casting a wave of blinding light across the valley. The ritual was broken—but the war had just begun.
Zach exhaled beside him, blood running down his arm. "That was just their outer shell. We're still a thousand steps from their throne."
Renji looked ahead, eyes burning.
"Then we start climbing."
The battle raged until the sky itself seemed to scream.
Smoke coiled through the burning camps of the Blood Moon Clan. Fires roared from shattered tents. Corpses—both human and inhuman—littered the ground, their faces frozen in pain, in fury, in disbelief. Renji stood still in the middle of it all, sword dipped in blood, boots sinking into ash and mud.
His breathing was heavy, steam rising from his skin.
He could feel the weight of a hundred eyes upon him, even though the battlefield had grown deathly still. The kind of silence that didn't belong to the living.
Above them, the sky bled.
The Bloody Moon—the cursed crimson orb that marked the clan's power—had begun to descend. Not gracefully like the sun, but like a wounded god collapsing into the horizon. It cracked, bit by bit, as if rejecting the night, as if the power of the clan was breaking along with it.
Darkness swept the sky like spilled ink. No stars. No silver lining.
Just void.
And in that moment, the battlefield froze.
Even the remaining Blood Moon loyalists stopped fighting. They glanced at the sky, mouths open in horror, disbelief twisting across their faces.
Zach moved forward from the shadows, his silver hair barely visible in the gloom. His face was calm, almost expressionless. He wiped blood from his blade with a slow, reverent motion. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he summoned it.
A tiny rift opened beside him—a glimmering blue portal no larger than a plate—and out popped a goblin no taller than a barrel. Its skin was mint green, eyes glowing yellow with mischief and madness.
The creature wore a war horn as long as its body across its back. It pulled it forward like a treasured instrument.
Zach smiled just slightly, "Time to end this little opera."
The goblin stepped forward, raised the horn, and blew into it.
The sound was otherworldly—part thunder, part banshee scream, part celestial roar. It echoed across the valley, across the mountains, across the night itself.
It was the signal.
From the cliffs, fires lit up as Renji's allied forces raised their banners high. The elite strike squads returned from the far ends of the encampment, dragging prisoners and relics, while Mira flickered into view, her daggers now sheathed, her fur lightly dusted with soot.
Velahza stood tall, chin high, her armor cracked and soaked in gore. Her blades had already vanished into smoke. "Well," she said with a dark smile, "that was... refreshing."
Renji gave a slow nod, the exhaustion catching up to him.
Zach looked toward the remains of the Black Spire's southern wall, where the blood gate had once stood. The rituals were broken, the Crucible destroyed—for now.
But they knew this was only one layer of the nightmare.
Renji staggered slightly and sat on a piece of broken stone. He stared down at his hands—hands that had taken lives, broken chains, and defied fate. The exile system still pulsed softly within him, but Seraphina's voice was silent now.
He whispered to no one. "What's next?"
Mira knelt beside him, offering a small waterskin. "Next? We survive. We regroup. And then we burn the rest of them."
Zach walked over and placed a map scroll on the stone.
"The next gate," he said, tapping a black mark near the Weeping Hollows, "is far worse."
Velahza stretched her limbs like a panther before a kill. "Then we'll sharpen our claws and bleed them dry."
The air shifted.
The Blood Moon had set. The night had claimed its silence. But the scent of vengeance and war still clung to the wind.
And from the shadows of the Spire, far beyond the burning camp, distant eyes watched.
Eyes that glowed with hunger. Eyes that had seen empires fall and rise again.
The first siege was over.
But the war had only begun.