Corrupted blood lord

Teclos’ thoughts were no longer his own, spiraling in violent, chaotic waves that refused to settle, each one darker than the last. They twisted together—rage, grief, and crushing self-blame—until he could barely tell them apart, and every second stretched into an eternity.

He knelt there, unmoving, in front of Gillard’s body.

In his left hand, hanging liflessly at his side, he held an empty potion flask between his fingers. The last few droplets he had not managed to feed Gillard fell one by one to the ground, reminding him how little it had mattered in the end.

In his right hand, he still held his sword. Its edge was worn and chipped now, painted blood-red from hilt to tip, still dripping onto the soil.

Even this miracle had not been enough to save his friend.

His entire right side was drenched in blood, soaked into his clothes and painted across his skin. He wore it like a second skin—a skin of orc blood—its metallic scent hanging thick around him, proof of the frenzy that had consumed him after those pests took something precious away.

But still, he did not move.

He remained frozen, staring at Gillard’s body as if burning the image into his mind was some form of punishment.

Then his thoughts dragged him back again, forcing him to relive it—not as it had happened, but as it should have gone.

If he had been faster. If he had reacted sooner. If he had been stronger.

He desperately tried to deny the reality in front of him.

But his thoughts would not stop. They tore through him, relentless and unforgiving, dragging him deeper with every passing second.

His grip on the sword tightened unconsciously, the metal creaking faintly under the pressure as fury flared inside him—at the world, at the orcs, and at himself.

Another drop fell from the flask.

Another from the blade.

Time passed, but the image in front of him stayed the same.

This was his fault.

There was no escaping it. No twisting it into something else. No lie he could tell himself to soften the truth.

He had been there. He had seen it happen.

And he had failed to protect him.

He had to accept that somehow.

But how was he supposed to accept something that had torn him apart?

As his grief and emotions kept building with no sign of slowing, the mana around him responded in kind. Dark mist spilled out from his body, spreading across the ground and blackening the soil and roots around him. Around his kneeling figure, a thick, viscous whirlpool of pitch-black mana swirled violently, and every now and then, streaks of dark purple lightning flickered within that furious mass.

Around him, both the air and the landscape began to change.

It spread outward like a disease.

Then, without warning, his sword slammed into the ground.

His body was so oversaturated with mana that the impact erupted outward in a violent burst, clearing the mist away from Gillard and the tree in an instant. A deep scar split the ground beneath the blade, the blood coating its edge dispersing immediately from the force.

Then the tip of the sword snapped off.

The sound cracked through the forest like a whip, leaving silence in its wake.

Then Teclos sensed a presence behind him.

His body reacted before his mind could, the broken sword snapping toward the figure’s throat.

But at the last second, he realized who it was.

It wasn’t an orc.

It was Talmir.

His father was approaching him slowly.

Each step he took was measured and cautious, like he was approaching a beast and not his son.

Talmir’s focus was razor sharp, every part of him prepared for an attack. He almost jumped back the moment Teclos twitched, but somehow, his son still seemed to recognize him.

Even so, the closer Talmir came, the more oppressive the air became. Fury, grief, and sadness saturated the mana around Teclos, pressing against his skin and making his instincts scream despite himself.

"Teclos..." he called out, keeping his voice as calm as he could.

But there was no response.

Not even a twitch.

Talmir narrowed his eyes slightly, preparing himself for anything as he continued to walk forward slowly.

"Hey..." he tried again, softer this time. "You’re okay... just be calm, alright? Everything is going to be all right."

The words felt strange coming out of his mouth. Like he was speaking to a rabid animal that might snap at any moment.

Teclos still didn’t react.

Which was both good and bad.

Talmir stepped within arm’s reach, wind mana tightening instinctively around his body, ready to subdue Teclos in an instant if things turned violent.

Then, slowly, carefully, he reached out and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

When Teclos still did not move, not even by a millimeter, concern began to overtake caution.

Without hesitation, Talmir grabbed him and turned him slightly, just enough to see his face—

And what he saw made his blood run cold.

For the briefest moment, even Talmir—a seasoned and hardened veteran—felt fear.

Teclos’s face...

Was twisted into something filled with a malice so intense it bordered on monstrous, something inhuman. And yet, at the same time, his eyes...

They were empty.

Hollow.

Pitch-black tears streaked down his face, staining his skin as they fell. There was no light in them, no focus.

Only a deep, unending void.

And they weren’t looking at him.

They were fixed on something else.

Following that gaze, Talmir saw him.

Gillard.

His lifeless body lay there. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Broken and bloodied.

A grimace tightened across Talmir’s face as the realization of everything settled into his mind. It explained everything—the massacre, the mana, and the state Teclos was in.

He felt sorry for Drada, but there was nothing more he could do now.

He threw a marker onto the ground, one with a few shining runes carved into it, then turned to Teclos.

"Snap out of it, son," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the stillness. "We have to get back. The town is under attack."

But there was no response.

Talmir’s jaw clenched slightly, but he continued.

"Ralph sent us here, hoping we could find you two..." he said, more quietly now. "I’m glad you’re alive, son." His gaze flicked briefly toward Gillard before returning to Teclos. "We’ll give him a proper burial, I’ll make sure of it. But we have to move."

Teclos remained exactly as he was.

Talmir exhaled slowly and tried again.

"Orcs—"

He didn’t even finish the sentence before Teclos reacted instantly.

His head snapped toward Talmir with an unnaturally quick motion. It was sharp and jarring, as if only that part of him had come back to life. His body remained perfectly still.

His eyes locked onto Talmir.

For the first time, there was something else besides the void inside them.

"Where are they..."

The words came quietly, distorted by the mana oversaturating his body.

Teclos slowly rose to his feet, his gaze drifting back to Gillard for one brief moment before he turned and began walking toward the village.

Talmir’s expression hardened instantly.

He understood the sinister intent behind Teclos’s sudden cooperation.

This was not him agreeing to return peacefully.

This was someone walking toward death on purpose.

"Kosak!"

Kosak understood instantly.

Without hesitation, stone plates surged up from the ground, wrapping tightly around Teclos’s body and locking him in place before he could take another step.

At the same time, Talmir appeared behind him in a blur and struck the back of his neck.

Teclos went limp instantly.

Unconscious.

After a second, Kosak turned to Talmir, outraged.

"What the hell was that, Talmir?!" Kosak demanded, his voice sharp as he approached. "Since when is your kid that strong? And that mana... what the hell was that?"

Talmir shook his head slightly, still watching Teclos carefully.

"Beats me," he muttered. "I don’t know what happened during this past year... he hid it well." His gaze darkened briefly before he forced himself to refocus. "But that doesn’t matter right now. We need to get back to the village."

Kosak grimaced, then tilted his head toward the body lying nearby.

"What about the kid?"

Talmir hesitated for a second.

Then he exhaled slowly, his expression hardening.

"Leave him," he said quietly. "We’ll come back for him after this is over. I marked this place."

Kosak didn’t argue.

Talmir hoisted Teclos over his shoulder without another word, adjusting his grip as he turned toward the direction of Kolma.

They ran back toward the village.

—

The situation at the village was dire.

Orcs had begun scaling the walls in multiple places, their massive hands gripping the edges as they hauled themselves upward with brute strength. Some were cut down before they could crest the top—arrows piercing their throats, spears driving through their chests—but for every one that fell, two more took their place.

The defenders were holding.

Barely.

Along the northern flank, a group of hunters stood shoulder to shoulder, shields and weapons raised, breathing hard as they held back wave after wave.

Steel met flesh in a brutal rhythm. Blades carved into green skin, axes chopped into bone, and the sickening crack of breaking limbs joined the screams and chaos of the clash.

One hunter propelled his spear with fire and drove it through an orc’s jaw, the tip punching out the back of its skull. But before he could reset, another orc grabbed him by the arm.

The creature yanked him forward and tore his throat open with a savage bite, spraying blood across the wooden planks.

He dropped dead.

Nearby, a veteran swung his sword in a wide arc, the blade catching an orc across the neck and taking its head clean off.

With a roar, he searched for another target and moved immediately, splitting another orc’s skull open in one fluid motion.

But before the body even hit the ground, another orc slammed into him from the side, tackling him off the wall.

Both of them crashed down below with a dull, final thud.

And then there was the magic surging across the battlefield, making the chaos even worse.

A hunter slammed his foot down, mana flaring bright beneath him—and the earth answered. A pit opened beneath a cluster of advancing orcs, swallowing them whole as they plunged into darkness. But before he could celebrate, a wind slash tore through the air and severed his body in two.

Another hunter raised both hands, veins bulging as he roared, and a massive tornado erupted from his palms, hurling every orc on his flank down from the wall.

But in the next second, a fireball exploded against his face and melted his head clean off.

Further out in front of the wall, a crude stone golem lumbered forward, its form uneven but massive. It swung one heavy arm, smashing the orcs in front of it into paste, but it was being bombarded by all kinds of spells.

Little by little, the golem began to crumble.

And the human inside slowly turned to ash.

The humans were killing them.

That was the cruelest part.

Orcs fell from the walls. Bodies tumbled into the mud below, split open by blades, arrows, and magic. Fire consumed them. Lightning tore through them. Spears punched through throats and skulls. Every section of Kolma’s defense fought with everything it had, and for every heartbeat, another orc died.

But the humans were dying faster.

One by one, gaps opened in the line. A hunter fell, and no one was there to replace him. A guard screamed as he was dragged over the wall. A priest raised a shield, only for a boulder to crush him beneath it. The defenders would not hold for long as the orc horde pressed forward, their numbers swallowing and overwhelming them.

Each flank began to buckle.

Even Father Pella’s side.

Green life mana roared around him as he split orcs apart with brutal swings left and right, his wounds closing almost as quickly as they opened. And for a while, he looked unstoppable.

But then Kui’ri appeared above the battlefield, her massive bow drawn, wind spiraling around an arrow larger than a man, ready to be released.

Beside her, Gor’kes descended in a flash of lightning, black armor crackling with power.

Pella looked up, his expression darkening.

"How can a race that prides itself on battles gang up on a frail old man?" he said to them.

But the two attacked him without another word.

Two commander-class orcs had come for him.