Morvain pressed his clawed hands against the dome of light, his nails screeching as they carved through its golden glass-like surface.

The barrier rippled and trembled, fractures racing outward in jagged webs under the surge of his corrupted blood mana. Every pulse of his power drove deeper, threatening to tear the dome apart.

He could smell the mortals within, their fear bleeding through the cracks. "Cower all you like," he whispered, his voice low and cruel. "This sanctuary will be your tomb."

Then, a sudden weight dragged him down.

Morvain snarled as talons clamped around his legs, yanking him toward the ground. Two hulking bone-crested elites had seized him, their claws biting into his flesh.

"Wretched vermin," he spat. His hand slashed like a blade, and with one stroke, he ripped the arm from the first elite. The creature howled, collapsing to its knees as black blood poured freely. Morvain laughed. "Did you truly think carrion like you could bind me?"

But three more crashed into him, their glaives grinding against his body, wings, and neck, their immense weight forcing him down. His wings beat furiously, sending gales strong enough to topple stone, but the creatures did not relent.

Pinned under their bulk, Morvain's fury burned hotter. He twisted and writhed, snapping his sharp at the nearest demon, when light broke across the battlefield.

"Hold him," Roland's voice thundered.

Morvain turned, lips curling back over his fangs, as the human hastily approached with twin blades of radiance in hand.

Behind him, the wounded elite roared in renewed vigor. Its severed arm pulsed with golden light, the limb restored by Roland's power. With a snarl, the demon slammed its glaive across Morvain's chest, pinning him harder into the earth.

Roland's gaze met his. Cold, resolute. "You must be the vampire general I was told came here, Morvain, was it? Well, your rule ends here."

Morvain snarled, his fangs bared as the weight of the bone-crested elites drove him into the dirt. Their glaives pressed hard against his wings, their claws anchoring him in place. Even wounded, his power surged; he tried to control the shadows to set himself free from the strong grip that was breaking his wings apart.

"You think your beasts can hold me?" Morvain hissed, his voice echoing with malice. "Then let them drown with you."

His aura pulsed, and from the shadows rose his thralls and tendrils like sharp tentacles, and yet they could not move much.

The vampire general was successful in summoning at least a dozen pale vampires, though.

They were clad in blackened armor and blood red robes as they emerged at his call.

Their eyes burned crimson as they hurled themselves into the melee, fangs snapping, blades flashing.

The battlefield erupted.

Roland's elites roared in defiance, their serrated glaives cleaving through undead flesh.

One crushed a vampire knight underfoot, shattering its skull with a brutal stomp, while another ripped its glaive through two thralls in a single swing.

Yet for every one that fell, another came crawling out of the dark mist that Morvain had conjured.

Steel rang against bone, wings beat furiously, and the field turned into a storm of fangs and claws.

Roland leapt into the fray.

His twin light blades flared like twin suns, cutting a blazing path toward Morvain.

Each strike he made left burning trails in the air, searing through the shadows that sought to envelope the hero.

Morvain wrenched himself free of the elites for a heartbeat, lashing out with taloned hands.

His claw caught Roland's guard, sparks flying as his strength crashed against the hero's blades. Their eyes met, and the vampire general grinned, his fangs dripping black ichor.

"I expected no less from the hero… You are just lucky the blue-skinned demons did not want to work together to hunt you down..."

Roland shoved back, his blades locking against Morvain's claws. "Indeed, I am lucky to face only one general this time… by the time you all react, though, it might be a little late."

They clashed again, faster, harder. Morvain's strikes were like lightning, each one a blur of claws meant to shred flesh and steel alike. Roland met him blow for blow, his blades ringing like bells of light, every impact shaking the ground beneath their feet.

At first, the vampire's strength seemed endless. His body moved with supernatural grace, every motion refined by centuries of battle. He twisted and spun, his claws aiming for Roland's throat, his heart, his spine. And each time, Roland's blades intercepted him, sparks bursting in flares of gold and shadow.

But then Roland began to push back.

He called upon the spirits, his breathing steady as their light poured into his blades. The fractured edges of his swords flared brighter, brighter still, until each strike was no longer just steel it was a burning lance of sunlight.

Morvain staggered under the assault, his flesh hissing and smoking where the blades grazed him. The light burned deeper than any wound, scalding the corruption in his veins. His thralls shrieked in agony as the radiance spread, many bursting into ash before they could retreat.

Roland's advance was relentless. Every step forward forced Morvain back, every strike a hammer blow of radiance.

The vampire general's grin began to falter. His claws shook under the force of the twin suns, his shadow-weave unraveling against the purifying light.

"Impossible…" Morvain growled, smoke rising from his seared flesh. "You… you wield their power as if it were your own. But how… and why are the spirits so in tune with you?"

Roland's voice rang like a vow, steady and cold.

"Well, of course they are. You're tearing apart their home. How else did you think they would answer?"

With a roar, he brought both blades together, their radiance merging into a blinding arc that split the air like dawn breaking over night.

Morvain screamed as the light engulfed him, his body recoiling, wings thrashing wildly. The strength that had shattered the dome moments before now faltered, dimming under the brilliance of the hero's blades.

Morvain's scream split the battlefield as Roland's twin blades carved into him, their radiance burning away the shadows that cloaked his form. His flesh split open under the searing light, veins bursting with fire, his once-regal features twisting into a mask of agony.

"No!" he howled, thrashing wildly, but the elites held him down, their claws locking around his arms and wings. Every time he tried to rise, their weight dragged him lower, forcing his body to the dirt.

Roland pressed forward, the spirits' strength coursing through his veins. Each strike of his blades tore more of Morvain's power away, stripping centuries of strength with every cut.

The vampire general's claws lashed desperately, catching Roland's arm, tearing through flesh but the wound closed almost instantly, bathed in the aura of the Light Spirits.

Morvain's eyes widened, his defiance faltering at last. "You… you cannot be human…"

Roland's gaze hardened. "I don't need to be. I just need to end you."

With a surge of motion, he crossed his blades over Morvain's chest. Light flared so bright the battlefield froze, and demons alike shielding their eyes.

Then he pulled.

The swords tore through flesh, bone, and shadow, cleaving the vampire's body in a burning X.

Morvain let out one final shriek, his body convulsing as radiant fire erupted from within.

For a heartbeat, his form was a pillar of darkness writhing against the dawn then it broke apart, scattering into ash that dissolved into the wind.

Silence followed.

Where Morvain had stood, nothing remained but charred earth and a faint red glow.

Roland exhaled slowly, his blades dimming in his hands before they finally broke apart.

Both of his weapons trembled in his hands, their radiant edges fracturing, as if they could no longer hold their form.

Around him, the elites released their grip and rose, their bloodied forms either lifting their voices in praise of the hero or standing silent, waiting for their own turn to be praised by their new master.

The soldiers behind the barrier erupted into cheers, their voices carrying over the battlefield. "The general is dead! The hero has slain him!"

Roland stood among the ashes, his chest heaving, his gaze lifting to the barrier above, where cracks still spread outward slowly, but it was healing at least.

"One less monster," he muttered, sweat and blood streaking his face. "But the war is far from over."

His eyes swept the battlefield. Of the elites he had bound, only five remained, yet under his command, they carved through the remnants of the horde with ruthless precision. The tide had shifted; Renar's soldiers pressed forward with renewed strength, driving the broken demons back into the shadows while killing the majority of them.

Roland exhaled, steadying himself.

And as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the battlefield fell quiet, leaving only the promise of the battles yet to come.

He then felt the crystal of his palm begin to pulse, its surface already glowing with a familiar light. Stella's voice, soft yet taut with worry, filtered through.

"Roland…? Please tell me you're doing well."

A tired smile touched his lips. "I'm alright, hon. Exhausted, but alive. We won, Stella. At least for today."