CHAPTER 714: THE SYMPHONY OF BLOOD AND LIGHT

After sealing the servant contracts with every last Fairy, the party moved on.

It wasn’t long before another village came into view—but this one was different.

This wasn’t ruin. This was rot.

The place looked like time itself had gnawed it down to the bone. Roof beams had collapsed, walls were scorched black, and the slightest breeze sent flakes of ash drifting like dead snow. The air was lifeless—no birds, no bugs, not even a blade of grass that hadn’t withered to glassy husks.

Ethan didn’t like it. He was about to order a retreat when a sound tore through the silence—

A metallic shriek, like steel being ripped in half.

—ROAR!

The ground trembled. Rubble surged like a wave. A mass of blood-red shadow burst from beneath the earth, shooting skyward in a spiral of mist and pressure. The sheer force of it warped the air, like the world itself was being wrung out.

Ethan took a step back and raised his hand, calling up the system interface:

Bloodfiend-Fairy Hybrid

Tier: 21 (Peak)

Status: Fusion Instability / Berserk

"A hybrid," he muttered. "And a failed one."

He tapped his right shoulder.

From the seam of his shadow, Idra rose like smoke. "Father, are we fighting again?"

"Yeah." Ethan nodded, already issuing the fusion command.

Idra dissolved into a stream of soul-light and flowed into him. In an instant, the power of the Dragon God and the aura of the Fey Sovereign layered over Ethan’s body in golden sigils and soft pulses of light—like someone had drawn a boundary between heaven and earth, and he was standing dead center.

Across the field, the hybrid Bloodfiend howled, its body wracked by internal chaos. Blood energy surged wildly through its veins, but from its wings, faint blue Fey light bled out, clashing violently with the red. The two forces tore at each other, trying to rip the creature apart from the inside out.

It slammed its fists into the ground, and the resulting shockwave flattened what little remained of the village. Blood mist exploded outward like artillery fire, and the earth buckled beneath its rage.

"If this keeps up, it’ll self-destruct—and draw every Bloodfiend in the region," Ethan said, eyes narrowing. He braced, ready to charge.

But before he could move, a shadow flickered past him.

Feylora.

She was already behind the creature, arms outstretched, fingers locking around the base of its bloodstained wings.

"Be—still," she exhaled.

The Fey Sovereign’s mark flared to life on her neck, and a gravitational pull snapped into place.

The unstable energy inside the hybrid was yanked off course, siphoned through its wings. The Fey light reversed direction, flowing back through its joints like a river forced upstream. The two opposing forces—blood and Fey—were dragged into the same current, forced into resonance.

The berserk state faltered.

The creature sensed the threat. It raised a hand, palm aimed at its chest.

Self-destruct.

Ethan’s foot sigil flared gold—he blinked forward, reappearing in front of the hybrid just as its hand came down.

He caught its wrist mid-swing and twisted hard.

CRACK.

The bone snapped clean.

With his other hand, he pressed his palm to its chest, forming a dual siphon.

The energy drain began.

The pressure dropped, wave by wave, like the tide pulling back.

The creature’s scream shifted—first shrill, then hoarse, then broken.

Its body withered rapidly, blood mist unraveling into thin red threads, then scattering like dust.

When the last trace of energy was gone, Ethan let the husk collapse to the ground.

Silence returned.

Only the wind whispered through the shattered walls.

Feylora stood still, lifting her gaze slowly.

Her irises had turned a deep crimson, ringed with faintly spinning blue sigils. The aura around her rose in layers—sharp, pure, but without the chaos of a berserker. It was controlled. Balanced.

A system prompt blinked into Ethan’s vision:

Temporary Form: Feylora (Bloodfiend-Fey Stabilized Mode)

Tier: 21 (Peak)

Stability: 92% (Enhanced by Fey Sovereign Intervention)

Ethan lowered his hand, the light fading from his palm.

"The cause is obvious," he said quietly. "That thing failed because the two energies rejected each other. It was being torn apart by competing rhythms. But the Fey Sovereign’s power—it’s a mediator. Like a binding agent. It tunes the frequencies until they resonate."

He exhaled slowly.

The air still stank of blood and scorched stone.

He adjusted his breathing, then let his own energy flow freely.

It surged through him like a tide—hot, steady, perfectly fused.

He could feel it in his veins: the rhythm of something new.

Bloodfiend power.

That raw, primal force—it didn’t just burn. It sang.

And for the first time in a long while, Ethan felt something stir in his chest.

Satisfaction.

And deep within Ethan’s body, Idra stirred.

Her consciousness shimmered faintly, resonating with the new power coursing through him—like something ancient had just been roused from slumber.

"Father..." she whispered in his mind, her voice soft, reverent—and tinged with a hungry kind of awe.

"This power... it’s beautiful."

There was a flicker of greed in her tone, a craving that mirrored the pulse of blood and gold now threading through Ethan’s veins.

He didn’t suppress it.

Now wasn’t the time for restraint.

He raised his hand and gave the order to move out.

As they advanced, the aura of the Fey Sovereign radiated from both him and Feylora, saturating the air like a rising tide. The very atmosphere seemed to lighten, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

And then they came.

Fairies—dozens, then hundreds—emerged from the forests, the valleys, the ruins. Drawn by the familiar pulse of bloodline magic, they flew toward him like sparks to a flame.

One by one, they knelt.

Not in fear.

In recognition.

They asked to join him.

And Ethan accepted.

Soon, a vast Fairy army had formed around him.

They came in all shapes and sizes—some humanoid, with wings like cut crystal; others no larger than a fist, but radiating dense magical pressure. The army was chaotic, wild, alive—like a living forest marching to war.

Ethan didn’t try to force them into uniformity.

Instead, he organized them by form, by magical markings, by elemental resonance. He let the tribes align naturally, their strengths complementing one another.

And as they marched, the energy in the air began to shift.

Spell formations started to take shape—fluid, organic, growing stronger with every step.

They moved north, into the wastelands.

The land there was cloaked in rolling fog, thick with the stench of blood. Every breath felt like inhaling rust and ash.

In the distance, a silhouette loomed beneath the crimson sky.

A fortress.

Or what was left of one.

Its walls bled. Literally. Veins of dark red pulsed between the stones, and the whole structure seemed to breathe—slow, labored, alive.

"The Bloodfiends’ nest," Ethan murmured.

He could feel it.

Something inside that fortress was calling to him.

Dark. Seductive. Familiar.

It wasn’t just a lure—it was an invitation.

To step inside.

To consume.

To become.

"You Fairies... dare gather an army to storm my gates?"

The voice cracked across the sky like thunder.

A blood-red rift tore open above them.

And from it, a massive figure plummeted to the earth.

A Bloodfiend, wreathed in flames the color of fresh gore, landed atop the ruins with a crash that shook the ground. Its wings spread wide, blotting out the sky.

Its eyes—deep crimson, burning with disdain—locked onto Ethan.

...