His declaration was met with stunned silence. Neither the Icefang nor the Frostscale tribes knew how to react to such a cryptic statement. The quiet only lasted a moment before an astonished murmur began to rise from the tunnel''s entrance.

    The noise quickly grew, drawing the Progenitor''s attention. For the first time, Shassra looked past Zeke and toward the army behind him. His eyes narrowed as the crowd parted, and a look of shock replaced his focused expression. Striding toward them was a solitary figure—a young man, tall and handsome, with snow-white skin and hair. Though his build was lean, the trained eye could easily discern the corded muscles beneath his plain shirt.

    “Impossible...” Shassra breathed, though loud enough for Zeke to pick it up.

    A few moments later, the newcomer reached the front of the army, his casual steps deceptively quick. As he approached Zeke, he gave him a brief sidelong glance, a faint smile tugging at his lips for just an instant. But that was all the attention he spared before moving past him, eyes locked on the Progenitor.

    He came to a stop just a few steps away, a distance way too close for comfort. However, the man seemed utterly relaxed as he faced the imposing old man.

    “You’re supposed to be dead,” Shassra said, having regained his composure somewhat. “I felt you dying!”

    The young man stood there, not a hint of emotion on his face. “You’ve grown old,” he stated plainly. “Is that the price you paid?”

    “Pah! I would have paid a much heavier price still if it meant that I could finally kill you,” Shassra hissed, a sinister light glowing in his eyes.

    “...And yet, you failed,” the young man responded, finally allowing a faint smile to touch his lips.

    Shassra remained silent, scrutinizing the man before him. The Frostscale Progenitor’s expression shifted wildly during the inspection, betraying that there was more at play than met the eye. Finally, a pleased smile settled on his face.

    “You''re right, my poison is gone from your body,” he said. “But you''re still far from recovered. Was it really wise for you to come here, Winter?”

    Winter frowned, but then he turned his head, glancing at his son, Frost, and the gathered members of the Icefang tribe behind him.

    “Unlike you,” he said, returning his attention to Shassra, ”my heart has not turned to ice just yet.”

    Shassra chuckled. “Another weakness you’ve allowed yourself.”

    Winter shrugged, completely unconcerned. “Weakness or not, I will do as I please—as I always have.”

    Shassra smirked, a glint in his eyes. “Can you even protect your tribe if I decide to kill them now? Do you think you can stop me?”

    A collective gasp sounded as the members of the Icefang tribe inhaled as one. The Progenitors were discussing life or death in such a casual manner that even Zeke felt a shudder down his spine. Secretly, he focused on one of his Beacons, prepared to leave with Ash and Gravitas at a moment’s notice.

    The moment Zeke''s feet touched the ground, he extended his arms to either side, shoving the nearby Chimeroi out of his way. Instantly, two thin red lines emerged from his palms. It had been a while since he had used his [Blood Whips], but they felt like old friends as they sprang forth from his body.

    Zeke began to spin, whipping the razor-sharp tendrils around him in a wide arc. Now, however, the whips continued to lengthen well beyond their usual reach. With the massive amount of blood in his body, there was practically no limit to how far they could extend.

    Out of the corner of his eye, Zeke saw his whips slice through the ranks of soldiers like a scythe through wheat. Heads, limbs, and scales flew in every direction as his bloody weapons whirled around him.

    When he came to a stop, he found himself standing in a field of corpses, drenched in blood from head to toe. The nearby soldiers, Purebloods, and even his allies were staring at his crimson figure with eyes of shock.

    Zeke glanced at his feet, where a head stared back at him with unseeing eyes. His weapon had sliced through half the man’s shoulder, a testament to the victim''s intention to duck under it. He hadn’t been fast enough—none of them had.

    Zeke gritted his teeth, suppressing the nausea and guilt rising within him. No. This was no time for weakness. These people had come to fight—to murder and pillage. He couldn’t afford to be soft when dealing with those who clearly aimed to harm him and those he cared about. His gaze lifted, and a new fire blazed in his eyes as his draconic aura flared like a signal fire.

    As if on cue, the Icefang warriors surged forward, crashing into their enemies like a tidal wave. It was clear this coordination was thanks to Akasha''s guidance—without her, such a perfectly timed assault would have been impossible.

    However, Zeke had no time to marvel at her handiwork as the enemies around him started to move.

    "Kill the human at all costs!" Razeth roared, his eyes blazing with fury. But he had no time to focus on Zeke as Frost, Ash, Gravitas, and the Elders all charged toward him.

    Zeke saw the hatred burning in the eyes of the surrounding Frostscale warriors as they charged. Watching their comrades fall helplessly must have been unbearable. Their eyes promised bloody revenge as they raised their spears, ready to strike.

    Just as Zeke prepared to [Teleport] again, a faint sensation stopped him. It was like a silent call, a vague but undeniable familiarity. The feeling came from beneath him, around him—his clothes, his face, his entire body. Zeke instinctively understood what it was, though he had never experienced it so clearly. It was the blood calling out to him, not his own, but that of the many foes lying at his feet. He felt it resonate with his Core, his Mana eager to respond.

    Zeke''s eyes turned firm. Did he really have to run? His core thrummed with power, and he had a nearly limitless amount of blood at his disposal. It was the perfect time to test his new limit.

    He answered the call, channeling a massive amount of Mana into the blood surrounding him. The spell was crude—he had never used someone else''s blood before—but his intent was clear: rend, tear, pierce, slice, and puncture.

    In the next moment, pandemonium arrived.

    Arrows, swords, stakes, and bullets ripped through the air, turning the charging horde into pincushions. Though there was no precision to the attack the sheer volume made up for the lack of coordination. It was slaughter, expanding the field of corpses and, with it, the call of blood.

    For a moment, Zeke stood in stunned silence, staring at the aftermath of his magic. Was this... what it meant to be a Blood Mage?