The Crimson Forest didn't look like a place where things lived; it looked like a place where things went to be forgotten.
The trees were twisted spires of black wood that bled red sap, their branches weaving together into a canopy that blotted out the pale light of Velunn. The mist clung to the ground, swirling around their boots like hungry ghosts.
Commander Zorr took point.
His heavy plate armor made no sound, a silent testament to the discipline he had carved into himself over more than a century of relentless training. His single remaining eye swept the terrain with ruthless precision, cataloging every shadow, every rustling leaf, every place death might be waiting.
He was a Vampire Lord now. And now was leading his own team of knights. Just like captain Kealen.
He was no longer the terrified rookie who had crawled out of hell fifty years ago.
His strength was absolute. His body harder Even stronger than Captain Kaelen 50 years ago..
Zorr drew a slow breath and steadied himself.
He told himself he was ready to face the entity this time.
But the scar tissue over his missing eye itched. A phantom pain. It reminded him that the thing waiting in the dark hadn't just beaten him; it had dismissed him.
'It held back,' Zorr thought, his grip tightening on his greatsword. 'It toyed with Captain Kaelen and the rest. Then let me go. Just to be a messenger!'
At the rear of the formation walked Captain Valera Virefang. She moved with the silent grace of a predator, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her obsidian rapier. Her eyes, fierce and honorable, swept over the mixed squad. She watched the Ironkongs with a critical eye, noting their loose formations and casual demeanor.
But mostly, she watched Barek.
The boy walked near the center, his massive iron rod resting on his shoulder like no big deal. He wore the double-claw insignia of a Knight, yet his aura still carried the raw, unrefined texture of a Noble. It didn't make sense. 'A fresh graduate holding the rank of a Knight without evolving?'
'Whatever he is', Valera decided, observing the way he kicked a stone with bored indifference, 'it is Ironkong business'. 'But to place a vampire noble in a Class-X mission... reckless.'
They walked for hours.
The tension in the air grew thicker, but not because of what they saw. It was because of what they didn't see.
Nothing.
"This is borin'," Barek muttered, loud enough to cut through the silence.
Krog, walking beside him, sighed. It was a heavy, disappointed sound. He unhooked his massive chain-scythe, the links clinking softly, then hooked it back again. Click. Click.
"I thought you said there was a migration," Zorr rumbled, stopping and turning to Valera. "You said hundreds of beasts were moving."
"They were," Valera replied, stepping forward. She looked around, her brow furrowed. "My sensors tracked a mass exodus leaving this forest. Logic dictates the area should be swarming with stragglers or predators. But..."
"But it's dead," Bronx finished, looking around uneasily. "Ain't even a Flesh-born in the bushes."
Zorr frowned. Fifty years ago, the Crimson forest had been a meat grinder. Constant attacks. Relentless pressure. This silence felt... curated. Artificial.
"I don't like it," Zorr growled. He reached for his comms unit. "I'm checking in."
Valera raised an eyebrow. "Comms are notoriously unreliable this close to the Zone."
"I know," Zorr said. He pressed the rune. "Command, this is Zorr. Status check."
Static hissed. Then, clear as a bell:
"This is Command. We read you, Zorr. Go ahead."
The entire squad froze. Even Valera looked surprised. The interference, the jamming field that had killed Kaelen's squad was gone.
"We are hours into the Crimson Forest," Zorr reported, his voice suspicious. "Place is empty. No hostiles. No anomalies. It's quiet. Too quiet."
"Hold one, Commander. Patching you to the King's Assistant."
A moment later, Vane's calm, scholarly voice came through. "Commander Zorr. We have been monitoring the atmospheric data. The pressure spike has stabilized, but the silence you report is concerning. It suggests a lure."
"Agreed," Zorr said.
"Abort mission," Vane ordered. "Do not proceed further. Return back to the village immediately. We will reassess with a larger, adequately prepared team."
"Understood. Zorr out."
Zorr clipped the radio back to his belt. He turned to the squad. "Pack it up. Command says we head back."
"You gotta be kiddin' me!" Barek groaned, throwing his hands up. The heavy iron rod swung dangerously close to a Virefang knight's head. "We walked all this way for a nature hike? I didn't even get to hit nothin'!"
"Orders are orders, trainee," Zorr snapped. "Fall in."
"Man, this sucks," Barek muttered, dragging his feet as he turned. "Ironkongs supposed to be about action, not walkin' in circles."
"Put a sock in it, brute," a tall, elegant Virefang knight sneered, clearly tired of the dust and the noise. "Be grateful you get to live another day."
Barek stopped. He turned slowly, a dangerous grin spreading across his face. "Oh? You wanna help me with that 'living' part? I got some energy to burn right n—"
THOOM.
The air didn't just vibrate; it slammed into them.
A wave of crushing, malevolent pressure washed over the squad. It was heavy. It wasn't vague. Just like what they had felt back in the village, this was directed at them.
It was looking at them.
Zorr froze. His skin went cold. He knew this weight. It was the same weight that had crushed Kaelen's chest.
"Fall back!" Zorr roared, his voice cracking with urgency. "NOW! DOUBLE TIME!"
The squad scrambled, sensing the shift in their commander. Zorr grabbed his radio, desperate to update Vane. "Command! We have contact! The pressure is—"
Static.
Just a wall of white noise.
Zorr stared at the device. "No..."
"Look out!" Bronx screamed.
From the mist to their left, reality seemed to tear open. Two massive shapes lunged from the shadows.
BloodWroughts. But they weren't normal. Their fur was matted with violet energy, their eyes glowing with that same terrible, intelligent purple light.
They moved with abnormal speed, ignoring the Ironkongs, aiming straight for the flank, straight for the Virefang knight who had insulted Barek.
The knight turned, his eyes wide, his sword half-drawn. He was too slow. The lead beast, a massive wolf-creature with bone spikes erupting from its spine, opened jaws wide enough to crush a torso.
It was over. He was dead.
BOOM.
SHING.
Two blurs of motion intercepted the beasts.
Barek appeared in the air above the wolf. He didn't hesitate. It was the exact opportunity he had been waiting for. He gripped the Landmauler Iron Rod with both hands, the black metal humming as he poured his power into it. His grin was manic.
"Original Ironkong Blood Art: SKULL QUAKE!"
He swung the massive rod like a bat.
The impact was sickening. The rod didn't just break bone; it obliterated it. The beast's head exploded into a mist of violet blood and bone shards. The force of the swing carried through, slamming the headless corpse into the ground so hard it created a crater 3 feet deep, sending a shockwave that knocked the nearby trees flat.
Simultaneously, Krog stepped out of the shadows next to the second beast. He spun his Chain-Scythe, the massive blade whistling a death song.
"Reverse Ironkong Blood Art: SERPENT'S GUILLOTINE."
Krog lashed out. The chain wrapped around the beast's torso in a split second. He yanked back with a brutal, joyous grunt. The serrated blade bit deep, slicing through muscle and spine effortlessly. With a final, wet tear, the beast was bisected mid-air, its halves tumbling away in a spray of gore.
Silence returned to the forest.
Barek stood in the crater, resting his gory iron rod on his shoulder. He looked at the shocked Virefang knight he had just saved.
"You were sayin' somethin' about socks?" Barek asked, a massive, wild grin splitting his face.
Next to him, Krog wiped his scythe on the grass, his own smile wide and terrifying. "Finally."
The clearing was dead silent.
Bronx stared, his jaw tight. He's faster, Bronx thought. Faster than the sparring match.
The Virefang knights looked from the pulverized carcass to the boy holding the rod. The doubt in their eyes was gone, replaced by cold shock.
Captain Valera stared at Barek's back. She saw the steam rising from his skin, the sheer density of the crimson aura fading around him.
That wasn't a technique, she realized, her hand tightening on her sword. That was raw power.
"This kid," Valera whispered, "isn't normal."