The sky was heavy with crimson, the Blood Moon hanging like an omen above the fractured valley. The land groaned under the weight of the war yet to ignite—but the kindling was in place.
Renji stood atop the ridge with Zach, Mira, Velahza, and the last surviving warriors of the fractured Northern Alliances. Below, across the scorched terrain, the last bastion of the Blood Moon Clan had gathered—cultists, berserkers, twisted beastfolk who had pledged their flesh and minds to the dark pulse of the Exile System's corrupted limb.
"Is this the end of them?" Mira asked, her voice tense.
Renji narrowed his eyes. "No. It's the beginning of something worse. But today, we finish what they started."
Zach stretched his arms lazily, fingers crackling with blue flames. "You want drama? I'll give you fireworks. Just say the word."
The armies moved like thunder rolling over dry earth. Screams broke the stillness, arrows slicing through the air, steel colliding with bone.
