They drop instinctively.
All of what is left of them.
Knees hit hard in a synchronized collapse that sends cracks through the concrete. Their spells shatter mid-casting, magic dissipating harmlessly into the air. And before they can recover, before they can even think about resisting, I’m already moving.
Blood sigils erupt from my outstretched hands, crimson symbols burning themselves into the concrete in complex geometric patterns that would take a master witch years to learn. They spiral out from my position, crossing and recrossing, weaving a web of wards that covers the entire battlefield in seconds.
Each sigil pulses with Bloodfire.
Each ward carries my absolute prohibition.
No vampire crosses these lines.
A feral vampire, too mindless to recognize the danger, charges one of the burning symbols. The moment his foot touches it, the ward ignites. Not with normal fire, but with Bloodfire that recognizes what he is and responds accordingly.
He doesn’t just burn.
His entire fabric unmakes.
Vampire flesh dissolves to ash in seconds, centuries of undead existence reduced to nothing by flames that remember what it means to be truly alive. His scream cuts off halfway as his vocal cords disintegrate, and by the time the ashes hit the ground, there’s nothing left that would identify him as ever having existed.
The other vampires freeze, fear finally penetrating their feral hunger.
Smart.
Around the witches, magical orbs materialize, crimson-gold spheres that look like they’re made of solidified light. They press in from all sides, containing the rogue spellcasters in prisons they can’t break because the wards are made from their own magic, turned back on them, weaponized by someone who understands the fundamental truth of all power.
Every spell is blood and will.
And now I command both.
The battlefield goes quiet. Here, where I’ve descended like an avenging angel wrapped in crimson and gold, everything has gone still.
Vampires are reduced to statues or ash.
Twelve humans are freed from demonic possession and healed.
Witches are imprisoned in spheres of their own magic.
And me, standing at the center of it all, bleeding from every orifice, my body screaming in agony as it tries to contain power it was never meant to hold.
But still standing.
Still with my humanity.
Stillme.
Through the haze of pain, through the ringing in my ears and the taste of blood in my mouth, I hear Lilith’s voice.
Quieter now.
Almost… respectful.
“Interesting. You choose protection over destruction. Control over chaos. You wield my power like a scalpel instead of a sword,” her voice booms above me as I pant for frantic breaths while holding my magic steady.
Her presence pulls back slightly, giving me room to breathe.
“Perhaps you are not as foolish as I thought, daughter.”
