Haywood fully became a giant beast, black scales sheathing him, features twisted, teeth like steel saws that could bite diamond like ice.

His hands were broad and brutal, strength like a mountain storm, muscles knotted, nails black as a dead sea, claws that could split sky and break earth.

Twin horns, sharp and thick, curved and gleaming, loomed like a feral bull under a thunderhead.

This shape was no longer human; it was a demon clawed up from a hell of smoke and embers.

Even Medith, steady as a cliff under avalanches, felt her breath hitch, feet rooted by a chill like winter dew.

The two-and-a-half-meter beast stood braced in the hall; behind him spread a blood-colored void of sky, like dusk poured into the world.

The retreat below was severed like a cut bridge; to leave, Medith would have to leap into a crimson wind.

Or advance into the storm.

“Mmm… uuh…” Haywood opened his jaw with a guttural growl, fangs foresting his mouth as black smoke flickered in his eyes.

Smoke seeped slow from his eye corners like ink bleeding into paper, and the room tasted of ash.

In a blink, Medith steadied, iron will rising like a blade lifted before dawn. “Magic Breakers aren’t simple,” she said, calm as cold rain.

“I’ve seen things unlike people; seeing something not even a person is a first, like finding bone in thunder.”

“Fine, that spares me hesitation; I take back my first words, because with that form, mercy burns away like frost.”

“After all, I’m risking my life too, walking a snow-bridge over a ravine.”

Uooo— The wind rose wild, like a pack of wolves; Medith’s phoenix eyes shone pure, twin moons hanging in a milk-white sky.

Their light was holy and clean, no dust, like fresh snow on a silent peak.

“Mm…?” Haywood clenched his fists; the air tore with a humming rip, like silk shredded under a storm.

His smoke-wreathed death-black eyes showed confusion, lids narrowing like shutters against sun.

Vmmm— Medith lifted her slender hand, and the Bloodsword thrummed, a righteous qi like a spirit serpent climbing her arm.

It coiled around the Blood Drinking Sword, and the blade turned into a milky-white holy sword, calm as moonlit water.

On the hilt, a Crimson Sun emblem bloomed like a brand at twilight.

Wu— vmmm— The blade tore the air; the sky wailed like a strung bow, clouds splitting themselves like tofu curds under a divine cut.

The wind rose and the vault churned, and broken clouds drifted like pale petals on a storm river.

Southern Kingdom border—Andrew clutched his concubine, eyes fixed on the terrifying blood sky and shredded clouds, spilling his cup like rain.

She felt the rage and killing intent from the master of that sky, shivering like a leaf in his arms, flower face drained of color.

Below, in the military encampment, men in crimson armor with pheasant plumes tugged their reins and froze like statues, necks tilted to the heavens.

“Emperor… she’s too dangerous…” Two purple-robed women, twin-like, circled him like anxious swallows, fear bright on their faces.

The Emperor didn’t reply; he leaned against a resplendent throne, eyes deep as a night lake, staring far and long.

Uo— Haywood, as if facing a stormhead, struck first, rushing before Medith could gather that unknown power like thunder in a palm.

His giant footfalls stamped deep prints, cracking the floor like dry riverbeds under heat, each step a quake.

Unbelievably, that huge body in hard black scales moved like a leopard through grass, swift and sharp as a knife.

In a breath, he was in front of Medith, shadow falling like a cliff.

He pulled a claw across; the air ripped like cloth, the torn wind spun a cyclone that flew forward, rolling rubble like rice husks.

Yet Medith vanished like a candle-snuff; Haywood’s black eyes spun quick, and the path ahead held no trace, like fog after sunrise.

“Ah—oo—” He turned fist to palm and slammed backward, the shockwave roaring like a wave, lifting floor tiles like startled birds.

With the tiles rose Medith, dragging a greatsword, her motion flowing like water over stone.

Her slender leg trembled, feet stepping midair on flying tiles, and she adjusted her stance like a crane cutting wind.

She lunged at Haywood, speed flashing like lightning; in a blink, she flickered behind him like a shadow in moonlight.

No motion seemed made, yet his titan chest opened a diagonal cut, five centimeters, like a seam carved by frost.

Crimson blood streamed down his chest like a river, darkening his scales into midnight.

Clang— Medith flickered again, drew back and pulled, piercing his right leg, and a gaping blood hole yawned like a red well.

“Ugh… mm…” Haywood fell to one knee, impact near punching through the floor like a hammer through clay.

Medith’s assault wasn’t over; her icy gaze slid across him like a winter blade, and a rich scent of death flooded his nose like smoke.

Then—

Shing— A single cold gleam flashed and froze upon Medith’s dustless greatsword, held half-drawn at an oblique angle like a crescent.

“Battle Song March: Threefold Magic-Cleaving Cut.” Her words fell like snow, and a gorgeous death-flower bloomed on Haywood’s chest.

His black-scale armor shattered and scattered, turning to dust in the air like ash in wind, and his giant body pitched forward, powerless.

The heavy mass crushed the floor into a small man-shaped pit, like a crater born from a fallen star.

Blood poured free, flooding the pit red like a tide at dusk.

In the distance, Cecilia, just reaching the city gate, felt her heart wrench, as if her soul torn out like silk from a loom.

Her horse buckled under weight and grief, foamed at the mouth, and died exhausted, like a candle spent.

Cecilia looked to the blood moon and the familiar guild breaking apart in the distance, hope dissolving like mist in sunlight.

She burst into sobs, voice raw as rain on stone, the road behind her empty as a winter field.