The moment the words left his lips, the world itself seemed to respond.
The Grand Blood Spell did not form like the others.
It did not gather in neat circles or structured glyphs.
It did not descend in layers or bind in chains.
It consumed.
The blood in the air, the blood soaked into the shattered ground, the lingering essence from every vampire present, all of it surged toward a single point above GrandLord Dreath's palm, collapsing inward as if drawn by an irresistible force, compressing into something so dense that the space around it trembled, the air bending slightly under the pressure of its existence.
It pulsed.
Once.
A deep crimson heartbeat.
Then again.
Heavier.
Darker.
The reddened members of the Moonshade family were already mid-air, already lunging toward him with everything they had, their bodies pushing forward with a strength that had grown beyond reason, their blood roaring within them like a storm that refused to be silenced.
And then—
