GrandLord Dreath did not hesitate anymore.
The moment those words left his lips, everything around him began to respond, not with noise or chaos, but with a deep and terrifying stillness that seemed to gather toward him, as if the world itself was being drawn into a single point of focus.
He raised his hand.
Slowly.
And this time—
The blood did not simply gather.
It answered.
From the shattered ground beneath their feet, from the air thick with lingering energy, from every trace of crimson that had soaked into the battlefield, it all began to rise, pulled upward by an unseen force, drawn toward his palm with an intensity that made the very space around him tremble.
At first, it was only a faint glow.
A small sphere.
Barely the size of a stone.
But even then—
It pulsed.
Once.
Deep.
Heavy.
The kind of pulse that could be felt, not just seen, as if something alive had been born within his grasp.
Then—
It grew.
