[Existential Compendium]
[Name: Kallen Koa Luiz Crimson]
[Species: Aresian Mixed Blood (Human, Elf, Valgorian, Ethereal)]
[Roots: Crimson family, Dominator’s Bloodline]
[Class:(-) Unascended]
[Level: 0 (Unawakened)]
[Will: Dormant >> Awakened]
[Trait(s): Regeneration, Illusion] (NEW)
[Constitution — 80 > 98]
[Dynisis — 300 > 350]
[Active Effects: {Pathfinder???}]
[Pressure suit (Physique bound gear)] (NEW)
[Thieving blades. (Soul-bound Cursed Artifact)] (NEW)
Kallen had come a long way since just two months ago. Even this brutal battle, as harrowing as it had been, had come with its own gains.
He exhaled slowly and pushed himself to his feet, dismissing the pressure suit with a thought. The weight vanished from his body, leaving behind only the faintest tingling sensation where the suit had clung to his skin.
Stepping out of the ruined bathroom, he took in the state of his quarters. His already chaotic room had fared no better—chunks of debris littered the floor, and his once-sturdy wardrobe had been partially caved in.
He grimaced but wasted no time, stepping over the wreckage and rummaging through what remained of his belongings. Finding a set of clothes that weren’t torn or badly ruined, he quickly put them on.
It was time to leave.
As he stepped out of his room, the sounds of battle; the clashing of metal, the distant roars of warriors, and the crackle of destructive abilities, came sounding in his ears with full might.
Strangely, the activity on this end of the estate had died down significantly. Too significantly.
His sharp eyes swept across the corridors, noting the eerie absence of movement, except for the pooling of blood from the corpses littered over the floor. Only on occasion did he glimpse a Crimson family subordinate locked in a skirmish with an enemy, but the encounters were sparse.
His frown deepened. Something wasn’t right.
This place was supposed to be a battlefield. There should have been bodies, bloodstains... and there were, but there also should have been more sounds of fighting. Yet it felt... abandoned.
Kallen wasn’t about to question his luck—if fewer enemies meant an easier movement, he wouldn’t complain, but his experience told him that this was no coincidence.
The forces at play here were far beyond what he could handle, and he had no intention of throwing himself onto the chopping block for no reason. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t strong enough yet to do whatever he wanted.
So for now, survival was his only priority.
Weaving between the shadows of pillars, debris, and rubble, Kallen moved like a phantom, his footsteps silent, his presence a whisper in the chaos. His senses remained razor-sharp, but with nothing immediate to threaten him, his mind inevitably wandered.
’Weird... With all that time I spent, no one came looking for me?’
As if answering his thoughts, a Crimson subordinate suddenly rushed past him. The man’s face was set in grim determination, his breaths ragged, his focus solely on his destination. He was completely oblivious to Kallen’s presence as he disappeared into the distance. Heading toward a route Kallen knew all too well.
Kallen frowned, halting mid-step.
He hesitated, uncertain if he should follow. But before he could make a decision, another Crimson subordinate sped past him, running in the same direction.
This time, Kallen’s expression darkened.
The pieces clicked into place with chilling clarity. His hesitation shattered.
A group of seven tore through the ruined halls next, their movements filled with desperation, urgency thick in their every step. And that was all it took.
Murderous intent erupted from Kallen in violent waves, his blood roaring as an icy rage took hold. His body moved before thought could catch up.
He dashed forward, his speed explosive, his purpose singular.
Whatever was happening over there... someone was going to die!
He didn’t know how, nor did he care; he would make sure to show them a picture frame of agony.
Every surviving force of the Crimson family had converged in one place, locked in a desperate struggle for survival.
Bodies littered the ground, torn apart, burned, or crushed beyond recognition. The thick, metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of charred flesh. Fires still smoldered in different areas, casting eerie shadows over the carnage.
Above, titanic figures clashed midair—Saints. Their battle was a cataclysm of raw power, their attacks splitting the skies with every impact. Shockwaves rippled outward from their collisions, distorting the very air and causing the weaker combatants below to falter.
On the ground, the sheer intensity of the battle was overwhelming. Blades clashed, weapons tore through flesh, causing eruption of blood in different fashions, and explosions of dynamis lit up the battlefield in bursts of brilliant deadly color.
The roars of combat, the screams of the dying, the clash of steel, the tearing of flesh, and the crackling of energy and burning flesh, formed a cacophony of blood filled war.
The Crimsons were unleashing a brutal massacre on the invaders.
This familiar location was exactly what Kallen had feared. He had tried to deny it, to convince himself otherwise, but deep down, he knew chances of it being a different location was nill.
Jagged rocks framed the landscape, and a once-majestic waterfall cascaded into what was now a lake of blood. This place had been a natural paradise, a sanctuary untouched by war. Now, that beauty was gone; replaced by shadows of death.
The waterfall, once clear and pure, had turned a deep, unnatural red. Blood, thick and heavy, pooled at its base, refusing to be carried away by the rushing current. Each fresh wave of crimson only deepened the taint, making the water appear perpetually stained with slaughter.
The sacred groove that had once embodied serenity, was now a grotesque monument to carnage.
At the heart of the chaos, a storm of blades, blood, and death raged.
Luiz moved through enemy lines like an unstoppable force, his massive Cleave blade carving through flesh and steel alike.
His crimson hair had turned the darkest shade imaginable, soaked in blood and plastered to his skin. His dual-colored eyes; one burning purple, the other deep crimson, blazed like twin torches in the night.
Each swing of his blade left behind a swirling maelstrom of gore, painting a crimson arc through the battlefield.
All around him, prominent members of the Crimson family fought with relentless fury. They were powerful, deadly—but none matched the sheer brutality of Luiz.
’Kallen still hasn’t been found.’ His thoughts momentarily deviated from the battle.
His brow furrowed, but his blade never slowed.
’It doesn’t matter. This battle will be over soon... and when it is, this madness will finally be under control.’
Just as he reached that conclusion...
A thunderous explosion erupted from behind them. Not as loud nor as devastating as the first blast that had leveled most of the Crimson castle, yet somehow, it struck deeper.
For a second, the battlefield froze.
The Crimsons stiffened momentarily, before unleashing what could be only called a brutal massacre in rage.
Because they all knew what, or who lay behind the waterfall.
The bedridden matriarch of the Crimson household; Luiz’s wife — Lyra.
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