Thalion found himself enjoying the duel more than expected. There was a primal thrill in testing his strength against the vampiress, even as a gnawing suspicion lingered—she was holding sothing back. A hidden trick. A last resort. Until she revealed it, he would continue to sear her.
He had discovered how to concentrate the flas around her, raising the temperature to unbearable levels. Her skin now blistered and charred, her regenerative powers struggling to keep pace. Thalion, ever the tactician, had already deciphered most of her techniques. He used this knowledge with surgical efficiency, positioning himself so that any blocked strike would land on one of her own minions. It was a simple tactic, but devastating. She, anwhile, struggled to see through the thick veil of crimson fire—sothing he realized when she accidentally skewered four of her vampires with a flurry of blood thorns ant for him.
He didn’t need to strike anymore. His energy shifted to dodging and fueling the inferno. Occasionally, he would sneak in a quick jab or a sharp kick. The more enraged she beca, the sloppier her responses. Still, Thalion couldn’t help but wonder how much mana she was burning through. Between rapid healing and power enhancents, her reserves had to be dwindling fast.
To conserve his own strength, he’d already withdrawn his support from the peripheral flas throughout the chamber. There was no reason to waste mana. He wanted to ensure he had enough left to use his bloodline ability not once, but more than once, if needed. And sothing told him he would need it. Through his battle-honed instincts and the eerie awareness granted by his title, he sensed the vampiress was building toward sothing devastating. A last stand. A final weapon. His danger sense flared steadily, like a rising storm on the horizon.
He had even ceased attacking the vampires caught outside the fire. Every ounce of his energy had to be preserved for what was coming. And it would be big.
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