Blood and Sorcery: forbidden lineage

Chapter 12 – The Hunt Begins

The battlefield was ever-changing—scarred with deep trenches, crumbled ruins, and the lingering scent of blood. The very land seemed alive, shifting unpredictably, swallowing the weak and testing the strong. Scattered throughout, combatants clashed in fierce duels, dodged deadly beasts, or lay unconscious from wounds too severe to continue.

High above, in the grand chamber of observers, the elite watched in fascination. Nobles, scholars, and commanders studied each projection carefully, their keen eyes analyzing the performances of potential prodigies.

One of the floating screens flickered, drawing the attention of a gray-haired man draped in a royal-blue robe. His sharp gaze fixated on the two boys sprawled on the ground, barely conscious.

"Hmm… those two," he muttered.

Lyrien and his companion, the noble boy, stirred awake on the battlefield. Their bodies ached, muscles stiff from exhaustion. The last thing Lyrien remembered was pushing himself to his limit before everything went dark. He groaned, pressing a palm against his forehead. His body felt sluggish, but something else gnawed at him—a deep, unsettling feeling at the edge of his senses.

His companion, still catching his breath, sat up and surveyed their surroundings. "Are we… alive?"

Lyrien exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "Barely."

The battlefield was oddly silent. Too silent. A creeping sensation slithered down Lyrien's spine, as if something was watching them.

Then, the silence was shattered.

A guttural roar erupted from the distance. The earth trembled beneath them as something enormous barreled through the ruins, its monstrous form casting a terrifying shadow.

It was a beast—a towering, armored monstrosity with crimson eyes that glowed with an eerie intelligence. Its jagged, obsidian-black scales shimmered under the dim light, while its massive claws—long enough to cleave a man in half—dripped with fresh blood.

The observers tensed as the beast's image sharpened on the projection.

"A Titanfang Beast," a noblewoman whispered. "That thing should have killed them instantly."

"They're in a dire situation," another murmured.

In the chamber, a grizzled military officer tapped his fingers against the table. "The girl survived a King-Tier beast, but these two? They look half-dead. I doubt they'll last long."

But another observer leaned forward, intrigued. "Wait… look at their positioning."

Lyrien felt it before he saw it—a shift in the air, the subtle twitch in the beast's muscles. It lunged forward with terrifying speed, its claws aimed to crush them.

"Move!" Lyrien shouted, instincts taking over.

They split apart, dodging in opposite directions just in time. The ground cracked violently where they had been moments before. Dust exploded into the air, obscuring their vision.

The noble boy gritted his teeth, raising his weapon. "We can't run forever."

Lyrien's mind worked rapidly. Fighting a Titanfang head-on was suicide. They had to be smart.

The beast charged again, but this time, Lyrien reacted differently. He and his companion moved in perfect sync—ducking, weaving, striking at its blind spots. Their coordination was uncanny, as if they had fought together for years instead of mere hours.

The observers noticed.

"Their teamwork… it's seamless."

The noble boy struck first, his blade slicing across the beast's hind leg, staggering it. Lyrien used the opening, channeling his dwindling mana into his weapon, thrusting forward—aiming for a weak spot between the plates of armor.

The blade struck true.

A howl of agony ripped through the battlefield as the Titanfang faltered, its massive frame convulsing. Seizing the opportunity, they launched a relentless assault, overwhelming the beast with rapid, well-placed strikes.

With one final, desperate lunge, Lyrien drove his sword deep into the creature's skull. The Titanfang shuddered violently—then collapsed, lifeless.

Silence followed.

Then, a collective intake of breath from the observers.

"They… they actually killed it?"

"Amazing. Their synergy is on another level."

Even the skeptical military officer gave a small nod. "Not bad."

Lyrien and his companion, panting, stumbled back.

For the first time in what felt like forever, they smiled.

"That was… insane," the noble boy gasped between laughs.

Lyrien smirked. "I thought we were dead at least three times."

They laughed—celebrating their impossible victory.

But then—

A cold, suffocating presence washed over them.

The laughter died instantly.

Lyrien felt it before he saw it. A gut-wrenching sense of dread clawed at his mind, every instinct screaming run.

The ground trembled again. The air grew heavy. A shadow loomed over them.

A second beast emerged from the darkness.

Larger. More menacing. More ancient.

The observers froze.

One of them, a seasoned scholar, whispered in horror.

"An Abyssal Tyrant."

The noble boy's voice was barely above a whisper. "What… the hell is that?"

Lyrien's grip tightened around his weapon. His breath was shallow.

"We need to go."

The beast's crimson eyes locked onto them.

It roared.

They ran.