The Curator
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Chapter 281: Crimson Dominion
🕑 Added 2025-07-14 06:07:39 +0000 UTC"I never wanted to hit you," Thalion called out to Ankhet with a crooked smile, gesturing toward the three fallen vampires behind him. Each of them lay still, their corpses now overgrown with crimson flowers blooming from blood thorns embedded in their chests. The grotesque beauty of it painted the stone floor with vivid reds and pulsing roots.
Ankhet turned slowly, his expression unreadable—but his aura told another story. It pulsed with sharp irritation, rippling outward like a predator disturbed mid-hunt. The moment his eyes registered the lifeless bodies, the irritation sharpened into something colder.
"As if those insects would matter to someone like me," he hissed, voice low and venomous. Without warning, he lunged forward—a blur of motion that streaked across the chamber. Thalion didn’t flinch. On the contrary, he welcomed the charge. This was the perfect moment to test the new vines—to see whether the Sanguis Impera’s power would respond as instinctively as before.
Ankhet came in close, abandoning his metal sword entirely. Instead, he conjured miasma-wrapped blades in each hand—twins of darkness, not unlike Thalion’s own mana blade, but far more sinister in aura. Lightning crackled at his fingertips, surging into small, rapid bursts that shot forth with each swing. These blades were no ceremonial weapons, they were forged of lethal intent.
Thalion didn’t take the bait. He had no desire to engage in a frontal clash—especially not now. Ankhet’s twin-blade style was far too refined, honed through centuries or more of practice. One misstep, one slip in rhythm, and it would all be over. So instead, he shifted into a defensive posture, blade low, his stance loose but ready.
The Blade-Blooded Templar ignited in his right hand, its shaft humming with crimson energy. With a sweeping motion of his left, he unleashed four blood-red vines that burst forth from his arm. These weren’t the thorned tendrils of the old Crimson Virethorn. They shimmered, smooth and pulsing with restrained power—more like conjured energy than living plant matter. As they whipped outward, they left arcs of red light trailing in their wake, cutting through the air like blades.
Ankhet weaved between the lashes with an elegance that bordered on unnatural. His movements were fluid, precise—serpentine. Thalion had expected nothing less from someone wielding a divine class. Still, it gave him a gauge of Ankhet’s speed. And his limits.
He adjusted quickly, retreating just beyond the range of Ankhet’s blades. If he could maintain distance, the reach of his longer sword might offer some advantage—if such a thing even existed against an opponent like Ankhet. But the undead warrior was already shifting tactics. With a flourish, he triggered an ability in both weapons, hurling twin crescents of dark energy through the air toward Thalion.
They came fast.
Thalion met them with a counter-slash, striking them head-on. The impact pushed him back several paces, boots grinding against stone. His arms trembled slightly from the force. No, this wasn’t a duel he could win by finesse alone. He had to lean into the one thing he still had: overwhelming power.
And so, Thalion activated Jungle of the Sanguis Impera.
Crimson vines exploded from his back and shoulders, racing outward across the stone floor. Within seconds, they formed a tangled mat of writhing roots and stalks, glowing with energy. Elegant blood-flowers erupted from the vines, their petals unfurling in an instant. A red mist spilled from them into the chamber, thick and heady like incense at a ritual.
Beside Thalion, two vines surged upward, twisting and merging until they became towering blood-trees—tall, gnarled structures reminiscent of the jungle conjured by the vampiress. From their branches, dozens of blossoms bloomed, joining the mist with clouds of fragrant crimson haze.
Ankhet halted his advance. He blinked once, then leapt backward in a series of flawless flips, creating distance from the now-thriving jungle.
“Well then,” he sneered. “Let’s see how your little forest burns—with you in it.”
His tone had lightened, tinged with dark amusement. Raising one hand, he pointed directly at Thalion. A jet of black fire burst from his palm, twisting like a dragon’s breath through the air. As it traveled, the beam widened—no longer a single focused stream but an engulfing wave, meant to reduce the entire jungle to ash.
But something changed.
A second after the flames ignited, they shimmered and shifted. Under the influence of Thalion’s divine passive, the black fire turned to crimson. It licked harmlessly over the vines and flowers, unable to burn or consume them. Instead of destruction, it left behind only a faint glow before fizzling into nothing.
"What!?" Ankhet roared, eyes wide with disbelief. The snakelike pupils in his orange eyes twitched, making the expression strangely comedic.
Thalion didn’t waste the opening.
He dismissed the sword, summoned his bow in a flash, and nocked an arrow already pulsing with unstable energy. Ankhet, still distracted, raised his palm and summoned another jet of flame—but it too turned crimson before it could ignite. He stared at his hand, fascinated and furious in equal measure.
That half-second was all Thalion needed.
He loosed the arrow.
Ankhet sensed the danger too late. With a snarl, he raised a black shield around himself, trying to deflect the impact. It wasn’t enough. The arrow detonated on impact, engulfing him in a flash of crimson fire. The chamber shook from the explosion. Dust rained down from the ceiling. Ankhet’s shield cracked, then shattered—sending him flying across the hall.
Gasps rose from the watching vampires. None of them dared move. None of them dared help.
Ankhet hit the ground, rolled, and vanished into a cloud of black miasma. A heartbeat later, he reformed at the edge of the chamber, his expression twisted in fury.
And now, he was angry for real.
"YOU! How are you doing this?" Ankhet hissed, summoning a sphere of writhing black fire in his hand—only for it to flicker crimson the moment it stabilized.
Thalion didn’t answer. He had already drawn another arrow, the string humming with barely contained energy. There was no point in exchanging words. He wasn’t here to talk—he was here to win. No matter the cost.
The arrow loosed with a sharp twang, but Ankhet twisted aside just in time. The projectile screamed past him and struck three vampires behind him. They didn’t even scream—just crumpled as crimson thorns burst from their chests, transforming them into grotesque flowerbeds. The rest of the undead began to shift uneasily, realizing just how close they were to death. Over two hundred vampires backed away in unison, a ripple of dread moving through the crowd.
Ankhet noticed. His brow twitched—an imperceptible sign of irritation.
But Thalion gave him no reprieve. Another arrow shimmered into existence, glowing brighter as he drew it back. Around him, the blood jungle surged—vines twisted like serpents across the chamber floor, slithering toward Ankhet with hungry intent. They sought his blood, drawn by the pulse of his power.
Yet Ankhet showed no fear—only fury. The very idea that Thalion could match him seemed too absurd to take seriously. Perhaps he had tricks yet unrevealed. But what he didn’t know—what he couldn’t know—was that Thalion’s stamina and mana were still at full strength.
That was Thalion’s only real hope: wear the ancient warrior down. Drain him. Outlast him. And then, if the gods were kind, strike the killing blow. If not, he’d have to run—escape through attrition. Eventually, Ankhet would have to slow. He had to.
Thalion fired again. Blood-formed arrows hissed through the air, one after another. Ankhet dodged with his unnerving, serpentine grace, weaving between them with fluid precision. Twice he blinked across the battlefield using some short-range movement skill. Good. Let him burn through his energy.
Thalion couldn’t help but wonder—what skills did someone who had lived for millions of years possess? Surely countless. A million years was an unfathomable length of time. Still, for now, Ankhet seemed on the back foot.
He didn’t dare enter the blood forest. Not even the crimson mist. One breath could end a lesser vampire. Maybe Ankhet had immunity. Maybe not. But he wasn’t risking it. The others, though...
Eventually, one would make the mistake.
Could Thalion reach level 80 and evolve to E-rank mid-battle? Unlikely. He would have to kill dozens—maybe even Elias and the black-armored vampire standing silently among the onlookers, their auras towering and oppressive. Evolution would be a miracle at this point. But so far, the battle was going well. Ankhet had unleashed one devastating attack, but hadn’t repeated it. Maybe he couldn’t.
The miasma blades slashing through the air were now intercepted by vines before they ever reached Thalion. Sanguis Impera moved with terrifying autonomy, shielding him, reinforcing his space—its domain absolute. Even Ankhet couldn’t breach it. And thanks to Thalion’s divine passive, the forest was immune to fire.
That immunity, and Ankhet’s inability to comprehend it, gnawed at his confidence.
Another volley—four arrows in quick succession. Ankhet dodged them all, until finally—
A vampire inhaled the red mist.
The spores worked instantly. Thalion watched in silence as the infected vampire staggered. Vines burst through the creature’s flesh, red flowers blooming from the chest and throat like cursed lilies. The vampire shrieked in agony before collapsing. The others recoiled in horror, wide-eyed.
Only Elias and the black-armored figure remained calm—curious, even—as twin vines erupted from the dead vampire’s mouth and abdomen. Flowers bloomed again, spraying a fresh cloud of crimson mist.
Now true panic set in. The undead retreated further, pressing back toward the far edge of the chamber.
Time to press the advantage.
Thalion conjured spears from his own blood, shaped them mid-air, and hurled them at Ankhet. At the same time, he fired an arrow at the spot he guessed Ankhet would dodge to.
It worked.
The blast caught Ankhet mid-teleport and sent him hurtling sideways. But when the smoke cleared, Thalion cursed. No damage. Ankhet must have triggered some kind of emergency defense skill—a last-resort safeguard. Otherwise, he would have been torn apart.
Ankhet vanished again, this time in a burst of black smoke, reappearing twenty meters in the air. He hovered there, glaring down, the air around him thick with pressure. His aura flared.
For the first time, Ankhet seemed to understand that this would not be as simple as he'd assumed.
His voice echoed across the chamber—dark, ethereal, as if the stones themselves carried his words.
"How have you grown so strong, so quickly? You bear no blessing... That means you achieved this power on your own."
It sounded more like a question to himself than to Thalion.
But Thalion had no answer to give. There was nothing to say. Kill or be killed—that was all.
And the fool was standing still.
Thalion released his arrow.
Ankhet darted to the side again, levitating. This time, he raised one hand. A spear of crackling black lightning began to form—dense and pulsing, easily as dangerous as any of Thalion’s arrows.
He hurled it like a demonic Zeus.
Thalion dodged instinctively, rolling to the side just before it landed. The spear hit the ground with a thunderous explosion, tearing through vines and stone. A chunk of his blood jungle was obliterated—but Sanguis Impera responded immediately, regrowing the damage within moments.
Now it became a ranged battle.
Arrow after arrow. Spear after spear. Two figures, too fast to strike, too relentless to yield. Neither could land a decisive blow. But for Thalion, this was good. Every missed strike from Ankhet cost mana—cost stamina. Thalion was also practicing his aim, adjusting to a bow he barely knew how to wield. He had yet to land a hit on Ankhet.
But neither had Ankhet landed one on him—and that seemed to infuriate him more than anything else.
Then Thalion saw it.
Ankhet raised his arm again. A soul materialized in his grasp, screaming silently.
No. Not again.
The next arrow wasn’t ready. In a panic, Thalion called on the Sanguis Impera to fire a blood thorn straight at Ankhet’s face.
Ankhet didn’t flinch. He continued channeling. A wave of his hand, and the blood thorns shattered mid-flight.
Then he clenched his fist and Thalion triggered his bloodline skill.
In an instant, he vanished in a blaze of crimson flame, abandoning his domain. The shockwave of black lightning ripped through the space he’d just occupied—obliterating everything in its path. His teleportation carried him as far as it possibly could—right to the last resurrection pillar.
He turned, heart hammering.
Ankhet was already looking at him.
And he did not look pleased.
Thalion didn’t hesitate. He activated Mistform.
His body dissolved into a swirl of blood-red vapor and launched itself down the nearest corridor, racing deeper into the catacombs like a crimson comet.
The fight wasn’t over and Thalion would make damn sure it ended his way.
Comments
ManguKing
Thalion would be so scary if his vines got the spatial element
Johannes Röhrl
Yes but outsiders all have diffrent effects
SC1BUS
Does Ankhet not have an outsider?
SoloWolf038
Run Thalion run. Thanks for the chapter
Belias Harkonnen
Thanks for the chapter! That's one hell of a fight. And Ankhet doesn't know about his Eclipsari form >:)
Snake With An Aurora Borealis
HELL YEAH!
