With Bloodlit Dominion active, the cavern itself became his blade. He vanished, reappearing mid-air, riding a crimson sigil that burst from the floor like a serpent. His hand snapped down—Soul Passage surged forth, elongated into a scythe of screaming violet, blood trailing behind it like a comet's tail.
Hal-Kareth raised his blade in reply—Noctis Sever drinking the silence, feeding on it, growing darker. The air around him shimmered as if protesting the Sovereign's presence. His helm tilted, just slightly.
"You dance well, child of the living. Let us see how well you bleed when Death itself strikes."
He thrust forward. Not a stab, but a tear—his sword parting the fabric of space like parchment. Asher's scythe met the strike, but the moment of contact imploded into a sphere of null energy, sucking sound and motion inward. The clash erased the air, leaving a void that devoured sensation.
