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"Damn it…"
Ceylon growled under his breath. He clenched his fist around the blood and viscera he had torn from the soldier's gut, gripping it as though it were solid clay. With a swift motion, he wiped the gore along the jagged edge of his serrated blade. Under the guidance of an unseen force, the bloody mass fused to the weapon's teeth, drenching the entire blade in a scarlet, feral aura.
This was his potential, Bloodhunt. An evolution of the power to rend flesh and bone, it had multiple applications, one of which Ceylon now invoked: the power to pull and tear living tissue from within an enemy's body. It was this power that had allowed him to drag out an opponent's innards in a single thrust, as if gutting his prey.
By coating his weapon in the blood and meat of the fallen, Bloodhunt amplified his killing edge. Every swing and every slice would wrench the enemy's life essence outward in a violent surge of flesh and gore.
With a roar, Ceylon lunged forward. His serrated blade cleaved toward the soldier whose entrails had already...
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