Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 242: Scavenetores group

He turned to Nami.

“Stay with Kaleth; don’t let her see the battle.”

Nami’s expression showed she wanted to argue, but she recognized that tone.

“Be careful. You’re not immortal, no matter how powerful your bloodline makes you.”

“I’m aware,” Jorghan replied.

“But they’re eating children, Nami. Faery children who’ve done nothing except exist. I’m well past careful. I’m going to kill every single one of them, and I’m going to make sure that they understand exactly what happens when you treat faeries as livestock.”

He looked at Pecah.

“Take me straight in. Through the main entrance, right to wherever the prisoners are being held. No subtlety, no hiding. Just a direct approach.”

Pecah hesitated, clearly torn between following sensible tactics and trusting this stranger who’d promised to help. Finally, his desire to save his people won out over caution.

“Follow me,” Pecah said, his wings spreading wide.

“And may whatever gods you believe in protect you, because you’re about to need divine intervention.”

*

Pecah flew toward the dome with Jorghan standing on Kaleth’s back; the Swarafa adjusted his flight to keep pace with the faster but smaller faery. The Scavenatore patrols noticed them immediately; it was hard not to when a massive white bird carrying a single warrior was flying directly toward your base in broad daylight.

Alarms began sounding. The ugly yellow-green energy fields sealing the entrances flickered as power was diverted to defensive systems. Scavenetores emerged from various structures, their weapons charging, their mandibles clicking with communication that was probably tactical coordination.

They opened fire as Jorghan and Pecah approached. Plasma projectiles filled the air, dozens of shots from multiple angles creating a kill zone that should have shredded any attacker.

Jorghan’s blood essence barrier caught everything.

The projectiles struck the crimson energy and simply stopped, absorbed and converted into fuel that made his reserves grow rather than deplete.

He jumped from Kaleth’s back while still fifty feet from the ground, blood essence manifesting beneath his feet to cushion the landing. He struck the surface with force that sent shockwaves radiating outward, cracking the ground and making the dome’s foundations shudder.

Scavenetores stumbled from the impact. Some fell, their balance disrupted. Others maintained position, but their aim was thrown off, their coordinated fire becoming scattered and ineffective.

Jorghan walked toward the dome’s main entrance with measured steps, his blood essence swirling around him in patterns that made the air itself seem to thicken with menace. Scavenetores tried to regroup, to establish firing positions, and to bring heavier weapons to bear.

He manifested blood essence as multiple spears and launched them with thought-speed. Each spear found a target, piercing through the Scavenetores’ armored skin, destroying hearts and brains with surgical precision. Bodies fell, their weapons clattering to the ground, their mandibles going silent mid-click.

Fifteen dead in the first ten seconds.

The survivors realized they were facing something beyond their normal experience. Some tried to flee. Others dug in, determined to hold position or die trying.

Jorghan accommodated both groups. Blood essence whips lashed out to catch the fleeing, wrapping around throats and limbs, crushing with force that pulverized bone and ruptured tissue. Those who held positions died from blood manipulation that turned their own circulatory systems against them.

By the time Jorghan reached the dome’s entrance, thirty-seven Scavenetores lay dead behind him.

The energy field sealing the entrance tried to stop him.

Jorghan simply walked through it, his blood essence overriding whatever principles made it function. The field flickered, sparked, and died as his presence disrupted its operation.

Inside the dome was worse than he’d imagined.

*

The interior was a perversion of the beautiful faery architecture that had once existed here. What had been elegant homes and community spaces were now pens.

Cages.

Holding areas where faeries were imprisoned in what used to be their own living spaces.

And there were so many of them.

Not just the two hundred Pecah had estimated, but easily three times that. Six hundred faeries, maybe more, crammed into spaces designed for comfortable living, converted into livestock holding facilities.

They were in various states. Some still had their wings, though many of those wings were broken or damaged beyond function. Others had their wings removed entirely, crude amputations that left scarred stumps. All of them showed signs of prolonged trauma and malnutrition.

And in the center of the dome, sitting on a throne constructed from faery bones, was the largest Scavenatore Jorghan had seen yet.

It was massive, easily nine feet tall, with armor plating that looked thicker than its subordinates’, with technological enhancements that suggested this was someone important. Its amber eyes tracked Jorghan’s entrance with calculation rather than fear.

Around the throne, in various positions of torment, were faery women.

They were tied with glowing restraints, positioned for the Scavenatore leader’s entertainment, their clothing torn or removed entirely, their bodies showing bruises and wounds that suggested systematic abuse beyond just feeding purposes.

The leader spoke, its voice deeper and more controlled than the others.

“Bold. Walking into our facility alone. Killing my guards. You’re either incredibly powerful or incredibly stupid.”

It gestured at the imprisoned faeries.

“But ultimately pointless. You can kill me, kill every Scavenatore in this garrison, and it changes nothing. More will come. The faery species is valuable livestock. Your interference is just a temporary inconvenience.”

Jorghan didn’t respond with words.

He snapped his fingers.

The glowing restraints holding the faery women dissolved, their energy matrices collapsing as blood essence invaded and disrupted them. The women fell free, scrambling away from the throne with desperate speed.

Pecah swooped in through the entrance, moving faster than the remaining Scavenetores could track. He gathered the freed women, his voice urgent.

“Fly! Get out! Go to the pillars, and hide in the highest structures! I’ll find you after!”

The women fled, their damaged wings still functional enough for short flights, disappearing through windows and openings in the dome’s structure.

The Scavenatore leader stood from its throne, weapons manifesting from its armor, blades glowing with energy that suggested they could cut through most materials.

“Interesting,” it said.

“You’ve rescued a few.

Congratulations.

Now let me show you why we’ve successfully farmed multiple species across dozens of worlds.”