Anatole charged forward, his sword glinting in the dim light. The Inquisitor responded with a flurry of legs, each one tipped with a razor-sharp claw. Anatole dodged and weaved, his chest armor clanging as the monster's claws scraped against the metal.
With a roar, Anatole lunged forward, thrusting his sword into the Inquisitor's soft underbelly. But the spider was quick, and he dodged the blow, instead wrapping one of his legs around the Anatole's sword arm.
The Saint grunted in pain as the spider's grip tightened, but he refused to give up. With a fierce cry, he pulled his arm free and charged forward once more.
The battle raged on, each combatant landing blows on the other. Anatole's sword sliced through the Inquisitor's flesh, while the monster's claws left deep gouges in his armor and clothes. The cave echoed with their grunts and snarls, the sound of steel on chitin, and the clanging of armor.
The fight seemed to go on forever, each combatant pushing their limits.
Anatole stood at one side while the Inquisitor stood at the other. The monster they stood on had long since been slew weather by their own blows or by the others down below they didn't know.
Shallow breaths left their tired lips. Anatole's mask had crumbled off and only the black piece of cloth was left.
"It's a great pity that the Vessels of Ri'sh won't be able to procure your strength."
"Oh yeah? That's goOD TO HEAR!" He leapt forward, sword drawn.
The Inquisitor pulled up two of his bleeding legs in defense. "Bring it!"
Down below the other saints killed monsters and demons until a few remained.
Blood dripped from a cut above Sylvester's eye. He could taste his blood mixed in sweat but he persisted. Anatole fought alone with a greater foe compared to these mesley flies. Judging by the sounds of the sword against chitin he was still moving but for how much longer?
"Ghu! Just hold on a bit more…" A stray arrow whistled past him. He tapped on his bleeding check before glaring at the imps who gloated at the sight of blood.
However before he could reach them they were already on the ground, their heads falling like camelia heads.
Sylvester gasped like a fish out of water. What happened? Shulia and Sullivan were too far to help. Everything took place in a blink of an eye.
Then something bright caught the corners of his eyes.
"Is that…?"
"Oriane?!"
Shining like a star she flashed past demons and monsters alike. Within seconds she had scaled up the dead monster's back and was dashing for the two combatants.
Anatole was being pushed back to the edge. He tried grounding his heels into the monster's side but it did no good. The Holy sword had ice forming on his knuckles, a telltale sign if he held on any longer, his heart would be freezing next. The Inquisitor must have sensed it because he grinned even wider and put more force behind his attack.
Breath leaving in huffs Anatole wondered if this was the end.
'...If I die, my family's honor may return.' He panted. The injuries that weren't healed yet took its toll on his body.
'Good. This was supposed to be my last mission before I retired early.' He decided to put all his strength in the next attack.
'...Though I still wish for a miracle so I can properly apologize to everyone.'
'...Even to that wench as well...'
The Inquisitor attacked his hands and the sword went flying above them. Anatole glanced at his hands.
His gloves were soaked in blood and brittle ice. He looked up again. He had no more strength to call forth magic either.
'...So this is it…' "You won. Go ahead and kill me now," he said to the Inquisitor.
"The offer still stands. Join us and the world will be yours a trophy of your conquest."
He shook his head. "...Rather not. Greed's not a good look for a saint."
"A pity. You could have shone in the Arbitrary Abstractions, greedy or not." He drew near to him. "But if you won't join us, there is no reason for you to stand in the way either!" He raised his deadly pincers and Anatole closed his eyes, ready for his torso to be shredded.
But the pain never came.
He peeped an eye and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Oriane stood over him, her Holy sword in hand deflecting the attack. The Inquisitor first looked surprised, then angry.
"You brat!" he screamed at her. "You dare to show your face again after running away like a coward!"
Oriane flinched but she retained her stance. "I didn't run away. I won't run away anymore."
"Hah! And pray what can you do? You're blind!"
It was true.The price of overusing magic was her sight. It won't be returning. Oriane furrowed her brows. "Even so I will struggle to fight. Struggle to win."
"Oriane!" Anatole yelled behind her. "Why are you here?" Anger was rolling off him in waves.
She pushed the Inquisitor with a swift flick of her sword. She glanced over her back refusing to meet his face. "...I…thought…I could help too. So I…"
"So you abandoned the mission I gave you?"
"N-no I didn't! I just…" She lowered her head. "...I don't think…Claudina can help us….She doesn't consider us our friends."
"That's right she doesn't." Oriane stiffened. "She doesn't even see us as human. It's only Lord Chronos' request that she does not turn around and kill us in our sleep."
"..."
"Haa…you little devil…" They both turned around. The Inquisitor slowly rose up. "You should have run away while I was showing you a bit of mercy. But I guess it was wrong for me." His legs spread behind like a skeletal fan. "One won't join and the other is a blight in my existence…I'll kill you both…"
"Your sword, Anatole."
He quietly took it. "If you die it won't be on me…"
Oriane had a look of confusion. "I never blame anyone for my misfortunes."
"...Good to hear…"
The Inquisitor hissed and screeched, ready to attack.
Oriane and Anatole knew they had to act fast. They charged towards him, their swords slashing through the air. The Inquisitor, however, was quick to react, dodging their attacks with ease.
Anatole then noticed a weak point on his exoskeleton: a small opening that exposed his underbelly. He signaled to Oriane, and they both charged at the monster once again, with Anatole aiming for the weak point.
The Inquisitor, sensing the danger, let out a deafening screech and lunged at Anatole. His razor-sharp claws barely missed the saint's head, and he quickly retaliated, striking his legs with his sword.
The Inquisitor howled in agony, but he didn't back down. He continued to fight, his massive size making it difficult for the saints to land a significant blow. They circled around him, planning their next move.
Suddenly, the Inquisitor charged at Oriane, his fangs dripping with venom. Anatole quickly intervened, slashing at him with his sword. The Inquisitor screeched, his legs flailing in anger.
The saints fought with all their might, their swords clanging against the Inquisitor's exoskeleton. They managed to land a few blows, but he seemed unfazed. It was as if their weapons had no effect on him anymore.
They were soon backed against a corner.
"Anatole…I have a plan…"
"Yeah? Out with it then."
"...Can you use magic?"
"I can't even use Holy magic. Why I have yet to succumb to my wounds, Heavens know."
"Don't worry. You don't need to use magic." There was a shadow of a smile on her face. "In fact you are not even in the plan."
Anatole frowned. "What do yo-Ugh…" Oriane knocked him on his head. Clutching his head he tried his very best to stay awake. "...what is…the meaning…of this…?"
She turned around only to push him down.