Lucia bit her lip so hard it drew blood, the metallic taste grounding her in the chaos. Around her, the clash of steel and the deafening hum of mana filled the air, each sound a grim reminder of how quickly her carefully laid plans were crumbling. Her knights fell one after another, their shields shattered, their bodies lifeless. The room was a battlefield, and her forces were losing.
"You," a cold voice cut through the cacophony, sharp and unyielding. It wasn't a question or even an accusation—just a simple statement of fact. Lucifer. His verdant eyes burned like twin emerald flames, locking onto the trembling orb of light magic in her hands.
"You're using Rachel's light magic," he said, each word laden with quiet menace.
Lucia shuddered, her breath hitching as those words sank in. The statement itself was simple, but the man speaking them radiated a killing intent so potent it was suffocating. His aura pressed down on her like a weight, filling the room with an oppressive silence. She tried to stand taller, to meet his gaze, but her legs felt like lead.
'If only I'd finished harvesting that bitch's power,' she cursed silently, fury and panic battling for dominance. Rachel had resisted her every step, leaving Lucia with only a fraction of the Saintess's immense Gift. It should have been enough—against anyone else, it would have been—but against these monsters? Against him? She was outmatched.
Lucifer's sword, shimmering with astral energy, rose slowly, almost lazily. "Pathetic," he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.
Lucia's instincts screamed at her to act. She poured everything she had into a desperate spell, her eight mana stars spinning wildly as she funneled her energy into a sphere of blinding light. The orb swelled in her hands, radiating with an intensity that threatened to engulf the room. With a scream, she unleashed it.
The explosion of light was dazzling, a miniature sun blooming in the chamber. But it wasn't enough. Lucifer moved faster than her spell, his blade slicing through the light with effortless precision. The sphere disintegrated, fragments of its brilliance scattering harmlessly around him. He stepped through the fading remnants of her attack, unscathed.
Around them, the battle raged on, but the tide had already turned. Seol-ah's winds howled through the chamber, carving through the knights with merciless efficiency. Ren darted among the chaos, his fists glowing with the crushing force of gravity, each strike a precise and deadly symphony. Ian's spear, burning with astral fire, cut down the Sword Saint's elite knights. Jin stood at the rear, orchestrating his undead legions with practiced ease, their relentless advance overwhelming the defenders.
The Sword Saint himself was faltering. Owen's strikes were as precise as ever, his blade flashing with lethal intent, but he was overwhelmed. His knights lay dead or dying, and his wounds were mounting. For all his skill, he couldn't hold out against the relentless assault.
Lucia's breath hitched as she felt a presence approaching—something far greater, far more terrifying than even Lucifer's suffocating aura. Her head snapped toward the shattered doorway as a streak of astral light tore through the battlefield, scattering debris and leaving a smoldering crater in its wake.
When the dust cleared, he stood there—Arthur Nightingale.
His azure eyes burned with a fury that made her stomach twist. His blade was drawn, the intricate sigils along its length glowing faintly in the dim light. Behind him, Rachel and Cecilia stood, battered but alive, their faces pale but defiant.
"Seraphina is safe," Arthur said, his voice cold and steady. His eyes didn't leave Owen as he addressed his friends. "I'll handle him. The rest of you, go."
Lucifer hesitated for only a moment before nodding. He stepped back, his gaze flicking between Arthur and the Sword Saint. Owen tightened his grip on his weapon, his expression stoic but his shoulders tense. He knew this was the end.
Arthur moved with a speed that defied comprehension. His blade cut through the air, each movement precise and deliberate. The Eclipse Blade shimmered with the light of his Grade 6 art, carving through Owen's defenses like they were nothing. Owen fought valiantly, his strikes fierce and calculated, but Arthur was relentless. Each swing of his blade carried the weight of his fury, each step forward driving Owen further back.
With one final, devastating strike, Arthur shattered Owen's blade. The Sword Saint staggered, his defenses crumbling. Arthur didn't hesitate. He moved with the cold precision of a man who knew exactly what needed to be done. Owen fell, his body lifeless before it hit the ground.
Arthur didn't pause. He turned his attention to Lucia, who had backed herself into a corner. She gathered the last remnants of her strength, her mana swirling chaotically as she prepared one final spell. But it was too late. Arthur was already upon her. His blade cut through her magic, through her defenses, through her very being.
Lucia collapsed to her knees, blood dripping from her lips as she looked up at him. Her eyes, filled with malice and despair, locked onto his.
"This ends now," Arthur said, his voice devoid of mercy.
Lucia bit her lip so hard that blood trickled down her chin, a manic gleam in her eyes. Around her, the room was chaos incarnate—bodies of knights strewn across the floor, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing. The air was thick with the acrid tang of burning mana and the haunting echoes of shattered steel.
"You've saved nothing," she rasped, her laughter a harsh, grating sound that sent a chill down Arthur's spine. Blood bubbled at the corners of her mouth as she raised a trembling hand toward Rachel. A sickly glow surrounded her fingers, pulsating with dark, malevolent energy.
Arthur lunged forward, his blade already mid-swing, but the curse was faster.
The dark mana lashed out like a living thing, coiling around Rachel's head in an instant. She froze, her sapphire eyes widening in terror as the shadowy tendrils surged toward them.
"Rachel!" Arthur shouted, his voice raw with desperation, but his feet felt like they were moving through water. The distance between them seemed infinite, the moment dragging on as the curse closed in.
Rachel screamed.
The sound was primal, ripped from her throat as the black tendrils pierced her eyes. Her hands flew to her face, clawing at the air as if trying to pull the darkness away, but it was useless. The shadowy mana burrowed deeper, consuming the brilliant blue of her irises. The veins around her temples darkened, spiderwebbing across her skin as the curse did its work.
"Make it stop!" Rachel sobbed, her voice hoarse and broken, but there was nothing they could do. Arthur reached her just as the curse reached its climax, the tendrils tightening like a vice.
Then, with a final, sickening pulse, it was over.
The dark mana dissipated into the air, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the chaos that had preceded it. Rachel's hands fell away from her face, trembling as they hovered uncertainly in the air. Her eyes—once luminous pools of sapphire—were now empty voids. The sclerae were blackened, the irises gone entirely, leaving nothing but hollow, lightless sockets.
Arthur knelt beside her, his hands shaking as he cupped her face. "Rachel," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Rachel, look at me."
She didn't respond. Her gaze was unfocused, her empty eyes staring straight ahead. Slowly, her lips parted, and a choked sob escaped her.
"I... I can't see," she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the ringing in Arthur's ears. Her hands reached out blindly, searching for something—anything—to anchor her in the darkness that had swallowed her world.
Arthur caught her hands in his, squeezing them tightly. "I'm here," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm here, Rachel."
Lucia's laughter, faint and weak, echoed from where she lay dying. "It's done," she croaked, her lips curling into a bloodstained grin. "You can't... save her."
Arthur's head snapped toward her, his eyes blazing with fury. In one swift motion, he drove his sword through her chest, silencing her laughter forever. But the satisfaction was fleeting, drowned out by the sound of Rachel's quiet, heart-wrenching sobs.
Lucifer approached, his expression grim as he examined Rachel. "It's over," he said softly. "The curse burned itself out. There's... no reversing this."