Azrael's overwhelming power remained undeniable. His wounds healed almost instantly, leaving him virtually untouched by the battle's toll. Every strike she delivered seemed to be deflected effortlessly, and his counterattacks came with such force that she was forced to rely on pure instinct to avoid them.
Eve's body was battered and bruised, her energy waning, but she refused to yield. She fought with the memory of her fallen comrades fueling her every move, their sacrifices becoming the driving force behind her will to stand against Azrael's onslaught.
Azrael's black sword cut through the air with a chilling precision, and each time their blades clashed, the ground beneath them trembled. His eyes bore into hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine, a stark reminder of the immense power he held within his grasp.
As the battle raged on, Eve's movements began to slow, her limbs heavy with fatigue. She was running out of options, her strength waning, and desperation clawed at the edges of her mind. Yet, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, her spirit remained unbroken.
Azrael's expression remained unchanged, his attacks unyielding. He seemed to toy with her, his movements fluid and graceful, each strike perfectly timed to keep her on the defensive.
But then, as if in response to Eve's tenacity, a crack appeared in Azrael's armor. A momentary lapse in his guard allowed her to slip past his defenses, her blade slicing through his robe and drawing a thin line of blood.
For an instant, time seemed to slow. The impossible had happened. Eve had breached Azrael's defenses and inflicted a wound. A spark of hope ignited within her, and she seized the opportunity.
But Azrael's reaction was swift and brutal. His eyes blazed with an otherworldly intensity, and with a single, powerful strike, he disarmed Eve and sent her crashing to the ground.
Breathing heavily, Eve struggled to rise, her body protesting against the effort. Azrael approached her, his sword held at the ready. She looked up at him, her red eyes burning with a defiant fire that refused to be extinguished.
As Azrael raised his sword for the final blow, Eve's voice cut through the air, her words filled with a fervent determination that echoed across the battlefield. "Even in the face of darkness, we will stand for justice. Our wills cannot be shattered. We are the defenders of balance, the protectors of all realms. And as long as there is even a glimmer of hope, we will fight on!"
Eve's defiant words hung in the air for a split second, a testament to her unyielding spirit. But Azrael's response was swift and merciless. With an almost casual movement, he reached out and grabbed her sword by the blade, his bare hand showing no sign of discomfort from the deadly weapon.
In that heart-stopping moment, time seemed to freeze. The clash between their wills was palpable, and for an instant, it appeared as though Azrael's grip might falter. But then, with a surge of unimaginable power, he twisted the sword from her grasp, sending it clattering to the ground.
Eve's eyes widened with shock and disbelief as Azrael's gaze bore into hers with an eerie calmness. He moved with an almost deliberate slowness, his movements calculated and precise. In a blur of motion, he lunged forward, his hand striking out like a viper. And then, before Eve could react, his blade cut through the air, severing her arm with a single, clean stroke.
Pain coursed through her body, radiating from the fresh wound as if it were a conduit for all her suffering. Her breath caught in her throat, and she screamed in agony, her voice a haunting cry that echoed across the battlefield.
But Azrael's assault was far from over. With a chilling detachment, he moved to her other arm, his blade descending once again. The second strike was just as swift, just as merciless. And as the second arm fell to the ground, Eve's world spun into a whirlwind of pain.
Her body collapsed to the ground, blood pooling around her in a macabre tableau. The battle cries, the clash of weapons, the cries of her comrades—all of it faded into the background as her vision blurred, her consciousness teetering on the edge of death.
Eve's body lay broken and battered on the ground, her life force ebbing away with each passing second. Azrael's cold words pierced through the air like a blade, a cruel reminder of the power he held over her.
With a casual gesture, he extended his finger towards her, and a surge of energy shot forth like a deadly lance. The blast struck Eve's chest with a sickening impact, tearing through flesh and bone as if they were mere paper. The force of the blow threw her body backwards, leaving a trail of blood and destruction in its wake.
Pain seared through her, a white-hot agony that consumed her senses. Her vision swam in a haze of darkness, her breath coming in ragged gasps. In that moment, as she hovered on the brink of death, Eve's thoughts turned to the people she had lost, the world that had been torn apart, and the unbreakable spirit that had driven her to fight until the end.
And then, in the silence that followed, Eve's body grew still, her life force finally fading away. The battlefield, once a scene of chaos and destruction, fell into an eerie quiet, a stark contrast to the violence that had unfolded moments before. Azrael stood among the wreckage, his gaze fixed on the fallen warrior before him.