[H]esitating only for a heartbeat, the Corroder shifted his unwavering attention to Ionia. His lips curled into a sinister, cunning grin, and his voice cut through the electric tension like a blade.
"Finally," he declared, exuding triumphant confidence. "No one stands in our path now."
In one swift motion, he clenched the NanoComm and shattered it into a cascade of crystalline fragments.
Ionia's gaze, fixed on the lifeless form of Draven, carried an air of detached weariness as she spoke. "You're naive to hold such beliefs."
The Corroder's eyes narrowed to a piercing glare, intent on unraveling the veiled significance of her words. Suspicion coiled through his mind as he demanded, "What exactly are you insinuating, Ionia? I demand to know."
In a fleeting moment, an enigmatic emotion flickered in her eyes, disappearing as quickly as it surfaced.
"Look around you, can't you see? The world lies in ruins!"
"It's not beyond salvation," the Corroder asserted, advancing with calculated steps.
"You're deceiving yourself."
"And why should it matter if I—"
"Have you ever contemplated why I embraced the mantle of destruction?"
Confusion etched across the Corroder's face as his steps came to an abrupt halt. He scrutinized her, wrestling to decipher her intentions.
"Those who bear chaos are obliterated when the world crumbles," she unveiled, her voice an island of serenity amid the world's sobbing tumult. "There's no escape."
"That's inconceivable! Don't treat me like a fool!" The Corroder retorted with a trace of biting derision. "You possess the Blessing of Life!"
A faint, chilling smirk briefly touched her otherwise emotionless face, her demeanor as frigid as marble. "That's precisely why I became the vessel of chaos. It nullifies the Blessing of Life."
"What nonsense are you babbling, woman? You pledged your life to me!" The Corroder hissed, as if the stark reality had seared his very soul. Taking a few determined steps, he closed the gap between them and roughly seized her chin.
"My time is running out!"
"Woman, I told you that you are mine!" He proclaimed, his tone petulant, and then leaned in forcefully to claim her lips.
This wasn't the first instance. She had been left to perish by her own kind, cast into the abyss as the lowest rung on their ruthless food chain. She'd fought relentlessly to survive, her body subject to abuse and violation by numerous of his kin. Yet, he, as the leader of one of the most merciless Corroder tribes, stood out as the worst.
He had taken an interest in her when he witnessed her tenacity to survive, even though she hadn't awakened as a warrior. In contrast to his fellow tribesmen, he hadn't sought to merely defile her; he aspired to conquer her in both body and mind. Hence, his profound animosity toward Draven.
It felt as if the place reserved for him in her heart had been undeservedly filled by another man. Surprisingly, she didn't harbor hatred toward him.
In fact, if she were honest, this human-beast had shown her more humanity than any actual human she had encountered in her nightmarish existence. Sadly, she was simply too drained now.
Worn down by insults, abuses, and the ceaseless pain, the request for her to continue living felt overwhelming. The world was hurtling toward its end, rendering it inconsequential.
As he withdrew, his breath still tinged with desire and urgency, he peered down at her with eyes as dark as obsidian, brimming with longing. He declared, "In the end, I even slaughtered my own brother for you! You now belong with me."
A faint chuckle escaped her lips, a sound resembling laughter, something he hadn't heard from her in a long while. His claw-like grip on her face loosened.
She had always been delicate, requiring gentle handling. Even the simple act of cradling her face with his claw-like armor caused her pain, but her Blessing of Life had always been there to mend the wounds.
However, in that moment, a sudden realization struck him. She was bleeding. How was this possible? Why wasn't her healing working?
"It won't heal," she stated with an air of resignation. Understanding his confusion, she took a step back, a weary smile still gracing her lips. "I'm dying."
"What?" He stammered.
"No matter what you attempt, my fate remains unchanged," she clarified, her words carrying the weight of inevitability.
[Stealth Skill – Activated]
The Corroder vanished from sight, reappearing behind her in an effort to bridge the gap between them.
"No, this can't be!" He exclaimed. "There's no way!"
As his right hand moved to grasp her arms, she abruptly pivoted, and in a blur of motion, impaled herself on his metallic claws. It took him a painfully long moment to grasp the grim reality, his hand deeply embedded in her stomach. Despite the blood staining her lips, her weary smile never wavered.
He yanked his hand from her gut, gripping her with a madness tinged with disbelief. "What have you done, Ionia? What have you—"
"If there's..." She coughed, gasping for breath. "...another life... let's not meet again."
"Woman, what have you done!" His voice quivered. In this moment, even this beast-like human's voice bore the unmistakable weight of regret and sorrow.
It was a hauntingly beautiful moment, for it unveiled a more human side of him. They say devils don't cry, but with one look at him, one would be inclined to think otherwise.
The sensation of dying was akin to a slow descent into slumber.
Cough! Cough!
Amid a fit of bloodied coughing, her limbs grew frigid, and her lifeforce appeared to ebb away, bit by bit.
"Damn it! Why won't you heal?" The Corroder's voice carried traces of frustration, gradually morphing into sorrow.
"Huh?" Another voice echoed around them, causing both of their heads to snap in its direction.
Ionia instantly regretted her impulsive actions, for her head spun dizzily.
There, high above on a cliff, stood an exceptionally striking man that commanded attention.
His golden-blonde locks blazed like tendrils of liquid fire, brushed back messily and framing a face that could have graced the pages of 'Noble Whispers', a gossip magazine on high nobility. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of ruby, held an almost magnetic allure, leaving anyone who gazed upon him captivated by his breathtaking beauty.
The man was Azrael, the legendary battle god and emperor of the Neveira Empire. His imposing figure casted a stark silhouette against the harsh, desolate landscape below.
Clad in pristine Mana-Tech armor, it gleamed with brilliant white metal and golden runes, a testament to his royal authority and unmatched power.
Azrael's cold, regal gaze fixed upon Ionia, wounded and prone on the barren ground. His lips curled into a disdainful sneer, an expression all too familiar to anyone who had ever crossed paths with her.
"This is quite the spectacle, Ionia! You've certainly stirred up quite a commotion, haven't you?" Azrael's words dripped with mockery as he observed the Corroder's desperate efforts to keep the woman beneath him alive.
As his eyes settled on Ionia's frail form, the regal pride that once defined him gave way to an icy, indifferent glare, exuding an air of aloof superiority.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished and reappeared beside Ionia and the Corroder, his movements so swift that they were almost imperceptible.
With a casual flick of his armored hand, Azrael sent the Corroder hurtling into a nearby cliff, rendering him unconscious and effectively removing him from the equation.
The battle god had effortlessly silenced any opposition, asserting his supremacy.
Ionia, her strength depleted, lay defenseless on the ground, her body slowing sinking into a state of numbness. She made no efforts to rise or roll to safety, her exhaustion overwhelming.
"Pathetic," Azrael sneered, his voice laden with the arrogance befitting his royal lineage. "You mean to tell me that you're ready to squander your unique gift?"
What others had referred to as a gift had, in reality, been an unrelenting curse throughout her life. This was because bearers of the Blessing of Life could only meet their end through natural means, including sickness or a conventional death. When injured, her body would instantaneously heal, but presently, the deep-seated chaos within her, the very essence of this world's destruction, was nullifying her gift of life.
Ionia remained silent.
"You, of all people, should be aware that the chaos is feasting on your life essence, your very soul," Azrael admonished. "If you die, you'll fade into nothingness. Is this truly your desire?"
"I... should never have been born in the first place. This is for the best, Azrael of Indrisid."
Azrael's sneer deepened as he continued, "Your frail existence held no significance in the grand scheme of things. You were born as an outcast, and now you'll depart in obscurity. Your life has been a meaningless stain on this world."
"I... I know," she managed a faint smile.
Circling her with deliberate slowness, as if relishing her suffering, he went on, "It's a shame. You could have achieved so much more, if not for your insufferable self-pity. You were so fixated on being saved that you overlooked a fundamental truth."
His eyes slanted with a sense of smug satisfaction. "This life is entirely your own responsibility. No one was going to rescue you except yourself."
At his words, something pierced her heart, a sensation that Draven and his brother had never been able to evoke. Yet here he stood, stirring emotions she had kept buried.
How did he know? She had never sought this. Death was never her desire, but in this forsaken land, it had become her sole refuge.
As if comprehending the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind, Azrael flicked his hand, and his swords materialized out of thin air.
"If you had a chance to begin anew, how would you choose to spend the days of your life?" With those words, he impaled her with the sword.
Death at his hands was a gruesome spectacle, but it delivered the outcome she had yearned for. As darkness gradually encroached, the relief in her eyes faded when she glimpsed a shimmering golden magic formation coalescing behind him.
'Impossible... an Eques of God?' She pondered inwardly, her grip on life slipping away.
The remnants of her existence faded as a blinding radiance enveloped them, his incantation reaching its crescendo.