Maris stood victorious in the shattered remains of the battlefield. The sealed space had crumbled under the intensity of their clash, the walls dissolving into nothingness as her holy magic settled. Breathing heavily, she wiped the sweat from her brow, her eyes scanning the battlefield for any signs of Nyx. Silence reigned, broken only by the soft hum of residual magic fading into the ether.
"I did it," she whispered to herself, her eyes still alert, yet her heart finally beginning to calm.
The puppets that had fought for her were gone, scattered in pieces across the battlefield. The sheer scale of the battle had pushed her to her limits, but she had prevailed—or so she thought.
Just as she allowed herself a moment of relief, a faint chuckle echoed through the empty air.
Maris froze.
