Gremory and Mot continued to exchange blows, the sound of their weapons echoing throughout the castle. Gremory's obsidian sword and Mot's scythe clashed forcefully, both demons pushing each other with faces full of tension. As they struggled, one of Mot's plants emerged from the ground, impaling Gremory's stomach from behind.
"Damn it!" Gremory growled, feeling the stinging pain as the plant pierced him.
Mot took advantage of the moment and launched a strong kick into Gremory's abdomen, sending him flying several meters. Gremory landed hard, his body burning with pain.
"Is that all you have?" Mot asked with a mocking smile as he looked at his wounded opponent.
Despite the pain and blood pouring from his wound, Gremory stood up again, a look of fierce determination on his face. This time, instead of simply increasing the magnitude of his attack, he concentrated all of his magma power into the tip of his sword, reducing its size, but making it incredibly deadly.
"I'm not done yet…" Gremory muttered, as the tip of her sword glowed with a scorching heat, distorting the air around her.
With a cry of effort, Gremory launched a straight stab at Mot. The demon reacted quickly, raising a thick wooden wall to block the attack, but the concentrated magma stab cut through it with ease. The burning blade of the sword grazed Mot's head, leaving a smoking hole in his wooden barrier.
—Tch ...! —Mot stepped back, stunned as he watched the smoke rise from the gap that had almost reached him.
"So… by concentrating your power in a single point, you make it more deadly," Mot muttered in surprise as he looked at Gremory with a new seriousness. He could no longer afford to underestimate his opponent.
The confrontation between the two was far from over, and both Gremory and Mot knew that any wrong move could decide the outcome of this intense battle .
Mot, after feeling the scorching heat of Gremory's attack grazing her hood, decided to get serious. With a firm gesture, she removed her torn hood, revealing her true face: a woman with rough features, with a short, unruly, tomboy-style haircut that contrasted with her powerful figure. The look in her eyes hardened as she prepared for what was to come.
"I won't underestimate you again, Gremory," Mot said in a firm voice, concentrating his energy.
He concentrated his roots into his scythe, which began to wrap around the blade, slowly transforming the weapon into a natural spear made of the living roots themselves. The spear vibrated with a green, earthy energy, as if nature itself was determined to destroy everything in its path.
"If you're going to fight with thrusts, so am I," Mot said determinedly, fixing his eyes on Gremory.
Gremory, for his part, watched intently, keeping his magma concentrated on the tip of his sword. They both knew that this next attack could be the end.
"You're going to need more than a root spear to defeat me," Gremory growled, taking a firm stance.
Both demons prepared to launch an attack. The tension in the air was palpable, as if the castle itself was holding its breath. Finally, with a roar of power, both of them rushed towards each other.
Mot's natural spear and Gremory's concentrated magma sword collided with monumental force. The impact reverberated through the surroundings, creating a shockwave that shook the ground beneath their feet. For a few moments, it seemed as if Mot's roots were wrapped around Gremory's thrust, as if they were about to pierce through the body of the commander of Theo's troops.
However, at the last second, Gremory's concentrated energy broke through. With a blinding flash of magma and power, the thrust pierced Mot's spear, continuing its unstoppable path until it pierced his chest.
" Ugh !" Mot let out a groan of pain as she felt Gremory's sword pierce through her body. Her eyes widened, shocked by the force of the attack.
For a few seconds, the scene fell silent as Mot tried to stand. But the damage was too much, and eventually, her body gave out. With a final sigh, she fell to the ground, unconscious, as the root spear returned to its original form, fading away little by little.
Gremory, breathing heavily, slowly lowered his sword. He had won this battle, but he was far from able to relax.
"Don't take it personally, I'm just following orders," Gremory muttered, looking at the fainted Mot.