With Soul Vision and Seraphim's Embrace, I could see every movent in excruciating detail. The way his staff twisted, leaving trails of crimson energy in its wake. The complex sigils he wove with his free hand, blood magic condensing into formations of staggering complexity. The shift in his stance, weight transferring from back foot to front in a motion too fluid to be entirely human.
I saw it all. But seeing wasn't enough.
I parried the first strike, barely, my sword screaming in protest as cracks spread further along its length. The second blow I dodged, contorting my body in ways that should have been impossible, the edge of his staff missing my throat by milliters.
The third hit ho.
A spike of crystallized blood, conjured from thin air, pierced my shoulder, driving through muscle and bone with horrific ease. Pain exploded across my senses, white-hot and all-consuming. I staggered, blood flooding my mouth as the spike's magic spread through my system, attempting to corrupt my very essence.
I ripped myself away, tearing tissue in the process, but better that than allowing his magic to take root within . The wound bled profusely, a steady stream of crimson staining the already-ruined floor.
The Bishop pressed forward, sensing weakness, his attacks increasing in both speed and ferocity. I was on the defensive now, retreating step by step, each movent more desperate than the last. His blood magic filled the air, a storm of crimson death that left no avenue of escape.
And beneath it all, a deeper pain was building.
The borrowed power from Reika's Gift was fading rapidly now, the black symbols on my skin dissolving one by one, returning to their rightful owner. With each symbol that vanished, a wave of agony crashed through , as if my very cells were being torn apart and reassembled incorrectly.
Worse, Soul Resonance and qilinification were exacting their own price. My human form wasn't ant to channel such power, wasn't built to sustain the kind of energy that coursed through my veins. Blood vessels ruptured beneath my skin, creating a patchwork of bruises across my body. My vision blurred, reality fracturing around the edges as my consciousness struggled to remain intact.
I was burning from the inside out, consud by the very power I had called upon.
The Bishop saw it. Of course he did. His eyes glead with the recognition of inevitable victory, with the satisfaction of a predator watching its prey weaken with each passing mont.
"Your body is failing," he observed, his voice almost gentle, as if speaking to a terminally ill patient. "No human could sustain what you're attempting. The girl's Gift, this... other power you've manifested. They're tearing you apart."
He wasn't wrong.
I could feel it—the dissonance between mortal flesh and immortal power, the fundantal incompatibility that threatened to unravel my existence. Reika's Gift had been dangerous enough on its own. Adding Soul Resonance and qilinification on top of that? It was suicide by another na.
But I had no choice.
I lunged forward, ignoring the protest of shredded muscles and cracking bones, pouring every ounce of remaining strength into one final, desperate attack. My sword, now barely holding together, blazed with the last of my Purelight, a dying star that refused to go gently.
The Bishop sidestepped my strike with insulting ease, his staff spinning to intercept my blade. The impact shattered my sword completely, fragnts of steel scattering across the floor like fallen stars. The force of the blow sent stumbling backward, defenseless, exhausted.
I collapsed to one knee, blood dripping from a dozen wounds, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The room spun around , reality becoming increasingly difficult to grasp as my body rebelled against the abuse it had endured.
"A valiant effort," the Bishop said, approaching slowly, his staff tapping against the ground with each step. "Truly impressive for one so young. But this is the inevitable outco when you challenge powers beyond your comprehension."
He raised his staff, blood magic gathering at its tip, a sphere of condensed malice that promised oblivion. "Perhaps in another life, you might have grown to beco a worthy adversary. A sha we'll never know."
I couldn't move. Couldn't dodge. Couldn't even raise my arms in a futile attempt at defense. My body had reached its absolute limit, punished beyond endurance by the conflicting forces I had channeled.
So this was how it ended. Not with victory, but with the harsh lesson that determination alone wasn't enough, that so gaps couldn't be bridged through sheer will.
I closed my eyes, waiting for the end.
But then—
A surge of power. Not from within, but from without. A presence that hit my senses like a physical blow, a pressure that made even the Bishop falter, his attack hesitating mid-formation.
The air... changed. There was no other way to describe it. The atmosphere itself seed to lighten, as if so fundantal aspect of reality had been adjusted, recalibrated to accommodate sothing greater.
The Bishop turned sharply, eyes widening in genuine alarm. "What—"
A blade of pure light pierced the doors, lting through solid tal as if it were nothing more than mist. The doors exploded inward, reduced to molten slag that scattered across the floor, hissing as it cooled.
Two figures stepped through the ruined entrance.
The first was a man in his early forties, tall and broad-shouldered, with the bearing of soone accustod to command. His armor glead white and gold, the insignia of Redmond City's Knight Division emblazoned across the breastplate. His mana was a controlled inferno, dense and disciplined, the mark of an Ascendant-ranker who had earned his station through rit rather than politics.
Knight Captain Valen Thornwright.
But it was the second figure that drew my attention, that made my heart stutter in my chest.
Rachel stood beside the Knight Captain, her honey-blonde hair loose around her shoulders, her uniform torn and singed as if she had fought her way here. Her eyes—normally warm, normally gentle—blazed with an inner light that transcended re rage. This was sothing deeper, sothing primal. The fury of soone who had found what was theirs threatened.
"You," the Bishop hissed, his composure finally cracking. "The Knight Captain... and a re student?"
Valen Thornwright didn't bother with a response. His sword—a simple, unadorned blade that nonetheless radiated power—rose in a formal salute. "Bishop Vale," he stated, his voice carrying the weight of authority, of judgnt. "By the authority vested in by the Imperial Court and the city of Redmond, you are hereby charged with treason, conspiracy, and cris against humanity."
The Bishop's laugh was hollow, brittle. "You think you can simply arrest ? I am beyond your jurisdiction, beyond your comprehension."
"I'm not here to arrest you," Thornwright replied calmly. "I'm here to execute you."
The two Ascendant-rankers moved simultaneously, their clash creating a shockwave that rattled the very foundations of the building. Blood magic t holy light, darkness against illumination, in a contest of wills that transcended re physical combat.
But Rachel—Rachel didn't join the battle.
Instead, she ran to , her steps urgent, her eyes wide with a mixture of fury and fear. She dropped to her knees beside , heedless of the blood that soaked the floor, that stained her uniform.
"Arthur, you idiot," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You absolute, unbelievable idiot."
Before I could respond—not that I had the strength to—her arms were around , pulling close in an embrace that felt like salvation itself. Her warmth enveloped , a stark contrast to the cold that had been seeping into my bones, the chill of approaching death.
I felt it then—her Gift activating. Whereas Reika's Gift had been pain and transformation, Rachel's was healing and restoration. Golden light flowed from her hands, from her heart, washing over in waves of gentle radiance. Wounds began to close, torn muscles knitting themselves back together, fractured bones realigning.
But more than that—her Gift purified, cleansed. The corrupting influence of the Bishop's blood magic, the strain of channeling qilin power through a human vessel, the damage from Reika's Gift... all of it, gradually washed away by Rachel's power.
"Why didn't you call ?" she demanded, her face pressed against my shoulder. I could feel her tears, hot against my skin. "Why do you always, always do this? Try to carry everything alone?"
I wanted to answer. Wanted to explain. But the words wouldn't co, trapped beneath the overwhelming relief of her presence, of her touch.
In the background, the battle between Thornwright and Vale continued, their powers clashing in spectacular displays of light and shadow. But here, in this mont, there was only Rachel, her Gift, and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against mine.
Help had arrived.
And for once, I allowed myself to be saved.
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