Chapter 47 – Judgement Without Mercy

*

I raise my blade, yet curse the fight. Her face still haunts me in the light. The girl I vowed I’d never lose. Now wears the chains she did not choose.

Her laughter cuts, her eyes still bleed. A demon born of pain and need. I see the child behind her flame. And every strike still speaks her name.

O cruelest fate, to pit my hand. Against the one I swore to stand. Each blow I give, it breaks me more. For love still lingers at the core.

If faith demands I strike her down. Then let me bear that thorny crown. I’ll fight the dark, I’ll face the flame. But never cease to love her name.

*

---

The chamber exploded with motion, Ysara a streak of crimson and shadow, Eliza a wall of blinding gold. Their clash was a storm breaking, a collision that made the earth tremble and the terrified mortals scream.

Eliza drove her shield forward, a mountain of divine force, the weight of her faith behind every step. Ysara met it with claws like blackened steel, the impact screaming through the stone. For a heartbeat they locked, dark and light grinding against each other. Then Eliza surged, ramming the shield with all her might.

The blow hurled Ysara like a broken doll. Her body crashing through a pillar before slamming into the far wall. Stone shattered, dust and rubble cascading in a thunderous wave. The mortals gasped, some crying out in awe, others stumbling back in terror.

Eliza did not pursue. She planted her feet, her shield gleaming like the dawn, and waited—eyes fixed on the cloud of dust and debris.

Slowly, a shadow stirred.

Ysara emerged, her body a grotesque ruin where the shield had struck. Her chest and shoulder were stripped to raw bone, ribs jutting through shredded flesh. Her left arm dangled uselessly, the skin burned away in patches that revealed glistening sinew. Half her face was laid bare to the bone, her eye socket a crimson ember glowing beneath torn flesh.

And still—she smiled.

A low chuckle rippled from her throat, jagged and delighted. She raised her good hand, casually brushing dust from her bare shoulder as if she had merely tripped. Before Eliza’s eye, the horror began to mend. Bone shimmered with black light, knitting. Muscle coiled back into place. Skin crawled wetly over ruined flesh, pale and smooth once more. Her arm flexed, whole again, fingers curling with menace.

“That,” Ysara said, her voice silken with mockery, “almost felt like the old days.” Her crimson gaze locked with Eliza’s. “You still know how to hurt me.”

With a sudden lunge, Ysara became a blur, darting low and to the side. This time she did not meet the shield head-on. She twisted around its radiant edge, claws flashing for Eliza’s throat.

But steel caught her.

Eliza’s sword swung down, holy light tracing its arc, and Ysara’s claws met its edge in a scream of sparks. For an instant they struggled, teeth bared, faces inches apart. Then Eliza thrust forward, her blade biting deep into Ysara’s left shoulder, punching clean through.

Blood hissed like acid where it touched the steel, but Ysara did not flinch. She pressed closer, lips curling into a smile, letting the sword remain lodged in her.

Eliza’s brow furrowed—she could feel it, the wrongness of the wound, the way Ysara welcomed pain like an embrace. She wrenched at her blade, but before she could break free, Ysara’s weight shifted.

Eliza’s instincts screamed.

With a guttural cry, she slammed her shield down into the stone. Holy light detonated outward, a shockwave rippling through the chamber with thunderous force. Ysara was hurled back, her body twisting as she tumbled across the broken floor. Mortals behind Eliza fell to their knees, clutching their ears, as the divine wave rolled through them.

Smoke curled from the wound in Ysara’s shoulder, but already the torn flesh writhed, knitting itself back together. She rose again, bloodied eyes locked on Eliza, her sneer sharper, more feral.

The gash Eliza had carved moments ago was gone as if it had never been, her skin smooth as ever.

Eliza’s eye narrowed.

Too fast… faster than even holy fire can consume.

Each strike she delivered was answered not with weakness but with mockery, her foe laughing off pain as though it were nothing more than dust. The weight of her sword alone would never be enough.

Her gaze drifted deliberately to the massive shield strapped to her arm. The relic pulsed faintly, as if it too hungered to be called upon.

For a heartbeat, she hesitated.

But then, she stepped forward, tearing her sword free from her grasp and driving it into the stone floor until it bit deep, anchoring itself like a cross planted in a grave. Her gauntleted hands lingered on the hilt, trembling only once before stilling. She closed her eye. She then exhaled. A weary, sorrowful sigh that seemed to carry centuries within it.

Ysara tilted her head, amused. “What’s this? Are you giving up already, Eliza?”

Her laugh was low, silken, curling like smoke through the chaos.

But Eliza did not answer her. Slowly, she shifted her grip—both hands leaving the sword and rising to clutch the shield with all her strength. She lowered her stance, bracing as if to bear the weight of heaven itself.

She spoke.

The words fell heavy and unshakable, ancient liturgy carried on a trembling yet resolute voice.

“O Bastion of Dawn,

O Shield that bore the burden of the First Light,

Stand with me now.

Clothe me in your truth,

Crown me in your fire.”

The air ignited. Golden radiance burst from the shield, threads of brilliance weaving outward like sunfire unraveling into form. Light coiled around Eliza, wrapping her battered frame, layering over steel and flesh alike. Her armor thickened, plates of living gold blossoming across her shoulders, her chest, her legs. A helm unfurled, a crown of light sealing over her brow until her lone eye blazed through a slit of radiance.

The shield groaned with power, its runes flaring white-hot, before reshaping itself. Not only her defense, but her very flesh and bones, divine will forged into steel. The walls shook with the force of it. Mortals cowered, blinded by the brilliance.

And Eliza’s voice thundered.

“Aegis Gloria”

The shields true name resounded, a bell tolling through eternity, and heaven’s judgment descended upon the chamber.

With sword in one hand, shield in the other, Eliza stood reborn—a true paladin of light, no longer merely a woman, but the living incarnation of her faith. Her aura pressed outward in waves, suffocating the chamber with its brilliance, drowning shadow with relentless gold.

She wrenched her sword free of the stone, the blade drinking in the holy light until it gleamed like a shard of the sun itself. She leveled it at Ysara, her voice raw and unyielding behind the helm.

“By His light, I will set you free, Ysara.”

The words carried no hesitation. No plea. Only judgment.

Ysara’s grin curved, slower now, her crimson eyes narrowing as the holy radiance poured over her. She flexed her claws, licking blood from her lips, savoring the change in the air.

“A divine relic…” she murmured, voice husky with both hunger and disdain. “So that’s what you’ve clung to all these years. A shield forged by saints, wielded by a traitor.” Her grin widened, sharp as a knife’s edge. “Do you really think one of your god’s toy’s can stop me?”

Eliza moved.

No word. No warning.

The world itself seemed to split as she surged forward, golden light bursting from her frame like wings of judgment. Her speed doubled, her strength multiplied—she was no longer the weary paladin but the living embodiment of her oath.

Ysara barely saw the blade before it carved through the air—too fast, too precise. A flash of steel, a spray of crimson—her right arm was severed at the shoulder.

The scream tore from her throat before she could silence it. A cry that rattled the chamber’s broken wards. Pain unlike any she had endured ripped through her body, a searing agony that even her flesh could not immediately mute.

Snarling, Ysara staggered back, clutching the shoulder, her body shaking. But Eliza gave her no reprieve. She pressed forward, sword gleaming like the wrath of heaven, each strike heavier, faster, merciless.

Ysara twisted aside, her body blurring with shadow, and in desperation drove her leg into Eliza’s stomach. The impact landed true—forcing the paladin back a step—but the victory was hollow. Agony surged up Ysara’s leg, flesh blistering where it had touched the holy armor. She hissed, stumbling, her balance faltering, the scent of her own burning flesh filling her nose.

Still missing an arm, she forced her body to obey, blood sizzling as she willed the bleeding to stop. The chamber was thick with the iron tang of her essence, her skin slick with gore, crimson dripping down her torn frame.

Her lips peeled back over sharp teeth. Crimson fire burned in her eyes, hotter than ever.

She laughed.

Low at first. Then rising, ragged, furious, and exhilarated all at once.

“That hurt,” she growled, her voice broken between mirth and rage, blood running down her chin. “That hurt more than anything has in years.” She tilted her head back, smiling even as her chest heaved with pain. “Mother isn’t going to be happy about this.”

Her claws elongated on her remaining arm, black as obsidian, catching the dim light as if thirsting for blood. She crouched, baring her teeth like a beast ready to pounce.

“Fine,” she spat, crimson smearing her lips as her grin widened, wild and manic. “If that’s how you want to play it…”

She lunged, laughter breaking from her throat.

“…then let’s have some fun.”

Ysara hurled herself at Eliza once more, faster, more vicious than before. Eliza met her charge with cold precision, her sword arcing low—steel biting deep into Ysara’s waist. Pain flared white-hot, but Ysara bit it back, swallowing the scream that clawed at her throat. Instead, she surged forward, seizing Eliza’s helm in her hand and driving her knee into the paladin’s abdomen.

The impact rang through Eliza’s armor, forcing a grunt from her lips—but the holy aura clinging to the plates seared Ysara in return. Her body trembled with the sting, but she only snarled, forcing herself closer.

Her claws swept down toward Eliza’s throat. The paladin caught her strike on her shield and shoved, trying to hurl her back as before—but this time, Ysara’s hand clamped around her gauntlet. Bloodied teeth flashed in a mad grin.

“That won’t work on me a second time,” she hissed.

Where the shield pressed against her chest, her skin was already gone, stripped down to glistening bone and muscle. Still, she did not yield. her smirk widening as though the pain only fed her madness.

Eliza’s eye narrowed. If Ysara would not falter, then she would carve the fight out of her flesh. With a swift turn of her wrist, she drove her blade straight through Ysara’s stomach.

A scream tore from Ysara, raw and ragged. Writhing, she caught Eliza’s head again yanking it down, slamming her knee into the paladin’s helm with crushing force. Metal rang, sparks scattering. Eliza staggered, but Ysara did not relent. She raked at the armor again and again, claws screeching harmlessly across its shining plates, unable to pierce even an inch.

Eliza’s patience shattered. With a sharp cry, she twisted her grip and wrenched her sword sideways, tearing it free in a spray of blood. The cut ripped across Ysara’s torso, nearly cleaving her in two. Before she could recover, Eliza’s boot drove into her midsection with merciless strength.

The world blurred as Ysara’s body was hurled through the air again, smashing into the wall with bone-splintering force. Stone cracked, dust rained, and she collapsed to the ground in a broken heap.

Her chest heaved. Blood bubbled from her lips. Every breath was ragged, desperate. As though even air refused her. She clawed weakly at the ground, her body refusing to rise.

Across the chamber. Eliza stood, her gaze fixed on the ruin Ysara had become. For a moment, she simply watched—measured, as if weighing the cost of pressing further. Then, slowly, she let the light go. The golden aura blazing around her flickered, dimmed, and guttered out. Her shield dulled, its brilliance sinking back into simple steel. The divine weight lifted, leaving only the armor, unyielding.

Only then did her own body betray her. She dropped to one knee, the clang echoing like a death knell. Blood seeped through the slit of her helm, streaking her chin before dripping to the floor. Her hand rose, trembling, to catch it.

For a moment, the chamber lay in silence. No clash, no scream—only the faint drip of blood hitting stone.

“Heh…heh-heh… ahahahaha—!”

Then came the ragged peal of laughter.

Hoarse at first, broken. But it climbed, sharper, louder, cutting through the stillness.

Every head turned.

Ysara moved. Slowly, painfully, she raised her head. Dust clung to her, blood soaking every line, hair clinging to her bloodied face. But her crimson eyes burned all the same. Her lips curved, dragging into a smirk.