Thauren charged forward — wind howled around him, bending to his will. The very air rippled with salt and fury, the scent of ozone thick as his eyes glowed like twin storms.
And behind her the Gods moved.
Yseron cleaved through the horde with a blade the size of a tree, every swing a thunderclap. Syrathe didn’t strike, she looked, and enemies turned to shadow, unraveling with a sound like weeping stars. Thaleia raised one hand, and rivers erupted from dry earth, drowning Veilspawn in plague-ridden water. Vaerith laughing set the field ablaze, fire sprinting across bodies and stone alike.
They were not protectors.
They were cataclysms.
And Maris, her eyes locked on Eiren’s distant form, ran with all of it behind her.
She didn’t make it twenty feet.
A blur from the right.
A scream, high and furious.
Something slammed into her, and suddenly Maris was on the ground, metal against rock, sword knocked free for a breathless moment.
She rolled, just in time to catch the strike aimed for her throat.
Astrielle.
The blade sparked against hers, jagged and wrong, reeking of Veil-magic and rot.
Astrielle grinned, lips pulled too wide.
“You think this is your story now?” she hissed, voice warping with Eiren’s echo. “You think you’re some god-made martyr, born for glory?”
Maris shoved her off, breathing hard. “No,” she said, rising. “I know I am.”
Astrielle struck again.
Faster than before. Wild and cruel. Her footwork was flawless. This wasn’t just Astrielle’s training. This was divine possession threaded through muscle and hate.
“Kael would have crowned me!” she spat, swinging high. “I bled for him! I died for him! And he chose you. A mortal. A mistake!”
Maris blocked, then ducked low and drove her elbow into Astrielle’s ribs. “He didn’t choose anyone,” she snarled. “There was no choice to make, it was always going to be me!”
Astrielle’s laugh was fractured. “And now I’ll tear you from him.”
They clashed again, blades ringing.
Magic sparked off Maris’s shoulders, the gods still lending her strength. But Astrielle moved like fire, a predator wrapped in hate.
“Do you feel powerful?” she growled as they locked blades. “Wearing their sigils? Carrying a sword you didn’t earn?”
“I was made for it all,” Maris hissed, slamming her knee into Astrielle’s stomach and throwing her back.
Astrielle skidded but didn’t fall. Her hair, streaked with soot and blood, clung to her cheeks. Her mouth twisted into a sneer.
“You think you’re special,” she breathed. “But you’re just next. Just another girl the gods will gut when they’re bored.”
“No,” Maris said softly, voice like steel drawn across stone. “I’m the last.”
She charged.
Their blades screamed against each other, magic lighting up the space between them.
