Justice was a strange word—everyone wanted it, everyone believed they had the sole claim on it, and everyone was wrong. In this humid, wind-torn clearing, two women stood with blades of conviction at their fundamentals: each convinced her cause was the only righteous path. Yet, their opposing ideals could hardly be reconciled. Was refusing enslavement and fighting back a breach of the natural order? Or was true freedom only attained through divine subjugation, an absolute law that mortals must yield to?

Both claimed the banner of justice, yet beneath the lofty rhetoric they wore and spoke of, their true motives were raw and personal—two souls burning for retribution for past doings, one for losing, the other for not finishing the deed. Rarely was there a moralistic purpose for a battle between two mighty individuals in some remote area, and this time, it was no different—each certain the other was the true villain, ready to wear a hollowed-out crown of victory after their collision, speaking of the truth, while burying away any pettiness that forced them forward.

A sudden, violent gust of wind whipped through the ravaged jungle, carrying the tang of copper and ozone. Leaves, severed branches, and bits of torn foliage spun into spiraling cyclones of debris. The trees themselves—ancient trunks once thick with life—moaned under the onslaught. Branches cracked with a noise akin to lightning rending the sky. That once-lush canopy, a sanctuary to wildlife, had become a battlefield overshadowed by clashing powers. Any remaining creatures fled long ago, unwilling to be caught in these turbulent crosscurrents of divine and demonic might.

A suffocating blend of [Holy Energy] and [Wild Demonic Energy] weighed on the clearing, each breath tasting simultaneously sweet and stifling, sacred and profane. The surrounding air shimmered with the residue of these warring forces as though salvation and damnation had coalesced into one swirling haze. Long tendrils of luminous motes engaged with each other—be they graceful or delirious, sometimes colors of scarlet and black emerged victorious, sometimes pure white—a colorful spectacle, blocking out the fractured beams of sunlight as if trying to hide the primal devastation that now ruled the jungle floor.

Amid the storm of grit and searing flashes of power, Marisia launched herself again at the towering guardian angel. A fang-like grin curved beneath the shadowed visor of her helmet, her laughter rumbling low—feral, assured, lethal. Though the angel's monumental frame dwarfed her, she moved with the precision of a predator closing in on wounded prey. Her three fox tails—each a torrent of churning scarlet [Energy] laced with writhing black motes—snapped outward like a whip infused with intent. One of them spiraled around the angel's massive shoulder, embedding deep into the armor. With a sharp twist and a crack of splintering divine plating, she used the tail's anchoring grip to vault upward, a scarlet blur climbing into the heart of danger.

With grim resolve etched into its sculpted features, the guardian angel retaliated—its other marble arm slicing through the air in a blinding arc, exuding sanctified brilliance that hissed like acid against the atmosphere.

Marisia twisted mid-air, her armor clinging to her like a second skin, moving with uncanny fluidity as she bent into a contortion that defied any anatomy. "Aren't we a little too hasty?" she murmured, her voice a low, razor-edged tease that rippled through the charged clearing, even though the blow missed her only by inches.

The radiance licked at her [Energy], penetrating her skin before getting devoured—aftereffects of its purity stinging like a thousand needles across her flesh. The air itself recoiled. And yet, Marisia's grin only widened—she reveled in the proximity of annihilation as if each brush with death nourished something wild and hungry inside her, something that starved for far too long—drawn to the cusp of obliteration like a moth to sacred flame.

As if attuned to her thrill, the guardian angel lunged to seize her—its vast hand clenching shut with divine finality. The motion unleashed a thunderous shockwave that flattened the remaining trees, tearing roots from the ground as bark splintered into the air, even dispersing Marisia's tail that clung to its shoulder. Amid the chaos, the colossus's serene smile lingered, not of cruelty but of certainty—like a judge delivering a verdict already known.

"Too slow," Marisia murmured, her voice curling like smoke through the charged air. The guardian whipped its head toward her, quickly unfurling its hand—only to grasp at nothing but vanishing echoes. "As my grandfather used to say, if you can't catch the hare, set the forest ablaze." Now, standing several dozen feet away, her form cloaked in defiance and rising heat, she inhaled deeply—a precise, deliberate breath drawn not just into her lungs but into the very core of her being, summoning mana and [Energy] in tandem. The ground beneath her trembled in anticipation as if bracing for the inferno to come.

Time felt stretched to its thinnest thread. The very air trembled as though bracing for a cataclysm. Around Marisia, the air itself seemed to crack under protest, spiderweb fissures made of [Energy] branching outward in all directions. Motes of swirling reds and blacks twisted together—snaked across her armor with each heartbeat.

A new technique demanded every bit of her mastery—a manifestation of Fenrir's shared knowledge—[Technique 27—Mountain Crash]. It created a crushing domain of pressure around her, flooding the area with a dense, cloying [Energy] and [Aura] that pressed relentlessly on anyone caught within it. Though her body screamed in protest—muscles and bones spasming from the load—she refused to falter; the thrill of being able to use it was enough to keep her going.

Only recently had Marisia mastered this technique, a feat made possible by her honed abilities in [Mana Absorption] and [Mana Emissions]. Without that synergy, the sheer output and razor-fine control it demanded would have remained beyond reach for someone of her [Level]. Even now, the unending current of [Energy] rushing through her core threatened to tear her apart, each moment a delicate balance between brilliance and ruin—a thought that made her smile widen in madness.

The guardian angel strained against the unseen bindings, unable to move while its sacred [Energy] pulsing like celestial tides—surging forward with divine might, then ebbing with frustration, crashing again and again against a barrier it could not see but only feel, like the pressure of fate itself.

Marisia took her stance—vanishing in a flicker of scarlet and reappearing mid-air, mere heartbeats later, directly before the divine colossus. Her three tails spiraled around her with ecstatic fervor, lashing the air like sentient flames. The pressure of her domain thickened around them, warping the space until the very air fractured and distorted, unable to bear its weight. At that moment, she loomed like a demonic abomination of ruin—colossal in presence if not in size—as though the roles of predator and prey had reversed entirely.

Then came her decisive strike. With a burst of precision and fury, Marisia thrust her open palm toward the angel's chest—silence shattered into a cataclysmic boom. The impact landed with such force that time seemed to fracture with it. A jagged cavity burst open across the angel's chest, cracks spiderwebbing outward through its marble frame like divine porcelain fracturing under pressure. Its towering form offered no defense against the shattering tremors that radiated inward, breaking it not by force alone but by resonance. Chunks of glowing stone sheared away, dissolving mid-air into motes of sacred light, falling like dying stars to the torn earth below.

Marisia landed hard, her boots carving deep furrows into the shattered earth, sending tremors through the fractured ground as stones rattled and dust coiled around her like a rising storm. The guardian angel lurched to one side, collapsing with a resonant, broken harmony that echoed through the clearing. Its marble form trembled violently, sacred feathers spasming with flickers of divine light as it fought to heal. But each attempt at regeneration sparked new fractures, holy radiance failing to mend what had already begun to unravel—its form crumbling beneath the weight of collapse, as though the heavens themselves had forsaken it.

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To the side stood Luze-Ferris, hands clasped in trembling prayer, her lips whispering fervent chants that wavered with desperation. Sweat poured down her brow in rivulets, soaking into the fine embroidery of her ceremonial robes, which now clung to her frame like a second skin. Her face, twisted in anguish and focus, betrayed the sheer strain of her efforts to sustain what little remained of her angelic champion. The divine connection faltered with every flicker of failing light. Marisia's expression tensed—not in triumph, but in discomfort. It felt less like victory and more like crushing a helpless novice unprepared for the battlefield she'd dared to enter.

"The fairy tales promised me... a bit more," Marisia observed, her gaze shifting between the struggling angel and the anxious priestess. Her tails slowly unwound, thick strands of scarlet [Energy] swirling around her ankles in lazy arcs. "You're…just a trainee, aren't you?"

She recalled hearing how not all Saints were created equal. Some were novices, granted only a fraction of holy authority until they proved themselves worthy. If they failed, the so-called "Holy Path" was rescinded, leaving them mere shadows of a potential sanctity. This reminded her of her husband's journey to become a monstrous Druid—how the Temple had poured resources and care into him because of his invaluable beast-kin lineage. But the Church, notorious for more ruthless culling, had no patience for weak candidates.

Marisia's lips suddenly curved in a wicked smirk. She flexed her hands, feeling the sharp edges of her gauntlets dig into her palms. A fourth tail emerged behind her, darker than the rest, thick veins of crimson pulsing like a living heart.

"That means you were never a fully realized Saint," she continued, voice edged in contempt. "Only… someone hoping to become one."

"There are rumors out there," Marisia murmured, reclaiming her stance as three tails coiled protectively around her form. Their tips slithered with eerie precision into the seams of her armor, fur brushing against her flesh, then burrowing deeper—piercing skin, latching onto muscle, weaving through bone and vein alike. Her body twitched in response, not in pain, but in anticipation, like a beast coiling before the pounce.

"Once the owner is dead, the body of an angel lingers in the mortal realm—and becomes quite the potent potion ingredient." Her voice dripped with cruel amusement as her form began to tremble—not from weakness, but from the sheer, overwhelming influx of power. [Technique 335—Living Weapon]—her own creation. A method of total bodily manipulation, where she turned herself into a vessel of precision and torment, drawing strength through pain, refinement through agony. Cracks echoed through her bones with each step she took—slow, deliberate, seismic. Her flesh hardened, stretched, reshaped—each motion a cruel sculptor's stroke of despair and madness, forging her body into monstrous perfection.

It was akin to funneling raw chaos through her veins; the agony was staggering. "Nina already has the same problems as Alex," she said, bracing her pose with a heavy exhalation. Her eyes flickered with feral delight. "A shame you're not stronger, but I won't complain if I can reduce the torment on my pup."

She drew a slow, measured breath to steady herself. Inside the stifling confines of her helmet, sweat gathered and slipped down the curve of her cheek, a traitorous reminder of the strain gnawing at her. She despised invoking [Living Weapon]—the agony was primal, gnashing at her composure, each heartbeat a gamble against madness. To an outsider, it would appear reckless, even deranged, to use such a punishing technique after already tipping the battle in her favor. But her instincts—the ones honed through blood, failure, and survival—screamed otherwise. Something was wrong. And Marisia had never been one to ignore the warnings etched into her bones.

'Focus.' She reminded herself. 'No mistakes.'

The newly formed tail quivered at her back, reflecting the tension that coiled within her mind. Her heart hammered as she recalled simpler times—cups of tea after training with her sister, the aroma of fresh peach cake drifting through a sunlit kitchen as she observed her drawing maps with delight—memories to anchor her sanity. Then she exploded into motion.

Her boots carved deep gouges in the earth as she launched forward. [Flash] melded with [Propulsion], turning her into a streak of crimson and black that sprinted past the still-thrashing angel. In mere heartbeats, she was upon Luze-Ferris. The priestess, lips still moving in frantic prayer, looked up in alarm, raising an arm half-wrapped in shimmering metallic armor that had extended from her holy staff. It was too little, too late.

Marisia extended her hand, fingertips sharpened by demonic Energy. She aimed for Luze-Ferris's heart, intending to end it in one sure, savage thrust.

But instead of feeling flesh and bone give way, she sensed an uncanny surge of presence materialize at her flank. A creeping dread—or perhaps a warning from her sharpened instincts—forced her to abort. She blurred backward, a defensive retreat just in time to witness a blade of coruscating light slice the space she had occupied. The lethal sweep only clipped the trailing edges of her aura, sending ripples through the air.

She landed in a low crouch, the ground splintering under the impact. Rising to her full height, she saw something that didn't match the earlier fight.

"Who—" she began.

"Who are you?!" Luze-Ferris echoed, sounding equally startled.

Standing protectively before the priestess was the same guardian angel—yet drastically altered. It was no longer a towering colossus but a lithe, normal-sized warrior. Though its marble features had been blank before, they now formed an austere, regal visage, faint lines hinting at eyes and brows. The golden sword it wielded brimmed with condensed [Holy Energy], so potent that Marisia's heightened senses registered it as a threat on par with her own savage might.

Particles of sacred light drifted from the angel's massive remains and poured into this new vessel. It was as if the fallen statue was relinquishing its last essence to forge a refined, more lethal incarnation.

"I always hated humans," Marisia scoffed, forcing a wry grin. "You're no fully anointed Saint, but you do have an impressive bodyguard—there are always surprises with you."

The miniature angel—if one could call it that—did not so much as glance at her. Its eyes, or the suggestion of them, locked on Luze-Ferris with surprising warmth.

"My name shall have no weight," it said, its voice like a polyphonic chorus echoing in a cathedral. "I am here at the Hero's behest… to help you fulfill your purpose."

"At…the Hero's command?" Luze-Ferris repeated, her eyes going wide with gratitude and fresh worry. She opened her mouth to press for details, but her voice trembled, unwilling to miss a beat in the face of Marisia's lethal presence.

Marisia, not about to let a perfect opening slip, flashed forward again. Her blood roared in her ears; she was determined to take the priestess out before this new threat could solidify its defenses. Her own tails, fused to her body now, flexed with every step. The hiss of [Wild Demonic Energy] accompanied each stride, the ground shuddering under her enhanced weight.

Yet the angel was impossibly swift. A swirl of golden light flared around it, and it intercepted Marisia's strike in a blink. Sword met clawed gauntlet, sparks of divine and demonic power colliding in a brief flash. The resulting shockwave dug a fresh crater into the earth, flinging debris into the air like shrapnel.

"Run," the angel commanded, the voice never rising yet echoing with authority. It held Marisia's onslaught at bay, their clashing energies spinning in lethal ribbons. "Fulfill your fate. Now."

Luze-Ferris took a shaky step back. Her eyes flicked between the angel locked in combat with Marisia and the path that led away through the flattened tree line. She loathed abandoning her guardian, but the urgency in its tone—and the promise that the Hero's will was in play—seemed to override hesitation.

Before she could fully turn, a shriek tore from her throat. A nightmarish beast, some warped amalgam of doggish jaw and elongated body, sprang from nowhere as if coming into existence. It sank fangs dripping with acidic saliva into her forearm, the stench of burning flesh filling the air as her blood hissed beneath the corrosive bite.

"Alex was right," Marisia's disembodied voice came through the din, a strange satisfaction lacing her words. Though Luze-Ferris could not see the Knight's face, she could practically feel the dark smirk. "I owe him some strawberry cake, indeed…"

The new creature's sudden appearance unleashed pandemonium. Luze-Ferris screamed, half in agony and half in shock. The guardian angel whirled in alarm, momentarily loosening its guard. Marisia, ever the opportunist, took advantage of that split second. She twisted and surged forward with renewed ferocity, aiming to strike again while the angel's attention wavered.

"Enough!"

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