Chapter 1257: Fallen Hero

The ruined courtyard dissolved around us, its walls and broken stones unraveling into streams of mana. Luke lay limp in my arms, his blood soaking through my dress. I clung to him, trying to ignore the fear twisting in my stomach. None of this was real. His wounds weren’t real. And yet, I could feel his heartbeat slowing beneath my fingers.

"Luke...?" I whispered, brushing the hair from his face. "I’m here."

His eyes fluttered, and he stirred weakly. I managed a small smile as the threads binding his soul loosened and his wounds began to fade.

But something resisted.

I frowned and raised my gaze toward the World Shard. The immense formation shuddered around me, its countless runes shifting as mana surged through the spell.

"So, you’ve finally noticed," I murmured.

A sudden pressure struck my soul, attempting to seize the threads I’d gathered. I held fast, drawing upon my aura as another presence joined the first. Rithen and the Pope had finally realized something was wrong.

"Impossible," the Pope’s voice echoed through the darkness. "She’s escaped? Rithen, what is the meaning of this?"

"An unexpected complication," the archmage answered, his voice strained. "The Oracle has gained access to the underlying formation."

"How is that even possible? It took months of study for us to even scrape the surface of this spell!"

A tremendous wave of mana swept toward me. I raised my hand, summoning Oblivion, and the magic broke apart against my aura. But more followed, hundreds of intricate spells seeking to isolate my soul and force me back into the constructed reality.

I pursed my lips, concentrating. Their techniques were extraordinary, but they were working from outside the formation, attempting to control its countless threads through the World Shard.

I was already within them.

I reached into the nearest stream of mana with a ribbon of Oblivion, twisting its runes and unraveling the spell before it could resolve. The changes rippled outward, disturbing the neighboring formations. Rithen reacted immediately, restoring the damaged connections and attempting to bind my aura within a new set of wards. It snaked around me, but before it closed, a burst of power came from the other direction, scattering it. This more obvious attack was easy to counter, and let me slip out unhindered.

"What are you doing?" the Pope growled. "We have the World Shard!"

"Power is not the issue," Rithen snapped. "She understands the formation. Stop interfering!"

The Pope ignored him, pouring another torrent of mana into the spell. The entire structure trembled, and I gasped as several threads snapped against my aura, sending painful tremors through my soul.

I tightened my grip on Luke, folding my aura around his soul as the foreign magic probed our Infernal and Primordial Marks. Even now, they were searching for a way to reach the countless demons bound to us.

I closed my eyes and let Oblivion spread, weaving its frosty shadows through the formation. Rather than attacking the spells individually, I followed their connections toward the central array, tracing the strands that sustained the false realities.

Rithen recognized what I was doing.

"Your Holiness, withdraw your mana. Now!"

"What? We’re so close!"

"She’s reversing the flow! If you—"

His warning came too late. I seized the central weave and pulled, forcing the formation to fold inward upon itself. The immense rivers of mana pouring toward our souls reversed, carrying their accumulated power back toward the source.

The Pope cried out.

Rithen fought me, his ninth-level soul pressing against mine with enough force to make my aura tremble. His mastery of magic was unlike anything I’d encountered, and he adjusted his techniques almost as quickly as I could unravel them. He surpassed Nithalee, and in Mind Magic, even Emlica.

But I worked not just with Fate and mana, but Oblivion. Where its dark power went, the rules of Enusia, and their magic, were no longer relevant. I still didn’t fully understand this power, but it was enough to sabotage their efforts to connect with the World Shard. Bit by bit, I began to draw on more of its power, until I held as much as the Pope and Rithen combined.

Rithen sensed the shift, and hesitated. Then, abruptly, his presence withdrew. The threads binding his soul to the formation snapped, leaving the Pope alone against me.

"Rithen!" the old man growled. "Return to my side."

"I’m sorry, Your Holiness. The formation is lost."

"The battle’s barely begun! I command you in the name of the Divine to—"

I reached the heart of the spell.

The Pope’s soul was deeply entwined with the World Shard, using its power to force his will upon the spell. I gathered Oblivion around those connections, severing them one after another.

He resisted, drawing upon everything he had left, but the weight of the formation was already turning against him. I tightened my aura, and something gave way, his soul fracturing beneath the pressure of his own magic.

His scream echoed through the formation, fading as the last threads broke apart. I released the remnants of his power and turned toward the World Shard, guiding the scattered mana back into its depths. Otherwise, it might very well escape into Enusia, scouring everything within the archives into oblivion.

Without the Pope or Rithen controlling it, the remaining formations began to dissolve. Luke stirred in my arms.

"Xiviyah...?"

"I’m here," I whispered, squeezing him tightly. "We’re going back."

I released the final connections, and the darkness shattered.

The Archives returned in a flash of light. I staggered as the weight of my physical body settled upon me, nearly falling before Luke caught me around the waist. His arms were strong and steady, his wounds gone.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he drew me close, pressing his face into my hair.

I breathed against his chest, my shoulders trembling. There were so many things I wanted to say, but before I could find the words, a heavy crash rang out across the chamber.

Soltair had collapsed.

He lay sprawled upon the marble floor, his golden armor intact but his face pale and drawn. The brilliant aura that had surrounded him was gone, and the nine circles of divine magic behind his back flickered before fading away.

He was still alive. I could feel his soul, but it had been gravely damaged by his death within the constructed reality. His body had escaped the spell unharmed, but his mind hadn’t been so fortunate.

"Soltair!" Luxara cried.

She rushed toward him, falling to her knees beside the fallen hero. Green life magic washed over him, but his condition barely changed.

"No, no... this can’t be right." She looked toward the World Shard, then at Luke and me. Her eyes narrowed into slits. "What did you do?"

I swallowed hard. Soltair’s breathing was shallow, and his soul was barely holding together.

"You!" Luxara snarled, rising to her feet. "You filthy little slave! This is your doing!"

Her body erupted in golden light, scales spreading across her skin as her limbs expanded. A tremendous dragon filled the center of the Archives, her wings scraping against the towering columns.

I stumbled backward, raising my staff, but Luke was already moving.

Luxara lunged, her jaws opening to unleash a torrent of sunlight. Luke met it with a sweep of his sword, shattering the spell against a wave of darkness. He passed through the fading light, striking the dragon across her neck.

Crimson blood sprayed through the air.

Luxara roared, twisting to catch him with her claws, but Luke vanished beneath her guard. His sword flashed again, carving a deep gash across her chest. Black curses spread through the wound, eating into the flesh beneath.

She staggered, smashing through a marble barricade as she struggled to regain her footing.

"How dare you!" she screamed. "He was the Sun Hero! He was everything this world needed!"

Luke alighted before her, his expression cold.

Luxara snarled, gathering another spell, but Luke raised his hand, and a thousand strands of darkness erupted from the floor, binding her wings and dragging her down.

The dragon thrashed, tearing several curses apart, but Luke pressed forward, his sword sheathed in violet light. A brilliant arc of darkness swept across her shoulder, severing one of her wings near the base.

Luxara screamed, crashing onto the marble as blood poured from the wound. The impact shook the Archives, sending fragments of stone raining from the ceiling.

Luke advanced to finish her, but Luxara shattered the remaining bindings with a desperate surge of mana. She hurled herself toward one of the ruined passages, smashing through the fortifications and disappearing into the darkness beyond.

"I’ll kill you!" her voice echoed through the tunnels. "Both of you! I swear it!"

Luke watched her retreat, his sword lowering slightly.

"How familiar," he muttered.

I glanced at him, but he merely shook his head, turning back toward the chamber.

Soltair was still lying where he’d fallen.

Without Luxara’s magic sustaining him, his condition was deteriorating rapidly. His armor had lost its brilliance, and his eyes were half-open, staring blankly toward the World Shard.

Luke approached, his footsteps echoing across the marble.

I followed reluctantly, my tail curling around my legs. Soltair had been such an important part of my life, once. He’d rescued me from the slave traders, brought me to the Divine Throne, and given me my first glimpse of what it meant to be a hero.

Yet the man lying before me seemed so distant from the one I’d once admired.

Luke stopped beside him.

"Xiviyah," he said, glancing back at me. "Is there anything you wish to say to him?"

I looked down at Soltair. His lips moved faintly, though no sound escaped them. I wondered whether he could even understand what was happening, or if he was still trapped somewhere within the remnants of his broken soul.

There had been a time when I would have begged him to understand me. To recognize that I wasn’t the slave he’d once saved, that I’d grown and changed and found something worth living for. He might have hurt me, but he hadn’t broken me.

I shook my head.

Luke regarded me for a moment, then nodded. "Very well."

He turned toward Soltair, raising his sword. The Sun Hero’s eyes flickered toward him, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw recognition in his gaze.

There was no anger left, nor any of the confidence that had once defined him. Only exhaustion.

Luke’s blade descended, and Soltair’s soul went still.

I closed my eyes, listening to the faint sound of steel against marble. When I opened them again, Luke stood beside me, his sword lowered.

He offered his hand, and I took it.

Across the chamber, the Pope lay collapsed beneath the World Shard, his frail body trembling with the remnants of the backlash. Beside him stood Rithen, his expression unreadable, though his aura had diminished considerably.

Luke’s fingers tightened around mine as we approached them.