"Heavenly Barrier."
A voice. Soft, faint, but clear.
Malik heard it just as the arcs of crimson light rushed toward him — a sound both distant and sharp, like the world had slowed, and yet his death was still racing to meet him.
In that moment, the light surrounded him.
A gentle warmth spread across his body, cocooning him inside a thin, white veil. The world seemed to hold its breath. His senses dulled. His mind, for a moment, almost believed he had already died.
But death didn't come.
The Blood Sword Strike, that impossibly lethal attack, shattered against the barrier like a wave crashing against stone.
It saved his life.
But it didn't save his body.
The momentum of the previous attack still hurled him through the air, his limbs flailing uselessly, his mind too dazed to control them. The barrier flickered away, and the very next moment, his back slammed into something cold and hard.
A mountain wall.
The sound of cracking bones echoed in his ears, followed by silence, followed by the sharp, stabbing ache in every inch of his body.
The ground welcomed him next, but it wasn't kind.
His body bounced once, rolled, and finally lay still, face-up to the sky. He coughed, the taste of blood thick on his tongue. His vision was a mess of shapes and shadows, the world spinning too fast for his thoughts to catch up.
Somehow, his trembling hands pressed against the blood-soaked dirt, and he pushed himself upward — only enough to sit, barely.
And then he heard the scream.
A voice that wasn't his own — sharp, loud, wild with rage.
Jarion.
"You little mortal... HOW DARE YOU!!"
The black-robed figure hovered mid-air, standing as if the sky itself bowed to him. His blood-red eyes glared down, burning with pure, bottomless hatred.
"Heavenly Blessed individual," Jarion hissed. "Your soul... is mine!"
The pressure of his presence alone was enough to make the air around Malik feel like thick iron, every breath harder than the last. His aura twisted and churned in the sky, a storm coalescing above him, ready to fall.
And then — her voice.
Familiar. Calmer than it had any right to be, given the storm around them.
"Heavenly Blessed Individual."
She stood in front of him now, her white robes soaked with blood, her body shaking, her breaths shallow. Her small figure looked like it could collapse at any moment, and yet here she was, standing between him and death, facing a force that could erase her from existence at any second.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, her voice soft but steady. "You're a mortal. That technique he's charging... it doesn't just kill. It destroys. Even your soul won't escape."
She paused, her gaze resting on him for a moment, and in that gaze Malik saw something — something that stung worse than any wound.
Pity.
"Because of you... I'm still alive. So as repayment, I'll do my part."
Her aura exploded outward, the sheer force of it pushing Malik back across the broken earth like a leaf tossed by a storm.
And then she launched into the air. Alone.
Facing him.
Facing Jarion.
The sky shuddered as the two locked eyes — and then their blades moved, their attacks clashing with such force the very clouds split open.
The earth below quaked, stones cracked, and Malik could only watch, helpless, as two beings far beyond his understanding battled for the right to live or die.
"She's right..." Malik whispered, his voice hoarse, his body aching. "I've got to run... I need to escape."
His legs staggered, every step heavier than the last. His body wasn't listening anymore, but fear had taken the wheel. He moved, one shaky step after another, as the sounds of battle roared behind him.
But the thoughts wouldn't leave him alone.
Why? Why am I even involved in this? Why is an NPC after my soul?
And with every step, the panic gave way to something worse: regret.
If my soul gets destroyed here... does it mean I die in the real world too? I should've waited. I should've waited for the damn Soul Debuff to expire.
Each regret clawed deeper into his chest.
I shouldn't have played this game. I shouldn't have listened to anyone. I shouldn't have hoped.
And then, like a cruel joke, the past opened itself again.
Her face. The girl he once cared for. The one who'd left without looking back. The one who'd vanished without a word.
And then Striker's voice echoed in his mind, calm, sharp, unforgettable:
"Thou shalt not covet the neighbor's wife."
The puzzle pieces fell into place.
It wasn't just random.
It wasn't just bad luck.
It was punishment.
Was I too weak? Or am I still too weak?
His lips curled into a dry, bitter smile.
No. I'm always weak. Still talentless. Still nobody.
The truth burned through his chest sharper than any blade.
I couldn't protect anyone. Not her. Not even myself.
At that moment, he stopped running as he turned towards the direction of the battlefield.
And then — something strange manifested.
The sword in his hand began to glow. Soft at first. Then brighter. Brighter still, until the white light wrapped around his body, marking his skin in glowing lines that pulsed like a second heartbeat.
The earth beneath his feet cracked and splintered, unable to hold the power leaking from the blade.
In the distance, the girl paused, her eyes widening as they locked onto him.
"Impossible..." her voice trembled. "A mortal... unleashed the sword's potential."
Even Jarion froze for a breath, his eyes dark with confusion.
But then his face twisted back into that same sneer.
"So what?" Jarion spat. "You're still just a mortal. You're not one of them."
And with that, the black-robed man charged towards his direction.
And Malik — Malik who had known only fear, only regret, only helplessness — moved too.
The air cracked around them as the two closed the distance.
Their swords clashed, and the sound was like the earth splitting in half. The force of it obliterated everything around them. Trees, rocks, the sky itself felt like it was ripping apart.
The forest vanished under the shockwave. Only smoldering earth and ash remained.
When the smoke finally settled, Malik lay on the ground. His body was broken. His strength gone. The glowing sword was shattered, the fragments scattered across the battlefield.
But Jarion wasn't standing tall either.
The black-robed man staggered forward, blood dripping from his mouth, his robes torn, his aura flickering like a dying flame.
"I never imagined..." Jarion muttered, "...a mortal could wound me like this."
He raised his hand. His finger glowed, energy coalescing into one final killing blow.
"But this is as far as you go. Die."
Malik couldn't move. His strength was gone. His body was cold. His mind barely held on.
But just before the attack could land —
A shadow moved.
The girl.
Her small body slipped between them at the last second, her arms stretched wide.
The attack pierced through her stomach.
Her blood sprayed across Malik's face, warm and sharp, soaking into the earth beneath them.
The black-robed man stood frozen, his hand still outstretched, his mind still trying to understand.
"Why...?" he whispered. "You could've escaped. Why throw your life away for a mortal?"
But the girl only smiled, bright and soft, as if the pain didn't matter.
And then he saw it.
Her hand. Gripping her sword tight. The blade buried deep into his chest.
She hadn't just shielded Malik.
She had killed him.
The black-robed man staggered, his body fading.
"Did I... lose?" he muttered.
His gaze drifted from her to Malik — the mortal who should've been nothing, the mortal who stood at the center of everything.
"I can't believe... I'm dying because of a mortal. I'm unwilling..."
His voice cracked into a roar as his body crumbled away, dissolving into the wind.
And then the girl let go of her sword and fell, her small frame collapsing against Malik's own.