Indra's breath caught. His hands would not steady, no matter how hard he tried. Across the battlefield, Gabriella lay motionless, her starlight all but gone.
The demon witch hovered above the cathedral's ruins, its twisted body burning with corrupted power. A storm of spectral weapons circled its form, every blade twitching in anticipation.
It drifted lower, its voice curdled with mockery. "That's all it takes to break you? One star fallen, and the mighty Velari folds?"
Indra's aura trembled, his golden light flickering in and out, as if deciding whether to stand or collapse. He stared at Gabriella, a hollow ache cutting through his chest.
A shadow slipped through his light. Black steam curled from his shoulders, swallowing the gold, and for a moment, he felt everything inside him shift—memories, pain, rage, and the ancient force coiled at the edge of his soul. The world pressed in, heavy and old.
He lowered his head. His twin swords pulsed against his palms. The stone underfoot cracked in a slow, rising tremor.
And then—he moved.
One instant, the witch was watching, lips curling into a sneer. The next, Indra's blade hammered into its ribs. The impact shook the air. The witch crashed through a wall, stone exploding in a deafening burst.
Indra was there before it landed, swords raised, coming down in a cross-slash that split the air. Three of the witch's spectral weapons darted up to defend it—he shattered them without breaking stride. Fragments of burning magic spun away as the witch screamed, skidding across the wreckage.
Spell markings surged in every direction, black fire spreading like a wave. Indra cut straight through. He vanished—reappeared at the witch's flank, drove his elbow into its temple, then swept a blade across its chest in a single, clean motion. The hits landed faster than the witch could react. It conjured new weapons—axes, spears, scythes—but Indra spun through the storm, tearing them apart before they reached him. Sparks and smoke erupted across the battlefield.
He landed on a broken pillar, used it as a springboard, and launched himself into the air. He collided with the witch from above, slicing through another conjured scythe as if it were paper.
The witch reeled, gasping. "Enough!" It threw every remaining weapon, every scrap of magic, every drop of hate into the space around them. The cathedral flooded with chaos—shrieking steel, dark flame, collapsing stone.
Indra didn't hesitate. He moved straight through it all, blades whirling. Steel crashed, magic detonated, the ground itself cracked and groaned beneath the force of his assault. Pillars toppled. The witch hurled a last desperate burst of black magic, its energy wild and unfocused.
Indra slipped behind it, faster than the witch could register. He drove both blades downward. The witch hit the ground hard, the sound echoing like thunder.
It staggered to its feet, gasping, its armor cracked and leaking shadows. Its eyes darted, panic crawling into its voice. "What… what are you? This power—where did it come from?"
Another blur. Another strike. Indra closed in again, shattering another conjured blade before it could take shape. The witch summoned more, but he crushed them in a single swing, leaving only drifting shards of blue light.
He kept moving. Above, behind, beside—the witch could not keep track of him. Its defenses broke apart, its spells fizzled before they could form. Even its thoughts started to tangle, panic spiraling into something close to terror.
It tried to speak. Its lips moved, but no words came. Indra was relentless, pressing in, each attack heavier, colder, more precise.
The witch's hands shook, its magic reduced to sparks that fizzled at its fingertips. It tried to muster another barrier, but Indra cut it down before it even flickered to life.
It backed away, legs unsteady, a raw dread filling its hollow eyes. For the first time, it understood it was no longer in control.
Indra rose into the broken rafters, his aura roiling—a fusion of light and shadow that bent the world around him. He did not look like a savior now. He looked like a force of nature, something the heavens themselves refused to claim.
Each step he took felt inevitable, each pulse of his presence a silent countdown. The witch's body shook, its voice strangled.
I can't move. I can't stop him. I can't—
It tried to scream, but nothing came.
Indra dropped from above, both blades shining with that ruined, holy power. He landed in front of the witch, eyes level with its own.
He didn't shout. He didn't threaten. His voice was steady, low. "You destroyed everything she loved."
He struck.
The cathedral collapsed inward. The force of the blow sent a fissure through the foundation, light and shadow exploding in a blinding arc. The blast consumed the witch, ripping apart its grotesque form, tearing at the seams of its existence. The twins' fused soul cracked, split by the sheer violence of Indra's will.
The scream that followed was not just pain—it was fear, pure and desperate. "No—no—no! This isn't possible!"
Cracks spidered through the witch's body. Its armor split, shadows bleeding out. The fusion ruptured, the two souls inside forced apart, the bond shattered in a single, merciless instant.
When the light finally faded, Layla and Kayla lay scattered at opposite ends of the broken cathedral. Both were broken—barely breathing, their bodies ruined by the force that had undone them.
Indra dropped to one knee at the center of it all, blades lowering. His aura flickered, spent and hollow. Every part of him ached, every muscle screaming for rest, but his eyes never left Gabriella.
She still hadn't moved.
Rain poured through the broken ceiling, pooling around the ruins, mingling with the smoke and blood. The only sound was Indra's own ragged breathing and the faint, trembling breath of survivors.
He forced himself to stand, sheathing one sword with hands that would not stop shaking. Every instinct told him to run to Gabriella, but his body was slow, heavy with exhaustion and fear.
He knelt at her side. Her breathing was shallow, almost silent. Her starlight was gone, leaving only the faintest glimmer behind her closed eyes.
Indra's voice broke as he whispered, "Stay with me. Please."
But Gabriella did not answer.
The battlefield was silent, the storm still raging overhead, as Indra waited for a sign of hope in the darkness that pressed close around him.