The Saint tore through the ventilation grate with a single, brutal slash of the unified blade. He emerged into the blinding white light of Seraphiel's Command Nexus—a vast, echoing server room where thousands of data threads pulsed with the cold, pure energy of Heaven's surveillance.
"Threat detected. Unauthorised celestial signature," a synthesised voice boomed from the walls.
Before Lyra could fully enter the room, three heavy, multi-armed drones—Cherubim Sentinels—deployed from recessed panels. Their metallic bodies gleamed, armed with pulsating energy shields and focused spiritual dampeners, designed to neutralise a Fallen Angel.
"Go!" the Saint roared, pushing Lyra behind him. "The Veritas Data Core! Disable the Protocol!"
He met the first Sentinel with a direct charge, the crimson light of Sanctus dominant. The Sentinel's energy shield flared, absorbing the initial impact, but the sheer force of the Executioner's strike buckled its form. The Saint didn't hesitate, spinning the blade in a brutal arc, shearing off two of the drone's multi-jointed arms.
The other two Sentinels opened fire, their weapons spitting focused bolts of pure, spiritual energy. The Saint deflected the first with Sanctus, the white light of Veritas flaring to counter the spiritual attack. But the second bolt grazed his side, burning through the duster and scorching his flesh.
The core. It's holding, but barely.
Lyra, meanwhile, was a ghost in the machine. Moving with practised ease, she dodged the Sentinels' retaliatory fire, her fingers flying across her datapad. She bypassed the initial digital locks, her focus absolute, finding the direct access panel for the Veritas Data Core.
"They're diverting power to the dampeners!" Lyra yelled, her voice strained. "Your signature is too strong! I need more time!"
The Saint felt the insidious pull of the spiritual dampeners—a draining field that tried to sever his connection to his own grace. He was fighting a losing battle against three drones, a vast surveillance system, and the ever-present threat of his core collapsing.
He roared, unleashing a burst of raw, crimson power from Sanctus—a focused Judgment Wave that ripped through the dampening field. The nearest Sentinel staggered, its energy shield sputtering.
The Saint seized the moment. He plunged the unified blade into the drone's core, tearing through its sanctified circuits. The Sentinel exploded in a shower of sparks and molten metal.
Two more.
But the victory came at a terrible cost. The raw exertion from the Judgment Wave, combined with the relentless spiritual dampeners, pushed his core to the absolute brink. A sharp, internal CRACK reverberated through his body. Not a permanent break, but a catastrophic deepening of the old fissures.
He felt the burning agony, the familiar, terrible widening of the wound in his soul. His vision blurred, his movements faltered. The remaining two Sentinels pressed their attack, their energy shields flaring. One slammed into his chest, throwing him back against a server rack.
"Azael!" Lyra screamed, her face pale with terror.
The Saint struggled to rise, his body screaming in protest, his silver eyes dimming with exhaustion. He could feel the cold certainty of his core giving way. He was going to fall. Again.
Lyra saw it. She saw the light fading from his eyes, the absolute agony that was threatening to consume him. Her own fear vanished, replaced by a desperate, focused resolve.
"Just a second more!" Lyra screamed, tears streaming down her face as her fingers flew across the datapad. She was pushing past her own limits, Ghost Weaving through the final layers of Seraphiel's defences.
She plunged her virtual self into the heart of the Veritas Data Core. Her every instinct, every fibre of her being, focused on a single task: shut it down.
A blinding, blue white light flared from the core of the Nexus. The entire room shuddered violently. The remaining two Sentinels, caught in the sudden energy surge, froze, their spiritual dampeners overloading.
"Success!" Lyra cried, slamming her fist against the datapad. "The core is compromised! Shutdown initiated! Seraphiel is blind!"
The lights in the Nexus flickered, plunging the vast server room into a strange, half-lit gloom. The pervasive pressure of the Veritas Protocol—the spiritual net that had blanketed the city—receded, collapsing inward as its central processing unit failed.
The Saint, on the verge of total collapse, felt the sudden, blessed relief. The spiritual dampeners vanished. The pressure on his core released. He slid down the server rack, his body trembling, the unified blade clattering to the floor.
Lyra was at his side instantly, her fear momentarily forgotten. She threw her arms around him, pressing herself against his chest, channelling every ounce of her will, every fibre of the Fragment's healing power into his fractured core.
The white hot agony flared, but beneath it, the newly opened fissures began to mend, to seal, to reform. His core, ravaged by the fight, slowly, painfully, stabilised. He coughed, a ragged, raw sound, and opened his eyes.
"You did it," the Saint rasped, his voice hoarse, clinging to her, clinging to the agonising, life-giving contact. "You broke his eye."
"And you bought me the time," Lyra retorted, tears still streaming down her face as she pressed her forehead against his. "We did it, Azael. We broke the Protocol."
The victory was immediate, exhilarating, and profoundly intimate. They had faced overwhelming odds, pushed each other to the brink, and emerged victorious.
The triumph was short-lived.
A low, guttural alarm blared through the Nexus: "Physical response teams inbound! All units, converge on the Command Nexus! Unauthorised celestial signature detected and localised!"
Seraphiel was blind, but not deaf. He knew where they were.
"We need to move!" Lyra cried, pulling back, her face a mask of renewed urgency. "Now! Before they seal the entire district!"
The Saint struggled to his feet, his core stabilised but still aching. He retrieved the unified blade, its mixed light dim but steady. He looked at Lyra, his silver eyes blazing with a fierce, absolute resolve.
"To the Outskirts," the Saint commanded, his voice strong, renewed by her touch. "The Veritas Protocol is crippled. Now we prepare for the Ascension."
He grabbed Lyra's hand, and together, they vanished into the maze of the compromised Nexus, leaving behind the wreckage of Seraphiel's sight, just as the first wave of Heaven's physical response teams breached the outer perimeter.