The sheer force of the Saint's escape was a testament to his renewed power, as he tore through the underground tunnels like a vengeful comet, the energy spike from his sealed core burning away any tracing elements Seraphiel's drones might have followed. They moved for hours, deeper and deeper beneath the city's collapsing infrastructure, until they reached the base Lyra had identified in the Cathedra's black ledger: The Limbo Archive.
It was a pre-Fall, highly fortified underground bunker, silent and untouched. Unlike the makeshift dens of the Serpent's Mouth, the Archive was a sterile, neutral zone, rich with old-world technology and centuries of forgotten history—a place where the rules of both Heaven and Hell seemed to fade.
Once the massive blast doors were sealed, Lyra sank onto a metallic bench, the exhaustion finally hitting her. She was safe, but the weight of the Fragment in her soul felt heavier than ever.
The Saint, meanwhile, was all restless, focused energy. He was setting up a makeshift, low-powered surveillance network, a self-contained system utilising the hacked data feeds from the now crippled Command Nexus.
"I am establishing The Executioner's Eye," the Saint explained, his voice flat with concentration as he adjusted a delicate sensor array. "It's a limited view, but it allows me to monitor Lucifera's known entry points and Seraphiel's strategic movements."
The system came online, displaying a fragmented, but live, view of the city's spiritual and technological stress points. Lyra knew it was an immense effort for him, an act of faith in their strategic approach.
Lyra turned her attention to the final fragments of the Black Cardinal's comms chatter she had ripped from the Archon leader's unit. She needed to understand the true price of the Ascension.
"It's not just the energy of the Fragment," Lyra announced, her voice tight with revelation. "It's my consciousness. The raw energy is useless without the anchor of experience."
The Saint stopped his work, turning his powerful gaze on her. "Explain."
"The Fragment is pure, celestial creation," Lyra elaborated, pointing to the decryption on her datapad. "Demonic power is corrupted creation. For Lucifera to anchor a physical invasion—a permanent Ascension—she needs more than just fuel. She needs a living memory of that pure energy, a human consciousness that has experienced the duality of the power."
She looked at him, the implications chilling. "The cardinal called me 'the vessel.' I haven't just housed the power; I've used it, I've felt it, I've loved with it. My memories, my unique human experience of the Fragment's paradoxical pain and saving grace—that is the anchor. Lucifera needs the soul memory of the person who refused to let the Fragment kill her."
The Saint strolled toward her, his face a mask of profound, terrible understanding. He understood the demonic logic. Lucifera sought to corrupt the highest possible truth: the defiant will of a mortal woman who chose forbidden love and life over divine execution.
"He wants to tear the memory from your soul," the Saint concluded, his voice barely a whisper, thick with renewed terror. "He will leave you an empty shell—a blank consciousness stripped of your defiance."
The terror that gripped him was palpable, a raw wave of protective fury. He reached out, not to touch her for healing, but to simply hold her face between his massive hands. He was acknowledging the full, terrifying scope of the threat and his role in it.
"I need you, Lyra," the Saint admitted, his silver eyes burning with an intense, vulnerable light. "Not just for the core, but for the perspective. I see only the war between angels. You see the flaw in the machine. Your defiance is the only reason I am here. Your life is now the highest objective."
The admission was a powerful, intimate moment—the God Killer stripped down to absolute reliance on his mortal counterpart. It was the purest form of their romantic tension: total need forged in shared peril.
Lyra's heart hammered against her ribs. She pressed her cheek against his palm. "Then we use my mind. We use the memory he wants to steal."
She pulled up the old data banks of the Limbo Archive—records of forgotten signal towers and archaic energy fields.
"The Cardinal is preparing the ritual at a location where the demonic energy is most potent. We cannot fight him there. But we can use the resources in this Archive—the old pre-Fall signal grid—to create a spiritual false flag."
Lyra's plan was immediately reckless and brilliant. "I use the celestial comms unit to broadcast a temporary, localised wave of pure human defiance, mimicking a powerful, defiant memory—the precise memory Lucifera is hunting. It will be a perfect lure, forcing the Cardinal to relocate his ritual to a place of our choosing."
"A controlled environment," the Saint finished, his mind racing, understanding the tactical advantage. "A place where the demonic energy is minimised, and my Sanctus/Veritas blade can operate at full capacity without being neutralised by the demonic field."
"Exactly," Lyra confirmed. "We draw him out. We force the confrontation on our terms. I'll be the bait, and you will be the Judgment."
The Saint stared at the complex map of the city, then at the confident, determined face of the woman who held his salvation. He was a creature of war, and she was the strategist of their defiance.
He accepted the burden, the risk, and the profound, agonising intimacy of their arrangement.
"Prepare the broadcast, Lyra," the Saint commanded, his voice dark with final resolve. "Find the weakest point in the demonic sphere. The Ascension ends with us."
He sheathed the unified blade, its mixed light briefly illuminating the dusty, forgotten histories of the Limbo Archive. The war was no longer against the city, or even against Heaven and Hell. It was a fight to protect the unique, defiant human consciousness that he had fallen for.