"Try not to fucking die for a while, brat."
Dharma's voice cut through his mind.
At the very last moment before the Saint's hand pierced his body, something shifted.
The trajectory of the strike had been deviated slightly.
A change so subtle and yet it was enough.
Instead of tearing clean through his heart, the serrated vine veered off-course, ripping through his shoulder instead. The force drove him to his knees but his heart remained untouched.
Mahoraga's body spasmed violently as blood flooded from the ruined shoulder, his arm went limp instantly.
Before he could even retaliate — the woman had disappeared through her network of vines.
"Tch."
He spat a mouthful of blood into the sand, struggling to stay upright. The wound in his shoulder pulsed violently, every moment sent fresh waves of pain tearing through him.
He felt the cold minx reposition herself multiple times, waiting for something.
She's circling.
His stance lowered instinctively. His legs trembled but held steadily as he forced his body to respond. One arm hung uselessly, but that didn't mean the second was useless.
His arm curled into a fist as he relaxed himself, waiting for her to make a move.
"Come on then," he muttered under his breath.
Suddenly, a vine erupted from below — faster, sharper and aimed straight for his spine.
Mahoraga reacted, he twisted just before it struck, the serrated tendril grazing past his ribs instead of impaling him.
And in the same instant, she moved.
One moment she was nowhere — the next — she was behind him. Perfectly placed in what should have been his blind spot.
A slender arm rose, another serrated vine unfurling from her wrist, its edge gleaming as it angled toward the back of his neck.
A flawless reposition.
A flawless strike.
…Against the wrong opponent.
Mahoraga's wings trembled.
The air around him had already shifted the moment she emerged, her presence creating a gap in the currents.
The second her arm tensed, he moved.
He pivoted sharply, his remaining hand shot out, through the path of the descending vine. The serrated edge scraped across his forearm, drawing blood but then stopped just short of him.
Mahoraga's face twisted into something between a grin and a snarl as his fingers closed around the vine, and he pulled.
The Saint's eyes flickered in surprise — as her own tendril became the thing working against her.
Her eyes sharpened.
The vine severed.
A clean and decisive cut as the Saint didn't bat an eye — the tendril fell limp in his grasp as she twisted away, her body already dissolving into the network of vines.
But Mahoraga's hand wasn't empty.
[Dying Breath] materialized mid-motion — and he drove it forward, intending to slice her neck.
The Saint went completely still.
Her warping ability wasn't fast enough to apport her before the strike.
For a single moment, their eyes met.
Yet, the Saint didn't panic as he'd expected.
Instead it was filled with appreciation.
Her fingers curled… and Mahoraga's detonated.
During her last attack, the detestable Saint had quietly threaded in spores inside his chest, and now with the trigger, they bloomed.
Roots unfurled within his chest, tearing through his flesh and lungs as they spread, until they began to close in around his heart.
Death closed in around Mahoraga.
Then, — the wheel spun.
And Mahoraga adapted.
His body rejuvenated, his injured shoulder healing back without a moment to waste as Cursed Energy flooded his body — destroying the spores hidden inside.
Mahoraga had found a counter to the Saint's Aspect.
Her Aspect revolved around botany and life, its antithesis — Cursed Energy, born from negativity and hate was its natural counter. By submerging his body in it, he turned it into hostile ground — drowning the positive energy with negative energy, thus destroying them from within.
The roots shriveled.
What had been a rampant, invasive growth only a moment before now faltered, recoiling as if burned. The tendrils that had begun to coil around his heart blackened at the edges, their expansion stuttering before collapsing entirely.
Mahoraga exhaled sharply as the last of the foreign growth was purged from his body.
"W—what?!"
The Saint's voice broke for the first time.
Her composure fractured.
The hesitation in her voice told him everything he needed to know.
She hadn't expected that.
"Surprised?" he rasped, with a bloody grin.
Immediately, he closed the distance between them but sadly, the Saintess wasn't as shaken up as he thought, retreating through the vines before the attack landed.
"Coward!" He screamed.
…
That fucker is surprisingly strong, Dharma couldn't help but admit, though begrudgingly, upon spectating their fight
Though he'd never say it out loud for him to hear.
He was never going to give that rascal the satisfaction!
He then turned his attention to the product of the causality charging towards them and let out a weak groan.
That beast isn't nearly strong enough… it seems I got my work cut out from me, he thought quietly, using [Heavenly Will] to attract a stronger predator, siccing him on the beast and luring him near.
"Let's see if she can handle this."
…
Mahoraga and the Saintess collided in a brutal exchange, each clash embodying a relentless cycle of creation and destruction.
A vine burst forward from his left, thin as a needle, aimed not at his body — but his throat. At the same time, another emerged from behind, angling toward his knee, while a third slid silently beneath the sand toward his shadow.
Mahoraga quickly made short work of them.
His body twisted just enough for the first strike to graze past his neck, drawing a thin line of blood. His foot lifted before the second could root him in place — and then his hand snapped out.
Cursed Energy surged through his arm in a violent pulse, coating his arm in a second layer of death. When his fingers closed around the third vine, it didn't wilt, it immediately rotted.
The moment contact was made, the structure blackened, its surface cracking as if aged centuries in an instant. The life within it — was devoured completely.
Mahoraga didn't let go.
Instead he spread the plague further.
The vine shriveled rapidly, the corruption racing back through its length and into the sand itself. Beneath the surface, an entire network recoiled violently as the infection spread through it, severing connections and collapsing pathways.
Her feet shifted against the sand as her expression sharpened, no longer amused.
"You're killing them," she said, concerned.
Mahoraga stared at her, not knowing whether to take her seriously, then blinked.
"Of course I'm killing them. Are you stupid by chance? Weren't you trying to kill me with these a moment ago — why the hell am I supposed to spare them? For the Earth? Bitch, please."
The Saint went quiet.
Her gaze lingered on the blackened veins spreading beneath the sand, on the withered remnants of what had once been part of her domain. For a brief moment, something unreadable flickered across her face — then it was gone.
"…I see," she murmured.
The air around them suddenly turned cold.
"You may have found a way to counter my Aspect… but do not mistake that for victory. I am still far stronger than you, boy. Do you truly believe I avoided direct combat out of fear? I can tear you apart with my bare hands."
Her gaze hardened, voice turning cold and absolute.
"You don't really think you can kill me now, do you?."
Mahoraga didn't say anything for a bit, then he grinned and pointed to the side.
"No… but he can," he gestured towards the side, at a tidal wave of sand rushing towards them, swallowing up the distance from them. The ground trembled and buckled from its sheer presence.
"…You didn't," she whispered.
Mahoraga's grin widened.
She turned back, only to see Mahoraga disappear.
The Saintess finally broke out into cold sweat, as she felt a presence behind her. Snapping her head back, she witnessed Mahoraga next to her, clutching his fist.
"How?!" She screeched.
What the floral Awakened failed to realise was that with his adaptation to her Aspect came the ability to use her network to teleport himself — by feeding just enough Cursed Energy into her network to terrify the vines without destroying them, Mahoraga could trigger their reflexive retreat.
And in doing so, he could force the network to carry him with it — turning her own pathways into his means of movement.
As the sparks of black clouded his fist, Mahoraga whispered a farewell.
"Buh bye."
His fist came down with lethality, as space distorted and the power of his blow increased exponentially, her defeat was spelled.
The Saint's form was ripped away.
She didn't fly.
She was sent straight to the monster's mouth.
A colossal shape surged forward from beneath the tidal wave of sand Mahoraga had pointed to moments ago, its emergence devouring light as an enormous mouth yawned wide — rows upon rows of uneven, stone-like teeth grinded against each other in hunger.
A Great Demon.
Its presence crushed the air.
The Saint's eyes widened, her composure finally shattering completely as her body hurtled straight toward it, unable to correct her trajectory in time.
"You snivelling pus–"
The words never finished.
The creature surged upward to meet her.
But Mahoraga wasn't about to let his kill be stolen, he summoned [Dying Breath] and sent it straight after her.
And as the Demon's jaws slammed shut, the gladius pierced the open wound made by the monster's teeth and with that, her life ceased to exist.
[You have slain a Transcendent Beast: Floreen.]
[You have received a Memory]
[You have gained eight Enlightenment Fragments]
Without a second of hesitation, he immediately sprinted towards Dharma and climbed onto him.
"Come on now. What are you waiting for? Fly!"
Dharma tilted his head back in astonishment, "What do you mean — fly?!"
"Ain't you a dragon?" Mahoraga asked in surprise.
"Ain't you a retard? Do I look like a dragon you fucking moron?! Can't you see my size? I'm a baby dragon, I can't carry you yet."
"Well what can you carry?" He shot back, exasperated.
"Not your brain, for one."
Mahoraga turned back towards the surging tide coming towards them, "I think we should run," he commented.
Dharma licked his lips, "Yeah we should definitely run."