Chapter 208: Heart of the Battle
Date: April 12, 542
The air in the clearing ceased to be gas. It had become a dense, vibrating mass, saturated with the emerald glow of "Sticky Feathers" and the crimson heat of the fading Spirits. The Orled, majestic even in its bloodied state, spread its wings so wide that each feather sang its own deadly note. It gathered everything it had left — all the essence of a Harbinger, all the memory of the forests it had trodden.
"This is my final gift to you, human, before your death," the Orled rumbled. "Technique: 'Emerald Shroud of Creation'!"
All the viscous substance spread in the air suddenly began to contract towards the center, transforming into a colossal vortex of jagged, glowing blades. This was not just a strike — it was an attempt to erase the very existence of its opponent, crushing them in the grip of absolute density.
Kazai raised his head. His face, white as a burial shroud, lit up with a mad, triumphant gleam. He felt his Vessel groaning under the weight of two sins, his internal channels melting from the excess of black heat.
"Wrath... Pride..." the prince whispered, his voice clearly audible through the roar of the storm. "Give me everything. 'Fall of the Crown'!"
Wrath roared, its lava armor blazing white-hot. It surged forward, becoming a living battering ram, sweeping away sticky strands. Pride glided after, its phantom blades beginning to spin, creating a zone of absolute emptiness at the very heart of the Orled's vortex.
The collision was silent. For a moment, all sounds in the world vanished, absorbed by the annihilation of two opposing wills.
The first to give way was Wrath. The Spirit of rage, having taken the brunt of the emerald vortex, began to crumble. Sticky feathers pierced its armor, extinguishing its inner fire. With a short, choking hiss, the Spirit of Wrath exploded into a cloud of dying sparks.
Kazai doubled over. His throat burned with a metallic taste, and he spewed a stream of thick, dark blood onto the ground. His Vessel convulsed, deprived of half its support, but the prince did not avert his gaze from the enemy.
Pride continued its path. It cut windows in the viscous wall of energy, its movements jerky, its cloak reduced to shreds of shadow. It managed to land three deep blows on the Orled — at the base of the wing, in the chest, and on the powerful neck. But the Harbinger's density was too high. The Emerald Shroud closed around Pride. The Spirit of arrogance paused for a moment, its empty eye sockets meeting its master's eyes, and it dissipated into gray dust.
The new wave of pain was even worse. Kazai collapsed to one knee, and a fresh surge of blood gushed from his mouth, drenching the remains of his coat. His energy channels pulsed, on the verge of rupture, but the momentum of his Spirits' attacks had opened a breach. A breach in the very fabric of the "Emerald Shroud."
The Orled stood in the center of its dying vortex, utterly exhausted. It saw both of the human's Spirits disappear and expected the prince to collapse next. The Harbinger began slowly folding its wings, its breathing heavy, golden essence oozing from the wounds on its chest.
And in that moment, from the cloud of settling dust, a shadow emerged.
Kazai did not run — he glided, using the residual momentum of the vanished Wrath. In his right hand materialized a blade — long, elegant, a perfect replica of the one Pride had wielded. This was not a Spirit's shadow. This was Kazai's own will, given form in steel.
He broke through the remnants of the sticky strands, ignoring how they tore his skin. His movements were devoid of human weakness. This was the pure, concentrated lunge of a predator.
The Orled managed only to raise a paw, but its reaction, weakened by the Spirits' blows, failed it.
The steel entered softly. Without resistance.
Kazai drove the blade to the hilt, precisely into the center of the Orled's massive chest. Right into the place where, beneath layers of muscle and feathers, the heart of the great being beat.
The Orled froze. Its golden eyes widened, reflecting the swamp's sky and the face of the small, bloodied human. In that gaze was mute, crushing disbelief. It, a Harbinger who had achieved everything through its own effort, had fallen to the hand of a Pillar who simply refused to die.
The prince twisted the blade in the wound. The Harbinger's blood, hot and smelling of ozone, sprayed into his face. Kazai looked directly into the eyes of his dying opponent, and in that gaze was no triumph. Only cold, eternal recognition.
The Orled let out one final, quiet shriek, and its head fell limply onto Kazai's shoulder. Life left the great body, and the emerald radiance around it finally died, plunging the clearing into heavy, dead silence.
Kazai released his grip, leaving the sword in the heart of his enemy. The world around him began to fade.