Heavenly Damned Player

Cheers exploded from the crowd once more. Their queen had returned. The beauty was back.

This was a battle between Destruction's servant, who thrived on spreading terror, and Despair's servant, who found purpose in self-sacrifice for victory.

Seraph, servant of Despair, couldn't wield her True Ability, Dormant Flames, without inner sacrifice. Though her outer beauty remained intact despite Clara's brutal attack, blood poured from her mouth.

The flames scorched her from within, forcing perpetual healing of her body while corroding her inner shell, the source of the hemorrhaging.

Still, despite the pain, she kept her head high. Her blue flames lingered on her skin, lending her an ethereal, almost celestial quality.

She gestured for Clara to come to her.

"I'm sorry, but I can't use my sword on you."

She said with a warm smile.

Clara cursed at her.

"You are going to regret it. Again!"

Wearing a sinister smile, Clara rushed Seraph, repeating her earlier assault. Her axe came first, but Seraph sidestepped it effortlessly. Clara's laughter grew even louder.

She converted the force of her miss into forward momentum, executed a mid-air spin, and struck at Seraph's head. The same technique, only more intense, swifter, and deadlier.

She knew Seraph could predict it, but that was irrelevant. As a servant of Destruction, the target didn't matter, only the devastating force behind it.

Seraph gritted her teeth, blood vivid against the white. When the Persistent Mantis struck, she stood her ground without flinching. She seized Clara's leg with one hand, torquing her own wrist in the process, nearly completing a full spin, but she held firm.

She locked her hand in place, and the bruises faded almost at once.

Panic seized Clara as she tried to wrench herself free, but the Child of Deceit only offered a serene smile.

Sweat dripped from Clara's brow as she clenched her teeth, watching her ankle burn, bruised and mutilated.

In panic, she yanked her leg away violently, hurling Seraph backward, but the Child of Deceit somersaulted through the air and landed on her feet.

The crowd went wild, spectators descending from the stands to make their bets. Seraph's fans began chanting a newly improvised song. Men and women alike now idolized not just her beauty but her formidable strength.

Clara took a better look at her ankle.

"You little bitch! You nearly burnt it into ashes."

She assumed her stance, gripping her axe tightly. This wasn't something she should be able to do, considering her ankle was a layer away from breaking.

The Child of Deceit maintained her smile, appearing like a merciful goddess absolving a servant of sin. She was the picture of composure, save for the blood dripping from her mouth, which gave her an unholy aspect. Otherwise, she could have been an angel.

But that calm demeanor enraged Clara, she charged at Seraph with redoubled aggression and murderous intent, her laughter echoing throughout.

But Seraph met the assault with elegant precision. Clara's axe sought killing blows, but Seraph seemed determined to torment the spectators. She slipped past every strike by inches, some so impossibly close that even Clara looked confused about how she'd managed.

This was what Halo loved about her fighting style. She moved like wind, and untouchable as water. It was almost like watching a rehearsed dance.

Clara's blood boiled, and her laughter twisted into screams, nearly demonic in their fury. She gathered all her strength into a single strike and launched herself forward.

Seraph's smile wavered as she flinched.

The raw bloodlust in the attack had shocked her. She hesitated, struggling to find a counter, then, in a split-second decision, she moved to catch the blade itself, focusing all her flames into her hands to heal the wounds immediately.

Clara's laughter shifted back to something sinister.

The impossible happened.

She redirected her attack mere moments before contact, cleaving Seraph's wrist off in one clean strike.

Seraphim grimaced.

Once Clara's attack spent its force, the Child of Deceit retaliated instantly, striking her cheek with devastating power and slamming her down.

She moved as if the wound meant nothing. Cold-eyed, she collected her severed arm and reattached it, the flames fusing her bone, then tissue, then skin.

Her smile returned.

Clara had a broken jaw now. She struggled to get on her feet.

The crowd was now sharply divided. Some roared support for Seraph, some shouted encouragement at the fallen Clara, while others watched in stunned silence.

But Seraph paid them no mind. She fought for something, a purpose so critical that not even death could stop her from achieving it.

She grabbed Clara's axe, which Clara now gripped desperately. Clara was spent. In a second or two, the axe that once seemed indestructible was liquefying, dripping into the sand as molten metal.

Clara's expression hardened. This was her pride, and now, for the second time, she had to watch it fall in Seraph's presence. It was unbearable.

She forced herself up and hobbled toward Seraph. Her ruined ankle was swollen and bruised, lending her movements an exaggerated, painful quality. She had a reason to keep fighting and clearly wouldn't accept this ending.

Seraph had no mercy for the injured. She seized Clara by her red hair, wrenched her head back, and engulfed her entire body in flames.

Clara screamed in agony.

The crowd was silent, with only a few people hurling insults at Seraphim.

Seraph watched the terror and confusion in Clara's eyes with cold detachment. She didn't seem human, or maybe she did, but utterly heartless, emotionless, the kind who'd torch the world for her own reasons.

Clara's panic had little to do with the fire. Her eyes bulged, and she scratched at her face even as it burned. It was as if she were watching her entire world warp into incomprehensible dimensions. She couldn't take it.

Even so, before complete immolation, Seraph snuffed out the flames with sand. Clara looked like a piece of charcoal, blackened chunks of her ruined flesh disintegrating into ash on the ground.

"Uhm… at this point, Seraphim wins. Yep. The pretty lady wins!"

The crowd cheered once more.

Clara's hands clung to her skull as though madness had taken her. This victory had been more important than living.

Seraph bent beside her and started the healing. When she finished mending Clara, the Child of Deceit's own body was wrecked, the inevitable price for serving Despair.

She tilted her face toward the sky and smiled. She was a step closer to reaching her goal.