The shadow reacted instantly. It pulled back, retreating toward the dark tree.
"No!" Ayame snarled.
But it was too late. The shadow ran past her, tendrils retracting, its mass consolidating. It moved toward the princess hanging on the crucified tree.
Arthur's eyes widened. His breath caught.
He planted his back foot. Twisted his hips. The luminescent blade blazed brighter, fate essence pouring into it. He raised it above his head with both hands.
"Tempest's Cleave!"
He brought the blade down. A massive arc of blue lightning tore through the air. It carved a trench in the ground, earth exploding upward in its wake. The attack was so huge, so overwhelming, it almost grazed Ayame as she dove aside.
The lightning struck the shadow. It screeched, writhing in agony.
But it did not stop.
The shadow went up the dark tree, crawling like an insect. It reached the princess's feet. It began to suck. The deformed flesh. The pristine flesh. All of it drawn into the shadow's form.
Anya, the pink-haired professor, laughed from the edge of the clearing. Her voice was manic, triumphant.
Then she threw up blood. Her knees buckled. She collapsed, staff clattering beside her. She had spent her entire reserve of fate essence feeding this creature.
The shadow twisted. Convulsed. Its form expanded grotesquely.
Now it had three bodies to its collection. Miguel's twisted remains. The professor's corpse. And the princess.
The princess was shown at its center in a crucified way. Her skin pulsed purple, veins standing out like rivers of corruption. The deformed flesh was gone now, but rather extended to the shadow's exterior. Limbs flowed around its bottom. Upper limbs made of mortified heads, body parts grafted together in impossible configurations.
The pressure changed. Intensified.
Arthur's jaw clenched. His grip on the blade tightened.
The shadow moved.
A destructive attack like no other split the earth. The ground cracked open in jagged lines. Debris exploded upward. The shockwave was immense, suffocating.
Ayame tried to dodge. She was too slow.
The attack caught her across the ribs. She flew backward, blood spraying from her mouth. She hit the ground hard, rolling several times before coming to a stop.
Arthur rushed to cover her. Arthur breathed in through his nose, slow and measured. His right foot slid forward, heel touching ground first, weight distributing evenly. The luminescent blade held at mid-guard, angled forty-five degrees, tip pointed at the A Rank Unfaithful's center mass.
Ayame crouched beside him, her breathing rapid and aggressive. Her fingers flexed. Blood dripped from her wounds, pooling at her feet. Her eyes were red, pupils dilated with bloodlust.
The A Rank Unfaithful moved.
A tendril lashed out from the left. Arthur stepped into it, blade rising in a tight arc. The parry deflected the attack upward. His wrist rotated precisely, no excess motion. The tendril passed harmlessly overhead.
Ayame exploded forward beneath it. Her blood blade manifested mid-sprint, shorter than before, shaped for speed. She thrust. The blade pierced through shadow, finding something solid within. She twisted. The shadow screeched.
Arthur advanced. Three steps. Each one planted firmly. Heel, toe, push. His blade swept horizontally at knee height. The shadow parted, but he anticipated this. His back foot pivoted. His body rotated. The blade continued its arc, coming around from the opposite angle. It caught a tendril trying to flank Ayame.
She did not thank him. She was already moving. Her left foot pushed off a fallen shelf. She launched herself at the creature's torso where Miguel's heads writhed. Her blade came down in an overhead strike. Heavy. Powerful. The impact cratered the ground beneath the shadow.
Arthur blocked from behind her. A tendril shot toward her exposed back. His blade intercepted. The collision sent vibrations up his arm. He absorbed it through his shoulder, his stance, his breath. Exhale. The tension released.
They moved like this. Arthur calm and controlled. Ayame wild and vicious. His defense covering her aggression. Her offense creating openings for his precision.
The shadow adapted. It learned.
A cluster of tendrils attacked simultaneously from three directions. Arthur's blade moved in a figure-eight pattern. Parry high. Deflect low. Riposte center. His footwork shifted constantly. Weight on the balls of his feet. Ready to pivot at any moment.
Ayame saw the opening. She lunged. Her blade extended, blood solidifying into a longer reach. She thrust toward where the princess hung suspended within the shadow's form. His blade came up to deflect a follow-up strike. A huge limb made of chitin and carcass slammed down. His blade met it. The impact shattered bone. Cracked chitin. But it was not enough.
A shadow crew wrapped around the blue conjured sword and crawled up his arm. It touched his shoulder.
Ice. Pure, terrible ice flooded through him. His heart seized. His breath stopped. He almost dropped to his knees, the cold stabbing into his chest like a shard through his very soul.
Ayame rose up behind him. Her full form manifested. Eyes blood red. Her body expanded, muscles swelling to twice her size. Her robes tore completely, revealing skin and wounds.
"Don't worry," she said, voice deeper now, resonant.
She manifested a blood sword in each hand. Massive. Heavy. Dripping crimson light.
"I have you covered."
Arthur nodded. He pulled himself upright. The ice in his chest receded slowly. He breathed in. Out. Steady. Controlled.
They stood back to back.
The shadow attacked from all sides. Tendrils. Limbs. Heads with snapping jaws.
Arthur parried left. Ayame blocked right. His blade moved in tight, efficient arcs. Hers in wide, powerful swings. They covered each other's weaknesses. His precision compensated for her recklessness. Her power created space for his technique.
It worked. For a while, it worked really well.
A tendril lashed out at Arthur's head. He ducked. Ayame's blade swept over him, severing it mid-strike.
A limb tried to crush Ayame from above. Arthur's blade intercepted, deflecting it aside. She pivoted and drove both swords into its joint.
They moved in rhythm. Breath synchronized. Footwork complementary. When Arthur stepped forward, Ayame covered his retreat. When she lunged, he guarded her back.
The shadow screeched in frustration. It could not break their defense.
Then Ayame saw it. An opening.
A tendril extended too far. Overcommitted. She grabbed it with her bare hand. Her fingers dug in, blood flowing from her palm to solidify around it. She held it in place.
"Now!" she roared.
Arthur did not hesitate. He leaped. Used her back as a springboard. She braced, muscles straining. He launched upward, blade raised high.
The sword came down in a killing blow. He aimed for the heart, just above where the princess's head was positioned within the shadow's center mass.
The blade cut deep. Through shadow. Through flesh. Through corruption.
He locked eyes with her for a brief moment. The princess. Her eyes were hollow. Empty. Purple light flickered within.
'Was she even alive anymore?'
He needed to brush that thought aside. He had hope. He had faith that she still was. That Elara was still in there somewhere.
"Arthur, watch out!"
Ayame's scream snapped him back. He spun quickly, blade coming around to cut another attacking tendril.
But he was too slow.
Something bit at his side. Teeth. Many teeth. They sank into his flesh, tearing through armor, through skin.
Ayame jumped. Her fingers and nails extended, growing longer, sharper, more monstrous. She severed the jaw that had bitten him, freeing Arthur.
But she had sacrificed herself.
Immediately, something materialized from the shadow. Deformed flesh with purple veins. A writhing mass that pulsed with corruption. It pierced her already wounded abdomen.
She fell.
Arthur rushed to her side. He caught her before she hit the ground. Blood poured from the wound, hot and thick.
He looked up.
The shadow towered over them. It had grown larger. More solid. More real.
The princess at its center pulsed with purple light. Her skin was translucent now. He could see her heart beating within her chest. See the corruption flowing through her veins.
This was not an A Rank anymore.
This was something else entirely.
The pressure was immense. Crushing. The air itself felt heavy, thick with corruption and fate essence twisted into something wrong.
Arthur's breath came ragged now. His calm was cracking. Blood ran from his side. His arm trembled from holding the blade.
Ayame looked up at him from where she lay. Her eyes were fading back to normal. The red receding. Her body shrinking back to its usual size.