The twisted creature grew more limbs. Deformed arms sprouted from its torso. Legs bent at impossible angles emerged from its sides. Each new appendage made it more potent, more deadly. The pressure intensified until the air itself felt like it was crushing them.
Arthur silently cursed. He had broken his promise. He had relied on his title, on his true identity as a paladin of Materna. Even that was not enough. He had broken another oath. Things looked hopeless.
The creature pressed forward. Its massive limbs slammed down repeatedly. Arthur's broken blade could barely deflect the strikes. His footwork faltered. His breath came ragged.
Ayame lay beside him, blood pooling beneath her. Her eyes flickered. Her breathing shallow.
'We cannot hold.'
The creature raised all its limbs at once. A killing blow. One that would break through their last defense.
Arthur planted his feet. Raised what remained of his conjured blade. Prepared to die.
Then, a bright blue flame appeared behind the shadowy monster.
A menacing presence. A radiating aura that could be felt even through the corruption. It was menacing, yes, but also refined. Beautiful. Sophisticated.
Blue flame burst upward, illuminating the entire arena. Arthur looked up, still supporting Ayame.
Ayame brushed herself off him, teeth gritted, trying to stand on her own.
The figure was revealed.
Silver plate armor hung lightly on her frame, defining an overall feminine physique. Blonde lush hair exited the back of her helmet, flowing like silk in the wind. A blue regal cape swayed left and right as embers and slight blue flames stuck to it, dancing along the fabric's edge. The entire head was covered in a silver helmet. Their hands were covered in silver gloves.
Menacing authority radiated from every inch of their form.
The shadow focused its attention on this new source of fate essence. It slowly turned toward the figure, all its purple eyes blinking in unison.
The figure spoke. Their voice was ice cold, each word precise and formal.
"I am Lyssandra, the Sky-Sundered Saint, Paladin of the Northern Reaches of the continent of Osteria, sworn protector of the the scattered realms, blade of the righteous, and executioner of the damned. I stand before thee, abomination, and declare thy judgment absolute."
They put their hand on the blade's hilt.
Luminescent blue flames erupted. They did not draw the sword. Instead, invisible slashes cut through the air. All of the tendrils were severed simultaneously. Purple blood sprayed everywhere. The limbs tried to regenerate, but more invisible slashes followed. Each one precise. Each one devastating. It seemed that the Unfaithful couldn't even regenerate from the cuts.
The shadow was reduced to half its size in mere moments.
The princess finally surfaced from the depths of the deep shadow, her body suspended, her right hand still pinned to the dark tree of agony the shadow swallowed.
The figure stopped. Evaluated the creature. Their head tilted slightly.
"Thou hast dared to touch Her Highness Elara of Vex. Thou hast corrupted royal blood. Thou hast defiled what is sacred. For this transgression, thy existence shall be forfeit. I denounce thee, abomination. I cast judgment upon thy wretched form."
The shadow immediately dove forward in one last desperate attempt to kill the figure. All remaining limbs converged. Chitin and flesh fused into a massive spear aimed at the paladin's heart.
The figure made an ultimate stance. Both gloved hands on the hilt. Feet planted wide. Knees bent. Center of gravity low.
They announced with absolute authority.
"Heaven's Severance."
The world erupted in blue light. A sound so loud it shattered shelves, cracked stone, made the very air scream. The figure whispered beneath the roar.
"Begone."
Purple blood splattered everywhere. The bodies of previous victims that were consumed fell from the shadow's form, lifeless and broken. The shadow itself dissipated, screaming, writhing, dissolving into nothing.
But bizarrely, the black tree remained. The tree of agony stood untouched. The princess hung there by a single arm now, her wrist pinned by a single spike that supported her whole weight. Her body was limp. Unconscious. But despite it all she breathed, though ragged.
The figure sheathed their sword. The motion was crisp, practiced, absolute.
They looked at the princess hanging from the tree. They sighed.
"It is of no use."
They walked forward. Each step measured. Each footfall leaving a sizzling blue mark on the ground.
Arthur watched, hope rising in his chest. They had won. The creature was gone. The princess could be saved.
The figure stopped. Glanced at Arthur and Ayame incapacitated on the floor.
"Thou hast fought with honor, Oni warrior," they said to Ayame, their voice acknowledging her but nothing more.
They did not address Arthur. Only glanced at him. A brief look. Then they turned back to the princess.
The figure unsheathed their sword. The blade gleamed blue in the firelight. They raised it, pointing toward the princess's heart. Preparing a killing blow.
Arthur's eyes widened. "No!"
He ran forward. His broken body screaming in protest. His legs barely supporting him. He threw himself between the blade and the princess.
The sword came down.
It broke his remaining blade. Shattered the metal like glass. Broke through his armor. Dug deep into the side of his shoulder. He fell, gasping, blood spraying from the wound.
The figure kicked him out of the way. Arthur flew several feet, crashed into the ground. He gurgled. Blood filled his mouth. He crawled toward the princess, one arm dragging uselessly.
"Please," he cried. "Please don't."
Ayame tried to stand. Her teeth gritted. Her eyes grew red, the transformation beginning. But she had lost too much blood. She collapsed.
A sword appeared at her throat. The figure stood over her, blade steady.
"It is grim. It is dark," the figure said. "But it is necessary. I will kill her."
Arthur crawled on the ground. His face pressed into dirt. Blood trailing behind him.
"The corruptive fate essence has influenced her thread of fate. She is beyond saving. All I can allow her is a swift death devoid of any pain."
The figure looked down at Arthur crawling pathetically across the ground.
"Your name is Fredrick, is it not? Or is it Arthur Alexander?"
Arthur stopped. His breath caught.
"You surprised me. I remember you during the Great Siege, where I was but a platoon member. Many of my comrades fell to you. You moved with such brutal capacity and swordmanship. You were unrivaled."
The figure's voice was soft now. Delicate. But also sharp.
"It is a pity, looking at what you have been reduced to. I shall pry no further into your reasons for desertion, but I vowed to grow strong ever since our encounter so we could meet blades as equals. But I never saw you. I never ran into you. The great legend of the Alexander, the House of Tempest, the great paladin of Materna, gone."
The figure looked toward the princess, evaluating her. They muttered, voice cold and measured.
"I wanted to kill you. To avenge my comrades. However an opportunity present itself in front of me, I see now that I can grant you a fate far worse than death. Seeing the one you shared your oath, your princess that you made the solemn vow to protect, die in front of your eyes."
Arthur spit back. He yelled, voice breaking. "Are you fucking crazy!? She is your highness as well! We serve the same kingdom!"
"That would be true," the figure replied. "But alas, a queen turning into an Unfaithful cannot be permitted to exist. And therefore cannot be fit to rule."
The figure looked back at Arthur.
"I will not kill you. I want you to remember my voice. My name. My vengeance. Know that you failed your empire and another kingdom twice. Know that you remain powerless in front of me, Arthur."
Arthur yelled. "No! Please don't kill her! She is just a kid! Kill me instead!"
"You want me right!? You can have my head!!!" He was on the ground pleading as if he was pleading for his own.
He pleaded. Begged. Crawled forward with his one working arm. As he bled out in the process.
It was dark. It was scary. But it was the brutality of everything laid bare.