The blade stopped inches from Sarissa's face.
Her hands trembled around it, catching the flat of the impossible edge between her palms. It scorched like lightning. The pain was instant, blistering, cutting deep, but she held it back with a cry born of too many deaths to count.
The younger version of her, ragged, bloodstained, merciless, pressed down harder. Her eyes were wild, her teeth clenched.
No skill name, no system prompt, no calculated tactic, just raw intent.
Just the will to kill.
Sarissa screamed and twisted.
She turned the blade to the side, throwing her younger self off-balance. The girl stumbled, and Sarissa rolled to her feet, blood dripping from her scorched hands, her breath heaving.
The pain was real. More real than any wound she'd felt outside this inner sanctum. Because this one wasn't carved into her flesh alone.
It was carved into her soul.
