Back at the center, Marielle and I fought Hels in a dance that escalated into violence so pure it felt like a song. Blades flashed; the hall bent to each strike. I slashed and sent a board ribbing of overdrive wind at Hels, and Hels rolled, a dark comet, and then I surged again, each step a promise of momentum.
Marielle — the blade she held was a symbol more than a weapon — charged like a priestess of winter. Ice-spirit energy chased her edges; every swing left frosting on the air. Lucien found a seam in Hels and slashed. He felt it — that pregnant, ringing certainty of a true cut — and then the world caught the shape of something wrong: Hels flickered where the strike landed and disappeared from Lucien's strike before the wound could finish.
Marielle was exposed.
Time lost the small soft things it needed. There was no time to reach over; Lucien was still mid-flight. Hels appeared at Marielle's flank like a draft and attacked with speed so clean it was obscene. She danced with it for a breath. The blade took her eyes, then her throat with cruelty that felt accidental to the world's design: a clean severing that made the sound of a single fragile thing being unmade.
Marielle's head went flying like a comet of sorrow. My feet hit the ground, and my knees wanted to give in to the loss; I could not catch the falling thread of events. In that final exhalation, Marielle chose something that looked, from the way the air moved, like will: She filled herself with spiritual energy until she was a sun and detonated.
The explosion that tore from her body was not a scream but a hymn. It washed over the field like a blade that never stopped cutting; it left the room empty of sound for a beat, as if the world had to remember breathing again. When the dust cleared, her body was not there. The grey crystal sword, however, had been thrown from her hands by the force of her explosion. It skidded and struck and stopped at my feet. Cracks spidering in the crystal as if the world's memory had scarred it. For a moment, the blade smoked — A shard of moon cracked by god's temper.
The blade, cracked, seemed to look up at me and then at the throne. Fullness. Kariya snapped.
Greed instantly appeared in front of Verne. A single kick was all it took to crash through Verne's Aegis shield and send him flying.
The word bastard tore out of her throat as she vanished, the ground rupturing beneath her heel. Rage drowned out the pain in her ribs, the scream of her soul, the quiet absence where Marielle's presence used to be. There was only Greed. Only that empty-eyed thing floating there like it couldn't even be bothered to respect her fury.
"I'LL TEAR YOU APART—"
Spirit Energy screamed as she summoned her Echo, its shape peeling out of her like a shadow ripped free. At the same time, Truewound ignited along her arm, purple light crawling over bone and muscle, condensing into something sharp, final. The recoil alone made her vision tremble.
She blurred behind Greed.
No—
He'll turn.
She felt it before she saw it. The subtle shift of his aura, the lazy pivot of his shoulders.
Kariya snarled and redirected mid-dash, Phantom Threads snapping into existence and yanking her trajectory violently forward. Space folded around her. One heartbeat, she was behind him—The next, she was right in front of his face.
"Too slow."
With a Phantom Thread–guided punch, she drove Truewound straight into him.
Greed's shield bloomed into existence—translucent, golden-orange, smug—
—and shattered like glass.
The impact screamed up her arm. Bones cracked. Fingers bent the wrong way.
She didn't care.
Her fist punched through the collapsing shield and buried itself in Greed's abdomen.
His body jerked.
His weight left the ground.
"Yes—!"
Greed was lifted cleanly upward, feet dangling, eyes widening just a fraction. And then her Echo appeared above him, elbow cocked back, Truewound flaring.
"DOWN."
The Echo slammed its elbow into Greed's spine.
The shockwave cratered the ground.
Greed was driven into the ground like a meteor, stone exploding outward. Kariya was already moving, Phantom Threads latching onto debris, air, nothing, slingshotting her backward to build momentum. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she twisted midair, condensing everything she had left into one attack.
A Truewound spear formed along her arm, longer, denser, screaming with destructive intent.
"STAY. DEAD."
She fired.
The Phantom Threads snapped her forward like a railgun shot. Space blurred. Sound vanished.
She slammed into Greed's abdomen—
—and instead of piercing, the spear compressed, buckling against him and launching his body backward in a violent arc. He tore through rubble, gouging a trench hundreds of feet long before finally smashing through a broken spire.
Kariya skidded to a stop, panting.
Her arm trembled.
Her fingers throbbed, half-numb.
"…Are you kidding me?" she gasped, disbelief bleeding into hysteria. "What does it take to kill you?!"
Her Echo didn't wait for an answer.
It surged forward, Phantom Threads flaring, Truewound reigniting as it followed up with a spinning kick that caught Greed mid-recovery and blasted him even farther back.
For a moment.
Just a moment.
Kariya thought they had him.
The Echo pressed the assault, blows chaining together, movement feral and relentless. Greed staggered, forced on the defensive, then his wrist blade flashed.
The Echo froze.
A blade was buried clean through its chest.
"No—!"
The Echo shattered into motes of light, dissolving into the air like ash.
At the same time, Kariya's nose started bleeding.
Not a trickle.
A warning.
Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred at the edges.
…Right.
Marielle's gone.
This is what empty feels like.
"Fine," she muttered hoarsely, wiping blood away with the back of her hand—only for more to pour out. "I'll do it myself."
She summoned dozens of Phantom Threads.
They snapped outward in every direction, anchoring to air, rubble, and Greed himself. The strain hit her instantly. Her skull screamed. Her heart felt like it might burst.
Then she moved.
She didn't dash.
She disappeared.
To Greed, she was gone.
To the battlefield, she was a storm.
Kariya hammered him from every angle—punches, kicks, elbows, each strike amplified by Phantom Thread momentum. The world stuttered as she crossed it again and again, impacts detonating across Greed's body.
Move.
Break.
Kill.
Greed tried to track her. Tried to turn.
She saw the opening forming—and she smiled, feral and bloody.
She summoned her Echo again.
Pain lanced through her skull. Her nose gushed blood freely now, dripping down her chin, staining her collar.
"I don't care," she whispered. "I don't care if this kills me."
Echo and original converged, hammering Greed together, blows overlapping, rhythm perfect. Greed's footing faltered. His posture broke.
It's working—
Kariya pulled back, drawing everything she had left into one final motion. Truewound condensed down her arm, heavier than ever, screaming like it wanted to devour her whole.
"DIE!"
She leapt, winding up a downward slam—
—and Greed's eyes locked onto her.
Sharp.
Focused.
Aware.
Her blood ran cold.
'…He can see me..?'
Too late.
A giant glowing orange skewer erupted into existence, forming and firing in the same instant. Lightning-fast.
It impaled her.
It impaled the Echo.
Pain exploded through her chest. Her breath vanished in a wet gasp as blood sprayed from her mouth.
Still—She smiled.
Insane. Broken. Refusing.
"Not… enough…"
Using Phantom Threads, she slid along the skewer, dragging her torn body forward toward Greed. The metal burned. Her organs screamed. Blood poured from her nose like a faucet.
She raised her arm, Truewound flickering weakly.
"I'LL—TAKE—YOUR—EYES—!"
She lunged—
—and Greed's blade flashed again.
Her arm was gone.
The world tilted.
Before she could scream, she grabbed one of his horns with her remaining hand and ripped.
Bone cracked.
The horn snapped off in her grip.
Greed's eyes widened—shock and fury crashing together.
Then his wrist blade came up in an uppercut.
It caught her under the chin.
The sky spun.
Her body went limp.
The skewer exploded.
Orange light swallowed everything.
When the dust settled, a massive crater yawned where she had been.
What remained of Kariya Orvelle fell lifelessly to the ground, her torso torn open, blood soaking into broken stone.
The broken horn was still clenched in her hand.
And for the first time—
Greed looked down at a corpse with something close to anger in his eyes. Then he watched Kariya's soul rise and reach like a moth toward the ceiling.