Azazel came at me without warning.
No roar.
No flourish.
Just motion.
Steel met claw, and the impact rang through my arms like a bell struck too hard. I barely had time to adjust my footing before the next blow came from the opposite angle—low, fast, meant to open me up. I twisted, parried, felt the edge of my sword scream as it slid along something that wasn't flesh so much as compressed violence.
This wasn't the same as before.
He was trying now.
Not fully—but enough.
I caught another strike, then another, then another. Each parry shaved something off me. Not blood—yet—but timing. Breath. Focus. My wrists burned. My shoulders screamed. Every block sent a tremor through my bones, like the chamber itself was protesting my existence.
Then I felt it.
Too slow.
A claw slipped past my guard and tore across my side. Pain flared hot and immediate, like fire dragged under my ribs. I grunted, barely managing to turn the follow-up into a glancing hit—but not before a second gash opened across my shoulder, deeper than the first.
Blood ran warm down my arm.
Azazel stepped back half a pace, head tilting.
There it was.
That shift.
The pressure in the chamber thickened, like the air itself had decided to side against us. Jaki pulsed outward from him in heavy waves, dark and oppressive, crawling over the stone, the murals, the broken pillars. It pressed against my aura—not clashing, not exploding—
Overtaking.
My light-blue aura flickered, crackles of white thunder snapping erratically as the ocean within me churned, unsettled. I could feel it being pushed back, compressed, like tide against a rising wall.
Not yet, I thought.
Please—not yet.
I stole a glance behind me.
Kazen was still standing—barely—bow drawn, breathing ragged, eyes sharp despite the blood on his brow. Aldred stood closer to the others, blade low but ready, body positioned between Azazel and the rest of Class 1-S.
The rest of them…
They were alive.
That was the only victory left.
Azazel moved again, faster this time. I parried, retreated, adjusted—defending, not advancing. My mind shifted gears without asking permission.
This isn't about winning.
This is about time.
An arrow screamed past my shoulder.
Kazen.
The shaft shimmered mid-flight, mist wrapping around it, water reinforcing its trajectory—then my own aura flared, instinctive, latching onto it like a current finding familiar flow. The arrow struck Azazel's shoulder—
And he staggered.
Not much.
But enough.
The impact landed deeper than it should have, the combined pressure of mist, water, and my aura biting into something real. Azazel's grin twitched.
I saw it.
That wasn't immunity.
That was resistance.
My heart kicked harder. There—right there. A weak point. Or at least something close enough to one.
I started calculating. Angles. Timing. Distance.
Too slow.
Azazel's knee drove into my chest before I could react.
The world inverted.
I felt myself leave the ground, smash into the ceiling hard enough to crack stone, my body pinned there for a heartbeat—maybe two—before gravity remembered me.
I fell.
Hit.
Everything went white.
I tried to breathe and failed. My vision swam, blood flooding my mouth, my ears ringing so loudly I thought the chamber was collapsing again. My limbs didn't respond when I told them to move.
I was on the ground.
Stuck.
Helpless.
Through the haze, I saw Azazel turn away from me.
Toward Kazen.
No.
He was there in an instant, fingers closing around Kazen's arm, lifting him like weight meant nothing. Kazen struggled, teeth clenched, breath sharp—but he was already spent.
Azazel looked at me.
Smiled.
Understanding hit me like ice.
"No—!" I shouted, voice breaking.
Crack.
The sound was wrong. Too clean. Too final.
Kazen screamed as Azazel snapped his right arm like dry wood, then tossed him aside. Kazen hit the wall near the others and didn't get up, bow clattering uselessly across the stone.
Something inside me broke loose.
Aldred moved.
He slashed Azazel across the back, blade carving a line through black flesh—but it wasn't deep enough. Never deep enough. Azazel turned and kicked him full-force.
Aldred flew.
Hit the mural-covered wall hard enough to leave a crater.
Silence followed.
Not the calm kind.
The kind that means something terrible is about to happen.
Azazel turned back toward the class.
Toward them.
God damn it.
Get up.
I slammed my hand against my leg. Nothing. Pain flared, useless.
Get up.
My vision blurred, then sharpened again through sheer refusal.
Get up. NOW.
Azazel took a step forward.
I panicked—not screaming, not flailing—but something tighter, colder. I couldn't let this end with me watching. I wouldn't.
I won't allow myself to dull before the hands of this demon.
I clenched my sword.
I'll gamble.
I'll bet it all—right now.
Because if I don't, we all die.
Pulse.
The chamber trembled.
Azazel froze mid-step, head snapping toward me.
"What…?" he muttered.
I rose.
Slowly.
Blood soaked my clothes. My body screamed at me to stop. Aura leaked from me in erratic waves, flickering across my skin, my blade, my eyes. White thunder snapped uncontrolled, the ocean within me surging violently.
Azazel stared.
"How are you standing?" he asked, genuinely curious now. "Are you really human?"
He laughed.
I didn't answer.
I ran.
Every step felt like tearing myself apart from the inside, but I pushed anyway. My aura lashed outward—not focused, not refined—just everywhere. Filling the chamber. Seeping into cracks, rubble, dust.
Azazel's eyes widened a fraction.
He saw it.
I didn't hear what he said, but it sounded like..
"*** ********..?"
The dust cloud from where he'd slammed Theon earlier—my aura had spread through it, clinging to every particle, every fragment of stone and air.
The arrow.
The coordination.
Understanding clicked too late.
I slashed.
Everything I had went into that cut. Water. Thunder. Will. Spite.
The blade carved deep across his chest.
Azazel staggered back, laughter bursting out of him as blood poured freely down his torso.
"Well," he said, voice rich with delight, "you are no little knight."
He cracked his neck, straightened, wings flexing.
"I'll take you seriously now."
My fist clenched.
It still wasn't enough.
He drew back his arm.
And the world narrowed to the space between us as his punch came down—