The collision didn't make a sound. When the "Unstable White" of Luke's fist met the obsidian glass of Lamina's chest, the universe seemed to hold its breath.
There was no boom, no shockwave—only absence.
For a microsecond, the grey sky of Seishu Academy flickered to a blinding, colourless void, as if the reality of the fight had exceeded the capacity of the world to record it.
CRACK!
The crack didn't come from Lamina's armour.
Luke's left arm began to shatter.
The Morningstar sigil on his hand pulsed instinctively, his energy bleeding inward through his bones as if they were being numbed. The damage was being fragmented. Luke ground his teeth, ignoring the pain he felt as the unstable white energy leapt to his left arm, delivering a tiny crack over the obsidian armour.
Lamina was pushed back, but she stood there still, the obsidian visor hiding her eyes. Her face held no emotion. She drew her spectral blade, wielding it in both hands. She took a knight's stance as the grey world decayed.
'This is bad, using Sextus Trigger as a devil really damaged me.' Luke looked at his left arm and raised it slightly, and a sharp, but brief pain ran through his arm. He could move it, but anything extreme would hinder his arm's movements and fighting his predecessor with one less arm would be giving himself a death sentence.
Lamina didn't wait for him to think. She aimed her blade at Luke's head.
Before Luke could process his thoughts, Lamina dashed, appearing in his space. The thrust of her blade whistled past Luke's cheek barely missing his face with a small tilt of his head.
Luke retreated to the goal post and the distance between him and Lamina's blade increased. "Her reach is already impressive. I can't fight her hand-to-hand, I need a weapon," he mused.
Vianne's magenta eyes scanned Luke's internal structure. They widened in shock at the damage; fractures in his left arm, left shoulder blade and sternum. Crimson cracks bled through his bones and nerves. "He's hurting himself Vera," Vianne said, her eyes filling with worry.
Vera's hand tensed. "How bad is it?" She asked, her eyes settled on Luke. She could tell Luke wasn't stable. She had to step in, but something in her was telling her not to. Her thumb traced nervously over her Master ring.
"His demonic energy is barely holding the damage," Vianne answered. "He sustained damage to his left arm, shoulder blade and sternum. His nervous system is overwhelmed as well."
Ignazio turned to Vianne. "He still chooses to fight even if it's suicide. Tell me Vianne, how long can he keep this up?"
"He has three minutes at most or until reality comes back," Mitoma chimed, adjusting his glasses as he looked at Luke's vitals on his tablet. He handed it to Vera.
Vera took the tablet. Her eyes widened at Luke's condition. Every injury Vianne pointed out was on the screen, "Enough of this!" Vera spat as she raised her slender hand focusing on Luke.
"Vera, you're not planning to–."
Vianne's voice trailed, she saw the look on Vera's face. Words couldn't get to her now, not when one of her servant's lives was on the line.
"I can't protect you with my chains anymore Luke, so use my power to end this." Vera declared. Her Master ring pulsed with a deep violet sheen.
"Resonance."
Her voice crept like weeds through the school grounds. A violet stream of raw demonic power flowed through the track field heading straight for Luke.
As the violet stream erupted from her ring, Vera's posture finally broke. Her skin went deathly pale, the veins in her neck throbbing with the sheer volume of power she was forcing out of her soul.
This wasn't a gift; it was a transfusion. Every ounce of strength she sent to Luke was a piece of her own Morningstar royalty being stripped away.
"Don't... waste it," Vera rasped, her voice trembling for the first time as she slumped slightly, her weight supported only by her sheer will. The "Master" was no longer just watching; she was bleeding right alongside her Vassal.
The violet stream didn't just fill Luke's core; it cauterised his senses. The pain in his shattered sternum didn't vanish, but it was suddenly cocooned in the cold pressure of the Morningstar.
Luke turned to see Vera; weak, pale, and leaning on Vianne near the hole in the clubroom wall.
'She weakened herself for me'. Luke thought, the heat still flowing in his soul. 'I can't lose now. No, I won't lose.'
Luke took a deep breath, putting his hands together. Slowly he brought them apart.
The air condensed in his hands, and white tendrils claimed his surroundings. Veins of white crawled over the entire track field. With a swift drawing motion, his iron-wood Bokutō materialised in his grip. As he took a step, Lamina followed suit.
The Bokutō felt like holding a dying star by the throat. As the violet resonance surged through the wood, the grain began to weep sap that turned into white steam instantly.
Lamina moved—a blur of obsidian and light—but this time, Luke didn't retreat. He stepped into her reach. The air between them shrieked as Vera's energy collided with the cold vacuum of Lamina's presence.
Lamina swung down at Luke's side. Luke pivoted with his left foot, meeting the void blade.
He parried Lamina's blade. He quickly turned, switching grips with the Bokutō in his. The Bokutō slid over the spectral sword.
Lamina slipped. Her momentum had betrayed her as her weight fell to the center of the field.
"Didn't expect that, did you Lamina?" Luke challenged, his mind already figured out Lamina's attempt at a head-on attack.
But the slip didn't last, she recovered immediately sending a lethal slash toward Luke.
Lamina's blade whistled into the empty air, her momentum betrayed by the simple, horizontal shift of Luke's footing. She was a master of reality, but she had underestimated the weight of the resonance.
Luke didn't hesitate. He stepped into the pocket of her guard, his movements devoid of the Morningstar flashiness or the flair of the Apostle.
He moved with the terrifying, rhythmic silence of a pendulum.
He gripped the Bokutō, the wood now weeping white steam as Vera's violet energy fought to stabilise the outseal within the grain. He didn't pull back for a wide swing. He delivered a short, compact thrust—the "Ghost" method of maximising force in minimum space.
Lamina took a half step back. She met the thrust of the Bokutō with her left arm. As they collided, a silent shockwave shot through the entire school. The windows shattered, and a faint sound of the students of Seishu Academy started to slip through the vacuum.
"It seems your reputation as the Sextus isn't for show," Lamina stated, without a shred of acknowledgement in her voice. Lamina's arm twitched, her arm guard disintegrated into dust. Luke stood still. He kept her gaze on Lamina.
The air grew heavy, the rest of the Morningstar house watching the intense stare down between the Sixth Apostle and the Hollowed Saint.
Ignazio's jaw tightened. "Why isn't he attacking? He's wasting an opening." Ignazio muttered. He drew his blade. "Vera-sama, may I have your permission to engage?" Ignazio inquired, as his dense golden aura radiated from his body.
Ignazio didn't wait for the order. He advanced toward Lamina and Luke, who were still stationary. Luke's ears registered the heavy footsteps. He turned, seeing Ignazio marching towards them.
Luke sighed. "Pride. A Knight's foundation, but…" As his gaze lowered, Ignazio's feet ploughed the ground with each step. A true force of stability. "You can't use impulse to fight a Ghost. You need to think, Ignazio ." Luke spat as the broken swords he saw flashed through his mind. The same pride that led to their ends in Rome.
Before Ignazio could get any closer, he felt a soft snowflake sensation on his hand. He didn't bother to look ; "What is it Kiyomi?"
Kiyomi's small hand gripped Ignazio's gently. "Ignazio-san, please… don't. Let Kazama-san fight.
Ignazio's jaw tightened. His golden aura bled out; it corroded the track field like sulphuric acid on skin. The painful years of brutality he went through flooding his mind. Being told that now, was an insult to his mantle.
"Let the Vassal finish this?" Ignazio growled.
"Ignazio..."
The voice was barely a thread of sound, but the hissing of his aura immediately stopped. Vera leaned against Vianne barely standing near the edge of the jagged hole in the clubroom wall; her skin was ghostly pale like porcelain. She didn't look at her Knight; her eyes were locked on the boy at the centre of the field.
"Stand.... down," she breathed, each word sounding like it cost her every second of her life. "This isn't a battlefield anymore. It's a grave for Ghosts. If you step in now, you aren't protecting my honour... you're just getting in his way."
Ignazio's breath hitched. He glanced at the pale Vera, whose eyes were still on Luke. "As you wish," Ignazio conceded; his grip on the hilt of his blade tightened, betraying his irritation. The Knight's pride in him wavered; it felt like a bad dream.
Luke's Bokutō rattled; its iron-wood frame was brittle like sand glass. Lamina didn't wait. She stepped into the frame, leaving a crack on the ground. The smell of myrrh caught his nose.
Lamina delivered a heavy thrust from Luke's blind spot. Luke spun quickly; sliding the blade at his right flank. Lamina's blade met empty air.
Luke tightened his grip on the hilt. The Bokutō descended with an amethyst blaze. Lamina planted her blade to pivot herself. "Not today, Lamina. Time for your lesson." Luke whispered. Lamina braced herself; her sword a line of defence.
The millisecond the Bokutō touched Lamina's carapace, the air froze; as the violet-white resonance bled onto the obsidian armour, turning the white glowing lines ultraviolet.
SHATTER!
The visor on Lamina's face broke, revealing her scarlet glowing eyes.The right arm guard dissolved, leaving a white smoke, like a firepan moving in a church. The decay gnawed at the obsidian armour; exposing the skin of a girl beneath the glass of a hollow shell.
Lamina staggered, her footing interrupted by Luke's attack .
"It's over Lamina, so quit while you still can and accept the reality. You've lost." Luke said calmly; his voice was firm, but it lost the Ghost edge–or rather it was his way of saying she's done enough.
Lamina stood still. Her body shaking from the hits Luke delivered as she watched her corroded carapace wither away into dust. The fabric of her black suit enveloped her again. "Tell me… Luke." His name passed through her lips barely a breath. "How can you still be like this and not look like you weren't a tool to those people?"
"I don't really have an answer to that question. But, I can't say I'm fully free of that place,and yet I am. Does that answer your question Lamina?"
"I see," Lamina answered. As her blade returned to its scabbard; she turned the hands on her watch back. The craters on the track field to the clubroom wall started repairing –or rather rewinding in the aftermath. "I never expected that sort of answer. But remember Luke they won't let us roam free for long."
"I'm aware… it's the Vatican." Luke responded with the serious tone in his voice returning.
Lamina stepped into a crack of the archived grey of Seishu Academy. She turned away to leave. Ignazio stepped forward, "do you really think you can escape after this offence against my Master?" Ignazio drew his blade.
"Regardless of what you think, Knight. My task was to deal with Luke Kazama. You were simply an annoyance to me, so I suggest you cease your mindless advance." Lamina countered sharply, as she disappeared into the void.
The Bokutō screamed with a sharp spike, before breaking like ice.The unstable white energy surrounding him disappeared, his vision blurred. 'Who knew using that would sting my eyes.' Luke thought as he shut his eyes hard and opened them. They burned like they had been doused in citric acid.
SNAP!
Luke's body stiffened. The link between him and Vera reached its limit; Luke collapsed to his right knee. The left side of his blazer was drenched in crimson; blood tickled from his forehead staining his face.
Vera removed herself from Vianne's support and stumbled toward Luke's damaged state; her knees hit the grey grass of the track field. Her hands reached Luke's face, her cold palms enveloping his face. Her thumb traced over his cheek.
"Luke." Vera called to him—her voice a ghost of itself. "Look at me, Luke."
He couldn't, his body was frozen. Raising his head to face her would be like asking him to carry a planet. "Buchou? Are you and the others okay?" Luke asked, his breath ragged and voice cracking. The blood loss drew all colour from his vision.
Vera's hands trembled, her jaw hardening as she pressed her forehead against his. "Ao, get us out of here, Now." Vera commanded, the authority in her voice returning.
Mitoma wasted no time; he rolled the right sleeve of his blazer, revealing a black gauntlet with glowing blue lines. It felt like a circuit board hugging his forearm.
Mitoma tapped its screen, preparing for the extraction."Alright, get ready for Shatter Space."