The final collision between Absinthe and Vance was witnessed from afar, as light erupted through the last night. His suit—reminiscent of a butler's attire yet refined for tactical precision—gave him an air of both calculated sophistication and quiet dominance.
His black hair hung low, neatly framing his face, though no smile was present—only an undercurrent of intrigue, shadowed by the brilliance of Absinthe's final move that lit up the skies.
As the radiance spread, he stood unwavering, embodying both inevitability and restraint. Then, with a measured leap, he vanished into the air, his silhouette dissolving like a retreating shadow, fading into the chaos of the night.
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Vance's body tumbled from the skies, fragments of his debris prison scattering across the surface below, a chaotic ruin of shattered remnants.
Absinthe landed safely, but there was no precision to it—her descent was messy, undefined, dictated by forces beyond full control. The gravity she pulled to soften her fall clashed against her own strength, making the landing clumsy, imperfect, defiant in its struggle against the pull of reality.
She landed bottom-first, her descent rough and ungraceful, as her sword tumbled from her grasp, clattering onto the surface a short distance away. It demanifested in a shimmer, collapsing into a small star, which shot through the air, seeking her body—infusing once more into her natural energy flow.
As Absinthe glanced back, her gaze caught the silent cheers of Synthena, a moment of quiet triumph amidst the chaos.
Celestia stood tall, her silhouette momentarily framed against the night—her face shadowed, her breath uneven, before exhaustion dragged her to her knees. She tilted her head upward, her eyes glistening with restrained tears, the weight of her overused abilities pressing against her muscles, against her will. Yet still—a small defiance lingered in her stance, refusing to let her body betray her completely.
Absinthe glanced away from Celestia, a small, lingering smile on her lips as she recalled the moment of Celestia's quiet triumph. She tilted her head upward, eyes shimmering with joy, and spoke aloud—her voice soft but resolute, carrying through the air.
"You did well."
Her gaze flickered subtly toward Celestia, as if reaffirming the truth behind those words.
Celestia, looking downward, felt a warmth spread through her chest, something close to relief—as if, for once, the weight of her guilt had finally loosened its grip. Her arms trembled, the battle still leaving its mark, but the tears brimming in her eyes were held back by sheer force of will.
She crossed her arms, turning her head sharply away, the very essence of a tsundere's defiance.
"Well, don't get used to it."
Her voice was firm—yet the unspoken truth sat thick in the air. The tears collected in her gaze, refusing to fall, as she silently held onto the emotion, unwilling to let it fully consume her.
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The soldiers surrounding Vance's exhausted body were sent hurtling in all directions, scattered by the sheer force of his presence. His posture slouched, yet his will refused to let this be an embarrassing defeat. Though anger lingered in his aura, shadowing his features, his silver veins barely flickered—a dying light struggling to persist. Still, he stood tall, and from him, pure intimidation radiated.
A few feet away, Absinthe sat, her breathing heavy, until she sprang upward, hand to her side—as if gripping a holster for a sword unseen and unmanifested, an instinct born from battle. Her stance was defensive, solid, unwilling to surrender.
"What? I thought we got him! How is he still standing?"
Synthena's cry broke the moment, her voice edged with disbelief. Celestia, reacting instantly, leapt into position, trying to summon her abilities—but nothing came. Her mind raced, desperation clawing at her thoughts.
"I can't summon my abilities. It won't work."
Vance lifted his gaze, his expression now clear and unwavering, eyes locked onto Absinthe with an indomitable desire to kill. There was no hesitation, no mercy—only a man fueled by anger, dominance, and the absolute need to win.
Then, he moved.
His charge was sloppy, his steps lacking precision as he stumbled—but caught himself before falling.
Absinthe, in turn, rushed forward, her momentum building.
The last redemption.
She gained distance.
He gained distance.
Their war cries rang clear, slicing through the battlefield.
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The Unsuspecting Butler.
Between the two warriors' charge, a figure emerged, intercepting the battle at its breaking point. He was tall, well-groomed, dressed in an outfit that resembled a butler's attire, yet reinforced with tactical materials, merging sophistication with practicality.
Then—a burst of wind struck.
Absinthe flew backward, the force sending her crashing onto the ground a short distance away. Synthena and Celestia rushed to her side, their movements swift, filled with concern.
From the haze of dust and shifting wind, the man's form fully revealed itself.
Vance was frozen mid-run, his momentum shattered—held back by a dozen soldiers, their grip straining against his raw aggression. It was clear that despite his unrelenting ego, the battle was no longer his to continue.
Then, words cut through the tension—sharp, commanding.
"That will be enough of that."
The voice carried weight, firm and demanding.
Celestia's eyes widened, shock flashing across her face. Recognition struck her like lightning, freezing her in place.
She whispered—barely audible, yet undeniable.
"Brother...?"
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His smirk grew wild, eyes glinting at the sight of his sister trembling on her knees, her gaze swiftly turning away—as if refusing to acknowledge his presence.
"Ha! What a surprise—the maggot survived the collision. Yet… you're still a disappointment to the Ruelle name."
His voice dripped with scorn, cutting into the moment like a blade. He scoffed, watching her reaction unfold—the tremble in her stance, the way her breath hitched despite her strength.
Then came Celestia's voice, sharp and cracking with fury.
"What are you doing with them?! You know what they did to us!"
Her words snapped through the tension, but he barely flinched. Instead, his tone remained composed, even amused.
"Oh, sister... There's still so much you need to learn."
That effortless dominance weighed over her, pressing against her resolve.
Absinthe's voice sliced through.
"Wait! Do you know this jerk?!"
Celestia's eyes darkened, but she held herself firm.
"I do. He's my brother..."
Absinthe's stance shifted instantly, her expression flickering with unspoken questions.
"Your brother?" she snapped, the disbelief thick in her tone.
*********************************************************
Celestia's brother smiled, basking in the weight of his own introduction—he thrived on attention, and this moment fed his ego effortlessly.
"What are you doing here, Caesius?! This is my fight, not yours!"
Vance's voice thundered, frustration laced in every word.
Caesius trotted toward Vance, his steps calculated, precise, each one drawing him closer with unnerving control. As he neared, he bent slightly, his gaze locking onto Vance's—while soldiers struggled to hold Vance down, barely restraining his volatile rage.
"The board has called for your collection."
His piercing glare met Vance's seething expression, yet Vance refused to break. He was still determined to fight, even as the restraints held him firm.
"Tell them they can wait! I'm going to burn and scorch these few!"
Vance demanded his release, his body straining against the grip of those restraining him.
Caesius, ever composed, dismissed the outburst with a simple declaration.
"It will have to wait for another time."
That answer snapped something in Vance.
"I'm going to rip your head off your shoulders!"
Caesius smiled at the threat, unbothered. He straightened, turning halfway to face the trio, leaving Vance to simmer in his own frustration.
Without a word, he raised his hand toward the sky—a silent command.
The ground below him shattered, breaking apart with raw force, leaving a crater beneath his feet. In the aftermath, the terrain shifted, forming a floating island, ready to carry them away from the battlefield.
"Until next time, little sister!"
The farewell hung in the air, weightless yet heavy, carried off with the rising island.
Celestia surged forward, her feet pounding against the ground, chasing the retreating form—but the distance grew, slipping beyond reach.
"Wait! I'm not done with you! Get back here, you coward!"
Her voice roared up from below, raw with fury, filled with unspoken history.
Caesius's smile lingered, sharp, amused. His eyes gleamed, reveling in the mischief, defiance, and ego that defined him. He did not respond with words—only a silent, deliberate tsk, a sound that carried both annoyance and finality.
The reunion had been untethered before it could ever take shape, leaving nothing but unfinished tensions and fractured bonds in its wake.
Celestia stood still, her back turned to Absinthe and Synthena. Her gaze remained fixed downward, her hands lifting slightly before clenching into fists, grasping at nothing—nothing but the unbounded emotion that had finally surfaced from its dormant state.
Absinthe and Synthena rushed to her side, their presence grounding the moment, yet neither spoke. Together, they watched the island ascend, carrying away the figure who had shaken Celestia's world once more.
Silence
***************************************************************
The darkness hums with a low, reverberating grumble, like the first stirrings of something ancient.
A familiar face emerges, its presence shifting as the view pans downward, drawing closer.
Then—golden eyes ignite, pulsing with an eerie glow, cutting through the void.
Their gaze frantic, lost, searching—a moment of disorientation, an unraveling of awareness.
Could it be?
Has he finally awakened?