The Devil of Light's face twitched for a fraction of a second.
His hand, still glowing faintly, flickered with unstable light. A minor stutter—but one Chalice noticed instantly.
Chalice straightened, the divine thread between their souls humming. The sword of light that had pierced him had already dissolved—unmade not by force, but by refusal. He had erased it, strand by strand, with a will that denied pain and dismissed death.
The silence between them ended in a single mutter from the Devil of Light.
"…That bastard."
With a wave of his hand, light exploded around him again—this time not in elegant arcs or lances, but in raw chaos. As if his own control had cracked under pressure.
They clashed again.
No more words.
Chalice surged forward, divine energy swirling around his blade like a comet's tail. He struck with precision—the kind that didn't chase power but embodied it. Every swing was a statement. Every dodge, a paragraph written in the air.
The Devil of Light countered. Fists radiating with layered beams, he moved like light itself—instant, absolute. They flickered between places, between dimensions, across the shattered remains of the city in blinks of impossible speed.
But Chalice matched him.
He didn't teleport. He didn't phase.
He read.
He predicted.
He closed gaps not with speed—but with knowing.
Steel met raw divinity. Sparks exploded in every direction as their silhouettes tore through what was left of the city skyline. Ruined buildings collapsed behind them in slow-motion compared to their velocity. Light bent. Reality bent. And through it all—the thread remained.
Tight.
Unbroken.
Unrelenting.
Then, the Devil of Light skidded back, boots grinding across shattered stone. He was breathing now. Not deeply. But he was breathing. The energy leaking from his fingers told a quiet story. Soul Tie was real.
"Enough."
He raised one hand.
No pose. No theatrics.
Just intention.
From the air around him, a sword of pure light began to form—twisting like sunfire molded by fingers older than time. But this one… it didn't aim at Chalice.
It pointed upward.
Dozens of threads spiraled outward from it.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
The sword multiplied, fractal patterns of light blossoming across the sky—until it looked like a divine forest of blades.
Each one connected to a soul.
Every surviving citizen of the ruined continent had a sword of light forming above their head.
Chalice's eyes narrowed.
The Devil of Light's hand trembled. His face didn't show it, but the Soul Tie screamed against him now. This was overextension. This was ego drawn past the edge of reason.
Still—he smiled.
"Let's see how far your trick goes."
And then—
Boom.
The light ignited the sky.
But it didn't reach far.
Across the battlefield—Juno's blade lashed upward, cleaving through the sword meant for him with a single slash.
"Too slow," he grinned, blood still dripping down his sleeve.
Nearby, Dem Oche turned, sensing the incoming threat. A faint gleam of his rapier—and another blade of light exploded into shards.
At the base of the ruined tower, still a streak of blue across the earth, Niko lifted his hand, a tendril snapping out like a whip of stormlight.
It coiled upward and snapped the blade aimed at him in half before it could even hum.
The swords collapsed.
Not all of them—but enough.
The Devil of Light faltered.
Just slightly.
His hand lowered.
And chalice was absolutely devastated.
The sky wept with golden embers.
The last of the light swords evaporated into streaks, curling into nothingness above the ruined continent. For a heartbeat, everything stilled—no wind, no noise, just pressure.
Chalice stood tall, blood matted into his collarbone, divine radiance swirling in gentle spirals off his frame. The Soul Tie still connected them—thread taut, pulsing with every violation of his law.
Across from him, the Devil of Light lowered his hand. Not in defeat. But in calculation. His golden eyes didn't glow—they shimmered. Like oil over fire.
"You almost stopped me," he said, voice quiet.
Chalice didn't respond.
The Devil of Light gestured at the still-smoking horizon. "They screamed. Did you hear them?"
Silence.
"Maybe not all of them died. But enough, right?" The Devil tilted his head. "Is that the rhythm now? Always just enough death?"
Chalice's gaze remained still. But inside, something stirred.
"You've done this before," the Devil whispered. "When the Northern Banner fell."
That hit.
The wind changed—sharp now. Bitter.
The Devil of Light grinned faintly. "You were supposed to be their god. Their sword. And what did you do? Let me burn them. One by one. You watched."
Chalice's fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade.
"You held a broken banner," the Devil continued, circling now. "Cradled corpses like they were still praying. But they weren't praying. They were ash. You failed. Like you just failed again."
Chalice stepped forward.
"You think because your soul's tied to mine," the Devil said, "that makes you my equal?"
"No," Chalice said. His voice cracked like thunder behind calm breath.
"I'm not your equal."
His eyes ignited, divine essence coiling down his arms like living veins of gold.
"I'm your correction."
They moved.
The Devil blurred first, closing the space in an instant—but Chalice was already twisting beneath the strike, his blade brushing the blow just enough to redirect it, not with force but with grace. He slid past, spun, and struck high.
Clang.
Their swords clashed—if it could even be called that. The Devil had summoned a narrow crescent blade, pure light turned to edge. Chalice's steel sparked as it scraped against radiance, and then the two broke apart again, landing in mirrored stances across shattered stone.
Chalice inhaled deeply.
"You think I didn't learn from that day?" he said, eyes locked. "You think I buried the Northern Banner and forgot?"
He stepped forward again.
"That failure built me."
He slashed—but not at the Devil. At the air.
Essence pulsed. Light warped. Chalice's movement bent the very law of space.
The Devil of Light barely parried the next blow, but stumbled back—off-balance for the first time.
Chalice pointed his sword at him.
"I didn't come here to protect this city," he said. "I came to end what began with you."
The Devil of Light looked up, face unreadable.
"…Then die trying."
They vanished into another clash—no more room for talk, only the sound of war echoing in divine rhythm.