Chapter 471: Perfect Clarity (2)
As the battle went on, the air thickened with pure malice, the battlefield trembling under the pressure of the merged demon’s rising fury. Its six horns glowed like molten iron, its veins bulged with streams of blackened crimson, and its claws flexed with murder’s resolve. The beast no longer cared for elegance or cruelty—no longer toying with its prey. It wanted annihilation. Its towering form bellowed a guttural roar, so deep the stones beneath Serah cracked, the sound splitting the air like thunder.
With reckless abandon, the monster swung one colossal fist wreathed in jagged blades of hardened blood. The sheer force distorted the air, and when it struck the ground, a shockwave burst outward, tearing earth and stone as if they were parchment. Serah vaulted upward, wings flaring wide, the flames trailing off her feathers streaking like meteors. She countered by slashing her claymore downward, a torrent of fire slicing through the crimson blades, shattering them into raining shards that hissed as they melted on the ground.
But the demon pressed harder. From its gaping maw, it unleashed torrents of blood-fire—corrupted myst igniting its own essence—searing through the battlefield in an unending wave. The smell of burnt iron filled the air as it carved through the landscape. Serah twisted midair, wings wrapping around her body, creating a fiery cocoon that split the stream in half. Yet the strain on her form deepened, every defensive move feeding the fatigue creeping at the edges of her clarity.
The demon’s attacks grew faster, less calculated—wild crescents of blood-forged weapons flying in every direction. Spears jutted from the ground in chaotic clusters. Axes spun through the air like guillotines. Whips lashed like serpents. It was a storm of sharpened carnage, tearing up terrain until the land looked as if an army had raged across it for centuries. And still, Serah fought with precision. She slashed, parried, and burned each weapon to ash, her claymore singing with fire each time steel met blood-forged edge. But she saw it now—saw through the chaos.
The pattern.
It was no longer fighting to live. Each strike was a gamble, uncaring if it tore its own limbs or burned its reserves dry. The merged demon’s every move screamed desperation, an overwhelming desire to drag her down even if it meant drowning itself. A suicide mission. Serah’s heart clenched at the realization. She could endure—but endurance meant nothing if her flames died before the final strike was dealt.
Her golden eyes narrowed, blazing suns locked on the towering monstrosity. She had to end it. No prolonged fight. No hesitation. One strike, decisive and absolute.
The demon roared again, tearing free its own ribs and reshaping them into colossal scythes dripping with ichor. With a single step, it warped forward unnaturally fast, bringing both weapons down in a crushing arc meant to cleave earth and sky alike. Serah did not retreat. Instead, she surged straight into the heart of its strike, her wings blazing wider, her claymore glowing white-hot, every ounce of her myst compressed into its core.
Steel and fire met blood and bone in a blinding collision. For an instant, the world stilled—light and shadow colliding in perfect balance. Then Serah twisted, her body flowing like liquid fire. She dodged the left scythe by a breath, pivoted on her heel, and slammed her flaming wings outward. The eruption staggered the demon, flames gnawing at its corrupted form.
"This ends now." Her voice thundered, carrying the authority of a god.
Channeling her entire being, she launched skyward, wings stretching their full span, fire raining like molten stars behind her. Her claymore pulsed, veins of searing white cracks running through its length, screaming with uncontainable energy. She spun once in the air, gathering speed, and then descended in a blazing dive, a comet of destruction aimed at the demon’s chest.
The beast shrieked, thrashing, whipping tendrils of blood in desperate defense. But Serah cut through them all, her blade splitting each lash into mist before it could touch her. The demon raised its scythes in a cross-guard, trembling under her oncoming fury.
But it was too late.
Her claymore cleaved through the weapons, shattered them, and buried itself deep into its heart. Flames detonated from the impact, bursting outward in a cataclysmic eruption that swallowed the monster whole. The explosion tore the air apart, sending shockwaves through the ruins, reducing earth to slag, and blanketing the battlefield in unrelenting fire.
The demon’s roar turned into a gurgled scream, its body convulsing as fire consumed it from within. Its six horns melted like wax, its massive frame crumbling as blood evaporated in clouds of steam. With one final howl of rage and disbelief, the monstrosity collapsed, its form disintegrating into ash that scattered with the heat of Serah’s flames.
She stood in the center of the inferno, wings spread wide, victorious. The Phoenix of Solara, blazing in her full, terrifying glory.
But victory carried its toll.
Her flames wavered, their once-devouring hunger now flickering, shrinking against the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. The claymore dimmed, cracks sealing shut as its energy bled out. Her wings folded inward, fire dripping away like dying embers. Slowly, the blazing form peeled off her, leaving her standing in her mortal body once more—sweat dripping, cuts stinging, her breathing shallow but steady.
Serah gazed around her. The battlefield was unrecognizable—charred craters, melted stone, the stench of scorched blood. She had destroyed everything in her path. For a moment, pride and relief mixed within her. She had won. The demons were gone.
Then her knees buckled.
Her vision swam, the edges blurring into darkness. Her body trembled, the aftermath of channeling her Phoenix state striking her all at once. She tried to steady herself, to plant her claymore into the ground, but her strength gave way. The sword slipped from her grasp with a dull clang, and she collapsed.
Flat on the scorched earth, her breaths came shallow, her heartbeat thundered faintly in her ears. As her consciousness slipped away, her dimming eyes caught movement above her—a figure. Pure darkness, tall and unwavering, its shape blurring against the flames as though it absorbed the light itself.
The shadow loomed over her, silent and imposing. She wanted to raise her sword, to ask who it was, but her body refused to move. Darkness crept in fully now, the last of her vision slipping away.
And with that, Serah Magna—the Phoenix of Solara—fell into unconsciousness.