Chapter 466: Consequences
From her relentless exchange with the Pureblood, Serah had pieced together several crucial discoveries.
The first and perhaps most telling was that the demon had yet to reveal its complete form. All the attacks it had unleashed so far, though savage and overwhelming, were merely fragments of its true power—half-measures disguised as devastation. That realization alone meant she had not yet seen the full depths of what the Pureblood was capable of, and that in itself was both alarming and exciting.
The second discovery was far more problematic: the demon possessed the ability to shift its core throughout its body. This made it nearly unkillable, for even a fatal strike could amount to nothing if the core was no longer in that location. It was an insidious advantage, the kind of survival mechanism that turned every exchange into a gamble, forcing her to fight with more precision and patience than ever.
The third revelation, however, leaned in her favor. Her flames, her very essence as the Phoenix, inflicted more than just physical damage. They interfered with the demon’s regenerative ability, slowing its healing drastically. Where wounds should have sealed within an instant, they burned for several seconds, resisting the demon’s natural restoration. It was a discovery Serah herself had never known until this very battle—that her fire carried with it a force not just of destruction but of suppression, searing into the very fabric of the demon’s unnatural vitality.
And the last, perhaps the most telling of all, was the Pureblood’s intent. It was no longer toying with her. Unlike its kind, who thrived on cruelty, torment, and stretching out the suffering of their prey, this one pressed for a swift kill. It lunged, struck, and fought with a desperation that betrayed its nature. This was not the behavior of a predator at play—it was the behavior of one forced out of its rhythm. And Serah had a very clear suspicion as to why: Marcus.
From the very moment the demon had laid eyes on him, Serah had noticed the tremor in its aura, the shift in its demeanor. The Pureblood— the most cunning and ruthless of its breed—had been unsettled, even frightened, at the sight of the dark mage who lounged so carelessly above them. Though curiosity gnawed at her, whispering for her to unravel what it was about Marcus that could shake such a creature to its core, Serah knew better than to lose focus.
She pushed the thought aside, at least for now, and turned that knowledge into a weapon. The Pureblood was not fighting on its terms—it was reacting, compromised, stripped of the cruel patience its kind was notorious for. And that, Serah knew, was the path to victory. The only way to kill this demon was to force it to suffer the consequences of abandoning its nature, to crush it beneath the weight of its own fear, and to bleed it dry while it flailed outside its comfort zone.
***
The forest quaked as the clash between Serah and the Pureblood reached its terrifying crescendo. Each impact of claw against steel, flame against blood, rippled through the ground like miniature quakes, shattering roots and sending bark and leaves spiraling into the air. The Pureblood’s body had swollen grotesquely, its muscles bulging beneath crimson skin like living cords of iron, black veins pulsing with unholy vigor. From its back, dozens of blood tendrils lashed outward in wild arcs, impaling trees, snapping trunks, and ripping gaping scars across the battlefield. Each tendril hardened into jagged spikes, hurling themselves at Serah with killing intent, while others writhed like serpents, seeking to ensnare her.
Serah met the onslaught with rising flame. Her aura blazed higher, each breath she drew fanning the inferno around her. Her claymore gleamed, wrapped in a mantle of fire so intense that the air distorted, shimmering as though reality itself bent beneath the heat. She weaved between the raining blood spikes, her boots tearing gouges in the scorched earth with every evasive step. When one tendril came too close, she slashed in a clean arc, flames devouring it before it could touch her. Yet for all her grace and precision, the force of the demon’s attacks battered the forest around her into ruin.
The Pureblood pressed harder, abandoning the usual cunning of its kind. Its movements were erratic, feral—closer to the brutish frenzy of a Redblood. It hurled itself into melee again and again, claws carving furrows in the ground, tendrils snapping like whips in a storm. Its golden eyes burned with murderous frenzy as it snarled, "Fall already, wretch! Your flames won’t save you forever!"
Each strike came with reckless intent to kill. Serah, however, did not match its fury with equal aggression. Instead, she held herself to the defense, her claymore rising and falling in sweeping parries. She turned aside claws with sparks, sidestepped thrusting tendrils, rolled beneath a cleaving swipe that shattered a tree in half. To the untrained eye, she looked pressed—her flames straining, her body marked by fresh cuts that bled through her skin. Yet beneath the veil of vulnerability, Serah’s mind remained razor sharp.
She saw it. The cracks in its rhythm. The desperation mounting in each attack. This was not the careful predator of legend. This was a beast forced into a corner, snarling not out of dominance, but out of fear. And Serah, the Phoenix of Solara, knew how to turn fear into a weapon.
So she made herself vulnerable. She loosened her stance, let her guard dip just enough. The demon’s predatory eyes widened, sensing weakness. It struck—two blood slashes, crimson crescents that hummed through the air with deadly precision. One carved across her abdomen, the other slashed into her shoulder, blood spilling freely as the edges of the wounds pulsed with venom. The Pureblood grinned wickedly, black tongue licking its lips. "Yes... bleed for me, princess. Soon you’ll choke on your own fire."
But then came the shift.
Before the poison could seep deep, Serah’s flames roared inward, devouring the corruption in an instant. Steam hissed from her wounds as flesh sealed with the heat, blood evaporating before it could even stain the soil. Her crimson eyes ignited brighter than before, and the air itself trembled as her power surged. A blaze erupted from her back, coalescing into great wings of living fire that unfurled with a thunderous crack. Her hair became a mane of flame, her claymore a searing pillar of incandescent wrath. The forest, already battered, seemed to bow beneath the sheer radiance of her ascension.
The Pureblood froze. A primal dread sank into its gut as the princess it thought weakened now advanced, cloaked in fire like a goddess of war. Then she moved.
Serah blurred forward in a streak of flame, her claymore a burning arc that cleaved downward. The demon barely raised its tendrils to block before the fire severed them, scattering chunks of burning blood across the clearing. She struck again, a diagonal slash that rent across its chest, flames embedding into the wound and slowing its regeneration. The demon staggered back, eyes wide as attacks rained down in rapid succession. Each strike came faster than the last, a storm of fiery cuts so swift the air screamed with their passage.
Realizing it couldn’t keep up, the Pureblood chose its final gambit. It shifted its core. Deep inside its flesh, the essence of its life darted frantically from one place to another—shoulder, thigh, abdomen, chest—dodging death at the last possible instant. Every time Serah’s blade pierced a vital spot, the demon grinned through blood, its body reforming, its life intact. "You can’t kill what you can’t find!" it roared defiantly.
But Serah’s gaze remained cold. She had already read it. From the very beginning of the fight, she had studied every twitch, every hesitation, every flare of mystic energy. The core’s movements, though erratic, had a rhythm—one only her analytical mind could trace amidst the chaos. The demon’s supposed invincibility had already been unraveled, strand by strand, by her unyielding focus.
The Pureblood lunged again, claws spread wide, desperate to finish her before she struck true. Serah pivoted smoothly, her flames flaring outward to blind it, and then—she struck. Her claymore plunged in a sweeping, elegant arc, flames spiraling around the blade like a blazing comet.
The demon froze mid-attack, its golden eyes widening in horror as the blade drove through its chest. For a heartbeat, it thought it had shifted the core out of reach. But then it felt it—flame not cutting flesh, but piercing essence. Serah’s fire had followed its rhythm, predicted its evasion, and struck where it thought itself safest.
"No... impossible..." it rasped, blood bubbling from its lips as fire surged through its body. The flames erupted from within, coursing along its veins, bursting from its tendrils, incinerating it piece by piece.
Serah twisted the claymore free with elegance, her fiery wings flaring high as the Pureblood screamed. In a blinding column of fire, its body disintegrated into ash and molten remnants, leaving nothing but scorched earth and a faint echo of its howl.
The forest fell silent, save for the crackle of lingering flames licking the ruined battlefield. Serah stood in the center of it all, her claymore lowered, her burning eyes steady and unflinching. She exhaled once, steam curling from her lips as the fire around her slowly receded.
The Pureblood was no more.