The school day was a familiar, rhythmic hum of low chatter and class lessons. It was Tuesday, two days after Luke's battle against his senpai, Jumonji, and the energy in the air had returned to its usual rhythm. Kuze and Ichirou were at it again, their playful arguments echoing down the hallway, but Luke was in his own quiet world, his gaze fixed on the outside.
Ichirou came up to Luke, his voice low and a hint of seriousness in his tone. "Hey, Luke," he said. "That Pawn Shot ability... it's really something, huh?" He spoke vaguely, a habit they all had around humans. "Where'd you pick up something like that?"
Luke gave a vague answer, but his mind was elsewhere. He noticed Yuma on the desk beside his, her expression unsettlingly still. She may not have shown it on her face, but her eyes couldn't lie. They were distant and troubled, a stark contrast to her usual serene composure. He knew something was up.
After the school day ended and all the lessons came to a close, Yuma gathered her things and hurriedly left the class.
"Something's up with her," Ichirou said, watching her go.
Kuze nodded in agreement. "She's been withdrawn all day. You might need to check on her, Luke."
Luke, already walking out with his bag, didn't even turn around. "Way ahead of you," he said.
He caught up to her on the path outside, his stride long and purposeful. "Something's wrong. What is it?"
Yuma attempted to walk ahead of him, quickening her pace. "I don't know what you're talking about," she insisted, her voice tight.
Luke grabbed her wrist gently, his touch firm but not aggressive. He called her name. "Yuma."
She stopped and turned back, her eyes meeting his. "What?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out and touched the side of her face, his thumb tracing a gentle line on her cheek. Yuma's eyes widened, flustered by his sudden gesture, but she found a strange sense of comfort in it. She closed her eyes as she felt his touch, her inner thoughts racing.
Why are you like this, Luke? You make it look like I haven't done anything wrong to you.
"Were you always this kind?" she asked, her voice soft and vulnerable.
Luke smiled, a small, knowing expression on his face. He didn't give her a direct answer, just a soft, vague affirmation that she could interpret as she wished. Yuma smiled back, a genuine, if fleeting, expression.
"Of course," she said, "what did I expect other than a vague answer?" She then reached up, touching the hand Luke had placed on her face. "Can I talk to you a bit?"
Luke simply nodded. He led her to a quiet park nearby, where they found an empty bench under the shade of a large tree. The afternoon light filtered through the leaves, casting long, peaceful shadows. Yuma sat down, her hands fidgeting in her lap, and took a deep, shaky breath. Luke waited, his presence a calm anchor in her stormy thoughts.
"Can I be selfish and lean on your shoulder?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. The question wasn't just about physical comfort; it was about trust. She was asking to drop her guard, to let him see the fear she had been hiding.
Luke didn't hesitate. He simply nodded, and his posture shifted, making it easier for her to rest her head on his shoulder. Her head settled gently against him, her hair brushing his cheek. She closed her eyes, and the silence stretched on for a long time, filled only with the soft sounds of the park.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low and fragile. "I know," she began, her words barely audible. "I noticed the day after you started at school. You feel… different."
Luke's heart gave a soft thump against his ribs. She had noticed. Of course she had. He had been so focused on his new reality, he hadn't considered how it might appear to an outsider. "What did you notice?" he asked gently.
"Your energy," she whispered. "It was... demonic, but familiar. Like a human soul was holding the power of a devil. I'd never felt anything like it." She shifted her head slightly, her voice filled with a new, quiet curiosity.
"I'm a fallen angel. I can feel these things, but you already know that. The question is… how?"
Luke offered a vague response, a soft, simple truth. "I died. I was given a new life."
Yuma went quiet again, absorbing his words. She had asked a question, and Luke had trusted her with the answer. That simple act seemed to give her the courage to continue. Her fingers, which had been clenched, slowly relaxed.
"I haven't talked to anyone about this since… since I fell," she began, the word "fell" heavy with the weight of her past. "Fallen angels… we don't really have friends. Only allies.
We're all driven by one thing—a desperate need to survive. We do what we have to do, no matter the cost." Her fingers clenched into a fist again, a subtle tremor running through her arm. "And sometimes... what we have to do... is unforgivable."
Yuma's voice tightened, a raw, bitter emotion rising to the surface. "My sister, Kyra… she and I were born to a mother who was one of the Grigori. We were half-human, half-angel. My mother… she was an outcast. She fell for a human, and gave up her place, her power, everything for him. But some of the Grigori… they don't see that as love. They see it as a sin."
Yuma's voice tightened, a raw, bitter emotion rising to the surface. "They believe that the Grigori who fell for humans are nothing but failures, corrupting a sacred lineage. And one of them… Lamina Mortis… he's a descendant of Tamiel, one of the leaders of the Grigori. He believed our mother's life was a stain on their kind. He was obsessed with cleansing it. He found her, and he killed her in front of us. He told us we were a disgrace. He said he would ruin our lives just like he ruined hers. He took Kyra… my sister. He told me she was to be his aid, a pawn in his war, and that if I ever interfered, he would kill her just like he did our mother."
Yuma's grip on her blazer tightened, her knuckles turning white. "I was a fledgling. I tried to fight him. He laughed. He beat me… and then I ran. I abandoned my sister. I ran for years, a coward. I abandoned my sister. That is my unforgivable act." She then closed her eyes, and Luke noticed a faint symbol appear on her wrist. The symbol started to burn and hurt her, but she endured the pain.
"Now I'm making the same mistake as my mother," she whispered, her voice filled with despair, and Luke knew she wasn't talking about becoming a fallen angel. "I'm forming a bond with a human… a human who became a devil. And I won't let my sister die like my mother did."
Luke reached out and gently took Yuma's hand in his, his thumb stroking the back of her palm. He watched the burning symbol on her wrist, and he didn't try to heal it, because he couldn't. Instead, he simply held her, his presence a quiet, steadfast force against the pain she was feeling. He watched as the symbol slowly faded and disappeared, leaving no trace behind.
"The way you say it, you make it sound as if you caused this, but you didn't. You didn't do anything wrong," Luke said, his voice soft and warm. "You were a child. You survived. That's not a sin. But if you think that it is... then I'll share your burden."
Yuma's eyes widened, a flicker of raw emotion passing through them. She pulled her hand from his grip, her voice laced with an irritation that masked a deeper confusion. "But why?" she asked, her tone sharp, almost accusing. "I tried to kill you! And even worse, that man used my sister to do it. Then he did it himself! I was his to command, used to do his bidding... and yet you forgive that?" Her words were a desperate plea, a plea for him to see her as the monster she saw herself as.
Luke remained calm, his expression soft but firm. "I don't really forgive that," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Nor do I think what you did to me wasn't wrong. I mean," he added, a hint of his usual dry humor returning with a wry smile, "killing me on sight was kind of awkward."
Yuma's shoulders slumped. She looked away, a wave of guilt washing over her. She couldn't find the words to counter him.
Luke waited a moment, then reached out and gently took her hand in his again. His touch was a quiet, steadying presence.
"But," he continued, his voice serious once more, "there's more to you than what Lamina Mortis says you are. Sure, you call your past doings unforgivable, and you may live with that, but let me ask you something."
He looked her straight in the eye, his gaze intense and unwavering. "What do you want? Tell me, and I will do everything in my power to make sure it happens." His words were not a hollow promise but a declaration, a fundamental part of his nature as a pawn dedicated to his king's cause, now directed entirely at her.
Yuma's heart hammered in her chest at Luke's words. Her mind screamed in protest, a desperate internal monologue taking over. She felt a connection to him she had never felt with anyone before, an acceptance that felt both profound and terrifying. Luke, you idiot! Why do you have to be so kind? You need to stop before I end up falling for you, and he ends up killing you like he did my mother.
A genuine, fragile smile slowly spread across her face, the first he had ever seen from her. The fear and guilt that had been haunting her for years finally receded, replaced by a flicker of hope. She took a deep breath, the decision clear in her mind. She touched the hand that he had placed on her face, but she didn't remove it.
"Thank you, Luke," she said, her voice filled with a newfound purpose. "Now I know what I want."
Just as the words left her mouth, a sharp, cold presence descended over the park. The gentle hum of the afternoon faded, and the light seemed to dim, replaced by a suffocating malevolence.
"Someone is here," Luke said calmly, his voice low. He didn't turn to Yuma but instead scanned the trees around them.
Out of nowhere, a bunch of shadowy figures appeared, each one wielding a dagger with a serrated, venomous-looking blade. The blades glistened ominously in the dim light. Yuma instinctively stood up, her body tensing, while Luke remained utterly calm, his gaze fixed on the shadows.
He was fed up with this game.
"Alright, just come out already," Luke said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I don't really think hiding suits you at this point... Lamina Mortis." He said his name with a cold intensity, a statement of fact rather than a question.
A figure stepped out from behind a large oak tree. Lamina Mortis appeared, his golden-brown hair flowing in a nonexistent breeze. He was dressed in a long coat with a suit underneath, and a total of ten wings, black as a raven's, were now visible, fanning out behind him. A dark blue aura emanated from him, and his purple eyes radiated an immense, chilling intensity.
Luke and Yuma felt his immense power, a suffocating force that threatened to crush them.
As if he's confirmed something, Luke thought to himself, his mind racing to connect the dots. So if he did kill her mother, it probably means Tamiel took her position and Lamina Mortis has risen to the ranks. Wow, there is something wrong with that man. But let's hope he doesn't give me a reason to kill him, or I might make enemies of the Grigori, or Tamiel specifically. And the President is not going to like that.
Luke then looked up at him, a cold, empty stare in his eyes. "What do you want? Wasn't killing me once enough, or do you enjoy ruining people's lives?"
Lamina ignored the question, a lazy, amused smile spreading across his face. "Ah, Luke Akuma. I see you're a devil now," he said with an air of theatrical pity. "I thought I put an end to you, but you survived. I'm impressed. And you became a devil... what a shame. You and those apostles' eyes of yours would have been a good asset to me.
Luke's calm demeanor was a mask. He was sick of the condescending talk. "Cut the small talk," he said, his voice flat and steady, a sharp blade against Lamina's feigned grace. "I don't have time for you to brag, 13th of the Grigori."
The smile vanished from Lamina's face. The lazy amusement was gone, replaced by a sudden, dangerous stillness. His ten black wings stiffened, a quiet ripple of energy tightening his aura. "How can you possibly know what the Grigori is?" he asked, his voice low and devoid of all warmth.
Luke's lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk. "I looked it up online."
A spark of raw fury flashed in Lamina's purple eyes. He kept his composure, turning his gaze to Yuma, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You've found quite a good friend, Yuma. But like your sister, you only answer to me. So kill that low-rank devil if you're still loyal."
Yuma's body started to tremble, her hands clenching into fists as she stared at the man who had tormented her. But before she could even process the order, Luke stepped in front of her. His cold stare met Lamina's, a silent promise of violence in his eyes.
"I don't think you get to decide that," Luke said, his voice now a low, chilling threat. "13th of the Grigori."
Lamina then extended a hand to Luke, the gesture filled with a strange mix of condescension and genuine interest. "Well, Luke Akuma, I have to admit, you are the most interesting and dangerous person I've seen in a while. The fact that you can think beyond a world that is new to you is terrifying and amazing at the same time." An amused smile returned to his face. "Join me, Luke, and I could help you with your latent power of the apostles' eyes. And if you care about Yuma, joining my faction would be the best choice. I could release her sister."
Yuma's body shook, a barely audible whisper escaping her lips. "My sister…"
Luke looked at her and saw her instability. He felt the cold, manipulative weight of Lamina's words settle over them. He talks a lot, he thought, a grim amusement touching his mind. But he has a point. I can't fight this alone. He thought of his allies, a frantic, silent plea sent into the ether. I could use Riis and the others now, but I think they might notice this and get here hopefully soon, because even I can't keep this up for long.
Luke then went to Yuma and looked her in the eye. "Don't let him get to you," he said, and he gently stroked her obsidian-colored hair. "I won't let him touch you."
Yuma smiled a bit, a fragile but grateful expression. "I'll help you," she told him.
"If that's what you want, very well," Luke replied. He then looked at Lamina Mortis again, his cold stare returning.
"Whatever you're planning to do against your kind is up to you," Luke said, his voice a low, hard line. "But if it affects Yuma... then I don't care who you are. I will end you."
Lamina Mortis laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that echoed through the quiet park. "My, my, Luke. You're quite dangerous when you get serious. But you still have to worry about my puppets."
Luke knew he was right. The shadowy figures had fully surrounded them, each one a silent, lethal threat with a dagger held at the ready.
I might need to play it safe, Luke thought to himself. He tapped into his soul and saw his eight pawn pieces all glowing. He focused his will and said, "Multi-Promotion."
The eight pieces, nestled deep in his soul, began to transform. Two pieces promoted to Bishop, the other two to Knight, the next two to Rook, and the last two to Queen, instantly amplifying his strength, speed, power, durability, endurance, and abilities.
This should be enough to fight him, Luke considered. He knew the promotion had multiplied his power by 320. I really don't want to use the apostles' eyes, not because I can't, but because they stir up bad memories. And with my new Multi-Promotion, I can use my traits all at once.
"Alright then, it's time to get active," Luke said, looking at Yuma.
Yuma, in turn, summoned her gleaming silver scythe, its curved blade glinting in the faint afternoon light. She gave him a firm nod.
"You ready?" Luke asked.
"Always," she replied.
Luke then looked at Lamina Mortis. "All right, let's see how you roll."
The moment he spoke, the shadowy figures lunged. Luke and Yuma met them head-on, their movements a stark contrast. Luke was a force of pure, brutal efficiency. He moved with a supernatural speed, his fists and feet becoming weapons. With each strike, the air cracked, and a shadow puppet would crumple into a cloud of black smoke, their serrated daggers clattering harmlessly to the ground. He ducked under a wide swipe, pivoted, and delivered a devastating uppercut that vaporized a puppet's torso. Another tried to stab him from the side, but Luke simply shifted his weight, and the dagger plunged into the empty space where his heart had been a moment before.
Yuma was a dance of elegance and death. Her silver scythe spun in graceful, deadly arcs, its blade humming as it sliced through the shadows like they were made of silk. For the opponents at a distance, she would raise a hand, and a shimmering magic circle would appear in the air, instantly firing a bright, searing light spear that pierced through the darkness with a blinding flash. She moved with a practiced fluidity, her focus unwavering.
They fought back-to-back, a cohesive unit. Luke would clear a path with a flurry of powerful blows, and Yuma would cover his flank with a sweep of her scythe, the twin flashes of light and the thud of impact creating a powerful rhythm of destruction. The shadowy figures were relentless, but Luke's enhanced strength and speed from his Multi-Promotion kept him one step ahead, while Yuma's ranged attacks kept them from being overwhelmed.
Lamina Mortis watched their flawless coordination, a flicker of something beyond amusement in his purple eyes. He snapped his fingers again, and dozens more shadows, larger and faster than the first wave, burst from the ground, swarming the area in a dark tide. But even with the new wave of enemies, Luke and Yuma were still handling it well.
As the unending horde of shadows continued to swell, Luke felt the strain. He was a master of the Dynast Arts, an esoteric martial technique passed down through his family that not only refined his combat prowess but also served as a powerful endurance enhancer. He could keep this pace all day. Yuma, however, could not. Though her scythe was a marvel of destructive elegance, close-quarters combat would drain her magic and leave her vulnerable.
Yuma needs to use her abilities at full force right now, he thought, his eyes scanning the battlefield. He tapped into his Bishop State, a facet of his promotion that, while highly inferior to his apostles' eyes, granted him a powerful boost to his perception. He saw the threads of magic that bound Lamina's puppets, and an idea sparked in his mind.
He looked at the dissolving wisps of the shadows they had already defeated. Yuma could control the ones we took out.
He dodged a dagger strike and called out to her. "Yuma, can you manipulate darkness?"
Yuma's scythe carved through three puppets in a single, fluid motion. "Yes, why?" she replied, her voice strained.
"You need to focus right now," Luke commanded, his tone calm and serious. "You have to take control of the shadows we took out."
Yuma hesitated. Her very nature as a fallen angel meant she channeled light and wielded it with destructive power. What Luke was asking her to do was akin to necromancy—a violation of her essence.
But she trusted him. She closed her eyes for a moment, her own power surging to the surface. A raw, purple aura burst around her, humming with a dark energy. Her silver scythe turned pitch black, becoming a shimmering, shadow-like extension of her will.
From the ground, the shattered remains of the shadows they had defeated began to reform. Fifty foot soldiers, now with a haunting, shadowy and purple appearance, rose to their feet. Their forms were skeletal and ethereal, their eyes glowing with a faint purple light as they turned to face Lamina Mortis.
Luke looked at her, impressed. "You did it," he said. "Also, can you do the daggers?"
Yuma nodded, and the purple energy flared again. One hundred daggers, discarded on the ground, rose into the air and began floating around them in a disciplined, menacing formation.
Luke picked up two of the shadowy daggers, their blades cold and solid, and stared down Lamina Mortis. "Is that all you can do, 13th of the Grigori?" he asked, a taunting smile on his face.
Lamina's amusement finally cracked. His purple eyes narrowed to slits, and his wings flared with cold fury. "I see you being alive is a great mistake," he snarled, his voice a low hiss. "I must fix it. You can't stop me, so good luck trying."
He's open for now, Luke thought to himself, watching the fury boil in Lamina's eyes. His ego is keeping him on the defensive, but if he gets serious, even Yuma with her new ability won't stop him. I could use my apostles' eyes, but... never mind. I need to stop him and save Yuma and her sister, so the first order of business is to get information from him and stop him.
With a sudden, deliberate motion, Lamina Mortis drew a longsword from thin air. It was the very same sword that had ended Luke's first life—a blade of obsidian blackness, its edge glinting with a malevolent, ethereal light. "Luke Akuma," Lamina said, his voice now a low, chilling promise. "Time to die."
He charged. Luke and Yuma followed suit, and an epic battle unfolded.
Yuma let out a battle cry, and her newly commanded shadowy foot soldiers swarmed Lamina Mortis. Simultaneously, her two black wings unfurled from her back, shimmering with an ethereal purple glow, and she launched herself into the air. With a vengeful cry, she flew towards Lamina Mortis, her shadow-scythe a blur as she swung it in a wide, sweeping arc. Lamina met her mid-air, a cold, practiced smirk on his face. With a single-handed parry, he deflected the blow, the two weapons clanging with a spark of magical energy that felt like a tiny bolt of lightning.
Luke then stepped in, wielding his two shadowy daggers with precision. Their blades, forged from darkness, clashed against Lamina Mortis's obsidian longsword, creating a rapid-fire symphony of metallic ringing. Sparks flew as Luke's multi-directional strikes were met with expert parries and blocks. He was fast, his Multi-Promotion pushing his limits, but Lamina's swordsmanship was a seamless, unbreakable wall of defense.
Knowing he needed to change his tactic, Luke channeled the raw power of his Multi-Promotion into his family's signature technique. "Dynast Art: Death Dance!" he declared.
The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. Luke's form seemed to multiply, his speed so great that a dozen afterimages of him appeared, each one a perfect, ethereal copy, all attacking Lamina Mortis from every direction. Fists and feet, shadowy daggers and blurred movements, all slammed against Lamina's defenses at once. Yet, Lamina was a master. His longsword moved with impossibly fluid grace, a brilliant silver arc that deflected every phantom strike. He parried, blocked, and dodged with effortless precision, the afterimages fading as their attacks were nullified.
With a final, furious slash, Lamina brought his longsword down with unimaginable force. Luke raised his arms in an "X" to block, crossing his shadowy daggers to absorb the blow. The ground beneath him groaned and then shattered, but not from a direct impact. The pure, concentrated force of Lamina's swing, the sheer destructive power he'd put behind it, was absorbed by Luke's body and channeled into the earth, creating a massive crater that cracked and splintered as if it could swallow the entire city of Tokyo.
Luke felt his bones rattle, but he held his ground.
He'll be a problem, Luke thought to himself, his mind calm despite the incredible force he'd just endured. He may be the 13th of the Grigori, but he's still strong. If he's anything like Kyra the first time I fought her, taking him down will be difficult. He then remembered the hidden weapon Kai had given him during his battle with Jumonji.
He summoned a small magic circle at his side, and from its depths, he pulled out a pristine katana. Its blade hummed with a subtle, yet profound, power.
Luke turned to Yuma, who was still engaged with Lamina, her shadows pressing him. "Yuma, hold him off for me until I count to twelve!"
"Okay, but make it quick!" she replied, pushing back against Lamina's aggressive counter-attack. She immediately summoned multiple magic circles around her, each one glowing brighter than the last, ready to unleash a barrage of light spears. Her shadowy foot soldiers pressed harder, their daggers flashing, while the one hundred floating daggers around Luke and Yuma now flew toward Lamina, a storm of dark projectiles.
Lamina Mortis moved with astonishing speed, blocking and dodging most of the attacks with his sword and wings. The sheer volume of projectiles and the relentless assault of Yuma's shadows and daggers, however, forced him to defend the rest with his dark blue aura. Though it shimmered and held, it was clear that Yuma's assault was doing something, slowly eroding his formidable defense.
Meanwhile, Luke tapped into his mind, and his consciousness was instantly transported to a dimensional plane that looked like an empty void. He saw himself standing on a massive platform that resembled a chessboard, and all his eight pawn pieces, now glowing a vibrant red, were positioned on one side of the board. He snapped back to reality, the image still vivid in his mind. "Hmm," he murmured, a faint smirk playing on his lips, "never thought chess would be this literal. Time to checkmate."
Just as he finished speaking, Lamina Mortis broke through Yuma's defenses with a powerful kick that sent her flying. Luke, reacting instantly, darted forward and caught her before she hit the ground, cradling her gently.
Luke looked at her, his eyes full of concern. "Are you okay?"
Yuma nodded, managing a small smile. "That kick did hurt a bit," she admitted.
"Can you still fight?" he asked, his gaze still on her.
"In close proximity against him, not really," she said, her expression serious. "But from a range, I can help you."
"Okay," Luke said, carefully setting her down and looking back at Lamina. "Be careful."
He took a step forward, his gaze fixed on Lamina Mortis, hoping to make a bargain. "Alright, 13th of the Grigori, I have a proposition."
Yuma's eyes widened from where she stood. Luke, what are you doing? she thought, a frantic question forming in her mind. Just because you talked me into it that time doesn't mean it'll work with him!
Lamina's eyebrow twitched slightly, a flash of cold amusement in his purple eyes. "What could you possibly have that could make me agree?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.
Luke's expression remained perfectly calm. "Nothing, really," he said, his voice even and unwavering. "But if you let Yuma and her sister go, and remove anything that binds them, I will let you walk. Because like I said, what you do against your kind is up to you, but Yuma and her sister don't need to be a part of that scheme."
Lamina Mortis let out a chilling laugh that seemed to echo through the air. "You're quite bold, asking that," he said, his voice laced with mocking admiration. But then, his expression turned dark, the smile on his face becoming a twisted, predatory mask. "Unfortunately, I can't be so naive to give up the daughters of Sariel that easily."
The name hit Luke with the force of a physical blow. Of course he'd never agree, he thought, the grim reality settling over him. But Yuma is the daughter of Sariel. So her mother is Sariel. I know a bit about her, and she's no joke when it comes to power. She was one of the Seven Grigori... This is going to end south, no matter how long I stall.
"Perhaps you could tell me about her," Lamina said, his voice a sly purr. "You looked like you knew something about her, even though you never met her, let alone heard about her at the time."
Luke kept his poker face on, but an expression of annoyance flickered in his eyes. He had already given away too much.
Yuma, standing beside him, tugged on his blazer, her voice a soft, earnest whisper. "Do you really know something about her?" she asked.
Luke looked down at her. "Will you hate me for it if I say yes?"
She shook her head, her gaze unwavering. "No, but I would like to know something about her since she never talked about herself much."
Luke gave her a gentle, reassuring smile. He leaned in and whispered, "Okay, I promise to tell you when we get home."
Yuma nodded, and a small, genuine smile touched her lips, a moment of intimacy in the eye of a coming storm.
Lamina Mortis watched their brief exchange, the condescending smile returning to his face. "I think I might need to end this quickly," he announced, his voice holding a chilling finality.
He raised his hand into the air, and a massive, swirling magic circle, black and ominous, materialized above them. From its depths, an unending procession of a thousand fallen angels began to descend, their black wings fanning out as they dropped one by one.
Yuma's eyes widened in horror, her body trembling. "Please, don't do this!" she pleaded, her voice trembling. "You can't die again because of me! I don't want you in a war that shouldn't involve you!"
Luke gently touched her face, his gaze warm and resolute, a calm harbor in the storm. "I'm not letting something like this stop me from helping you," he said, his voice quiet but firm.
A single tear fell from Yuma's eye, tracing a path down her cheek as she tried to form a response, her voice catching in her throat. "But… I... can't… let… you…" she stammered, her words dissolving into a sob.
Luke offered a soft, confident smile, a flicker of light in the gathering darkness. "Don't worry about it," he said. He then turned his head, his smile gone, replaced by a cold, direct stare at Lamina Mortis.
"Wow," Luke said, his voice filled with a final, cutting contempt. "You're annoying."
Lamina Mortis returned the cold stare, his cruel smile stretching across his face. "Luke Akuma, you shouldn't have interfered," he taunted, his voice resonating with power. "Now you're fighting a war you can't win."
Luke's gaze remained steady, but his mind was a whirlwind of calculations. He talks a lot, he thought, a grim amusement touching his mind. But he has a point. I can't fight this alone. He thought of his allies, a frantic, silent plea sent into the ether. I could use Riis and the others now, but I think they might notice this and get here hopefully soon, because even I can't keep this up for long.
His eyes scanned the sky, and he noticed the darkening light. It was close to nightfall. Wait, he realized, a sudden spark of inspiration in his mind. Close to nightfall, which means it's going be a full moon tonight.
An idea, reckless and desperate, formed in his head. I could use Yuma to tap into her mother's powers... He immediately shut the thought down. Wait, what am I thinking? I can't do that. She barely knows about her, let alone her powers. Also, I promised to tell her later, so I might have to use the thing I was planning, although it will do a lot of damage, and Riis might lecture me for it.
Luke took a step forward, his voice cutting through the tense silence, resonating with a power that had nothing to do with magic or physical force, but with pure, unyielding conviction.
"You call this a war I can't win," Luke began, his voice surprisingly calm. "But you misunderstand. This isn't your war, and it's not my war. This is a battle for a soul. For her soul." He gestured to Yuma, standing behind him. "You see her as a pawn, an object to be used in your pathetic scheme for power. You've stripped her of her name, her family, and her purpose, all in the name of your lineage."
His voice began to rise, gaining a commanding edge. "But I've seen her pain. I've heard her story. And I refuse to let her be a victim any longer. This isn't about bloodlines or ancient grudges. This is about a person who deserves to be free. And you," he said, pointing a finger directly at Lamina Mortis, "are going to learn that a person with a reason to fight is more dangerous than an army without one."
Lamina Mortis's condescending smile faltered, replaced by a look of genuine, albeit impressed, surprise. The ten black wings behind him shifted subtly. He let out a low, appreciative whistle. "An inspiring speech, Luke Akuma. It seems your human past has given you a charisma that is… quite commendable. A rare trait in our world." Even Yuma, standing behind Luke, looked at him with a newfound awe, her eyes wide with admiration and shock.
"But words are just words," Lamina continued, his smile returning, cold and cruel. "It's time to see if your actions can match your convictions."
As if on cue, the thousand fallen angels in the sky descended, their forms a chilling black cloud against the fading light, their blades glinting with malicious intent.
Luke ignored them, his focus now entirely on the power within himself. With a grunt, he took the katana he had summoned and stabbed it deep into the ground. He took a knee, his body a conduit for the immense power he was about to unleash. "Dissipate," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly whisper.
A flash of brilliant white light erupted from his body, and with it, eight ethereal chess pieces—the pawns of his power—burst forth from his very being. They floated in the air for a moment, shimmering with raw energy, before beginning to pulse with a vibrant crimson light.
"Chess Space," Luke then declared.
The ground around them groaned and cracked. A colossal platform, a perfect grid of obsidian and bone-white squares, erupted from the earth. It expanded rapidly, a geometric force of nature, swallowing the entire park and spilling out into the surrounding landscape. It was an impossible space, a battlefield of divine and demonic geometry that dwarfed even Japan's largest urban parks. The air crackled with the raw power of its creation, a silent, unholy hum.
Luke's eight pawn pieces, now vibrant crimson, floated down onto the massive chessboard and lined up directly behind him. He raised a hand, his eyes burning with a new, fierce light.
"Knights Assemble," he commanded.
"PROMOTION! CRIMSON KNIGHT!"
A blinding crimson light enveloped the eight pieces, and a low, resonant hum filled the air. The light pulsed violently, and within it, the shapes of the pawns began to warp and evolve. They grew, twisted, and reshaped themselves into humanoid figures, the sound of metal forging and flesh binding a symphony of creation.
The light faded, revealing a sight that made Lamina Mortis and Yuma's eyes widen in utter disbelief. Standing behind Luke were eight imposing figures in full crimson armor, their forms a perfect synthesis of terrifying elegance and lethal might.
* The first knight, a towering figure, looked like a demon clad in crimson steel. His helmet was a featureless visor with a single, glowing red slit, and his shoulder plates were jagged and sharp, like the wings of a monster. He wielded a massive longsword with a blade as wide as a man's torso.
* The second was a lithe figure in a full-body gambeson, with a hood pulled over their helm. The armor was minimalistic, with plates of crimson steel protecting key areas. A magnificent bow was slung over their back, and their movements were as silent and deadly as a shadow.
* The third wore flowing magus robes of deep black, embroidered with crimson runes that pulsed with power. Their helmet was a simple, elegant visor, and they held a caster staff that glowed faintly at its tip.
* The fourth, a paragon of swiftness, was clad in segmented armor that mirrored the sleek lines of a falcon. His helmet bore a stylized crest in the shape of a bird's head, and he held a long spear, its tip a deadly point of shimmering crimson.
* The fifth, a master assassin, was shrouded in a black, stealth-based armor with crimson plates on their chest and shoulders. The helm was a stylized, bird-like mask, and they had two deadly daggers, one held in each hand. Their form was reminiscent of a legendary assassin, their very presence a promise of silent death.
* The sixth stood unarmed, but his gauntlets were a weapon in and of themselves. They were massive, brutal-looking things, with heavy crimson plates and sharp, bladed knuckles that promised to crush bone and metal with a single blow.
* The seventh, a brutal warrior, was covered in thick, heavy armor. His helmet was shaped like a wolf's head, and he gripped a colossal battle-axe with a wickedly curved blade.
* The eighth and final knight was a bulwark of pure power. Their armor was the thickest of all, a fortress of steel. Their helmet was a flat-top, brutal design, and they held a two-handed war hammer, its head a massive, bone-crushing block of crimson.
Across the city, at the Grigori Headquarters, Riis, Akane, Kai, Asuna, and Kotori stood together. The atmosphere was grim.
"Have you found him?" Riis asked worriedly, her voice tight with concern. Akane, Kai, and Kotori shook their heads, their faces a mixture of frustration and fear.
Just as the silence grew thick with their shared worry, Asuna's eyes snapped to the horizon. She saw it first—a pillar of overwhelming crimson light that pierced the evening sky. "Riis-Sama, I see something coming from over there!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a mixture of shock and awe.
Riis and the others followed her gaze, their eyes widening at the sight. The light was more than just a glow; it was a beacon of power, raw and immense, a power they knew could only belong to one person.
"Could it be him?" Akane whispered, her doubt quickly replaced by a surge of hope.
Riis's expression, usually composed, was now a mix of fear and relief. Her voice was unsteady, but her resolve was firm.
"Hopefully," she said. "Let's go."
Lamina Mortis's smile was gone, replaced by a grim scowl. He looked at the eight Crimson Knights, then at Luke, a new, cold respect in his eyes.
This boy is dangerous, no doubt, he thought to himself. But I won't back down that easily.
Luke looked at the army of fallen angels and then at his own assembled knights. Huh, he thought. This is interesting.
Yuma, standing a few feet behind Luke, looked at him in pure awe. She had seen him fight, but she had never seen him command. He was no longer just the boy who saved her; he was a king, a leader of his own army.
Luke turned to the knight with the hammer, his gaze direct. "You," he instructed, his voice authoritative. "Guard Yuma." The knight, with a silent grace that belied its immense size, simply bowed its head in compliance and took its place beside the fallen angel. Luke felt a flicker of awkwardness at the gesture; this was new to him.
He then turned back to Lamina Mortis, his eyes burning with defiance. "Do your worst," he said. "13th of the Grigori."
Lamina smiled, a chilling, final expression. He raised his hand and gave the signal. The thousand-strong army of fallen angels let out a roar and charged forward, a black tidal wave of fury and steel.
Luke simply raised his hand.
"ATTACK," he commanded his knights.
A fierce, chaotic battle unfolded.
The battle was less of a conflict and more of a brutal, one-sided massacre. Luke's Crimson Knights, imbued with the amplified power of a full-pawn promotion, were a force of pure, destructive perfection.
The knight with the longsword was a whirlwind of crimson steel. He moved with a speed that blurred the line between space and time, a flash of red that left trails of vaporized fallen angels in his wake. His longsword, a blade of impossible weight, was a mere extension of his will, cutting through armor and flesh with the ease of a knife through butter. He was an unstoppable force, a whirlwind of death that spun through the enemy ranks, their numbers dwindling with every impossible slice.
The archer was a sniper from hell. They took to the sky, a ghostly figure with a crimson glow, and a storm of light-tipped arrows rained down from their bow. Each shot was a perfect hit, piercing the core of a fallen angel with surgical precision, causing their forms to dissolve into dust. Their precision was so deadly that the fallen angels on the battlefield had no chance of getting near them.
The mage was a versatile artist of destruction. Their caster staff pulsed with magical energy, and with every spell, the battlefield was either a storm of fire or a fortress of impenetrable magical barriers. They were a force of both offense and defense, summoning a torrent of crimson fireballs that incinerated groups of fallen angels or erecting shimmering shields that deflected their attacks, protecting themselves and their allies.
The assassin was a silent specter. They were a blur of shadows and crimson, moving too fast for the eye to track. They would appear behind a target, their twin daggers glinting in the light, before they vanished in a cloud of smoke, their forms already dissolving into dust.
The remaining knights were no less devastating. The gauntlet wielder was a human-sized battering ram. They moved through the ranks with the force of a freight train, their crimson gauntlets smashing through armor and sending fallen angels flying with bone-crushing blows. The lancer moved with a casual grace that belied their lethal skill. They spun their spear like a master, a constant blur of motion, blocking attacks with the spear's shaft and piercing through their enemies' cores with its deadly tip. The axe wielder was a berserker of immense power. With every swing of their colossal axe, a shockwave of crimson energy would burst from the blade, sending fallen angels flying in all directions. And the knight with the hammer was an immovable fortress. They stood their ground, their massive war hammer deflecting all incoming attacks, before bringing the hammer down with the force of a falling meteor, creating small craters with every thunderous impact.
Luke and Lamina Mortis were engaged in a fierce duel of their own, a clash of steel that echoed across the battlefield. But the dynamic was shifting. Luke, now with the full power of his Multi-Promotion, was no longer on the defensive. He was using his Dynast Arts, and to Lamina's shock, he was adapting to and mimicking the Grigori's own sword techniques, using them against him. Luke was the immovable object, and Lamina was the one being pushed back.
"Impossible!" Lamina snarled, blocking a flurry of lightning-fast strikes. He was forced to retreat, a new cut appearing on his arm, a trickle of blood staining his elegant suit. "Your adaptability… it's beyond anything I've ever seen. Even the greatest swordsmen of the Grigori pale in comparison to you!"
Luke didn't reply, pressing his advantage. He could see it now; Lamina's breathing was growing heavier, his aura flickering. He had expended too much energy on summoning his army, while Luke's energy was rising with every moment. Luke knew he had to end this now, before Lamina could regain his composure or try something desperate.
With a final, desperate roar, Lamina lunged forward, his longsword aimed at Luke's heart. Luke met him head-on, but his movements were different. He swung his katana in a wide, shimmering arc, and as Lamina blocked it, Luke's form blurred. The Grigori's eyes widened in shock as Luke vanished from his sight, his new Dynast Art activated.
Luke reappeared behind Lamina, his movements silent, a ghostly blur. He didn't even look back, his katana still in the arc of its swing as he drove it into Lamina's back, a perfect backstab.
A grunt of pain escaped Lamina's lips as he dropped to one knee, the katana still embedded in his back. Luke stood over him, pulling the sword out with a clean, fluid motion and pointing it directly at his face. The tip of the blade, still slick with blood, was less than an inch from Lamina's eye.
"Now," Luke said, his voice cold and menacing. "Where is Yuma's sister?"
Lamina's chest heaved with a low, chilling laugh. "Very well," he said, the sound a mix of pain and twisted amusement. "I will grant your wish." He raised a hand, and a magic circle shimmered into existence. From its depths, an unconscious woman descended. She was dressed in the same combat dress that Luke had seen in his first encounter with her.
"Kyra!" Yuma cried, running to her sister. She caught her in her arms, tears of relief streaming down her face.
Luke's gaze was hard as he looked at Lamina. "Now, remove the curses you put on them."
A trickle of blood dripped from Luke's forehead, a wound he had received in the last exchange. He felt a sharp, burning pain, but he ignored it. Well, looks like I wasn't getting off easy from that move, was I?
"Very well," Lamina said, a flicker of pain in his eyes as he cast a new spell. The dark, malevolent energy that bound the sisters' souls began to recede. The dark marks that burned on their bodies vanished.
Luke's golden apostles' eyes flared to life for a brief moment, and he scanned the two sisters' auras, confirming that the curses were completely gone. He then turned his eyes back to black.
"Don't you trust me to keep my word?" Lamina asked, a hint of his old condescension returning.
"No, I don't," Luke said simply, his voice flat. "Now go. You're making me sick."
Lamina Mortis let out one last laugh, a hollow, bitter sound. "You do realize this won't be a happy ending that easily," he said, his voice a quiet warning.
"I'm aware of that," Luke replied without looking at him.
"I see," Lamina said, a final, cold smile on his face. "Until we meet again, Luke Akuma." Then, in a flash of dark blue light, he disappeared.
Luke looked at his army of Crimson Knights, who were now standing at attention, their heads bowed. He felt a flicker of discomfort at the gesture but quickly shook it off. I should reward them, he thought. Oh, right. They don't have names.
He pointed to the knight with the longsword. "As of now, you will bear the names I give you." He pointed to the knight with the longsword. "The swordsman, you are Snoke." The swordsman raised his head and bowed. "The archer, you are Robin." The archer raised its head and bowed. "The mage, you are Valis." The mage raised its head and bowed. "The assassin, you are Ezio." The assassin raised its head and bowed. "The gauntlet wielder, you are Rager." The gauntlet wielder raised its head and bowed. "The lancer, you are Gale." The lancer raised its head and bowed. "The axe wielder, you are Thunder." The axe wielder raised its head and bowed. "And the last one, the hammer wielder, you are Tank." The hammer wielder raised his head and bowed.
A surge of energy coursed through Luke, a painful, excruciating feeling that rippled through his entire body. It was the backlash of his power, of expelling his pawns and renaming them. He kept his expression impassive, hiding the agony. He then retracted his pawns from his knights and felt the pieces re-enter his soul. A fresh wave of sharp, burning pain flared through him, but he suppressed it, a silent gasp caught in his throat.
Luke then looked at his knights. "Hold on... you can talk?"
Snoke, the swordsman, stepped forward. "We have gained part of your being, My Liege," he said, his voice a deep, resonant rumble. "That has given us our ability to speak."
"Okay," Luke said, still processing this new information. He then ended his "Chess Space," and the massive chessboard dissolved, the park returning to its normal state. But he noticed his knights remained.
"How come you're still here?" he asked.
Valis, the mage, stepped forward. "You need to dismiss us, My Liege."
"Oh," Luke said, a bit flustered. "But can I call you back if necessary?"
"Yes, My Liege," Valis responded.
"Okay," Luke said, a sense of relief washing over him. "Dismissed." In a flash of crimson light, the eight knights disappeared.
Luke then walked over to Yuma, who was still cradling her sister. Yuma's head turned, and she noticed the trickle of blood still running down his forehead and onto his cheek.
"Luke, you're bleeding!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with concern.
"Don't worry about it," Luke said, his voice tired.
Kyra began to stir, her eyes fluttering open. The moment she saw Yuma, her eyes filled with tears. "Yuma…" she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.
"Kyra!" Yuma sobbed, hugging her sister tightly.
"But… how?" Kyra asked, her eyes wide with shock and confusion.
Yuma looked at Luke, her expression full of gratitude. "Thanks to him," she said.
Luke, seeing that Kyra was awake, decided to break the tension with a bit of dark humor. "Good evening, Kyra," he said with a wry smile. "I hope you're having a good time, because you're dead."
Kyra's eyes widened even further, and she sat up quickly, a shocked look on her face. "Wh… wh… wh.. what? Luke Akuma?"
"Please," Luke said, a sigh escaping his lips. "Stop using my full name."
Kyra looked at Yuma, a silent question in her eyes. "He saved me?"
Yuma nodded, and a fresh wave of tears flowed down Kyra's face.
Luke looked at the destroyed park, the crater he and Lamina had created still visible. I wonder... he thought. He then called out, "Valis."
In an instant, the mage appeared. "What are your orders, My Liege?"
"Can you fix this place?" Luke asked, gesturing to the damage.
Valis complied without a word. In a few minutes, the crater was gone, the ground was whole, and the trees were standing tall and strong, as if nothing had ever happened. "Well done," Luke said, and with a simple nod, he dismissed him.
Luke sighed, a quiet, tired sound. He watched the two sisters embrace, a raw and powerful moment of reunion. He was happy for them. But the pain in his body was a constant, growing fire, and he knew he couldn't keep this up for long.
Luke sat down, the adrenaline that had been fueling him since the battle finally beginning to fade. The exhaustion was immense, and the ever-present, throbbing pain in his body was steadily increasing. He leaned against the hilt of his katana, using it as a makeshift cane, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Just as he felt he could take a moment to rest, a vibrant red magic circle shimmered on the ground a few feet away.
From its depths, Riis and the others appeared. Riis, a figure of serene and powerful grace, stepped out first, followed by a focused Kai, a determined Kotori, a cautious Akane, and a worried Asuna.
Luke, seeing his friends, forced himself to stand, a weak smile on his face. But as he did, a wave of dizziness hit him, and he swayed. The pain in his chest and across his body intensified, a hot, searing fire that he had to fight with every fiber of his being to conceal.
Riis's expression, which had been one of immense relief, instantly hardened. Her green eyes narrowed, taking in the scene. She saw the dried blood on his forehead, the wobbly stance he was struggling to maintain. Her gaze then settled on Yuma, whose two obsidian wings were still unfurled, a stark symbol of her demonic power.
Luke opened his mouth to greet them, but a dark intensity in Riis's voice stopped him cold.
"Are you responsible for hurting my dear servant?" Riis asked, her voice a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to shake the very air. As she spoke, the crimson pupils of her eyes grew, swallowing the green until they glowed with a terrifying, malevolent light. She didn't wait for Yuma's response. A colossal aura, a seething storm of raw power, erupted from her, making the very ground tremble.
Kai drew his dual knight swords, their black and white blades humming with a lethal energy. Kotori assumed a ready stance, her body coiled and tense, while Akane's hands crackled with energy, multiple lightning orbs hovering in the air around her.
Riis's voice, now a chilling roar, echoed across the park. "Witness calamity, fallen angel!"
Yuma's expression, which had been one of quiet relief, hardened in turn. Her own aura, a fierce purple, burst around her, a defiance in the face of Riis's immense power. She brought her scythe forward, the blade now a shimmering, obsidian-black. "Well, Calamity Princess," she said, her voice filled with a cold challenge. "Let's see how tough you are."
A fierce silence fell over the park, broken only by the crackle of their auras. Both sides were on the verge of all-out war.
"Wait, don't..." Luke tried to intercede, but the words died in his throat.
The internal backlash, which he had been suppressing with all his might, finally reached its limit. His body screamed in protest, and the excruciating pain, unimaginable in its intensity, erupted. A sharp, violent demonic aura, black and red, burst from his body in a furious shockwave, making everyone step back in terror.
Luke let out a guttural, bloodcurdling scream of pure agony. His limbs went stiff, his body locked in a state of torment. The others, watching in sheer horror, immediately dropped their weapons and fighting stances. Riis's aura receded instantly, the malicious light in her eyes replaced by a look of profound fear and concern.
As the demonic aura surrounding him died down, Luke's body went limp. He fell forward, a heavy, silent weight.
In a flash, Yuma was there, her movements a blur of grace and terror. She dropped her scythe and caught him just before he hit the ground, his unconscious body a dead weight in her arms. The blood from his forehead was a stark, red line against his pale skin.
Riis was at Yuma's side in an instant, her usual calm demeanor shattered, her hands trembling as she reached for Luke. "What did you do?" she demanded, her voice no longer cold and menacing, but filled with a desperate, frantic fear.
Yuma's eyes, still wide with shock, looked at Riis. "I didn't do anything... it's a backlash from his power," she stammered, her voice soft and shaky. Her own hands, gentle as she held him, were a stark contrast to the fierce angel she had been moments before.
"A backlash? What did he do?" Kai asked, his voice low and full of dread as he and the others gathered around.
Akane was already on her knees, her hands glowing with a soft, healing light as she tried to check his vitals. "His soul… it's… it's unstable," she whispered, her voice filled with fear.
Riis looked at Yuma, her eyes pleading. "We need to get him out of here. He needs help." She glanced at the still-open portal behind them, the red glow a faint beacon in the fading light. The standoff was over, their pride and anger rendered meaningless by the sight of the boy they all cared for in such pain. The only thing that mattered now was saving Luke.
Riis then turned to her bishop. "Asuna, heal him! Now!"
Asuna, with haste, placed her hands over Luke, a brilliant white light emanating from her palms. The light quickly faded, and with it, the physical symptoms of his pain vanished. The trickle of blood on his forehead was gone, and his face, though still pale, lost the contorted look of agony.
"I have healed his physical pain, Riis-sama, and the bleeding is gone," Asuna reported, her voice strained. But a shadow crossed her face. "But... the deeper wound... I can't touch it. It's not a normal wound."
Riis, shocked, stepped forward. "What do you mean, you can't touch it? Your healing is as potent as an Angel's! How can you not fix the damage?"
Just then, Kyra, who had been watching the scene unfold, walked up to the unconscious Luke. Her red eyes, a deeper shade than Riis's crimson, glowed with intense concentration as she scanned his body. She was looking not at his physical form, but into his very essence.
Kyra gasped, her eyes widening in horror. Deep within Luke's soul, nestled where his strength resided, she saw the eight chess pieces—his Eight-Pawn pieces—and they were cracked. The damage was not from an external attack; it was a conceptual wound inflicted by his own power. His soul was being torn apart by the very source of his strength, making it fundamentally unstable. Kyra realized with chilling certainty: if this damage wasn't dealt with immediately, Luke would die, and no conventional healing could save him.
Without a word of explanation, Kyra raised her hand. A massive, complex magic circle instantly materialized beneath everyone, and in a flash of brilliant purple energy, they were all instantly transported to a beautiful, very large house—Yuma and Kyra's home.
Riis and her group looked around, stunned by the sudden change in location. "What are you up to?" Riis demanded, her surprise quickly morphing back into irritation.
Kyra ignored the Calamity Princess and turned to Kai. "Take him to Yuma's bedroom," she commanded, her voice firm. Kai, recognizing the urgency and the authority in her tone, complied instantly, lifting Luke's limp body and heading inside.
Riis, fuming, stepped towards Kyra. "Kyra!" she spat, "What are you doing to my servant? Answer me!"
Kyra turned to face the Calamity Princess, her eyes cold and direct. "Now, listen, little girl," Kyra said, her voice dangerously low. "You're a princess of the underworld, that I can understand. But stop throwing tantrums like a child and act like one, because your servant might not be alive if you stay here like this."
Riis froze. The harsh truth in Kyra's words cut through her anger, and she finally saw her own fear reflected in her irrational behavior. She had been on the verge of starting a fight while Luke was dying. Riis's shoulders slumped, and a soft, genuine apology escaped her lips. "I... I apologize, Kyra."
Akane, Asuna, and Kotori rushed to Riis's side, placing comforting hands on her. "It's okay, Riis-sama," Kotori soothed. "We need to save Luke first."
The brief, furious standoff between the two leaders had vanished, replaced by a desperate, shared concern. Riis, now calmer, clung briefly to Asuna and Kotori, the sight of Luke's fading form having stripped away her pride.
Kyra did not offer comfort. She walked to the center of the room, her expression hardening with cold, medical urgency.
"It's time to stop the dramatics and listen," Kyra announced, her voice a low, steady blade cutting through the silence. "The wound on Luke isn't physical, and it's not even purely magical. It's a conceptual wound inflicted by his own power backlash."
She looked at Riis and Asuna, ensuring they understood the severity of her words. "I scanned his soul's core. The eight pieces that make up his existence—his Eight-Pawn pieces—they are cracked. They are fundamentally unstable and actively damaging his soul, making it deteriorate. If this damage isn't dealt with immediately, Luke will die. And I mean it, there is no conventional healing, angelic or demonic, that can touch a wound this deep."
Riis froze where she stood, the color draining from her face. The words were a physical blow; her formidable power was useless against a problem of this magnitude. Asuna and Akane exchanged shocked looks.
Asuna's eyes immediately welled up. Luke had been nothing but kind to her since his arrival. Her voice trembled, thick with tears. "Is... is he going to die? After all the kindness he's shown me these past two weeks?"
Riis immediately embraced her bishop, pulling her into a tight, reassuring hug. "He is not," Riis asserted, her voice firm despite the underlying tremor of her fear. "Luke is far stronger than you think, Asuna. He won't die easily, not after facing that creature."
Asuna shook her head, tears starting to fall. "But I couldn't help him! My healing failed. I should have been able to—"
Kyra walked up to Asuna, her deep red eyes meeting the younger girl's tearful gaze. As the eldest and most grounded in the room, her voice was steady and authoritative, a much-needed anchor. "Don't worry about what you couldn't do. You stabilized the physical shell, and that bought us time. Now, we'll save Luke. All of us."
With a shared, grim understanding, the group followed Kyra. They moved through the elegant house until they reached Yuma's bedroom, which was a testament to her family's wealth and status: a lavish space draped in obsidian and deep violet silks.
Kai, recognizing the urgency of Kyra's previous command, had already lifted Luke's limp body and placed him on the bed after a quick change of clothes. On the luxurious sheets, Luke lay utterly still, now wearing comfortable, simple clothes. He was unconscious, barely breathing, his life force fading rapidly.
The silence in the opulent bedroom was thick with despair, broken only by Luke's shallow, ragged breathing.
Kyra looked from the dying Luke to the worried faces surrounding the bed. "I do know something that can save him," she stated, her voice low with the weight of the knowledge. "But it's not a spell I can cast alone. I'll need magical power far more than I can muster."
Without hesitation, Yuma took a step closer. "Take mine. All of it, if you need it."
Riis followed immediately. "Mine too. If you need a power source, we are right here."
Asuna and Akane nodded in frantic agreement. "We will share our power if it means saving Luke."
Kyra gave a curt nod. She raised her hands over Luke's chest, and a strange distortion began to form between her palms: a sphere of pure, swirling absence—a conceptual ball of energy like a void of emptiness.
"Feed it," Kyra commanded.
Yuma, Riis, Asuna, and Akane immediately channeled their vast reservoirs of magic into the void. The raw, different-colored energies slammed into Kyra's core, compressing it until the ball became a literal void of nothingness, vibrating violently with concentrated potential.
Kyra slammed the orb directly into Luke's chest. The void vanished into him, causing the unconscious boy to seize for a brief, agonizing moment.
Kyra looked intently at his soul signature. The damage was subsiding. His Eight-Pawn pieces were repairing. The conceptual cracks were disappearing, sealed by the immense surge of fundamental energy.
Kyra sighed, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. "He'll be fine," she confirmed. "The conceptual patch held. But he needs a little rest, and we need to make sure this holds."
She turned to Kai and Kotori. "Guard him. And inform the rest of us the moment he wakes up."
Asuna quickly asked, "Can I also stay? To watch him?"
Riis, wiping a stray tear, nodded gently. "Yes, Asuna. You and Kai."
Kyra then fixed her gaze on Yuma. "Yuma. Riis. And you, Akane." She included the demoness with a specific, demanding glance that acknowledged her position of trust. "We need to talk. We just had to pool enough energy to mend a conceptual wound. Yuma, you need to tell us everything about the events at the park."
Yuma flinched, but the guilt and the need for truth were heavier than her fear. Riis and Akane followed Kyra out of the luxurious room. Kai's gaze followed them until they disappeared down the hallway, the sound of their retreating footsteps echoing the heavy significance of their departure.
Luke... Kai thought, staring at his friend's still face. What happened back there? And what did you force yourself to do?
The three demonesses and the older Grigori-hybrid woman settled in the luxurious, dimly lit living room. The atmosphere was suffocating. Kyra stood by the cold hearth, radiating controlled impatience. Riis sat on a deep velvet couch, her posture rigid. Akane remained standing a few paces behind Riis, a silent, watchful shadow.
Yuma stood before them, defenseless and exposed to her sister's glare.
Kyra began, her voice low and steady. "Start from the moment you arrived at the abandoned park. And do not omit a single detail, Yuma. About Lamina Mortis, why was she targeting you?"
Yuma took a deep, shuddering breath, the silence of the room pressing the weight of her secretive history down upon her.