Scáthach was powerful.
At the very least, when considering the world as a whole, she stood among the upper echelons. One of the most powerful beings in the world, having a respectable spot in the top 100.
Mid-level Satan class. A respectable tier by any standard, one that most beings could only ever dream of reaching.
And that assessment was based purely on raw power. Judged purely by the amount of energy within her body, and maximum destruction capacity.
But she was not someone who relied on overwhelming destructive output, nor was she a being who crushed opponents through sheer force alone. Neither did she prefer using overwhelming spells, to destroy everything in front of her during battles.
Her true strength lay elsewhere, In pure fighting skill. In experience. In mastery refined over centuries of battle, her spear- Gae Bolg, was her weapon, a spear which she had used to even slay gods, earning her the title of the Godslayer.
She was a warrior in the truest sense of the word.
One of the most skilled fighters in existence, if not the most.
That skill elevated her far beyond what her base power suggested. Against high-level or even peak-level Satans, she could still hold her ground and win.
Against most opponents, she was simply unbeatable, a nightmare to face in one on one combat.
But I was not most opponents...
Truthfully, my battle style can be said to be the exact opposite of her, while she relied on finesse, I just used destruction to eradicate everything.
But there were many factors at play in this fight, and the first one was simple, yet suffocating.
I did not want to hurt her...
Yes, I knew that I had a plan, and yes, I also knew that doing so was disrespectful to her.
But when I looked at her standing against me, I simply could not bring myself to form a fist to punch her, nor could I unleash my Destruction...
I mean, my concept level power of destruction was too powerful, what if I hurt her beyond what the evil pieces can repair? Or worse, completely erase her?
That single constraint changed everything...
Since my power of destruction was not something I could use freely against someone I loved.
I just shoved it off, considering that it was not hesitation. It was a deliberate choice. A boundary I refused to cross.
I know, that sounds hypocritical.
Bet that did not mean I was not serious. I mean sure... not completely serious, but still...
Concept-level space manipulation was no trivial thing.
Paired with Absolute Spell Control, it allowed me to rain spells endlessly, precisely, relentlessly, without ever losing rhythm or efficiency.
Even without destruction, even without lethal intent, that combination alone was enough to push even Scáthach to her limits.
Yeah, I was that OP.
Just the space part made me virtually untouchable, if Obito Uchiha from Naruto could do that with a mere Kamui, I could go way beyond that with conceptual level space control.
So, when the battle actually started,
The first exchange did not look like a battle at all.
It looked like the Land of Shadows itself was being dissected, deliberately thrashed around, to create a bigger scene, by me...
From my database, there is one character from whom I drew reference, Kizaru, the marine admiral with the power of the light logia.
He employed a simple tactic, when you do not want to fight a one vs one battle, just unleash attacks of mass destruction without stopping, the opponent would think you are going all out, but are you, actually?
-POV changes back to 3rd person- (for better fight immersion)
Magdaran did not rush Scáthach, nor did he charge with brute force. He stood where he was, posture relaxed but focused, eyes tracking her movements with quiet intensity.
He had a serious look on his face, with an intense aura leaking from his body at all times, giving him a very scary look. (That's right, he's aura farming, trying to fool Scathach)
The moment she shifted her footing, the world around her changed, split apart cleanly, as if it were butter which was ran over by a hot knife.
Space cut.
A thin, invisible line split the air horizontally, not a blade but an absence, a conceptual severance that sliced through distance itself.
The ground on the right of Scáthach parted soundlessly, stone peeling away as if it had never been whole.
She felt it before she saw it.
Her instincts screamed, and she twisted mid-step, the edge of the space cut grazing past her ribs close enough that the slice split a few of her hairs from the side.
She landed, spear striking the ground.
Runes ignited, a form of magic Magdaran did not fully understand, since he hadn't studied them before.
Therefore, he had no clue of her upcoming attack. So, he did the only logical thing that could be done, unleash an even bigger attack and prevent her from attacking.
The next space cut came from above.
She slammed her spear upward, runic symbols detonating in a violent clash of force as the cut shattered them into distorted fragments of collapsed reality.
The impact threw her backward, boots digging trenches into the stone as she skidded.
Before she could stabilize, the world turned upside down, literally.
Dimensional Fold.
The entire dimension was folded multiple times over as if it was a sheet of paper, sending Scathach tumbling over as she struggled to find a footing in the constantly changing direction of gravity.
Then the space around her twisted inward like a collapsing sphere, directions losing meaning as up, down, left, and right folded toward a single crushing point.
Her body was pulled sideways and downward simultaneously, pressure threatening to tear muscle from bone.
Scáthach roared and drove her spear into the ground.
The rune magic surged outward in a violent pulse, anchoring her to the land itself. The fold resisted, then snapped apart, space rebounding violently as she tore herself free.
Suddenly, the attack paused, giving her a time to breathe.
She did not stop after a single moment of rest, She lunged forward, trying to impale him.
Magdaran vanished.
Not dodging, but relocating entirely as space rewrote itself beneath his feet. He reappeared behind her just as she spun, spear already moving, the blade cutting through where his throat had been a fraction of a second earlier.
Thunder screamed.
Not with ordinary lightning, but with electromagnetic Railguns.
From six directions at once, compressed bolts of electrical force tore through the air, each one accelerated through folded space to strike simultaneously. They converged on Scáthach from above, below, left, right, front, and back.
She slammed the butt of her spear into the ground and shouted an incantation.
A dome of runes exploded outward, each symbol rotating rapidly as the railguns impacted. The dome cracked instantly, fragments shattering into sparks of broken magic, but it bought her just enough time.
She dove forward as the explosions detonated behind her.
The shockwave tore the battlefield apart.
Stone vaporized. Shadow mist evaporated. The ground collapsed into a crater hundreds of meters wide.
Magdaran stood at the center of it all, unmoved.
Next was Fire's turn.
Not a single blast, but a cascading array of controlled infernos, spiraling outward in layered patterns designed to restrict movement. Wind compressed the flames into razor-edged arcs, while darkness coiled beneath them, waiting to snare anything that slipped.
Scáthach ran through it.
Her spear moved constantly, cutting, deflecting, redirecting. Flames scorched her armor. Wind blades sliced her skin. Darkness snapped at her ankles, tearing away fragments of shadowed ground.
And still, none of it landed cleanly.
Every attack passed her by a breath. Every fatal trajectory bent away at the last instant. Every spell that should have ended her life instead devastated the terrain around her.
She felt it.
At first, she thought it was luck.
Then instinct.
Then, unmistakably, intent.
Her next charge was different.
She did not dodge the next space cut. She ran directly toward it, spear thrust forward, letting the attack land.
But the space cut vanished before it could injure her fatally, merely leaving a shallow cut on her shoulder.
Magdaran's eyes widened slightly...
It seemed that his act got caught red handed.
She closed the distance in a heartbeat, spear flashing toward his chest with lethal precision.
He folded space to pull her off-angle.
She cut through the fold.
The spear tore a line through warped reality itself, her momentum carrying her forward as if the distortion had never existed. The blade struck his chest.
It did not pierce deeply.
Touki reinforced his body to an absurd degree, muscle and bone absorbing the force, but the impact was real. Blood welled where the spearhead bit into his skin, making a shallow cut, bruised skin.
She did not pull back.
She twisted the spear and shouted, voice raw with fury.
"Stop this!"
She ripped the weapon free and swung again, the strike grazing his side.
"If you think avoiding me will win you my heart," she snarled, "then you are insulting me!"
She planted her spear and vaulted, knee driving toward his face.
Magdaran took the hit, sliding backward, boots carving deep furrows into the ground. He caught himself, breathing steady, eyes locked onto hers.
The battlefield stilled.
For the first time, he did not move first.
"You're right," he said quietly. "I am sorry... I thought I had prepared myself, But I still could not bring myself to hurt the woman I fell in love with..."
But, before she could respond, he continued, "I am sorry, and yes... You are right... I will be completely serious from now on."
Then, as if just to ruin the serious atmosphere, he slid in a joke, "You see, domestic violence isn't my forte, I would rather let the violence be limited to bed. But you sure are far too feisty, it seems I need to be completely serious or I would be the being domestically violated..." he pointed at his wound as he said the last part.
He could not understand why, but in front of her, he could not keep his act of normal nonchalance, he would act worse than Kuroka does, sure, he would try making jokes, but apparently, his skill in the regard wasn't very high.
Scathach looked at him with a passive face, which suddenly had a twitch, "Don't joke, fight... If it goes on like this, even if you win, You are the one going to get pegged."
"Wasn't making dirty jokes kind of my thing in this relationship?" He said as he was trying hard to make a passive face. That little joke, for no reason, suddenly made him very happy, maybe it was a small thing, but the warrior queen did just copy him, making a bad joke...
After all, according to his database, loving couples always turned to become copies of each other. This was clearly progress.
"What relationship? You are just the bastard who landed in my dimension, acting injured for days making dirty jokes, it only makes sense I return the favor." She said with a smirk.
"Return the favor, huh? Why didn't you say that when I proposed you?" Magdaran asked with a laugh.
"Oh I would tell you if you win." She said, and swung her spear, ready to attack again.
But suddenly, The air changed.
Magdaran's eyes started to emit a violet light, his hair turning purple, as an overwhelming aura was released from his body, which shook the entire dimension with it's intensity.
Touki surged.
Not violently, but completely, flooding his body until every cell burned with compressed power.
Space recoiled.
The ground beneath his feet fractured, unable to withstand the density of his presence.
"I won't disrespect you again. And I will be awaiting for your answer. Don't worry, this won't last long."
Scáthach felt it.
Her bloodied lips curved upward.
A warrior's smile.
"Good."
He vanished.
Not through space manipulation.
But through sheer speed.
Touki propelled his body forward in a straight line that shattered the air itself. He appeared beside her, already mid-motion, hips rotating, legs readied for a kick.
And the kick landed.
There was no technique.
No finesse.
Just everything. He had poured a tremendous amount of Touki into that kick, paired with his body as strong as a Kryptonian,
The impact detonated like a star collapsing.
Scáthach's body was hurled across the Land of Shadows, smashing through layers of reality, carving a glowing scar across the edge of her own dimension. She struck the boundary hard enough to warp it, cracks spreading outward like shattered glass.
Silence followed.
Magdaran looked at the deep ravine created by Scathach's body.
He teleported instantly, appearing beside her as debris settled.
She was still standing. Barely, but still standing.
Her body trembled violently. Blood poured freely from shattered ribs, torn muscles, and ruptured organs. One leg bent unnaturally, barely supporting her weight. She leaned heavily on her spear, using it as a crutch to remain upright.
But she had not fallen.
Her eyes met his.
Burning.
"That," Magdaran said slowly, disbelief thick in his voice, "was the strongest kick I have ever delivered."
He really believed that this kick would have knocked her out.
She coughed, blood spilling down her chin, and laughed weakly.
"You really are powerful," she replied. "A single kick reduced me to this."
Her grip tightened on the spear.
She straightened as much as her body allowed.
"But I am still standing."
And in that moment, Magdaran understood.
This battle was no longer about restraint.
It was about respect.
Alright then.
For the first time since the battle began, his expression was not fierce, not confident, not teasing.
It was solemn.
He looked at her as she leaned against her spear, blood-soaked, barely upright, yet unbroken in spirit.
"Is it because of your immortality?" he asked quietly. "You said this dimension is the reason you cannot die, didn't you?" He knew the answer, yet he still asked, just to hear it with her voice.
Scáthach's breathing was shallow, every breath a labor, yet she nodded without hesitation.
"Yes," she answered honestly. "As long as Tír na Scáth exists, so do I."
Magdaran closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.
What stared back at her was resolve.
"Very well then," he said.
He straightened, power humming beneath his skin, his presence heavy enough that the remaining fragments of the Land of Shadows trembled.
"Scáthach Skadi," he declared, voice carrying across the collapsing horizon, "The Godslayer, The Warrior Queen, and the bravest warrior I have ever faced."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"With this next attack, I declare you my partner."
His eyes gleamed.
"And my Queen."
He raised his hand.
Destroy!
The word was not shouted.
It was spoken as a certainty.
Conceptual destruction erupted outward, not as a wave, not as an explosion, but as an erasure that rewrote existence itself. Space screamed as its meaning unraveled, shadows collapsing into nothingness, laws breaking apart as if they had never existed.
Scáthach's eyes widened.
Then,
She smiled.
A wild, unrestrained smile filled with joy so pure it bordered on madness.
At last...
A proper warrior's death.
But the destruction did not strike her.
It passed her.
No, it consumed everything else.
Tír na Scáth began to disintegrate.
Not crumble. Not shatter.
Disappear.
The sky tore itself apart. The ground dissolved beneath her feet. The endless shadows that had bound her for centuries peeled away, erased from existence as though they had never been real.
Her prison was gone.
Scáthach staggered, shock overtaking triumph as she realized what he had done.
"No…" she breathed.
Her immortality faltered.
The anchor binding her to the world snapped.
Her body began to fade, light bleeding through her skin as the land that sustained her ceased to exist.
She was dying.
But not trapped.
Not bound.
Free. She was free from her prison.
Tears welled in her eyes as understanding struck her fully.
A warrior's death.
Outside her prison. A free warrior's death...
Magdaran appeared before her in an instant, catching her as her legs finally gave out. His arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her slowly fading form.
Before she could speak, he leaned down and kissed her.
It was sudden.
Soft for a heartbeat.
Then fierce.
Scáthach froze in shock, then returned the kiss with everything she had left, clutching his suit weakly as guilt and longing twisted inside her.
She had pledged herself to him, yet she was about to vanish. She knew the truth.
Devil pieces could not reincarnate a goddess.
This was goodbye.
Then she felt him move.
Her spear was pulled gently from her grasp.
His other hand tightened around her waist, holding her close as her form grew translucent.
"Close your eyes now, my Queen," Magdaran whispered, voice breaking despite his control. "End this purposeless existence."
He rested his forehead against hers.
"For when you wake again, you will have a new purpose."
His grip tightened.
"And it will be to stand by my side."
He positioned the spear.
"For all eternity."
Scáthach closed her eyes.
Smiling.
Trusting.
Magdaran drove her own spear through her heart.
There was no pain.
Only peace.
The warrior queen of the Land of Shadows died as she lived and dreamed.
Standing.
Unbowed.
And free.