The Daemon Prince's Scythe descended again, but this time it was not alone. The black blade was wrapped in witch-fire that emitted not heat, but cold. An entropic cold that crystallized the air and made metal as brittle as glass.
Geneviève realized she could not parry. If Vesper's Light intercepted that blow directly, even the blessed dwarf steel might shatter from thermal shock. She had to deflect. She entered the Flow. When the scythe arrived, Geneviève struck the flat of the enemy blade at a precise thirty-degree angle. She didn't try to stop it. She guided it. The scythe veered a few inches, hissing past Geneviève's ear, slicing off her helm's plume and instantly freezing the right shoulder of her armor. The frost bit her flesh through the Gromril and padding, a sharp pain that made her grind her teeth.
"You are slippery, insect," snarled the Demon. With a beat of his wings, he rose three meters and struck the ground with his hoof. It wasn't a kick. It was a localized earthquake. The pavement beneath Geneviève exploded. Slabs of stone rose like shark teeth, trying to impale her or throw her off balance.
Geneviève did not touch the ground. She leaped from one moving stone slab to another, using them as steps as they crumbled. The Demon grabbed a marble column from a ruined temple, snapping it like a breadstick, and used it as a gigantic club, sweeping the area horizontally.
Geneviève threw herself into a slide, passing under the column which pulverized the wall behind her. She scrambled up and ran along the column the Demon was still holding, racing up toward his arm.
The Daemon Prince saw her coming. He released his grip on the column, letting it fall, and tried to crush Geneviève between his hands in a lethal clap. Geneviève jumped away an instant before impact. The displacement of air caused by the demon's hands hit her like an invisible sledgehammer, hurling her against the facade of a burning cathedral.
Geneviève smashed through the stained glass window of the cathedral, landing on the high altar. The roof was collapsing. Burning oak beams rained down. The Demon tore away the entire facade of the building with his bare hands, entering the nave like a wolf entering a rabbit burrow. The fire of the cathedral reflected on his obsidian skin, making him look like a god of destruction.
"You have nowhere to run," thundered the Demon, his voice shaking the church pews. "Your faith is a lie. Your Lady is an elven parasite. You are just canned meat."
Geneviève stood up on the altar. Her armor was smoking. Blood ran down from her visor. But her sword still shone. "Flesh yields," admitted Geneviève, her voice hoarse and metallic. "But the vow remains."
The Demon opened his mouth and vomited a torrent of acidic bile and purple flames. The demonic dragon-breath engulfed the altar. Geneviève drove her sword into the marble. The Grail aura expanded, creating a dome of golden light around her. The demonic fire crashed against the dome, flowing off the sides like water off an umbrella. Geneviève screamed from the effort. She felt her skin blistering from the radiant heat, felt her will being hammered by the pure evil of that attack.
The dome began to crack.
Suddenly, Geneviève dropped the magical shield. Not to surrender. To attack. She used the smoke and steam created by the magical clash to hide from the demon's view for a second. She charged through the flames. The Demon, expecting her to still be on the defensive, was slow to react.
Geneviève aimed for the legs. But this time, the Demon expected the low blow. He raised his leg and tried to stomp on her. It was a feint. Geneviève stopped her run instantly, using the momentum to jump vertically. She grabbed the scales of the demon's thigh and climbed like a spider. Chest. Shoulder.
The Demon thrashed, trying to grab her, but she was too close to his body, in his blind spot. Geneviève reached the joint of the right wing. That leathery membrane that allowed this mountain to move so fast.
"Stay down!" yelled Geneviève.
She channeled all her power into the blade. Vesper's Light became incandescent. Geneviève drove the sword into the wing joint and pulled down with all her weight. The demonic flesh, hard as boiled leather in iron, resisted for a moment, then gave way with a horrible tearing sound. The right wing was nearly severed at the base.
The Demon screamed, a high, vibrating sound. He tried to take flight from the pain, but the right wing collapsed uselessly. The enormous creature lost its balance. He fell backward, crashing into the nave of the cathedral. The weight of the monster caused the floor to collapse, sending them both plummeting into the underground crypts.
Geneviève fell into the dark along with her enemy, amidst dust, bones of ancient saints, and rubble. The impact was devastating. Geneviève landed on a stone sarcophagus, shattering it. She felt something break inside her. Maybe a rib, maybe her collarbone. The pain was blinding.
In the darkness of the crypt, lit only by a few shafts of light filtering from the collapsed ceiling and the purple luminescence of the demon's blood, heavy breathing was heard.
The Daemon Prince rose slowly. His right wing hung limp, dragging on the ground like a broken cloak. But his rage was now cold, lucid. He no longer looked at her as prey. He looked at her as a nemesis.
"You took the sky from me," whispered the Demon, limping toward her among the desecrated tombs. He gripped the scythe with one hand, while the other glowed with chaotic energy ready to explode. "Very well, knight. Then we shall die in the dark."
Geneviève tried to lift her sword. Her right arm trembled violently. Her armor was a wreck. But Vesper's Light did not tremble. The holy stone pulsed to the rhythm of Geneviève's heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Geneviève spat a broken tooth inside her helm. "It doesn't matter where we die," she replied, staggering into a guard stance. "It matters who remains standing."