The grove simmered with heat, the light of Mephistopheles' form casting eerie shadows across the trees. Margaretta clung to him, her breath quickened, her heart torn between exhilaration and fear. Around them, the night thickened with an oppressive weight, a foreboding of what was to come.

The guards burst into the clearing, their torches blazing against the unnatural darkness. Their armored forms shimmered with tension, the reflected light dancing like restless spirits on their blades. The captain stepped forward, his voice cutting through the night.

"By order of the authorities, stand down, Devil!"

Mephistopheles didn't move, his fiery gaze locked on the intruders. His skin gleamed as he held Margaretta closer, his lips curling into a faint, amused smile. "You come here with fire and steel," he said, his voice resonant and calm. "But do you understand what you face?"

The guards hesitated, the weight of his words pressing against their bravado. The captain tightened his grip on his sword, his knuckles whitening. "We face a corrupter of souls! Release the woman and surrender, or face holy retribution."

Mephistopheles tilted his head, studying them like insects beneath a magnifying glass. His eyes flicked to Faouzia, hidden among the trees, her breath catching as his gaze lingered for a moment too long. Then, with a sigh, he turned back to the guards.

"I tire of this," he said, raising a hand.

The air thickened, the temperature spiking as a wave of energy surged outward. The torches sputtered and died, the guards recoiling as their armor grew too hot to bear. Flames erupted from the ground, encircling them, their shouts turning to screams as the earth itself seemed to rise against them.

Margaretta gasped, clutching at Mephistopheles' chest. "Stop!" she cried. "You'll kill them!"

His gaze softened as he looked down at her, the fire dimming slightly. "They came here to kill me, Margaretta," he said gently. "Would you have me let them?"

Before she could answer, a new presence entered the grove. The air shifted, the oppressive heat giving way to a cool, serene glow. The guards, huddled and trembling, turned toward the source of the light, their faces painted with awe and fear.

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She descended like a comet, her golden armor catching the faint starlight as she landed between Mephistopheles and the guards. Her tan skin radiated warmth, her black hair flowing like a banner in the breeze. Her wings, vast and shimmering, folded gracefully behind her as she drew her sword—a blade of radiant gold, its edge glowing with celestial fire.

"Enough," the angel said, her voice calm but commanding.

Mephistopheles straightened, his amusement giving way to something colder. "Ah," he said, his tone mocking. "They send you to clean up their mess. Tell me, Angel—do they think you can do what their petty soldiers cannot?"

The angel regarded him with steady eyes, her expression unyielding. "I am Laurel, servant of Heaven," she said. "And I will not permit your corruption to spread any further."

He chuckled, his form shifting as he took a step forward. "Brave words. But do you know what it is you challenge?"

"I do," Laurel said simply.

She moved faster than the human eye could follow, her golden blade arcing toward him. Mephistopheles raised a hand, catching the blade with a flare of fire. The grove trembled with the force of their clash, the air crackling with heat and light.

The battle was swift and brutal. Laurel's movements were precise and unrelenting, her blade a blur of radiant energy. Mephistopheles met her strikes with fury, his every movement a blend of grace and raw power. The ground beneath them splintered and burned, the trees groaning as their roots writhed in protest.

Margaretta watched in horror, her hands clutched to her chest as the two icons clashed. Faouzia, still hidden, could barely breathe, her astronomancy flaring with the overwhelming energies radiating from the grove.

The guards, too, were paralyzed with fear and awe, their weapons forgotten as they watched the celestial and infernal forces collide.

Finally, Laurel found her opening. Her blade struck true, carving a searing line across Mephistopheles' chest. He staggered, his form flickering as droplets hissed against the scorched earth.

"You fight well," he said, his voice tinged with both respect and fury. "But you cannot kill me, Angel. You know this."

Laurel raised her blade, her wings flaring behind her. "Perhaps not," she said. "But I can banish you."

She plunged her sword into the ground, the grove erupting with radiant light. A circle of golden runes flared into existence beneath Mephistopheles' feet, the air around him shimmering as the spell took hold.

"No!" Margaretta screamed, rushing toward him, but Laurel raised a hand, a gentle barrier stopping her in her tracks.

Mephistopheles met Margaretta's tearful gaze, his eyes softening. "I will return," he promised, his voice steady despite the golden light consuming him. "Nothing can keep me from you."

And with that, he was gone, the grove falling silent save for Margaretta's sobs.

Laurel turned to the guards, her expression unreadable. "Leave this place," she commanded. "Tell your masters that the devil is gone. But know this—his corruption lingers. Be vigilant."

The guards nodded mutely, retreating from the grove as fast as their legs could carry them.

As the light of the angel faded, Faouzia stepped from her hiding place, her face pale. Margaretta turned to her, her eyes blazing with betrayal.

"What have you done?!" Margaretta demanded, her voice trembling with rage.

Faouzia opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She watched helplessly as Margaretta fled into the night, her sobs echoing through the grove.