Maya felt the rush of water surge from her, a torrent of energy that channelled from her calves, down to the soles of her feet. The force exploded beneath her, propelling her toward Abel in an instant. The crumbled temple walls blurred around her, her gaze fixed only on Abel. She caught a glimpse of his face, wide-eyed in alarm, just as she reached him and pushed him aside.

Then, the searing heat struck.

The laser sliced through her, swift and merciless, as though her body were made of paper. Pain shot through her, a blinding agony, as the force tore into her like a blade through silk. She felt herself split, a strange sense of weightlessness flooding her senses as her body gave way to the blast. It was almost surreal, as though she were separate from it, floating, watching herself from above.

Everything blurred as she collapsed to the ground, dimly aware of the sound of her own ragged breaths. Abel was there, his face hovering over her, his eyes glistening with tears, his mouth moving but the words distant, as though she were hearing them from beneath the surface of water.

"Maya!" he cried, his voice breaking. "Maya, no—please, God, no!" He held her close, his arms trembling, his face contorted in anguish. She tried to focus on him, to keep her vision steady, but it was slipping, the edges darkening, her surroundings falling away.

In the fading moments, she managed a smile, the barest trace of one, as her lips parted, and she mumbled, "Abel… I love you."

Her voice was a whisper, a flicker of sound lost in the vast emptiness that enveloped her. She felt his hands, warm and desperate, pressing against her face, his thumb tracing her cheek, his fingers tangled in her hair. His cries echoed around her, pleading with the heavens, calling out to anyone, anything, that would hear him.

In the depths of that darkness, as her body grew colder, a sliver of light appeared ahead, soft and inviting, like a beacon in the distance. She focused on it, her mind slipping from Abel’s voice, from the pain, from everything that had been. The light grew, expanding into a narrow tunnel, a path of gentle white in the vast black.

And in front of that light stood a figure, tall and serene, shrouded in radiance. The figure’s hand extended toward her, beckoning her forward, its face calm and kind. She felt a strange peace settle over her, a quietness that took away the sharp edges of pain, that made her feel weightless, as if she were drifting along a gentle current.

But as she stepped toward it, Abel’s voice broke through the silence once more, filled with raw despair and love. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice choked, as if each word tore at his throat. “Please, Maya… please don’t leave me. I need you… I love you…”

The light flickered, the figure still waiting, patient and still, yet Abel’s words echoed louder, ringing through her consciousness, pulling her back, tethering her to him. She wanted to reach out, to hold him, to stay with him. But she felt herself slipping further, her vision narrowing, the light drawing her closer.

The last image she saw was his face, drenched in grief, his tears falling on her cheeks as he held her close. And in her heart, one final thought echoed softly as she drifted into the light.

I’ll always love you, Abel.

Abel’s fists tightened around his shield and sword as he stared at Goliath, the towering skeleton who had taken the life of the woman he loved. The weight of Maya’s final moments, her brave sacrifice, bore down on him with a force he had never felt before. His heart flailed, burning with a searing, white-hot rage. With a steady breath, he reached down, letting his shield clatter to the ground, and instead took up her sword—the one she’d wielded with such fierce grace.

Around him, the remains of the temple lay in crumbled ruins, the ancient stones reduced to rubble from their fierce battle. The air was thick with the dust and lingering heat of the destruction that had unfolded, every shattered piece of stone a testament to the fury he had unleashed upon the Nephilim king so far. But it wasn’t enough. Not until justice was served.

Goliath’s hollow eyesockets gleamed with a wicked mockery as he watched Abel’s movements, unbothered, perhaps even entertained by his opponent’s fury. The Nephilim king dragged his own massive sword across the ground, the eerie scrape echoing through the shattered remnants of the temple. He sneered, his voice a hollow rasp. “How pathetic,” he taunted, his voice ringing with dark amusement. “You couldn’t protect her. A woman had to die to save you. How weak you truly are.”

Abel clenched Maya’s sword tighter, the blade catching the flicker of his own heat, as though her spirit was merging with his strength. He glared up at Goliath, his voice low and unwavering, “She was no ordinary woman.” His tone grew louder, reverberating with raw emotion. “She was a warrior, a guardian, a force more powerful than anything you could ever know.”

Goliath only chuckled, a dry, echoing sound that bounced off the broken walls. “So much sentiment, little prince. Are you ready to die now too? The way she did?”

Abel stepped forward, his stance firm. His heart thundered as the rage within him surged into the very core of his being, igniting every inch of his body with unbridled heat. Flames erupted from his hands, his arms, his entire frame ablaze with a fury that mirrored the pain tearing through his heart. He held both swords before him—his own blade in one hand, Maya’s in the other. She deserved justice. She deserved a warrior’s revenge.

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With a final breath, he launched himself at Goliath, swords ablaze, his entire being a furnace of vengeance.

Goliath reacted quickly, swinging his enormous sword down with terrifying speed. Abel dodged, rolling to the side, then sprang up, lashing out with both blades. Goliath’s sword came crashing down again, nearly clipping Abel’s shoulder, but Abel was faster, fueled by the fire within. He struck at Goliath’s ribcage, the combined force of his fire and the twin blades slicing through the ancient bones. Goliath snarled, clearly feeling the impact of Abel’s strikes more than he had before.

Abel’s power had reached new heights; every move was faster, stronger, relentless. He charged forward, using the heat from his flames to propel him forward, slashing and striking with precision. Goliath blocked, parried, and countered, each clash of their weapons sending sparks flying. Yet with every exchange, Abel felt his strength only grow, his rage feeding the flames that scorched everything in their path. The very air around him felt like a furnace, the oppressive heat intensifying with each second.

The skeletal king seemed slightly taken aback, his taunts replaced by a grim silence. Abel continued his assault, his voice echoing with every blow. “You call yourself a king? You’re nothing. Nothing but a shadow of the past, clinging to ruins and dust!”

Goliath roared in response, his bony fist slamming down, forcing Abel to leap back to avoid being crushed. Abel pressed forward again, this time striking Goliath’s leg with Maya’s sword. The blade cut deep, a sickening crunch as bone splintered and cracked. Goliath staggered, letting out a fierce growl, his skeletal hand swiping toward Abel, but Abel was ready. He twisted, evading the strike, then delivered a powerful kick to Goliath’s chest, shoving him back with all his strength.

The song of the Lost echoed closer, their mournful voices a haunting melody, but Abel paid it no mind. The world was narrowed down to just him and Goliath, the intensity of the battle consuming him entirely. With a surge of power, he swung both blades at once, carving through Goliath’s right arm, bone fragments scattering like debris. Goliath stumbled, his remaining hand clutching his weapon tightly, but Abel was relentless.

Around them, the remaining stones of the temple quaked, debris raining down as Abel’s heat turned the ancient stone brittle. Yet he didn’t stop, the weight of Maya’s death, the love he’d lost, fueling every single blow. As his flames intensified, Goliath’s skeletal form began to char, his bones blackening, splintering under the relentless barrage. The great Nephilim king tried to counter, but Abel’s strength was unyielding, every slash and strike hammering down with all the fury he could muster.

Then, with one final surge of strength, Abel thrust both swords forward, driving them into Goliath’s chest with every ounce of power he had left. Fire surged from the blades, engulfing Goliath in a blazing inferno. The flames twisted and roared, consuming him entirely. For the first time, a look of shock flickered in Goliath’s hollow gaze, his bony frame beginning to fracture, to crumble under the intense heat.

“Burn in the hell you crawled out from,” Abel whispered, his voice steady as his hands drove the swords deeper, channeling every last ounce of his strength.

With a final, shuddering groan, Goliath’s massive form buckled under the inferno. His bones began to splinter, the ancient magic that had held him together disintegrating in the overwhelming flames. Cracks formed across his skeletal frame, his jaw falling open in what might have been a silent scream, and then, with a thunderous crash, Goliath crumbled to ash, leaving nothing but the faint, lingering heat of Abel's fire.

Abel stood still for a moment, chest heaving as he watched the last remnants of the Nephilim king vanish into dust. He lowered his gaze, the weight of Maya’s sword in his hand heavier than ever. The silence around him was absolute, his victory feeling hollow as he knelt on the fractured ground where Goliath had stood, his body trembling from exhaustion, his soul aching from loss.

But the silence didn’t last long. The faint, mournful wails of the Lost grew louder, the cursed beings gathering at the edges of the ruin, their distorted forms barely visible in the dark. Abel lifted his head, watching as more of the creatures began to emerge, their eyes reflecting a menacing glow in the moonlight. His hands tightened around the swords, his body worn but his spirit unwilling to give in.

He rose to his feet, defiant, knowing he was vastly outnumbered. As he scanned the gathering horde, he heard a distant roar—the sound of Ajax, the monstrous dragon, tearing through the night air with a fury that sent chills down his spine. The beast had awoken, drawn by the destruction and the presence of so many intruders.

Abel looked out over the advancing horde, his lips tightening as he prepared himself. If he was going to die here, he would die fighting, just as Maya had, with courage in his heart. He steadied his breath, his eyes hardening as he lifted the two swords, his stance ready for what would likely be his final stand.

The Lost advanced, their song echoing louder, but then—something shifted in the air. The ghouls stopped in their tracks, their menacing advance suddenly frozen as their eyes turned, not toward Abel, but toward something behind him.

Abel felt a warmth at his back, a light piercing through the night. He turned slowly, his own eyes widening in awe as he saw the source—a brilliant, blinding radiance, like the first light of dawn piercing through the darkened ruins. Malin stood there, holding high the Sword of Righteousness, its light cutting through the shadows, casting the cursed beings in a searing glow that made them recoil, hissing in terror.

The Sword was resplendent, a golden aura surrounding it, shimmering with power and purity beyond mortal comprehension. Its blade gleamed like the sun, reflecting every facet of light, and as Malin held it aloft, the horde of Lost beings shuddered, their twisted forms beginning to dissolve, their haunting wails turning into cries of anguish as the light overwhelmed them.

Abel, kneeling before the blazing light, felt a wave of relief wash over him, his burdens momentarily lifted as he looked up at Malin, who stood like a beacon of hope against the darkness. The weight of the journey, the losses, and the battles they had fought finally seemed to find meaning in that moment, in the glow of the Sword of Righteousness.

The night was filled with light, and for the first time, Abel felt that they might yet survive this final trial. The Lost scattered, retreating from the purity of the sword’s aura, and even the roar of Ajax seemed to falter, hesitating in the face of the power now held in Malin’s grasp.

Abel lowered his head, tears filling his eyes as he whispered, “Thank you, Maya. I hope you see this…wherever you are.” He rose to his feet, his strength renewed, and prepared to face whatever came next, with Malin, the bearer of the Sword, at his side.