"They're too fast, I can barely see them."
Asphodel's deep, distorted voice echoed over the clash of metal..
To him, the monsters tearing up the arena had become two blurs he struggled to perceive.
A storm of crimson mist twisted in the air, and black blades fell like hail as Alisax and Mordred went toe to toe with each other, releasing massive waves of ardor with each clash.
Naberiax replied in his regal voice. "You can't see them because you are a weakling, Zygaxis."
The rooted daemon turned his black head toward the Fallen Malakh. "Care to repeat that, High Commander?" his voice dripping with hostility.
"He's speaking the truth, you impossible fool," another voice chimed in, carrying a familiar and annoying amusement.
Genisix's lanky form stood beside them, his jagged body still scarred from his recent defeat.
"I don't want to hear that from a loser who got destroyed by a mere human," Asphodel spat.
"I know that I am defeated. And I accept it." Genisix's voice was calm, annoyingly. "But you still cling to the delusion of being the strongest."
"I am one of the strongest," Asphodel growled, pointing a clawed finger at the black blur of Alisax. "I wholly crushed her the last time we fought."
Genisix cackled. "You were incapable of defeating her as a Luminus. In the end, you had to become a daemon to even take on her."
"And now that she herself is a daemon, I have a feeling that she would be the one crushing you."
"I would very much like to see that," Asphodel's body rippled, roots twisting beneath him as he leaned forward, ready to jump into the fray.
"Stop it, you fools." Naberiax's voice was sharp, and a wave of pressure swept over them, freezing the arguing daemons in their spots. "Think twice before you attempt to interrupt this battle."
But his gaze wasn't on the chaotic battle in the arena.
Asphodel followed his gaze, and his body stiffened at what he saw.
There, across the arena, in the shadowed seats, sat a figure.
It was a daemon. A female, to be exact. Like the commanders, her body was made of darkness, except it was quite different.
Her entire body was composed of smooth, flowing black cloth, an endless weave of darkness that rippled with a life of its own.
The fabric writhed faintly and in a certain rhythm, with bands of black cloth trailing off her body and forming a loose battle robe, cinched at her slim waist.
From her lithe shoulders to the tattered hem of the battle robe, shimmering and jagged like obsidian, the black fabric sculpted her tall, lithe form with an unnatural, yet beautiful grace.
Atop her shoulders, the black fabric wrapped around itself in the shape of a graceful neck and a humanoid head with a mass of thin threads trailing behind like strands of long hair.
Two points of white light peered from the darkness in the wrappings between the strips that formed her head.
Her eyes were filled with cold intelligence and absolute indifference, following every single movement of the battle occurring under her gaze.
Asphodel's form trembled, and a quiet, fearful whisper escaped him. "I don't believe this… She left her post?"
"It appears so," Genisix murmured, his voice losing its usual smugness. "But why?"
"You idiots. She's here to see her sister," Naberiax's reply made them turn towards him.
"I don't remember them being that close," Genisix said drily.
"Alisax despised her," Asphodel added in a similar tone.
But Naberiax's gaze remained fixed on the battle. "Hatred does not change blood."
"Oh, it does, High Commander," Asphodel replied. He turned to Lilith. "What do you think, Your Majesty?"
However, his words didn't reach her. Lilith's gaze was not on the daemon on the other side of the arena.
Her purple eyes, filled with a mad longing that manifested as an eerie glow, remained fixed on the silhouette of the monster she created.
An explosion shook the entire arena, and a storm of ardor swept over them.
A figure was hurled from the explosion, a rag doll shot out of a cannon and crashed into the arena's black walls, shattering the stone.
Silence settled over them like a heavy blanket.
The crimson mist dissipated, revealing the solitary figure of Alisax standing in the middle of the arena.
The darkness trailing off her had been reduced to faint, flickering wisps, revealing her damaged armor flexing and morphing as she healed, twisting and melding like living metal.
A steady plume of steam escaped from the depths of the darkness beneath her shadowy hood, a testament to the sheer effort it took the daemon in this fight.
A disappointed and distorted sigh escaped Asphodel as he shook his head. "In the end, he couldn't beat her. It's over."
But the others weren't listening. Their gazes were fixed on the broken human embedded in the shattered wall.
"Why are you all just-" Asphodel began, but the words died in his throat.
It was insignificant at the beginning, like a small ember, and then it began to surge in intensity.
A terrifying aura swept over them like a raging wildfire, uncontrollable, searing, and powerful.
With a shuddering breath, Mordred Pendragon shrugged himself off the shattered wall, a faint, crimson mist escaping from his mouth.
His blood arm ignited into the signature crimson and black flames of Bloodfire that blazed fiercely.
Wordlessly, he began walking toward Alisax, crimson mist trailing off his body, as if his very blood were being vaporized by the sheer power coursing through his blood vessels.
Each step released a wave of ardor reverberating all over everyone, and his eyes glowed with a faint, searing crimson.
He held out his crimson arm, and blood twisted around it to form a crystalline longsword, a crimson mirror of Alisax's black sword.
Bloodfire spread from his blood arm to the sword, creating a thin, flickering layer of crimson and black flames.
Lilith grinned and clapped like an excited child.
"That's it! That's my Mordred!" she squealed, her voice dripping with a twisted delight.
Asphodel felt a chill down his spine when he noticed the young man's subtle movements and posture as he approached the battered daemon.
The way he walked, the subtle shifts in his posture. Every action was a mirror of Alisax.
A memory flashed in his mind, a memory filled with black ooze, Bloodfire, and a mad laughter that echoed with the power of the Goddess of Madness.
"He is using his unique ability." He spoke, his distorted voice now barely a whisper.
"The ability to copy others," Naberiax mused, his fiery gaze remaining unblinking as he watched the young man. "This is the first time I am seeing it. He never used it when we tried to tame him."
"That's because he couldn't copy us; we are too unpredictable and far away from being a human," Genisix remarked.
He tilted his fireball of a head. "But now… now that he has become a being like us, it seems he can."
As Mordred walked closer to Alisax, the daemon's body shuddered, steam pouring from the cracks in her armor as her recovery accelerated.
The darkness swirling around her flared violently, and her jagged longsword solidified in her clawed grip.
Soon, both stood in the middle of the arena, Mordred looking up at the tall figure of Alisax and Alisax looking down at Mordred.
The enormous aura and ardor waves released by Mordred ceased, and the whole arena became quiet.
Lilith leaned forward, her purple eyes taking in every single detail of this standoff, her gaze filled with maniacal longing never leaving Mordred.
The daemon commanders watched intently at the two beings standing on the battlefield, not daring to give out a single whisper of sound.
The lone daemon on the other side of the arena remained like a silent sentinel, blending with the black stone, her bright eyes remaining fixed on Alisax.
The human and the daemon faced each other for a moment before they struck.
Alisax's blade descended in a sharp, precise arc, and Mordred mirrored her movement, executing a perfect upward slash, meeting her attack.
A violent flurry of sparks erupted from the point of contact as the blades bounced off each other, and a quick shockwave swept over the arena, scattering the black sand.
Alisax swung her sword again, and Mordred countered it in her style.
She quickly moved to the side and attacked. He matched her footwork and dodged with the same grace as her.
He planted his right foot on the ground and thrust the sword at his opponent's chest.
Alisax instantly blocked it with the flat of her blade, and she immediately sensed something wrong.
Bloodfire erupted from the contact, and the force pushed her back ever so slightly. But it was enough for Mordred.
He leaned forward and proceeded to unleash a flurry of slashes that perfectly mimicked Alisax.
Alisax swiftly recovered and began her counterattacks, dodging and parrying Mordred's strikes.
Bloodfire and black shadows clashed as the two S-rankers engaged in an intricate and deadly sword dance that ripped through the air and carved deep gouges into the black stone of the arena walls.
Each strike was perfectly matched. Mordred's sword traced the exact paths of Alisax's attacks, his footwork mirrored her deadly grace.
Each time she struck, he was already there, countering in a perfect imitation.
Each movement from Mordred was identical, each slash resonated with the technique that took Alisax centuries to master.
It was as if the daemon was facing herself.
Lilith found it difficult to contain the excitement building inside of her. Her breathing quickened, and her body leaned in closer as her eyes remained on every single action of Mordred.
It doesn't matter whether he loses or wins. To her, the masterpiece she created, Mordred Pendragon, was almost complete.
Just a single brush stroke is required.
Her fingers pressed against her lips, a shiver of pleasure running down her spine.
"Just a little more, my love," she whispered lovingly.
"Soon you will fulfill my desire."