Conditional Finality

The trial hall was colder than I expected. Not in temperature, but in atmosphere. It was suffocating—an oppressive weight pressing down on my shoulders, the silent judgment of dozens of noble houses watching as I stood alone in the center of the grand chamber. The polished marble floor gleamed beneath me, reflecting the dim, flickering candlelight. Towering pillars lined the hall, each adorned with banners bearing the sigils of the ruling houses, and yet not one of them bore the crest of Tomaszewski.

Because I was alone.

No mother. No father. No Uncle Hinata. No Asmodeus. No allies. No help.

I had been abducted in transit, dragged to this courtroom without warning, stripped of my right to prepare a defense. Zaphkiel was the only presence in my mind, feeding me calculated outcomes, but even it was struggling against the weight of this farce.

[Notice: Courtroom consensus already against host. Probability of fair trial: 0%]

I swallowed, lifting my gaze. The noble houses sat in tiers, their expressions ranging from impassive to outright contemptuous. At the head of it all sat the panel of judges—representatives from various factions who had already decided my fate before I had even arrived.

House Dagan, draped in crimson, their banners lined with gold, led the accusation. Their matriarch, Lady Helena Dagan, was regal in posture but venomous in gaze. Her voice rang through the chamber with icy certainty.

"The crime is indisputable. Lady Tomaszewski did not engage in a sanctioned duel—she executed my son in cold blood. A disgrace to nobility. A disgrace to order."

I stood still, my heart hammering in my chest, but I kept my face impassive.

[Observation: Opponent utilizing emotional appeal. No direct evidence presented.]

That didn't matter. Truth wasn't necessary in this trial. Only power.

House Valeria, with Camilla at their helm, pressed further. "This only reaffirms what has long been suspected. A child of tainted blood, incapable of ruling with dignity. Her actions reflect the corruption within her very existence."

I forced my jaw not to clench.

House Rellmont, previously neutral, now shifted ever so slightly in favor of the majority. Their representative leaned forward, voice measured but damning. "An unstable heir cannot be trusted to uphold noble integrity. If Lady Tomaszewski's first answer to opposition is execution, how long until that same lack of restraint is turned against us?"

House Dracis, the ever-opportunistic vultures, saw their opening. "For too long, Tomaszewski has hidden behind neutrality, refusing to contribute properly to military defense. They use their so-called peace as an excuse to hoard power without responsibility. This is not just about one death—this is about a pattern of defiance."

I inhaled slowly. I could already see it. The way they were shifting, twisting the narrative to not just condemn me—but to weaken Tomaszewski as a whole. My death was a convenient excuse to justify their ambitions.

[Warning: Trial outcome progressing toward public sentencing. Recommended action: Tactical disruption.]

I spoke at last. "You call it murder, but it was a duel." My voice did not waver. "A challenge issued and accepted. Are we to ignore the laws that have governed noble combat for centuries?"

Lady Dagan's gaze sharpened. "You mistake law for privilege. A noble duel requires acknowledgment, record, and proper procedure. There was no such documentation of your so-called duel. It was a reckless display of savagery."

I knew the truth. They had destroyed any record of Alistair's challenge. No witnesses from Tomaszewski had been allowed here. It was my word against theirs.

And I was alone.

[Observation: Host's statement has no impact on pre-established biases.]

I already knew that, but hearing it from Zaphkiel made it sink deeper.

A slow smirk curled at Camilla Valeria's lips. "However, Lady Tomaszewski does raise an interesting point. She claims her strength entitles her to victory. Strength is, after all, the foundation of noble rule."

House Dracis picked up where she left off. "If she is so confident in her strength, let her prove it."

My blood ran cold.

Lady Helena Dagan gave a slow nod, as if pondering something she had already planned in advance. "A fair point. If Lady Tomaszewski truly believes in her right to rule, then let her stand by it. A duel. A true noble's reckoning."

I swallowed.

[Warning: Proposed solution is a forced entrapment. Probability of duel opponent being deliberately chosen to ensure host's failure: 98%.]

Camilla's voice was honeyed, dripping with faux amusement. "Yes. A duel will determine if she is fit to stand among us. Surely she wouldn't refuse?"

Refuse, and I would be declared guilty immediately. Accept, and I would be walking into an execution disguised as honor.

No choice.

I lifted my chin. "I accept."

A slow ripple passed through the gathered nobility. Some smirked. Others leaned back, satisfied. The sentence had already been written. Now, they just wanted the spectacle.

House Dagan had called for my blood.

The words didn't sting. I had expected this.

What I hadn't expected was the location.

Not in the grand halls of a noble estate. Not on even ground.

They took me to the training grounds of House Dagan.

The dueling area was carved from stone, encircled by sharp cliffs and silent onlookers. The moment I stepped into the arena, I felt it—this was not a battlefield. This was an execution ground.

And he was already there.

Declan Dagan.

I had heard of him before. The lesser-known son of House Dagan, kept in the shadows while Alistair played politics. He never sought attention. He never needed to. His reputation among warriors spoke for itself—

A prodigy. Ruthless. Efficient. Unbeaten.

If Alistair had been the dagger poised in public, Declan was the unseen blade waiting for the right moment to strike.

He had been waiting for me.

The watching nobles barely breathed as the duel was announced. The rules? There were none.

"Begin."

Declan moved.

I had faced fast opponents before. I had fought warriors trained in speed, in precision, in deadly accuracy.

But Declan Dagan was faster than Celestial Foresight.

The moment I saw him move, it was already too late.

I pivoted, trying to predict him, trying to control the fight—but my vision blurred with too many futures, too little clarity.

[Notice: Reaction speed insufficient. Evasive maneuver ineffective.]

He was on me before I could adjust.

A strike to my ribs—shattering. I barely managed to raise my arm before the next blow came, knocking the air from my lungs. My body moved slower than my mind.

[Alert: Damage critical. Neural pathways struggling to recalibrate.]

I pushed forward. I could still turn this.

My tails whipped out, striking in tandem—one for his legs, one for his throat, one to anchor me to the ground.

Declan grabbed one mid-motion.

Pain shot through me as he yanked, my body ripped from the air and slammed into the dirt.

A second blow. A third. Each one precise. Each one meant to break.

[Warning: Internal bleeding detected. Oxygen levels dropping.]

I tried to stand. Declan was already there.

His hand wrapped around my throat, lifting me slightly, golden eyes empty of hesitation.

"This is justice," he murmured. "You took my brother. I will take your future."

The world had shrunk to the pulse of pain in my body, the sharp, gasping breaths I couldn't quite catch, and the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. My ribs—broken. My limbs—heavy, sluggish, barely responding. My mind—fractured between reality and the numbing static of pain.

[Notice: Severe internal damage detected. Probability of continued combat effectiveness: 3.7%.]

I couldn't focus on Zaphkiel's voice. The numbers, the calculations—it all blurred beneath the raw, unfiltered agony threading through my nerves.

I had lost. Not just lost—I had been demolished.

Declan Dagan loomed over me, his presence radiating dominance, the tip of his bloodstained blade poised for the final strike. I was supposed to die here. The nobles wanted it. House Dagan demanded it. House Tomaszewski's enemies had made sure this would be the last time I ever stood before them.

And I had accepted it.

Or, at least, I had thought I had.

The moment the blade descended, time shattered into fragments.

A blur—motion too fast for my eyes to track. A sickening thud. The sharp inhale of the gathered nobles. The wet, choking gasp of someone taking a wound meant for me.

Blood.

That was all I could smell. All I could taste. The metallic tang thick on my tongue, suffocating. My vision swam, blurred by pain and something worse—something I couldn't name.

[Warning: Host's injuries critical. Severe internal bleeding. Fractured ribs impeding lung function.]

I barely heard Zaphkiel's warnings. It was distant. Like everything else. Like the world had been swallowed by static.

Because in front of me, Satoshi was falling.

Declan Dagan's blade had been meant for me. It was supposed to be me. But at the last second, my father—my father—had stepped between us, and now—

"Dad!"

I wasn't sure if I screamed or if someone else did. The only sound I truly heard was the sickening gurgle as blood flooded my father's lungs. He staggered but did not fall, the sword embedded deep into his chest. The sight of it burned into my mind, more vivid than anything before. The crimson soaking into his robes. The way his fingers curled slightly, as if reaching for something. The slow tilt of his head—his golden eyes locking onto mine.

"Stand up, Chiori."

His voice was calm. Not inhumanly so, but steady in a way that made my stomach twist. How could he still be standing? How could he still be speaking like this?

His next words hit harder than any wound I'd taken today.

"Or everything we've built dies with me."

Then he collapsed.

Something inside me shattered.

[Critical Alert: Host's emotional instability reaching unsustainable levels. Cognitive dissonance detected.]

Shut up. Shut up, shut up—

I was moving before I knew what I was doing. My body dragged itself forward, my hands clawing at the blood-soaked ground. Every nerve in my body screamed, ribs grinding against each other, pain lancing through my chest with every breath—but none of it mattered.

[Warning: Movement exacerbating injuries. Survival probability dropping below 30%.]

None of it mattered.

I reached for him.

"Dad—"

His breathing was ragged, shallow. His fingers twitched but didn't move toward me. No. No, no, no, no. I pressed my hands against his wound, the warmth of his blood spilling between my fingers. It was too much. Too much. I couldn't stop it.

[Analysis: Blood loss catastrophic. Organ failure imminent.]

I knew that. I knew that. But I couldn't—I couldn't just—

Zaphkiel stirred in the back of my mind. Not calculating. Not analyzing. Feeling.

[Query: Why is Host disregarding all survival logic?]

Because he's my father.

[Observation: Host experiencing… grief. Desperation. Concepts previously cataloged but not fully understood.]

I couldn't breathe. I wasn't sure if it was from my ribs or the crushing weight in my chest.

Zaphkiel hesitated. Then—

[Initiating Override. Activating Extra Skill: Predator to sustain Host's survival.]

A tail—massive, unnatural, ravenous—unfurled from my back, unlike anything I'd manifested before. Predator. I felt it hunger. Not for flesh, not for power, but for something deeper.

For my dad.

It wrapped around him, curling tight. His mana—his essence—poured into me. I felt it flood my veins, a surge so intense I nearly collapsed under the weight of it. Not just mana. More. More.

[Warning: Data influx exceeding safe parameters.]

Memories.

I saw.

A younger version of him, laughing, standing beside someone I barely recognized—Hinata. The two of them training, pushing each other, arguing, growing.

I saw my mother, younger, fiercer. Her golden eyes blazing with something I couldn't name. I saw her hands—covered in blood. Not hers. Not ours.

I saw him watching over me as a child, standing at a distance, unreadable. I felt his hesitations, his regrets. His pride.

I saw his fears.

And then—

[Integration 89% complete.]

Zaphkiel understood.

[New Understanding Acquired: Love is illogical. Love is power. Loss...HURTS]

I gasped as the weight of it hit me, as his mana became mine, as his strength settled into my bones—

And yet, he was still dying.

I pressed harder against his chest. "Come on, come on—"

"Chiori."

His voice was softer now. Like he was already slipping.

"No." I shook my head violently, refusing to let the tears fall. "No. You're not doing this. I—I have your mana now, I can—"

He gave me a look. That same unreadable, calculated look he had always given me. But there was something else behind it now. Something that broke me.

Acceptance.

My breath hitched. "Don't—"

His hand—soaked in his own blood—lifted weakly. Rested against my cheek. The warmth was fading fast. "My little star," he murmured, so quiet I could barely hear him. "You're stronger than you think."

My whole body trembled. "Please, don't—"

A shadow fell over us. Declan.

"Touching." His voice was void of emotion. Just a declaration. A sentence. "But this duel isn't over."

Satoshi's fingers curled slightly against my face—his final movement. His last bit of warmth.

Then they fell away.

Something in me fractured.

The world tilted. My vision blurred—not from pain, but from something deeper, something raw and unbearable. My tail trembled against the ground, not with rage but with sheer helplessness. The weight of it—of him—inside me was suffocating. I had taken his mana, his skills, his essence—but not enough.

I needed more.

I needed him back.

The battlefield was forgotten. The duel was forgotten. There was only the crushing, all-consuming knowledge that I had lost him.

I pressed my forehead against his chest, my breath shaking. "Dad, please… just—" My voice cracked. "Just stay."

But there was no answer.

And that silence was louder than anything in the world.