Chapter 51 – The Return of the Darkness

Mary stood frozen in the clearing, her heart racing as the shadows began to swirl around her once again. The air was thick with an oppressive force, one that seemed to pull at her very soul. She could feel the shard within her, now dull and cold, resonating with an unfamiliar energy. The world around her was shifting, and not for the better.

The figure emerging from the shadows moved with an eerie grace, its form barely discernible in the darkening world. At first, all Mary could make out were the glowing eyes—two pinpricks of light that seemed to pierce through the gloom like twin stars in a dying sky. But then, as the figure drew closer, she saw it more clearly.

It was tall, draped in flowing black robes that seemed to merge with the darkness itself. The robes billowed out around it, as though the very fabric was alive, writhing in the air. The face beneath the hood was a blur, an unsettling void where features should have been, like a silhouette carved from night. Yet, despite the absence of distinct features, the presence was undeniable. It radiated power—raw, terrifying, unfathomable power.

The shard in Mary's chest pulsed again, but it was no longer the warmth she had once known. Now, it was a warning—a silent scream in the back of her mind, urging her to move, to run. But she couldn't. Not yet. Not while this figure remained.

"Who… who are you?" Mary's voice came out in a hoarse whisper, her breath catching in her throat. She instinctively reached for her sword, but it felt heavier now, the weight of the blade more of a burden than a comfort. The air seemed to drain the strength from her limbs.

The figure didn't respond at first. Instead, it stepped forward, its movements slow but deliberate, as if savoring the moment. As it came into the full light of the dying sun, Mary's heart skipped a beat. There was something familiar about it—something unsettlingly so.

"You don't recognize me, do you, Mary?" The voice was deep, cold, and full of echoes, like the sound of a thousand whispers in the dead of night. "But I know you."

Mary's mind reeled, trying to place the voice, but it didn't make sense. It felt ancient, older than time itself, yet it was not unfamiliar. Her pulse quickened as she took a step back, the weight of the situation crashing down on her.

The figure raised one hand, the black robe flowing with the motion as if it were alive. From within the folds of the robe, a faint light flickered—a cold, unnatural glow that seemed to twist reality around it. "I am not of this world, Mary. I am beyond it. And I have come to collect what is mine."

The words hung in the air, heavy with a meaning that made her blood run cold. She had faced many dangers—dark entities, ancient evils, and powerful forces—but this was something entirely different. Something that felt more insidious, more primal. It was as if the very fabric of existence was trembling in its presence.

"You… can't be…" Mary's voice faltered, her mind struggling to process the impossible.

The figure's face, or rather the absence of it, shifted slightly as if in a semblance of amusement. "You have no idea what you are up against, do you? You, who think you've stopped Nethra. You, who believe you've saved this world. You are nothing but a pawn in a far greater game."

Mary's breath caught in her throat as the figure stepped closer. Her hand tightened around her sword, the weight of her own uncertainty bearing down on her. There was no more room for doubt. She had come so far, fought so hard, and now, this…

But still, the shard within her pulsed again, and with it came clarity. The light within her—she was still connected to it. There was still a flicker of hope. She could still fight. She had to.

"You're wrong," she said, her voice stronger this time, each word infused with the power of everything she had fought for. "I'm not a pawn. I've made my own choices. And I won't let you take this world."

The figure tilted its head, as if considering her words. "How quaint. You think you can stop me? You, a mere human turned into something less than human. You've forgotten the truth. You are just a vessel, Mary. And your soul… it belongs to me."

Mary's pulse quickened as the figure took another step toward her, the darkness swirling around it like a living thing. The air was suffocating now, pressing in from all sides. She could feel the heat of the shard fading with every passing second, its warmth slipping away like sand through her fingers.

But she wouldn't give in. Not like this. She couldn't.

"You'll have to kill me first," she said, raising her sword once more, even as it felt heavier in her hands. The blade was still gleaming, the light within it still strong enough to resist the darkness, but for how long?

A dark chuckle echoed through the air. "Very well, Mary. If you insist on clinging to this pitiful existence, I will grant you your wish. But know this: even if you kill me, the darkness will continue. It will never end. There is no light without shadow."

Without warning, the figure lunged at her. The speed and power of its movements were unlike anything she had encountered. Mary's instincts kicked in, and she raised her sword just in time to parry the blow. The clash of energy sent a shockwave through the clearing, and Mary staggered back, nearly losing her footing. The figure's strength was overwhelming.

"Don't you see?" the figure sneered. "Your resistance is futile. The darkness will always rise again. There is no escaping it."

Mary gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on her sword. She could feel her strength waning, her energy draining with each passing moment. The shard inside her pulsed weakly, like a heartbeat that was beginning to slow. She couldn't let herself falter. Not now.

She pushed forward, throwing herself into the battle with every ounce of strength she had left. The figure swung again, its blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. Mary ducked, narrowly avoiding the strike, and countered with a slash of her own. The light from her sword clashed with the shadow of the figure's, sparks flying as the two forces collided.

"You are stronger than I thought," the figure hissed. "But even you cannot escape your fate."

Mary's vision blurred as she struggled to maintain her footing. The world around her seemed to spin, the weight of the battle pushing her to the brink. But through the haze of exhaustion, one thought remained clear—she could not lose. She wouldn't.

The shard pulsed again, a faint flicker of warmth in her chest, and Mary felt the light surge once more. It wasn't gone. It hadn't abandoned her.

With a fierce cry, she launched herself at the figure, her sword blazing with renewed energy. The figure's eyes widened in surprise as Mary's blade collided with its own, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through the air.

For a brief moment, everything went still. Then, with a deafening crack, the figure's blade shattered, and the darkness surrounding it began to crumble.

"No!" the figure screamed, its form flickering as if it were losing its grip on reality.

The darkness recoiled, but it was too late. The light from Mary's sword spread outwards, engulfing the figure in a blinding flash. The roar of the explosion shook the very earth beneath them, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world would be torn asunder.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the figure was gone.

But the victory didn't come without cost. Mary collapsed to her knees, breathless and exhausted. Her sword, still glowing faintly, slipped from her grip and clattered to the ground. The shard in her chest flickered one last time before it went dark.

The clearing was silent once more, the weight of what had just transpired settling heavily on her shoulders.

She had won. But at what cost?

And as she sat there, amidst the ruins of the battle, one thought lingered in her mind:

The war was far from over.