A Breath Between Blades

The first commander came at her with the force of a boulder, twin axes crashing down to split her in half.

But Envy wasn't there.

She had slipped past the strike with effortless grace, her scythe already humming through the air. The violet arc of energy that followed severed the commander's left arm mid-swing. He didn't have time to scream—her second strike carved clean through his neck.

The crowd gasped.

Blood sprayed like a crimson curtain.

She didn't stop to gloat.

The second commander, leaner and faster, darted in with a curved blade. Envy dropped low and swept his legs from under him, catching his throat mid-fall with the butt of her scythe. He gagged. She twirled, reversed grip, and pierced through his chest in one fluid motion.

Two down.

The third, a demoness wreathed in flame, tried to engulf Envy in fire magic, hurling molten orbs across the field. Envy grinned.

She vanished in a burst of violet mist.

When she reappeared behind her, the flames were still mid-flight. She didn't bother to speak. The scythe moved in a diagonal slash that cut from shoulder to hip, splitting armour and bone.

The crowd was no longer cheering. They were silent.

The fourth and fifth commanders charged together, trying to overwhelm her. One was cloaked in shadows, the other wielded a chained hammer that cracked the earth with every swing.

Envy danced between them.

Every movement was sharp, clean—perfect. Virion's teachings came to life in every calculated pivot and parry.

She disarmed the shadow-demon first, slicing tendons in one leg before spinning and using his falling body as a springboard. She leapt high and brought her scythe down in a devastating arc on the hammer-wielder's exposed collarbone, crushing flesh and splitting him open.

Then came the final one.

Maezhra.

She had not moved.

Her crimson eyes watched without emotion, but her hand was now on the hilt of her greatsword.

Envy landed in front of her, breathing lightly. Her hair was damp with sweat. Her body was splashed in blood—but none of it her own.

She smiled.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me?"

Maezhra drew her blade slowly. "You were a beast in chains. Now you're just a beast set loose."

"And doesn't it feel glorious?" Envy purred. "To rip off the leash and taste what it means to be alive?"

She laughed—unhinged, wild.

And from the stunned crowd, came whispers of dread.

Not admiration.

Not awe.

Fear.

* * * * *

Virion stood at the edge of the courtyard, arms folded, silent.

He had seen blood.

He had spilled it in rivers.

But what unfolded before him now was not war.

It was purge.

Envy moved like a reaper made flesh. Every strike of her scythe was precise, deliberate, and performed with a grace that bordered on artistry. The demon commanders, once symbols of power and fear, fell like brittle statues under the weight of time.

But it wasn't the slaughter that unsettled him.

It was the crowd.

Their cheers had died quickly. The proud howls turned into breathless silence. Warriors who had once sung of fire and conquest now stared, motionless.

Some whispered. Others clenched their fists. A few began to step back.

He watched a horned demon clutch the edge of her robes as if to hold herself together. Another, younger, had to be restrained from fleeing.

Their faces didn't hold awe.

Only fear.

This wasn't victory. This was domination.

And they understood what it meant.

Envy hadn't just killed the commanders—she had stripped away their illusion of control.

She had declared a new law.

And with every head that rolled, she carved it into their minds:

The old world is gone.

Virion's expression was unreadable.

But deep within, a thought whispered.

She had surpassed his teachings.

Not with discipline.

With hunger.

With unrelenting purpose.

And now, even he couldn't tell whether that purpose served the Demon Lord—or something darker, born in Envy's own broken heart.

* * * * *

Maezhra moved like a tempest.

Her blade struck with thunderous force, and her control of magic was immediate—primal. The ground cracked beneath her swings, and the air ignited with each word of power she unleashed. Envy had never fought anyone quite like her.

And for the first few moments of their clash, Maezhra was winning.

A swipe across Envy's ribs tore fabric and skin alike, sending a spray of blood arcing into the dirt. A burst of flame struck Envy square in the chest, throwing her backwards into a scorched crater.

She didn't rise.

Maezhra stepped forward, her breath even. "So much for your declarations. So much for your fire."

The crowd held their breath.

Then came the laughter.

Low. Twisted. Wrong.

A bubbling, venomous sound that rose from the crater like smoke from a pyre.

Envy stood slowly, her clothes charred, her skin cracked and bleeding—but her eyes blazed with something far more terrifying than magic.

Joy.

Pure, savage joy.

"You hurt me," she said, voice distorted by glee. "Finally."

Maezhra's grip tightened on her sword.

Envy stepped forward, dragging her scythe. "Now it's a real fight."

Maezhra raised her hand, preparing another forbidden incantation—then stopped.

Nothing happened.

The symbols failed to burn.

The elemental surge did not answer.

Panic crept into her features.

"What...?"

Envy tilted her head. "You can't feel it, can you? That subtle weight pressing down on you?"

She tapped her scythe's haft against the ground. "It's mine. You're inside my field now. I've sealed your magic."

Maezhra's eyes widened.

"This fight..." Envy said, stepping closer. "...was over the moment you drew your sword."

Maezhra snarled and charged with a scream.

She swung—Envy dodged. Another strike—Envy danced. Each move was precise, predatory. Every parry chipped away at Maezhra's resolve.

Then, in one final movement, Envy spun low, cutting through Maezhra's knees.

As the commander fell, eyes wide, Envy stood behind her.

"You should've smiled more," she whispered.

The last thing Maezhra saw was the crescent curve of Envy's grin.

Then the world tilted.

Her head fell.

And Envy exhaled.

The battlefield was still.

Maezhra's head rolled no farther than a few feet before coming to rest beside the shattered remains of her blade.

Envy stared at it a moment longer, then slowly approached her fallen body. With calm, almost reverent motions, she reached down and began removing the scorched pieces of Maezhra's armour—its dark crimson plating still intact despite the battle.

She slid on the gauntlets, then the pauldrons, fastening them over her own bloodied attire. The crowd watched in silent horror as Envy adorned herself in the armour of the commander she had just slaughtered.

A statement of conquest.

A trophy of her rise.

Then she turned to them, clad in a commander's remnants, eyes glowing.

"I told you what I came here to do," she said. Her voice was calm, clear. "You've seen the end of an era. The old guard is gone. Their arrogance, their complacency, their pride—cut down."

She stepped forward, lifting her scythe and resting it on her shoulder.

"There will be no more titles without strength. No more voices without loyalty. From this day forward, you will answer to the Demon Lord's will—or you'll answer to me."

No one dared speak.

Then, from the far end of the courtyard, Virion stepped forward, his cloak sweeping behind him.

"This slaughter," he began, "is your rebirth. You will not rebuild on what came before. You will start anew, with blood as your foundation and memory as your chains."

His eyes swept over the crowd, cold and commanding.

"All surviving forces are to report to the Demon Lord's court for re-evaluation. All who resist will be deemed enemies of the crown."

He turned to Envy.

"Get the head. Return to the throne. Deliver the proof of your success."

Envy grinned, hoisting Maezhra's severed head by the hair.

Virion gave her one last look—calculating, unreadable.

Then, with a whisper of shadows, he vanished into the Abyss.

Envy remained.

And the crowd bowed.

*

*

*

Envy entered the Demon Lord's throne room, dragging Maezhra's severed head behind her, the blood leaving a thick trail across the cold floor. Her armour clanked with each step, Maezhra's gauntlets a perfect fit around her fingers.

She tossed the head at the base of the throne.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," she said, her voice cold and casual.

But her eyes fell on the figures near the dais.

Velis. And Lyra.

The smile that split Envy's face was venom.

In a heartbeat, she lunged.

Her scythe flew through the air, aimed for Lyra's throat.

CLAAAANG!!!

It stopped—barely an inch from slicing flesh.

Velis's sword blocked it.

Sparks flew. The force cracked the marble beneath them.

Velis's silver eyes burned with anger. "Try that again," she hissed, "and I'll do more than block it."

Envy sneered. "Still playing bodyguard to your 'sister'? How cute."

She struck again.

This time, Velis retaliated. Blades made of shadow and light erupted around her, swirling like a storm. They shot at Envy with deadly speed.

Envy deflected, spun, evaded—but it wasn't easy. Velis was faster than before.

 Sharper.

Stronger.

Envy broke through the barrage with a scream and drove her scythe into Velis's chest.

It pierced through.

Velis staggered—but smiled.

Then she grabbed Envy by the throat and began to beat her into the ground.

Each punch landed like thunder, cracking stone.

Envy gritted her teeth, slashed wildly, and finally managed to slice through Velis's arms.

They fell.

And regrew.

Velis raised her blades.

She aimed for Envy's head.

But before the final strike landed—a black rift opened.

Virion appeared.

His hand shot forward, catching Velis's blade in a grip of shadow.

"That's enough," he said coldly.

The room froze.

He turned to Envy.

"You've delivered the head. That's all that was required."

To Velis, he added, "If you kill her now, you take her purpose from the Demon Lord."

Velis growled, but stepped back.

Envy coughed blood, eyes burning.

The throne room remained in tense silence as Virion lowered his hand and went back to the Demon Lord's side.

The conflict paused.

But not ended.

The silence that followed Virion's intervention was heavy.

Envy, bloodied and breathing hard, pulled herself upright, glaring at Velis from across the shattered floor. Lyra stood near the throne, still tense, her eyes darting between them.

And then, from the obsidian seat above them, a quiet sound broke through the tension.

A slow clap.

The Demon Lord's applause echoed like a drumbeat through the chamber.

"Well," she said at last, her voice like velvet over steel. "That was far more entertaining than I expected."

Her smile widened—not kind, but pleased.

"Velis, my little shadow... you've grown sharper. Hungrier. I wonder, are you becoming more like me—or something new entirely?"

Velis remained silent, her silver eyes cold.

"And Envy," the Demon Lord continued, turning her gaze to the blood-slicked girl, "you brought me Maezhra's head, and a warzone in my throne room."

She leaned forward slightly.

"I'm pleased."

Envy blinked.

The Demon Lord stood.

"But I will not tolerate chaos without purpose," she said, voice turning cold. "Next time either of you raises a weapon in my presence without my leave... I will sever more than your pride."

Her eyes burned.

"And yet, I see promise. In you both."

She looked to Lyra last.

"And you, dear guest, must be very special to provoke such passion from my favourite creations."

Lyra stiffened.

The Demon Lord smiled again.

"Let's continue this little game. Shall we?"

Then she sat back, throne wreathed in violet flame, as the court dared not breathe.

Lyra's throat felt dry. The tension in the throne room clung to her skin like oil—suffocating and bitter.

The Demon Lord's words echoed in her mind: "You must be very special..."

Lyra's eyes flicked toward Velis, still pulsing with the anger she barely held in check. Then to Envy, who stood bloodied but upright, lips curled in a half-smile as if none of it had touched her soul.

And then to the Demon Lord herself.

"Why?" Lyra asked aloud, surprising even herself. "Why let them try to kill each other if you value them?"

The Demon Lord leaned her cheek into her hand, amused. "Because chaos breeds clarity. And clarity reveals purpose."

Lyra's hands clenched. "That's not clarity. That's cruelty."

A low murmur stirred the court, but the Demon Lord only smiled wider. "Cruelty is the sister of truth, child. And you came here for truth, didn't you?"

Lyra said nothing.

She felt Velis step beside her, subtly shielding her from Envy's gaze. But Lyra placed a hand on Velis's arm.

"I can stand," she whispered.

She met Envy's eyes.

"You used to be Cassandra. I don't know what you are now... but I hope it's worth it."

Envy's grin faltered.

The Demon Lord chuckled again. "Oh, you are fascinating, Lyra."

Lyra turned her gaze toward the throne.

"I'll play your game, Demon Lord. But don't forget—pieces can change the board."

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then, laughter.

"Delightful," the Demon Lord said. "Let us see what kind of piece you become."

Velis stood still beside Lyra, but her hand trembled visibly around the hilt of her blade.

Her gaze burned into Envy.

"You smug little corpse," Velis hissed. "Still dragging around a borrowed soul and calling it growth."

Envy's smirk widened. "At least I'm not playing dress-up in humanity hoping someone calls me family."

Velis bared her teeth. "Say another word, and I swear—"

"I will," Envy interrupted, stepping forward. "I'm more thankful to the Demon Lord than anyone else I've ever met. She gave me what none of you could—freedom. Purpose. Power. Who I am now?" She tapped her chest with a bloodstained finger. "This is the best version of me. And it was worth everything."

She turned her gaze to Lyra.

"And you," she spat, "should be grateful I didn't let my scythe finish its arc. But maybe next time I'll skip the theatrics."

Velis's aura exploded outward, shadows flaring like a storm.

Envy's aura answered—violent and sharp.

The pressure crushed the space between them, heat and darkness clashing in the air, distorting the throne room like a nightmare.

Cracks formed in the stone.

Lyra stepped back instinctively.

And then the weight multiplied.

A third force crashed down upon them—heavier, ancient, absolute.

Both Velis and Envy dropped to their knees, forced down by an invisible hand.

Virion stepped from the shadow of the throne, eyes glowing with restrained wrath.

"Enough."

His voice carried the weight of mountains.

He raised one hand, glyphs of forbidden power circling his fingers.

"You will not disgrace this hall again. Not with your pride. Not with your petty rage."

The aura deepened. Even the Demon Lord's flame flickered.

"This is your only warning," Virion said, voice cold as death. "Next time, I will sever more than your will."

Both Envy and Velis struggled to breathe under the pressure—but neither dared to speak.

And then, with a flick of his wrist, the force vanished.

Silence reigned.

But nothing felt calm.