The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of blood and fractured stone. Echoes of battle shuddered through the ruined halls, each distant clash a haunting reminder that the war was far from over.
Absynthe's breath came sharp, her grip tightening around her blade—still burning, still pulsing with unrelenting energy. Her charge toward Vance was not just an attack, but a statement. This was protection. This was resolve. This was conviction.
From behind, Celestia stood at the fountain, watching, her fingers trailing through the water—its surface rippling, warping in response to her energy. She had regained enough strength. She had chosen her side.
And this time, she would see it through.
Absynthe's charge was more than strength—it was determination, destruction, and protection entwined. As her blade met Vance, the collision erupted, an impact so forceful it launched them both backward, sending them crashing through the archway of the broken wall Vance had destroyed earlier.
They flew, propelled by the shockwave—rushing through the towering shelves of documents that lined the hallway beyond. The sudden shift in velocity sent soldiers scrambling, some tumbling to the ground, others barely dodging the chaos as Absynthe and Vance's battle carved a path through the wreckage.
Vance's eyes widened, exhilaration flickering through them as he locked onto Absynthe. He saw it—the conviction in her stare, the unwavering force of protection that burned beneath her gaze.
Absynthe noticed. She felt it. She used it.
With a sudden burst of force, she pushed off him, her movement explosive. Vance's body shot backward, slammed against the floor, rolling before colliding brutally into the shattered remains of a wall. Dust erupted. Debris fractured beneath him. The destruction unfolded in an instant.
Absynthe landed—just barely. Her stance faltered, catching limp, her grip tightening over her torso, the pain from before writhing beneath her fingers. It showed across her face—deep, unrelenting, threatening to steal her balance.
Vance rose from the wreckage, his breath sharp, wiping blood from his mouth. He tsk'd, tasting the faint, bitter copper. A single teaspoon of blood slipped past his lips, a silent testament to the battle's toll.
But this time—he wasn't holding back.
The fight was relentless—a clash of sheer force and survival, neither willing to yield.
Vance lunged, his fists blazing through the air, each strike faster than the last, each movement a weapon in its own right.
Absynthe met him with unwavering resolve. Her blade screamed against his bare arms, sparks igniting on impact. But Vance didn't falter—he absorbed the force, twisted, countered.
A brutal left hook—Absynthe ducked.
She countered with a sharp slash, aiming for his exposed ribs.
Vance pivoted, catching the edge of her blade, stopping it inches from his flesh. His grip tightened, a vice-like hold threatening to rip the weapon from her grasp.
But Absynthe was faster.
She disengaged, driving her knee into his chest. her veins pulsing with riveting strength
Vance stumbled back, his breath ragged—but his grin only widened.
Finally—a real fight.
With a growl, he planted his foot, surged forward, and—grabbed Absynthe by the throat.
Before she could react—he threw her.
She soared through the air, crashing into the remnants of a shattered pillar, dust erupting around her. Pain raked through her torso, but she forced herself to her feet—her fingers tightening around her blade, ready to strike again.
Vance was already there.
A strike. A dodge. A counter. A collision.
They moved like forces beyond flesh, like celestial entities clashing, neither willing to fall.
And then Vance swung with everything he had.
A titanic fist, charged with unrelenting power, collided with Absynthe's stomach.
The impact shattered the ground beneath them, the force ripping through the foundation, sending shockwaves through the cracked flooring.
And then—the ceiling gave way.
Absynthe's body shot upward, crashing through the reinforced beams, bursting through the fractured roof of the basement.
She erupted onto the surface, flung skyward by the sheer force, debris raining around her as she landed hard, her breath ripped from her lungs.
For a moment—just a moment—the world spun, her body reeling from the impact.
But as the dust settled, she rose again.
Vance erupted from the depths, his body a streak of force, like a comet tearing through the ruins beneath. The fractured remains of the basement splintered behind him, debris raining down in his wake as he launched upward, propelled by sheer unrelenting power.
Absynthe stood above, breath ragged, battle-worn—but ready. Her blade gleamed, still burning with the fire of her conviction.
Vance was coming.
And she wasn't backing down.
****************************************************************************************
The battle surged skyward—neither one willing to fall.
Absynthe thrust her hand outward, gravity warping around her, bending to her command. The weight of the world reversed, forcing her body upward, her form light as air yet charged with relentless power.
Vance didn't slow—he adapted.
With monstrous momentum, he kicked off the fractured rubble, the force propelling him higher, faster, keeping him in the air despite the impossible physics. His movements were explosive, every strike carrying the velocity of a meteor ripping through the atmosphere.
They clashed mid-air, the impact sending shockwaves through the clouds.
Absynthe's blade sang, carving through the sky as Vance dodged, his fists weaving between her strikes like he was dancing with the battlefield itself. Their movements were fluid yet destructive, shifting between grace and chaos, between precision and devastation.
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Below, the battlefield was silent, all eyes turned skyward—watching as their fight transcended beyond the earth itself.
Vance launched a brutal punch, aimed straight for Absynthe's core.
She twisted, dodging with the grace of a celestial force, her sword answering with a deadly arc, but Vance anticipated, countered, struck again.
The air cracked around them, pressure building, the clash escalating into something more than a fight—it was a storm, a cosmic collision, an unrelenting battle between power and conviction.
And neither was ready to fall.
**************************************************************************************
Synthena and Celestia raced through the wreckage, their feet pounding against the fractured ground as they emerged from the debris. Synthena's breath was ragged, her voice breaking through the air as she cried out—"Absynthe!"—her tone filled with hope, urgency, desperation.
Celestia followed close behind, a bottle cradled in her grip—one Synthena had crafted just for her, filled with the source of her energy, a force she would need now more than ever.
The soldiers lingered at their backs, their gazes snapping upward, caught in the sheer spectacle above.
The battle in the sky raged like a cosmic storm.
Energy flashed across the atmosphere—brilliant, untamed, raw. Power collided, forces sparking against the darkness, illuminating the night with a dazzling explosion of color and fury, like fireworks birthed from celestial might.
And above them, Absynthe and Vance fought like gods.
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Absynthe's breath came in ragged gasps, her limbs aching from the sheer force of the battle. Vance loomed above, his stance unwavering, his smirk dripping with arrogance.
"Is this all you've got?" His voice was calm, cruel.
She staggered, willing herself to rise, but gravity itself seemed to turn against her. Vance seized the moment, launching forward in a blur of motion. His strike sent shockwaves through her very core—metal against energy, force against will. Absynthe crashed to the ground, the impact rattling the air, her body refusing to obey her command.
Synthena and Celestia watched in horror, their powers brimming, but uncertainty held them frozen.
Vance exhaled in amusement, stretching his arms as if already claiming victory.
"You were never going to win," he said.
But even in the depths of defeat, something stirred.
**********************************************************************************
The sun crept higher, golden light spilling over the battlefield. A knot of urgency tightened in Celestia's chest—time was slipping away, and they had to counter Vance's attack before it was too late.
Synthena rushed to Absynthe's side, cradling her in her lap, fingers gripping her shoulders as if she could will strength back into her.
Celestia's gaze locked onto Vance—his expression was pure triumph.
"It's time to end this, ploy," he sneered, landing lightly amidst the debris of a crumbling office building, using it as a launch pad to amplify his next attack.
Celestia's voice cut through the moment like a blade. "Can you get up?!"
Absynthe groaned, shifting slightly in Synthena's arms, her muscles aching with exhaustion.
"I'll try," she muttered, voice raw.
She pushed herself up, wobbling as her feet met concrete, her entire body sluggish, drained. But she bent her knees, forcing herself to stand, eyes fixed on Vance as he prepared his strike.
"Absynthe, be careful—are you sure?" Synthena's voice wavered, uncertain.
"Do I have a choice?" Absynthe shot back, jaw tightening.
She propelled herself upward, but her gravity pull faltered, flickering, unstable, too weak against the shifting brightness of the rising sun.
Vance laughed, his voice laced with mockery. "Ridiculous. You're already spent." He flexed his hands, energy crackling between his fingers. "This should be easy."
Celestia's mind raced. They needed an opening—something fast.
"Synthena, craft something to boost her!" she called out, desperation laced in her tone.
Synthena froze. Then, realization snapped into place. She sprang to her feet.
"I do!"
She thrust her right hand forward, blue dust swirling, coalescing into a sleek cannon with a steady hum of power. The edges gleamed, solidified, and at the very tip—almost absurdly—bunny ears formed, a playful imprint in the middle of war.
"Abby, quick—get in!" Synthena's voice was sharp with urgency.
Celestia felt determination ignite in her chest—she had to act fast, had to buy Absynthe the time she needed for a perfect launch.
She exhaled sharply, downing the last of her water in one desperate gulp before tossing the bottle into the rubble. No hesitation. No second chances.
Her hands shot forward, activating her abilities. The wind howled, swirling violently around her as her second eyes glowed in pale blue unison with her main ones.
The ground trembled. Metal shards, debris, and massive fragments of wreckage lifted into the air, orbiting her in chaotic precision. She had only 30 seconds—it had to count.
Heavy. Overwhelming. The sheer weight of the pull bore down on her, but she fought against exhaustion, against time itself.
With a final surge, she launched the collected wreckage toward Vance, encasing him in a solid metal sphere.
The soldiers hesitated. They knew—they knew—there was no way to match these three. They trembled, fear gripping them, and fled, their shouts lost beneath the roar of shifting metal.
In the chaos, one soldier stumbled, staring in horror at a towering wall rising from the earth—so vast, so unstoppable—as it hovered toward Vance's prison.
"Now!" Celestia shouted, her voice raw, exhausted—but driven by pure adrenaline.
Absynthe launched from the cannon, soaring into the air. Beneath her, a shooting star ignited, formed from Synthena's blue dust, functioning as a rocket, accelerating her forward—faster, sharper, deadly.
Her left hand burned with energy, readying itself for explosive destruction.
Synthena's war cry rang out as she guided the star, leading Absynthe toward Vance's prison of debris.
Inside, Vance fought desperately, his strikes cracking, shattering pieces of his confinement. He tore through an opening, just enough to see through—and the instant his gaze met Absynthe's, his expression changed.
His amused smirk twisted, contorting into genuine disgrace—not at the sight before him, but at himself.
His eyebrow twitched, dread creeping in where arrogance once ruled.
Absynthe's eyes locked onto Vance, her gaze unwavering as she closed the distance, hurtling toward his prison of debris.
From the ground below, Celestia and Synthena watched in cinematic awe, their breath catching as the moment unfolded in slow motion—Absynthe, riding the star like a horse, propelled by Synthena's energy, her arms spread wide, readying herself for her final move.
The spear floated into her path, shimmering with cosmic force, offering her the weapon she needed for the decisive strike.
The star twisted and transformed, morphing into a missile of pure destruction.
Absynthe cried out, her call resonating through the heavens. The stars answered, bursting from the last threads of darkness, streaking down like shooting stars, colliding with her sword, infusing it—power surging, radiation pulsing, an unseen force igniting within its core.
Her blade glowed, thrumming with an energy so raw, so intense that lightning crackled in its wake, spiraling behind her like a celestial trail.
Vance's eyes widened—for the first time, uncertainty flickering across his face.
His last whisper escaped into the air, fragile, barely audible over the roaring winds.
"Who are you...? No—you're just plain high school students."
His mind raced, denial clawing at the edges of realization.
But then—
"You will PAY!"
Vance's roar tore through the battlefield, raw and furious, a final defiance against the unstoppable force bearing down on him.
But it was too late.
Absynthe's voice roared, clear and undeniable, shaking the battlefield.
The moment erupted—a flash of blinding light, surging outward as Celestia unleashed her abilities, the metal prison compelled to collapse upon itself.
A collision so fierce, so brilliant, that it shamed the rising sun.
The sword's impact sent stars spiraling like a million daggers, piercing through the prison, their force merging with Synthena's missile, culminating in an explosion so massive, so final, that the very sky trembled.
Vances roar was drowned, swallowed by the light, lost to the explosion that ripped the sky apart....