Harry couldn't hide his shock or the sheer, twisting pain that tore through his soul. It felt as if someone had reached into his chest and played with his heartstrings, violently unwinding the carefully constructed threads of his soul before snapping them.
The non-physical violation left him breathless, paralyzed by agonizing cognitive dissonance. What the hell had she just done?
Gáe Bolg had missed.
That shouldn't be possible. The spear never missed. Its Law was absolute, its outcome predetermined the moment the Authority was invoked. He felt a deep, wrenching pain in his chest, a backlash that signaled a fundamental conflict within his own Authority.
Did... did she mess with his Authority? How was that even possible? He was a Campione, he should have a certain resistance to things like this, shouldn't he.
His Authority was his and his alone, so it should be possible for her to interfere, right? Yet.... the Law of Causality Inversion, a rule that shaped the universe itself, had been dismissed like a minor footnote.
He stared up at the rogue god hovering in the air. She seemed to notice the baffled and let out a dark, mocking laugh, the sound soft and sweet yet sharp and terrible too.
"Oh, little god-slayer… did you truly think that would work?" she said, laughing again. "Did you think that weapon of yours would touch me? Do you think I wouldn't recognize that lance?"
Harry's eyes widened, a grim realization dawning.
'Ah, yes, I forgot, they're from the same myth.' He realized the depths of his own hubris, using a weapon intrinsically tied to her domain against the goddess who governed that domain.
Fate. That was the inner working of his weapon after all.
He raised his hand, and the golden-white spear flew back into the palm of his hand, its aura still humming with power.
Morrígan's voice rolled over the battlefield like thunder, laced with chilling, undeniable authority. "You misunderstand, little God-Slayer. Gáe Bolg reverses cause and effect, yes… it ensures that death precedes the strike. But that is the fate of all those targeted by the weapon, but at the fate bows before me."
Her eyes gleamed, radiating the cold certainty, as they turned the same color as fresh blood spilled on a battlefield.
"I am the Morrígan, I do not suffer fate, I author it. You use a Law that manipulates what will be, I am the Law that decrees what is. Inevitability kneels to my decree."
She smirked, spreading her shadow-feathered wings wider. "The Hound's spear cannot slay the Queen who wrote his death."
And suddenly Harry understood the truly terrifying scope of her power. He remembered that she was the reason for the Hound's death originally.
She, who had loved, cursed, tested, and finally claimed Cú Chulainn, would no doubt recognize the spear even if its manifestation was changed by his ownership.
She had appeared to the hero as a young woman offering love and aid, and when rejected, had transformed into an eel, a grey wolf, and a hornless red heifer to obstruct him. Cú Chulainn wounded her in each form, only to unknowingly heal her later when she appeared as an old woman seeking aid.
She had delivered the prophecy of his impending death, and ultimately, she was the one who oversaw the end of his life. She had been intimately intertwined with the Hound's Fate, she was the Master Thread of the legend, granting her some ground to his stolen authority and her own domain of fate.
Morrígan had long passed the point of merely annoying him, she was now something he wanted to get rid of by all means. The frustration was immense, bordering on blinding irritation.
For a heartbeat, his fury flared hot enough to burn reason, but he forced it down. She wasn't unstoppable, she was simply... difficult to kill. For now.
He just needed to find a way to put this bitch down, but he was having trouble finding the how.
But the goddess wasn't waiting for him to formulate a new plan. She lifted her hand, and a wave of black light pulsed across the ruined land. The air thickened. The ground began to writhe.
Black mist started to gather, forming amorphous blobs, growing, and taking shape until they resolved into humanoid, but wrong, figures. There, standing in front of him, were over two dozen creatures, not zombies, but something, formed from solidified shadow.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Harry muttered, his voice flat. What she's really pulling a Sung Jin Woo on him.
Behind him, he felt movement. Anya staggered to his side. She was bruised and injured all around her body, her hands shaking slightly, but she managed to keep herself steady. Every breath was a visible struggle, but her eyes, fixed on the host of shadows, held focus.
"You all right?" he asked. Right now, she was the only help he had, and he needed to trust she could watch his back without problems.
"Hmph," she managed, nodding her head once.
Anya wasn't sure what to be feeling right now. She was supposed to be the prodigal mage, put on a pedestal as the association's upcoming star, but here, she felt small, smaller than she had ever been.
One hit. One hit was all it took for her to look like this, and Lord Potter had been taking hits from this woman, getting up, and charging right back at her, even getting a few solid hits in. She saw the sheer, terrifying difference between a powerful mortal mage and a Campione.
"I noticed that your sword helps against the darkness and death, so I'll leave the undead or whatever they are for you to deal with while I take care of this bitch," Harry said to her.
She understood what he meant. Her sword, the legendary blade Gram, the Sword of Glory and Ruin, was the Apollon School's most prized possession. It was a sun-wrought blade, comparable to the Sword of Victory, Excalibur, possessing the Law of the Sun, light and fire, the bane of evil and darkness. It possessed a purity that stood in direct opposition to Morrígan's Netherworld essence, even as a demonic sword, surprisingly.
As she swung her blade against one of the death beings, she couldn't help but think how true it was. The being recoiled and stepped back even before she reached it, as if they were vampires running from the sun. Gram burned them with every move she made.
She couldn't help but peek at the fight going on in the distance. Harry, while good with his dagger and sword, was incredible with his lance. The speed, the aggression, the pure, feral focus, it was an awe-inspiring sight. She would love to fight him if she could.
She sighed a little as she cut the head of one of the beings coming at her with a spear. They were surprisingly skilled for dead things, but she was better.
When they surrounded her, she planted her feet, twisting the blade so the hilt faced down, and placed her left hand on the flat of the edge.
"O blade of the sun, shine forth and burn all in your path…" she whispered, the blade beginning to glow with terrifying intensity. "Cleanse all in your path and unleash ruin."
The sword fractured into five spinning fragments, each orbiting a core of blinding light. The light erupted outward like a cannon blast, a radiant light of Purity and Annihilation that tore through Morrígan's shadow host. The entities screamed, their illusory flesh disintegrating into ash, leaving nothing but a large circle of scorched, purified earth behind.
When the light faded, Anya dropped to one knee, breathing hard, the exertion leaving her shaking and drained. Gram reformed in her grip, trembling but intact.
"Still alive," she panted. "Good."
Harry, meanwhile, pressed forward, spear in hand. He didn't fully understand her Ability, but he was sure she couldn't just cut his fate and have him drop dead, if so, she would have done it by now.
He twirled the lance and blocked Morrígan's whip-arm as it lashed out. Ice, cold enough to turn an entire area block solid, burst from his free hand, freezing her mid-swing. She immediately dissolved into mist and reappeared behind him, before a burst of blue fire answered the fire she had sent, creating a blinding explosion and a smoke screen.
He rushed into the haze, jumping to follow where he sensed she was, only for his instincts to scream. He pivoted, raising Gáe Bolg just in time to block massive talons that came out of the smoke.
The smoke cleared, revealing a monstrous crow the size of a bus. Its feathers shimmered with abyssal light. Unfortunately, he hadn't blocked entirely, and a talon pierced his side. The divine bird tore through his Unyielding defense momentarily, causing agonizing, raw pain.
"ARRRGH!"
Pain exploded through him as the goddess-crow beat her wings, lifting them high into the storming sky. The talons grabbed him, launching them hundreds of meters in an instant.
He summoned a swarm of blue-white fireballs. They detonated against her back. The crow shrieked, a high-pitched, resonant sound, releasing him.
He fell, wind roaring past, then exhaled a controlled burst of air that forced his descent to slow. He hit the ground hard, rolling to distribute the impact.
'Thank God for Njörun… I'd be paste without her,' he thought grimly. The Authority was the only reason his body hadn't shattered into a million pieces and had been surviving this entire battle at all, it seemed..
He barely rolled to his feet before a shadow eclipsed him. The giant crow landed, and it slapped him with its large wings, sending him rolling like a rag doll.
Then came the blades.
Black, jagged constructs materialized in orbit around her body, dozens, like planets around a dark sun. They shot out at him, destroying everything around him.
Harry raised a magic barrier. It shattered instantly. Instinct took over, he dove aside, but not fast enough. A blade sliced through his leg, severing muscle and bone. Another shot past into his left arm. The pain was immediate. The blades seemed to tear through his defences like wet paper.
"AAAGHHH!"
He hit the ground, blood soaking the dirt as it stabbed his right shoulder. He looked up and saw more blades hovering.
"Damn it…" He forced himself upright, dragging his broken, bleeding form to a kneeling position. "Not yet…"
The goddess loomed above in her giant crow form, void-black blades surrounding her. Her voice echoed like prophecy itself.
"You cannot escape your fate, God-slayer. This battle ends as all battles end, by my decree."
The blades descended.
Harry raised walls of earth, solid, physical, heavy. Magic shields were not working, so he used raw matter. But the first impact shredded them like parchment. He built another, then another, pouring magic into raw matter.
Each wall lasted a heartbeat less than the last. The constructs seemed to be getting closer and faster than he could keep up.
He barely had time to curse before the final wall broke—
—and then, Bam.
Harry was sent back into a crater with black blades stabbing out from his body like pins in a doll. They pierced his chest, his torso, and his remaining limbs.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then blood dripped from his lips.
"Ha… ha… figures."
High above, Morrígan hovered, radiant in her darkness, her form beginning to shrink back to her beautiful, terrifying human appearance.
"Lie still, God-slayer," she whispered, her voice carrying the cold certainty of the grave. "Your story ends here."
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