For a few seconds, all Lyria could hear was a ringing in her ears and her own heartbeat.
All she could see was fire starting to disappear. And when the flames finally died down, she realized she was still alive.
She blinked then looked at the pendant against her chest fading from brilliant blue to faint silver.
Wait. I'm alive?
Her lungs caught up to her brain. I'm alive! I didn't get vaporized!
Her knees gave out, and she hit the ground in a graceless crouch, gasping.
Oh gods, that fireball was enormous. Like "your life flashes before your eyes and even your ancestors scream" enormous.
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. I thought I was going to die. Again. Why do I keep doing this? Why do I keep coming here? Oh right — because I'm a moron with a crush on a hot villain.
A shadow fell over her, cutting through the haze. Lyria froze.
Naya was still there standing in the center of the ruined hall, her sword lowered, eyes unreadable.
The general looked impossibly calm, as if she hadn't just tried to incinerate someone. Her hair shimmered under the light, skin glistening faintly with heat, tattoos gleaming like living embers.
Oh, she's so hot.
Lyria coughed, scrambling upright. No. Focus. Not that kind of hot. Fire hot. Lethal hot. The kind that kills people, Lyria, get it together!
Her legs wobbled, but she managed to lift her hand, light magic forming again at her fingertips. The pendant was still glowing faintly.
Naya's gaze dropped to it. "So that's how you survived."
Her voice was quite dangerous.
Lyria swallowed hard.
The faintest twitch of Naya's mouth might have been amusement or irritation. "You're reckless."
"You tried to vaporize me!" Lyria snapped.
"Forgive me for improvising!"
But Naya didn't answer. Her blade lifted again.The motion was slow, deliberate, like a predator deciding whether to play with its prey or finish it.
"Oh, come on," Lyria muttered under her breath. "Can't we take a five-minute break to emotionally process this?"
The sword flashed.
She barely dodged, the tip grazing her sleeve and sending sparks flying. Light exploded from her palm in response, a defensive wave that clashed with Naya's next strike.
Steel and radiance collided again and again, the rhythm of the fight resuming as though death hadn't just tried to claim her seconds ago.
Lyria's body moved on instinct, muscle memory and adrenaline guiding her where logic couldn't. Every swing of Naya's sword came faster, heavier, and sharper.
Okay, she thought, ducking under another strike, she's not holding back anymore.
Great. Fantastic. This is fine. I'm totally not fighting my crush who also happens to be the demon world's deadliest woman.
She leapt backward, launching a beam of light that split into three smaller bolts. Naya deflected all of them with one sweep of her sword.
Of course she did. She's terrifying and majestic and stop thinking that, Lyria, you're literally fighting for your life.
The ground cracked where Naya stepped, the shockwave nearly throwing Lyria off balance.
She rolled to the side, barely avoiding another downward strike that split the stone floor in half.
Her lungs burned. Sweat slicked her palms. She tried to focus on strategy, but her brain was an absolute mess:
Left no, right—holy stars, her arms—what do they feed demons, molten iron?—don't stare at her arms, idiot, she'll kill you!
Light magic pulsed around her, forming thin ribbons that wrapped her hands.
She darted forward, swinging a blade of pure energy. The impact sent vibrations through her entire arm; Naya barely even flinched.
"She's not human," Lyria gasped out loud, more to herself than to her opponent.
"No," Naya said. "I'm not."
She moved again, faster, and Lyria blocked only because she guessed where the blow would land.
The shock threw her backward into a pillar. Pain bloomed through her shoulder.
Okay, that hurt. A lot. I think my soul left my body for a second there.
Naya approached, expression unreadable.
"Why keep coming back?" she asked softly. "What are you hoping to prove?"
Lyria's throat went dry. She wanted to say something brave, clever or even mysterious.
Instead, her mouth betrayed her. "Because, I have a crush on you "
The words echoed through the chamber before her brain caught up.
Did I just—?
Naya froze mid-step.
Lyria's stomach dropped. Oh gods. I said that out loud. Why am I like this?
Her face burned hotter than the air around them.
For the first time, Naya actually looked thrown off. Only for a second but enough.
Lyria charged, channeling all her magic into one concentrated blast of light.
The explosion pushed both of them apart, sending shockwaves rippling across the chamber.
When the smoke cleared, Naya was still standing but so was Lyria. Barely.
Her knees shook, her mana reserves nearly gone. The pendant flickered wildly at her throat, struggling to stabilize.
Flames burst from Naya hand, gathering once more into that terrible, perfect sphere.
Larger this time. Denser. The light from it swallowed the room.
Lyria's body screamed in protest, but she lifted her hand anyway, trying to call the pendant's shield again.
The runes flared, flickering blue-white, and for a second she thought it would work.
But Naya's fire wasn't just heat.
It was command ancient, absolute. The moment it touched the pendant's barrier, the artifact cracked. The sound was sharp, final.
"Wait—no—don't you dare—"
The pendant shattered.
The protective glow vanished in a blink, leaving only the raw weight of power pressing down on her.
Lyria's breath caught. Her skin prickled with heat, air searing her lungs.
Naya stepped closer, the fire roaring higher. Her eyes glowed red-gold, unreadable.
"This is mercy," she said softly. "Don't come back."
And the flame surged.
Lyria's magic responded out of sheer panic—her last resort. The world blurred, folding inward.
She barely managed to focus on her chambers before the teleport spell snapped shut.
The dungeon vanished.
—-
Lyria hit her bed face-first, still smoking.
Her sheets caught a tiny spark, which she extinguished by smacking them with a pillow.
Then she just lay there, spread-eagle, breathing hard. The ceiling of her room looked mercifully normal—no lava, no stone, no terrifyingly gorgeous demon general trying to turn her into charcoal.
"Holy gods," she wheezed. "I almost died. Again."
She rolled over, staring at the cracked remnants of the pendant still clutched in her hand. "You did great," she told it weakly. "You absolute hero. Rest in peace, overpriced piece of metal."
Her pulse was still racing. Adrenaline and disbelief mixed into a dizzy blur. She pressed her hands over her face, groaning.
"I confessed," she mumbled through her fingers.
"I literally confessed mid-fight. What's wrong with me?"