He reared back to witness her collapse, then halted as she seized his arm.

Her grip was iron.

Zarathos frowned. Surprise flickered across the glowing caverns of his eyes, and his triumphant grin faltered.

Ana glared at him, defiance burning hotter than the pain. She would not let go—of him, of this moment, of her own ferocious intent. "Not yet," she choked out through clenched teeth, blood is running down her lip.

The words struck fear into the demon's heart. By all rights she should be broken; by all reason she should be done.

She was raw, relentless resistance made flesh.

Zarathos's roar was a guttural, rage-filled wail as his frantic attempts to move were frozen by Ana's crimson will.

The more he struggled, the more power pulsed through her. She felt the essence of him, of Gehennath's ferocity, feeding the fire within her.

His movements stilled until even a tremor was beyond him. Iron became unbreakable.

And still, she held on.

Her aura surged with furious life, growing stronger until the night was drenched in its light.

Zarathos strained in silence and fury as Ana reached one trembling finger toward him.

When it touched Zarathos's body, all the energy restored in a pinch it was like all the punches she took all the pain the demon caused was released in an instant.

The world erupted around them.

Blood splattered Ana's frame as she flew backwards, crashing into the debris-ridden earth. Her bones screamed in protest as she hit the ground, her vision blurring with each impact.

Silence surged in to fill the void that Zarathos left, an echo of his madness haunting even its absence.

Ana gasped for air, raw pain blossoming through her. The world vibrated at the edges of consciousness.

Her skin a flamed on fire, her senses burning like the rest of her body. Her skin was stretched, as if there wasn't enough to cover what was inside. This amount of mana hadn't flowed through her in a long time.

It caught Zarathos off-guard, flinging them apart, sending him reeling and her collapsing to the ground—a distance and a breath that meant escape.

When the dust settled, her skin marred with fresh scars and raw, red cuts that stung with every movement.

She felt every inch of it but forced herself onto her feet.

He was sprinting towards her, face blood-caked, eyes wide with panic.

"You're alive!" His voice was frantic and raw as he reached

The shadows around her wavered, stretched, then snapped as his control broke. He roared in frustration, his voice tinged with a disbelief that cut through the chaos like a jagged blade.

"Zarathos," she breathed, and her voice was not despair. It was defiance.

He snarled at the sound of his name and charged. Ana was calm, still. Her chest was cut, her arms were wounded.

His face was a mask of rage, oblivious to everything but her destruction. "I will end you!" He shrieked with triumph.

The world slowed around Ana. The air stilled and thickened.

Zarathos came at her with all the speed he had.

To Ana, it felt almost slow.

Ana shifted aside, to the raging demon she was a blur, and tapped his torso with her open hand.

Zarathos was launched first into the air, then into the ground, then into silence.

She watched him warily, each breath a battle against herself. She expected him to rise again with his laughter and his malice and his terrible strength. But though he lay within the deep crater of shattered earth, this time he did not move.

This time he did not fight.

Ana stood over him, her will fierce and unrelenting like a storm that refused to break. When she finally spoke,

More than he'd thought possible.

More than his match.

Ana pressed the advantage.

She pushed him back.

She didn't stop.

This was her fight.

This was her life.

In a desperate move, he attempted to flee, but that was his fatal error—one swift thought was all it took, and she plunged her blade through his heart.

"You can not kill us, we'll see you again," Zarathos promised, and his words were less of a threat than a concession.

"Oh, I hope so."

Ana swung her sword with precision, and the act was the act of finality. His head detached from his body.

She sheathed her sword, and the act was the act of victory, the act of life, the act of everything they had fought for.

"Still alive, kid?"

"Ana," he said, and his voice was the last breath of the longest night.

Caden hugged her deeply.

The gesture caught her off guard, sent a shockwave through her exhaustion.

She let him hold on as long as he needed.