Fallen Judgment: Paradox Strike

The blade struck The Reaper's back and actually penetrated his defenses. Blood sprayed—the first blood drawn in this entire battle.

The Reaper's eyes went wide. He reached back, feeling the wound, then looked at his bloodied hand with an expression of pure wonder.

"You actually cut me," he breathed. "You actually, genuinely hurt me. Do you know how long it's been since someone made me bleed?"

His aura exploded.

The casual, relaxed presence became something else—something vast and terrible and wrong. The air pressure increased so dramatically that even Seraphine, with all her power, felt herself being pushed back.

"Let me enjoy this more," The Reaper said, his voice carrying an edge it hadn't had before.

And then he released it.

Limiter Release: First Seal

Energy erupted from The Reaper's body like a supernova. The sheer force of it carved a crater a mile wide. The sky cracked—actually cracked, as if reality itself couldn't contain what he was becoming.

His aura changed color, shifting from its previous neutral presence to something burning and golden. Power radiated from him in visible waves, each pulse strong enough to level buildings.

"I keep my power sealed most of the time," The Reaper explained, his voice carrying easily over the chaos. "Because if I don't, I accidentally destroy everything around me just by existing. But you—you're strong enough to handle this level. So let's really fight."

He moved.

Seraphine barely had time to register the movement before his fist connected with her stomach. The impact folded her in half, and she was sent flying, her body crashing through the central spire—straight through it, punching a perfectly circular hole through miles of stone and steel.

She reformed her wings mid-flight, stopping herself, but The Reaper was already there. His sword came down, and she barely got her blade-wings up to block.

CRACK!

The collision shattered her wing-blades. Hundreds of them, broken like glass, falling away.

"You've adapted," Seraphine gasped, regenerating her wings even as he broke them. "To my paradox strikes, to my corruption, to my holy magic. Everything I've shown you, you've already learned to counter."

"That's what Absolute Adaptation means," The Reaper confirmed, his assault never slowing. "Every technique you use teaches me how to use it better. Every power you show me becomes mine, refined and perfected. You gave me corruption magic—now I can corrupt better than you can. You showed me angelic wrath—now my divine light burns brighter than yours."

He demonstrated, his hand glowing with both holy light and corruption simultaneously, the same paradox energy Seraphine had used. Except his was stronger, more stable, more refined.

"You took my power and made it better in seconds," Seraphine whispered, horror mixing with awe.

"I told you," The Reaper replied, almost gently. "I've been doing this for three hundred years. I've absorbed thousands of abilities. Every demon lord I've fought contributed something to my arsenal. You're incredibly strong, Seraphine. Genuinely one of the strongest I've encountered. But you're still three centuries behind me."

What followed was a one-sided beating disguised as combat.Seraphine tried everything. She unleashed Corruption Domain again, this time covering a five-mile radius. The Reaper walked through it, his body now immune after one exposure. She hit him with Angelic Wrath at maximum power, light bright enough to blind everyone watching through scrying crystals. The Reaper absorbed it, then fired it back at her with twice the intensity.

She tried close combat, her blade-wings moving faster than sound. The Reaper's sword was faster. Each of her strikes was parried, deflected, or simply avoided with minimal movement.

She tried paradox strikes—holy and corruption combined in ways that shouldn't be possible. The Reaper caught her blade-wing with his bare hand, the paradox energy harmless against his adapted defenses.

"You're incredibly creative," The Reaper said as he broke another hundred of her blade-wings with a casual sword sweep. "Most fighters stick to one style. You're constantly adapting, trying new combinations. But I'm adapting faster. Every second we fight, the gap between us grows."

Seraphine's regeneration was slowing. Her wings took longer to reform. Her movements became sluggish. Blood leaked from dozens of wounds—not fatal individually, but accumulating into something catastrophic.

The Reaper, by contrast, looked completely fresh. Not even breathing hard. His first seal release had given him so much power that fighting Seraphine at her peak was barely exercise.

"You're running out," The Reaper observed, almost sympathetically. "Your body can't keep regenerating at this pace. Your magic reserves are depleting. In another minute, maybe two, you'll be completely defenseless."

He was right. Seraphine could feel it—her power draining away like water through a sieve. She'd thrown everything at him, burned through centuries of accumulated energy, and it hadn't been enough.

She launched one final desperate assault—all remaining blade-wings extending simultaneously, corruption and holy magic mixing into a storm of transformative destruction that would have leveled a kingdom.

The Reaper walked through it.

His sword moved once—a single perfect cut that carved through her attack, through her defenses, through her very aura.

Seraphine fell.

She hit the ground hard, her wings shattered completely, unable to regenerate anymore. Blood pooled beneath her as she struggled to even lift her head. Her vision was blurry, her body screaming in agony from dozens of wounds that wouldn't heal.

Through the pain, she could hear him approaching. Casual footsteps against broken stone.

The Reaper stood over her, his sword still clean despite the battle. He looked down at her with that same expression—not cruel, not mocking, just... tired. Disappointed, even.

"It was fun while it lasted," he said. "You put up a good fight. Made me release one of my limiters. That's more than most demon lords managed." He raised his sword for the execution. "Any last words? As courtesy for making me have fun, at least a little."

Seraphine looked up at him, at this invincible being who'd dismantled everything she'd built. Rage and pride warred in her chest. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of begging. Wouldn't plead for mercy from someone who clearly had none to give.

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