The first knight reached him.
Draven **met him head-on**.
He twisted his torso, letting the blade scrape across his ribs instead of piercing deep, and drove his knee into the knight's stomach. The man folded with a wet gasp.
Draven headbutted him.
**CRACK.**
The knight dropped.
The chains yanked hard. Draven was dragged half a step forward, boots skidding, shoulders screaming as the holy bindings burned into muscle and bone.
Another knight lunged.
Draven swung his leg, sweeping the man's feet out from under him. He fell—and Draven **stomped** down, shadows flaring, crushing the man's chest.
A shield slammed into Draven's side.
Something **gave**. Pain flared white-hot. He staggered.
The captains' eyes sharpened.
"Press him!" one snapped. "He's weakening!"
They surged. Four knights at once.
Draven ducked the first, twisted, kicked the second, felt steel bite into his shoulder from the third. He snarled, spun, and **rammed his head** into the man's face. Bone shattered. Blood sprayed.
The fourth knight thrust—
Draven caught the blade between his forearm and ribs, **trapping it**, then drove his knee up into the man's jaw.
The knight collapsed.
Draven ripped the sword free and threw it aside.
Breath ragged. Vision tunneling. Blood soaked his clothes, dripped from his chin, ran down his arms, staining the glowing chains dark red.
The chains tightened again. Relentless. Unforgiving.
He growled under his breath.
*Bastards…*
Another chain shot out, wrapping around his torso, pinning his arms tighter, squeezing the breath from his lungs.
Draven gasped.
"—Tch!"
The knights didn't hesitate. They closed in, shields up, blades ready—a killing wall.
The captains stepped forward behind them, calm now, controlled, eyes cold.
"You're done," one said. "Bind him. Break him."
The chains came **all at once**. Not one. Not two. **Dozens.**
Golden circles flared in the air, overlapping, rotating, burning brighter as runes screamed.
And then—the chains **erupted**.
From every direction. Above. Below. Behind. The sides.
They wrapped around Draven's arms, legs, torso, shoulders, neck—**tight**, brutal, holy light searing into flesh as they bound him completely.
He gasped as the pressure slammed into him, body jerking as the bindings snapped taut.
"—Ghh—!"
Draven lifted his head. Blood ran into his eye. He blinked it away. Then… he smiled.
Not wide. Not wild. **Sharp.**
"You know," he rasped, voice low and steady despite the pain, "you're all making one mistake."
The nearest knight frowned. "What—"
Shadows **twitched**. Not surged. Not exploded. They **compressed**. Pulled in. Tight. Dense. Like a coiled spring.
The holy chains flared, sensing the shift.
Draven inhaled—deep, ragged—and exhaled slowly.
"All of you," he continued quietly, eyes burning, "are standing too close."
The shadows **detonated**. Not outward. **Upward.**
They erupted from the ground like spears, lancing through armor, shields, flesh. Knights screamed as dark spikes impaled them, lifted bodies into the air, slammed others backward.
The formation **broke**. The wall shattered.
The shadows reacted instantly. They **burst outward** in a violent surge, dark tendrils slashing, coiling, striking at the chains—
And this time—they were **guided**.
Elliana's shadows. Sharper. Denser. More controlled.
Her will slammed into the darkness like a command.
The shadows wrapped around the chains, reinforcing, stabilizing, holding. Not breaking. **Containing.**
The knights who had been closing in **stopped**. Dead. No one moved.
The air was thick with pressure. Holy light and shadow locked in a violent, trembling equilibrium around Draven's bound form.
He hung there, arms forced wide, chains biting into him, blood dripping from his fingers, chest heaving as he struggled for breath.
His crimson eye burned.
The captains stepped forward. Blades rising.
"Finish it," one snarled. "End him—!"
"STOP."
The voice cut through the battlefield like a blade. Cold. Sharp. Absolute.
Everyone froze. Even the captains.
Elira was walking forward. Calm. Measured. Staff resting lightly in her hand, golden light orbiting her like a halo.
Her gaze was locked on Draven. Unblinking. Unforgiving.
The captains stared, confused.
"What are you talking about?" one demanded. "He's right there—he's restrained—!"
Elira didn't look at her. She kept walking. Closer. Closer. Until she was only a few paces from Draven, golden light reflecting in his eye.
Her voice was steady. Controlled.
"You will not kill him."
The second captain frowned. "Have you lost your mind? He slaughtered—"
"I said," Elira repeated quietly, "you will not kill him."
There was power in it. Not volume. Authority.
The captains hesitated. Puzzled. Uneasy.
Elira stopped in front of Draven. Looked up at him. Expression hardened.
"You think striking him down here is justice?" she said. "You think spilling his blood will balance the lives he's taken?"
Draven met her gaze. Silent. Breathing hard. Bloodied. Defiant.
Elira's eyes burned.
"No," she continued. "That would be mercy."
The captains stiffened.
"What are you saying?" one asked slowly.
Elira turned her head slightly, addressing them now.
"We cannot lose him," she said. "Not like this. Not to a blade in the dirt."
She looked back at Draven.
"You are a demon," she said flatly. "A murderer. A stain."
Draven's lip twitched.
She stepped closer.
"You don't get to die here," Elira continued. "You don't get to escape with a quick end."
Her staff lowered slightly, pointing at him.
"You will face judgment." Her voice dropped. "You will be punished for every life you have taken."
Her eyes narrowed. "And I will make sure of it."
The battlefield was silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
The captains exchanged uneasy looks.
One clenched her jaw. "You're asking us to let him live."
Elira didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Draven laughed. Low. Broken. Hoarse.
"You bastards," he rasped, blood on his teeth, "really like pretending you're better, don't you?"
Elira didn't flinch. Elliana did. Her shadows **surged**, violent, furious. Eyes locked on Elira. Cold. Lethal.
Draven felt it. Even bound, even restrained, he felt his mother's rage like a storm behind him.
The captains shifted. Blades still raised. Tension coiled tight.
And between holy chains, shadow, lightning, and blood—the battlefield stood on the edge of something far worse than violence.
Judgment.
Elira's gaze never left Draven. Expression serene. Almost reverent.
"We will let him live," she said softly, "because the Radiant Mother will judge him."
The captains stiffened.
"What—" one began.
Elira raised her staff. Golden light flared, runes igniting, power surging.
"I will be her conductor."
The air **thickened**. Pressure built. Holy energy gathered like a storm about to break.
Elira stepped forward, lowering her head, voice shifting—deeper, echoing, layered with power.
"O Radiant Mother," she intoned,
"She whose light pierces all falsehood,
This humble savant begs your gaze."
The golden circles overhead **expanded**, spinning faster, brighter. The knights backed away instinctively. Even the captains felt it—something vast, ancient, **watching**.
"Cast your judgment upon this demon," Elira continued, voice rising.
"Punish him. Seek justice for those who have fallen. Cleanse this darkness with your light."
Her staff **crackled** with golden lightning. Arcs snapped along its surface. The ground trembled beneath her feet.
Draven felt it. Not as heat. As **weight**. Like the sky itself lowering.
His crimson eye flicked upward. Clouds glowed. Splitting. Golden light tore through them like wounds.
Elira lifted her staff.
Her voice no longer hers.
"**Judicium Caeli Descendat.**"
The sky **ruptured**.
A column of golden lightning screamed downward, tearing through the heavens, blinding, deafening, annihilating.
Draven's breath caught.
*Fuck—*
There was no dodging. No breaking free. No escaping.
The chains held him spread and helpless.
His mind raced. *…So this is it?*
A strange calm settled over him. *I don't really mind…*
Then—
*Ma.*
*Elenya.*
*Lucifer.*
*The old man…*
Jaw tightened. *Damn it… I wanted to see them again.*
His gaze snapped forward. Elliana was still fighting Cedric. Still standing. Still burning herself out.
*She's at her limit…*
Panic flared.
He sucked in a breath and **shouted**—
"**MOM!**"
Elliana's head snapped toward him.
"**Get the hell out of here!**" he roared, voice raw. "**NOW!**"
The lightning hit.
The world **ended**.
A thunderous crash ripped the air apart. Sound and light obliterated everything, the impact throwing dirt, fire, and energy in a violent shockwave.
White. Gold. Nothing.
Draven felt it coming. Felt the annihilation.
And then—
**Darkness.**
Not the void. Not death.
**Shadows.**
They slammed around him like a wall. A dome. Dense. Absolute.
He felt arms wrap around him. Tight. Protective. Unyielding.
The lightning struck the barrier—
And **stopped**.
Golden light screamed against black shadow. The collision shook the ground. Power tore at power. But the dome held.
Draven's world shrank to breath, heartbeat, and the warmth of someone holding him.
When the light faded. When the thunder rolled away. When the air finally stilled—
He was still standing. Unharmed. The chains still burned. The shadows still held.
And Elliana was **there**.
In front of him. Arms wrapped around him. Back to the lightning. Shadows flaring violently around her body.
Draven stared. Blank. Disbelieving.
"…Mom?" he whispered.
She swayed. Coughed. Blood spilled from her lips, dark and wet, splashing onto his chest.
His eyes widened. "Mom—! What are you doing?!" Panic flooded his voice. "You shouldn't be here! You need to get out—right now!"
Elliana smiled. Small. Soft. Tired. Blood still on her lips. Her hand tightened on his back. She leaned her forehead against his and spoke calmly. Gently. Like the world wasn't ending around them.
"Sweetheart…" she murmured, coughing again. "I'm your mother."
Another cough. More blood. Her shadows trembled.
"And I will never abandon you."
The battlefield was silent. Elira stared. The captains froze. Cedric's lightning flickered. And Draven—for the first time in the entire fight—looked terrified.