Reincarnated as the Villainess's Unlucky Bodyguard-Chapter 223: Symphony of Blades and Bad Decisions

It would be poetic to say that time slowed, that the first spark of our battle burned so brightly the world itself paused to watch. But this wasn't poetry this was the sound of reality being torn in half by two very stubborn women with deep-rooted emotional problems, an entire history of mutual loathing, and more magic than most gods would trust themselves with.

Also, there was quite a lot of shouting.

The room shook as Azael unleashed her opening move: a flurry of serrated shadow-blades that fanned through the air in a pattern both beautiful and patently unfair. Each one hissed as it sliced through the air, and for a split second I wondered if she practiced in front of a mirror just to see which angles looked the most intimidating.

I grinned. It was time to remind her she wasn't the only one with a flair for dramatics.

"Come on, Azael," I called, sidestepping the first wave, silver light spinning from my palms, "are you trying to kill me or audition for the villain in a demon opera?"

She snarled, eyes blazing. "You're not as funny as you think, Liria."

"I disagree," I said, twirling a blade of my own magic in my fingers emerald green, refracting the torchlight in wild arcs as I deflected her next attack. The clash of our powers was almost musical: metal on shadow, light against void, sparks flying with every collision.

Azael lunged, the floor splintering beneath her feet. I caught the momentum and rolled beneath her strike, grabbing a chunk of loose stone and tossing it at her. It bounced harmlessly off her shoulder. She glared, unimpressed.

"Really?"

"It was a symbolic gesture!" I yelled back, vaulting over a low table just as she sent a crackling whip of darkness after me. The table exploded, splinters raining down like confetti. I slid across the floor on my knees, launching a volley of starlight bolts from my fingertips. Each bolt detonated in a shimmer of heatless fire, tracing wild patterns through the shadows.

The chamber itself was caught in our crossfire: marble columns shattered, ancient banners ignited, and Azael's skull collection shrieked in protest as stray spells ricocheted past.

[Remind me never to let you redecorate,] the system deadpanned, as I sent a pulse of magic careening into a pillar, carving a large chunk out and sending it crashing down between us.

If we survive, I want a sunlit room with no haunted décor. Non-negotiable.

Azael threw her head back, the air above her swirling as she summoned a monstrous vortex of shadows. The swirling mass spiraled down, fangs and claws reaching, intent on swallowing me whole.

I whistled. "That's new."

"It's a little trick I learned while you were drooling on my dungeon floor!" she spat, voice echoing with the weight of a hundred curses.

"I wasn't drooling," I said, ducking beneath the beast's snapping jaws and launching myself at her with a burst of raw speed. "I was plotting."

I slammed into her with the force of a cannonball, the impact ringing through my bones. We rolled across the wreckage, wrestling like schoolyard brats in a magical storm, hair and spells flying, her cloak winding around my arm like a vengeful snake.

She was strong, but I was stubborn. Our magic met in a riot of color and sound, the chamber vibrating with energy.

I bit her hand.

She screeched, yanking it away. "You absolute little gremlin!"

"Always happy to surprise," I panted, springing back and bracing myself as she summoned a barrage of glassy shards that zipped through the air like angry hornets. I spun, letting my magic form a shield that bent the shards away in a rainbow arc, sending them slicing into the stone walls, spelling out what looked suspiciously like a rude word in Infernal.

Azael's face contorted as she realized. "Did you , did you just use my own attack to graffiti my throne room?!"

I shrugged. "You left me unsupervised for too long."

She hurled a bolt of darkness the size of a small carriage at me. I dove aside, the bolt smashing a deep crater in the floor and sending shockwaves up my legs.

We circled each other in the chaos, breath coming in harsh gasps.

Azael's hair flared out like a storm, her eyes wild. "Why won't you break?"

I wiped sweat from my brow and grinned. "Because you're not as scary as you think. Also, you smell like burnt licorice."

Her scream was wordless and furious. She charged, her form blurring with speed, and I only just managed to throw up a shield before she smashed into me, driving me back against a cracked pillar. My ribs groaned, but I gritted my teeth and met her gaze.

There was something in her eyes now not just rage, but fear. Just a flicker. But it was enough.

"Scared I'll win?" I taunted.

"Scared you'll ruin everything," she spat, pressing harder, her magic crushing down on me like a tidal wave. "You were mine, Liria. You belonged to me."

"Never," I said. "You can't own a storm."

I ducked under her arm and rolled clear, blasting a chunk of floor out from under her. She stumbled, regained her balance, and with a flick of her wrist sent a tendril of darkness after me. I caught it in my hands, twisted, and sent it flying back at her with a pulse of my own energy.

She snarled, catching the attack and snuffing it out with a gesture.

We paused, both of us breathing hard, the room pulsing with wild magic. The air was thick with ozone and dust, every surface scored and scarred.

[She's getting tired,] the system said quietly. [But so are you.]

I can keep going, I insisted, shaking out my hands. My magic flared, brighter than before, weaving around me like a cloak.

"Is that all you've got?" I jeered, voice steady despite the quaver in my knees.

"Oh, darling," Azael purred, "I'm only getting started."

She snapped her fingers.

The shadows on the floor rippled and rose, forming half a dozen duplicate Azaels, each smirking with malicious intent.

"Great," I muttered, "a one-woman flash mob."

The first clone lunged at me, blades drawn, but I was faster. I vaulted over her, driving an elbow into her head. She burst into black mist, evaporating with a dramatic hiss.

The next two came at once. I spun, using the momentum to knock them together, sending them both flying. They crashed into the throne, which toppled over in an extremely undignified way.

"Is this seriously your best plan?" I called out, dodging the next attack. "I was hoping for a giant snake or a living chandelier by now."

The real Azael's laughter was dark and cold. "Oh, don't worry. The night is young."

One of the clones caught my leg, yanking me off-balance, but I lashed out with a pulse of energy, vaporizing it. I rolled free, sparks flying from my fingertips.

I fought through the crowd, my heart racing, muscles burning. Each time I struck, the room lit up in violent bursts of color silver, green, blue, gold. For a moment, it felt less like a battle and more like a festival gone very, very wrong.

[You're actually having fun,] the system observed in disbelief.

I know, I replied, breathless with adrenaline. Don't tell anyone.

The last clone went down with a shriek, and I turned to face Azael again.

She was waiting, calm and poised, her magic swirling in a vortex around her. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."

"Persistent is my middle name," I replied, winking. "Along with 'trouble' and 'loudmouth'."

She laughed real, sharp, cruel. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you all over again."

But as she surged forward, darkness crackling, I smiled.

Because she wasn't the only one who'd changed.

The battle had only just begun.

And this time, I had no intention of losing.

Let's make this the greatest show she's ever seen, I thought.

[Break a leg,] the system replied, and I threw myself back into the fray, determined to turn this nightmare into something worthy of legend or at least, an episode that would make Gregory the rune-snail proud.