CHAPTER 45: CHAPTER 45 - A FINAL ACT OF DEFIANCE

Mikail stared at the Sword of Light before him. He had forged that weapon, poured all of Mana he could gather, all of the light he could draw, into its creation, yet now, it felt like a stranger in his presence.

His gaze shifted to the towering shadowy figures encircling him. They didn’t dare step closer. No, perhaps it wasn’t him they feared, but the glowing runes pulsing beneath his feet.

"...Fuck. No time to hesitate"

With a sharp breath, Mikail reached for the sword’s hilt.

But-

"Huh?!"

The moment his hand touched the handle, the world twisted. The runes beneath him began to writhe, dancing like frenzied serpents. They surged upward, spiraling around him before converging on the blade, being drawn into it, consumed by the Sword of Light as if it were awakening.

"What the fuc-"

[DING]

[Congratulations]

[You Obtained The Holy Sword "Ignivara" The Flame of Resistance Sword]

[Forged from the union of Baldur’s fading Rune and the Sword of Light, Ignivara is a weapon born not of creation, but defiance.

It burns with the will to resist, to stand against the encroaching dark when all else falls silent. Its fire is not just heat, but hope, pure, unwavering, and deadly]

[Abilities:

Flame of Defiance:

Passive - The sword’s flame grows brighter as the wielder’s resolve intensifies. The more hopeless the situation, the stronger its burning power becomes.

Radiant Cleave:

Active - Releases a sweeping arc of divine fire that scorches enemies of darkness.

Hopebound Flame:

Passive - While wielding Ignivara, fear-based effects, and mind control have reduced influence. Allies nearby feel bolstered, gaining minor resistance boosts.

Demonbane:

Deals devastating damage to shadowy or demonic entities]

"What the...?"

The Sword of Light in Mikail’s hands had transformed.

No longer the same weapon he once forged, it now took the shape of a longsword wrought from radiant silver-white steel.

Glowing runes etched along its blade pulsed gently like a heartbeat. A faint flame danced along its edge, flickering endlessly, never consuming, yet ever-burning.

The hilt, wrapped in deep crimson leather, was warm to the touch, comforting yet powerful. The crossguard unfurled like wings of fire, poised as if ready to soar.

At its center, embedded in the guard, was a gem of molten gold. It flickered constantly, alive with light, watching, waiting.

’Baldur... Wasn’t he Forseti’s father? Then that means... He’s my ancestor, right?’ Mikail thought, a strange warmth rising in his chest. ’Thanks, Ancestor. I’ll keep praying for you... Even though you’re long gone, thank you for-’

He paused.

’No... This is too convenient. Almost suspicious’

He opened his System interface. On the Title page, one stood out:

[The Chosen One]

Mikail squinted, rereading the title’s description. A smirk tugged at the edge of his lips.

’So this is what "Defies Fate" means, huh?’

It was labeled as a "Small" Level Title.

"If this is just Small... Then how strong is Perfection?"

Mikail’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it echoed in the silence that followed the chaos.

He stared at the Shadow Giants.

They stood at the rim of the crater-like sentinels of a dying world.

Monolithic, faceless titans woven from living darkness. Their forms shimmered and writhed, as if reality itself rejected their presence.

They were once a wall of dread, an immovable force of fear and despair.

But now?

Now, they looked uncertain. Almost... Afraid.

In Mikail’s grip, Ignivara blazed its blade a pillar of silent, golden flame. The runes etched into its length pulsed, a heartbeat of divine judgment, then exploded outward in a ring of searing fire.

Each symbol fragmented into radiant embers, branding the air with their fury.

The ground cracked beneath his feet, trembling like it recognized the shift in power. A ripple of pressure spread through the crater, scattering dust and shadow alike.

The giants recoiled, their smoky limbs twitching, their abyssal forms momentarily breaking apart.

Mikail took a step forward, his eyes burning with purpose.

"I’ll end this," He said, each word a vow etched in fire.

The nearest Shadow Giant let out a guttural hiss, deep, inhuman, like metal scraping against bone. Its form surged upward, coiling like a cobra preparing to strike, tendrils of darkness spiraling around its massive torso.

Mikail raised Ignivara.

The flame along the blade roared, no longer silent, a defiant howl that tore through the choking stillness.

The ground beneath him cracked from the force pulsing off the weapon.

"Come on then," He growled, eyes narrowing into slits of molten gold. "Let’s see what resistance really looks like"

With a sound like the sky ripping apart, the giants lunged. Its massive claw came down in a sweeping arc, a guillotine of living shadow aimed to cleave Mikail in two.

But Mikail didn’t flinch.

He stepped into the strike.

"Radiant Cleave!"

Mikail swung Ignivara in a wide, fluid arc, and the world answered.

A crescent of divine flame ripped through the air, blinding and absolute, as if the heavens themselves had slashed downward.

It tore through shadow and silence alike.

The strike met the giant mid-swing.

There was no explosion. No thunder.

Only stillness.

The creature’s upper body turned to ash, disintegrating in the path of the light, silent, weightless.

The rest of it crumbled moments later, dissolving into the wind like a nightmare at dawn.

Another giant roared, closer, angrier, and charged from the left, shaking the crater with its approach.

Mikail turned to face it, calm and unshaken.

The giant’s presence hit like a wall. A pressure of raw malice, fear gave form.

But Ignivara burned hotter.

Hopebound Flame surged up around Mikail, wrapping him in radiant light.

The dread faltered, slipping from his shoulders like smoke burning off a sunlit blade.

"I said," Mikail muttered, voice steady and low, "I’m done being afraid"

He drove the sword into the earth.

A thunderclap of runes exploded outward.

Baldur’s Light etched in molten flame beneath the giant’s feet.

Fire licked upward in a spiral, and the shadows shrieked as the creature stumbled, then collapsed, swallowed by holy fire.

Mikail moved, eyes sharp as drawn steel.

He became momentum. He became judgment.

He moved.

--------

The battle became a blur of light and darkness.

With each swing of Ignivara, another giant fell. Radiant fire carved through the abyss like a blade through silk.

The crater became a graveyard of smoldering ash, and yet, Mikail did not stop.

One by one, the towering shadows crumbled, some screaming in silence, some trying to flee, but none escaping the sword’s judgment.

He moved like a force of nature.

Not dancing but burning.

Not retreating but advancing.

Every attack he received, he met with flame. Every moment he should have faltered, he surged forward instead.

The sword responded, glowing brighter and hotter as if feeding on his defiance.

His aura pulsed with each heartbeat, runic flares, and holy fire shrouding him like a living sunburst.

His body screamed in surrender. Mana continued to flood into him, yet it drained just as fast as Body Enhancement, devouring his reserves without mercy. He could have fallen at any moment, but still, he stood, Ignivara in hand.

He endured, not because his body allowed it, but because his will refused to break.

His vision blurred. His breath came in ragged gasps. But still, he swung the blade at anything that moved.

He knew it; if he stopped moving now, he would die or, worse, become one of them.

So he kept moving until, at last, only one Shadow Giant remained.

The largest.

The one that had silently watched its kin perish.

It did not flee.

It bowed.

No, not a bow. It lowered like a predator coiling before a final strike.

Its form was grotesque and unstable. A crown of thorns made of starlight and black flame floated above its head. Dozens of shifting arms writhed from its body, never the same shape twice. In its chest, a single red eye, slit, ancient, watched unblinking.

And then, it spoke.

Not with a voice, but with pressure. A whisper that slammed against Mikail’s thoughts like an avalanche of ice.

"You are not meant to exist... Your body is already dying. Let me help you end your suffering"

Mikail stood still, staring forward, but his vision was gone. The creature was a blur. The voice echoed in his skull, heavy and cold.

He wanted to respond.

But his mouth refused to move.

The Shadow Giant knew.

It had waited patiently for this. It didn’t care how many of its kin had fallen, shadows did not die. They returned. Reborn. Evolved.

It stepped forward.

Each footfall struck in rhythm with Mikail’s fading heartbeat.

Mikail tried to raise his hand, but his body wouldn’t respond.

The giant drew closer.

"...Be happy," it whispered again, voice flooding his thoughts. "You are the only one who survived this far... Many before you, just like you, The Holders of Light, Fallen before they could even move, be proud"

Mikail didn’t answer.

His head hung low.

As if he had accepted it.

The Shadow Giant said no more. Its enormous hand rose, dark, jagged, final.

Then, just before the killing blow fell, Mikail raised his head.

His eyes shimmered with light.

And he smiled.

"I said... I’m done being afraid"

Flame of Defiance surged to life. Ignivara blazed with renewed brilliance, and a flicker of strength pulsed through Mikail’s broken body.

The smile on his lips widened.

"Radiant Cleave!"

He swung.

A crescent of divine flame tore through the air, carving through the Giant’s massive hand.

It screamed, not in pain, but in rage.

The blow didn’t kill it.

But it hurt.

And now it was angry.

Without hesitation, the giant retaliated, one of its many arms slashing in a wide, furious arc.

Mikail didn’t flinch.

He stared directly at the incoming blow.

And smiled.

A final act of defiance.

But-

....

...

..

.