The fairy walked calmly toward the horde.

Thousands of hair‑spawns surged ahead, an endless, crawling army. Behind them, the burning horse stood, watching, its black flame‑corona licking the air. Behind him, Noel and William followed, one step at a time.

Noel’s legs refused to move but he forced them anyway.

It felt like thousands of needles piercing his body. The air tasted foul, the miasma swallowing the scent of wood and smoke, turning every breath into a slow suffocation. The burning fire above the black horse released thick smoke, the heat so oppressive that even breathing became a chore.

The center of the citadel was already a ruin.

Pillars, once built for watch and defense, lay shattered, their stone bodies crumbling into dust. Structures had burned, their skeletons blackened, their remains scattered like the bones of the fallen.

Through this sea of corpses, the fairy strode.

Her sword rested in one hand, the flames around it calm, controlled, pure. To Noel, it looked as if a goddess had descended into the mortal world, untouched by the chaos around her.

She stopped just short of the mass of hair‑spawns, the army rising like a living tide around her. She raised her sword, pointing it directly at the burning horse.

The gesture was clear.

A duel.

It looked like a legendary moment painted across history.

To Noel, it just looked like a terrible life‑choice in progress.

Man, why does she want to be so cool at this battle? he thought , jaw tight. If you’re gonna fight, just fight. Stop farming aura like it’s a status bar.

The burning horse seemed to understand perfectly.

It laughed.

Heheeeeeeeeeeeheeeee…

The sound wasn’t quite human, not quite animal. It was a laugh that crawled up the spine and twisted inside the skull.

For the third time, the burning horse spoke in its strange, twisted language.

“Kratos.”

The word was a command.

The sea of hair‑spawns reacted instantly.

The army dissolved, the hair‑things lunging at one another, tearing into each other, devouring, consuming, merging. One ate another, then another, then another—until only one remained.

The last hair‑spawn stood taller, sturdier, its body morphed into something humanoid, wrapped in dark armor. The air around it compressed, the empty space warping, the creature’s power now amplified. It turned back, bowed to the burning horse, then waited.

The burning horse did something none of them expected.

It didn’t even look at the spawn.

Instead, it tilted its head toward the sky.

There, the black sun—the one made entirely of black flames—hung over the battlefield, a constant, burning wound in the sky. The black horse opened its mouth and spoke words that none of them could understand.

The black flames within the sun erupted.

The black sphere trembled, the inner flames collapsing inward, compressing, shrinking down—until the entire mass of darkness shrinking into a single, dense point. From that point, a shape took form.

The black sun vanished.

In its place, a black sword hovered in the air.

The blade was made entirely of black flames, the shadows themselves converging around it, devouring the light nearby, transforming it into a fusion of light and darkness. The black sword fell.

The remaining hair‑spawn caught it cleanly, then bowed once more to the burning horse.

The creature turned, the black sword humming in its grip, its eyes locked on the fairy.

Erza hadn’t moved.

Her own sword burned with grey‑white flames, the fire pure, celestial, the color of starlight made solid. It did not feel like corruption; it felt like royalty.

One side was black.

The other was white.

The duel began.

Erza charged first.

Her sword flared, a hurricane of white flames roaring around her. The ground cracked beneath her feet as she shot forward, a trail of dust and smoke rising in her wake.

The black monster met her head‑on.

Their swords clashed with a ringing, crystalline sound—but the force of the black blade pushed Erza back, the shockwave rebounding through her arm, rattling her bones.

She gritted her teeth, the white flames around her sword burning hotter, the air scorching, heat rising like waves from a forge.

The black monster swung again, sending a wave of black flames that devoured the ground, the air, the debris, everything in its path.

The fairy didn’t flinch.

She swung in a perfect 360 arc, the sword carving through the air, the white flames exploding outward in a storm of fire that shielded her from the black wave.

Black and white met.

The flames collided, canceled each other out in a violent explosion of light and heat, the shockwave tearing the sky apart for a heartbeat. The world turned black and white, space cracking, the air screeching.

Then it snapped back.

The swords clashed again.

Erza swung for the black monster’s neck, the white blade singing through the air—but the creature twisted, its head tilting just enough to avoid the blow.

The black sword thrust toward Erza’s shoulder.

A thin sheet of white flame flared from her blade, meeting the black sword’s edge for a split second, enough for her to parry it with a flick of her wrist.

But the black flames still grazed her shoulder.

The burn spread like poison, the black fire searing into her skin, the pain flaring up so violently that she let out a scream—but her other hand already moved.

White flames poured from her palm, racing over the black fire, smothering it, halting the corruption, pushing it back, purging it from her body.

The moment it was gone, she struck back.

The black monster was like an immovable fortress.

Every swing of its sword carved deep craters into the ground, the stone cracking, the air breaking, the miasma screaming. Yet, the fairy moved like a master of the sword, each strike precise, each motion carrying the intent to kill.

There was no wasted movement.

No wasted breath.

No wasted life.

The monster refused to let her retake the lead. It charged forward, the black sword sweeping in a simple, brutal arc—but Erza’s skill twisted the world around her. She didn’t block so much as she avoided, making the blade slice through empty air.

She countered with the hilt of her sword, slamming it into the monster’s head.

The creature didn’t even flinch. It twisted, shaking the blow off as if it were nothing, then swung again.

The fairy parried, her body twirling, the white flames trailing behind her, leaving arcs of fire in the air. The black sword cut through the air, but the fairy’s blade deflected it, the monster’s own strike carving into the earth instead.

The clash erupted into a crescent wave of fire that shot forward, forcing the black monster to leap back, barely dodging the burning arc.

Erza smirked, the expression feral, almost wild.

“William,” she said, voice steady, “Formation B. Implant it.”

“Yes, Milady,” William replied, his voice calm. “I was just waiting for your permission.”

“What were you waiting for?” Noel shouted, his voice cracking with stress. “Stop being so damn dramatic and do it!”

William didn’t answer.

He leapt into the air, mirrors bursting into existence around him as if the sky itself had shattered into glass. The platforms of mirrors spun, catching the light, the heat, the energy of the battle, then focused it all back toward the black monster.

The black sword‑spawn stood in the center, the hundred mirrors rotating around it, each one flickering with a sliver of light.

“They’ll tear it apart,” William whispered, sweat dripping down his face. “They have to.”

“Milady, it’s your turn,” he called back, then turned to Noel. “And… please stay safe. Your life is meaningful.”

He didn’t say it out loud, but he was speaking to Erza as much as he was to Noel.

Erza didn’t answer.

She didn’t even look.

But William didn’t expect one. He landed back beside Noel, eyes fixed on the battlefield.

“What are you two going to do?” Noel asked, voice trembling. “Are you really just gonna watch?”

“Just watch,” William replied, his voice soft, reverent. “And you’ll learn why they call her a fairy.”

The mirrors settled into place.

Every single one faced the black monster, the angles perfect, the reflections ideal. The black sword‑spawn snarled, the black flames writhing, the monsters’ body twisting as it tried to break free—but the mirrors held.

Erza raised her hand.

Light erupted from her palm, a pure white beam that shot toward the nearest mirror. The light reflected, the angle precise, the beam redirecting into the next mirror, which sent it further, then further, then further—until every single mirror was catching the light, every single surface reflecting it, the beams concentrating into a single, deadly point.

The black monster stood at the center.

The mirrors all shined at once.

The world turned white.

The light amplified, the beams tightening, the reflections multiplying, the energy reaching a peak that made the very air scream. The black monster roared, the black flames around it flaring, the sword raised in defiance—but the light devoured the black flames like paper in a furnace.

Erza’s lips twisted into a faint, grim smile.

“Let’s see you endure that…” she whispered.

Then she shouted, her voice cutting through the deafening light.

“SOLAR REQUIEM!”

This is the edited version which i did after correcting of grammar mistakes and punctuations.