He circled slowly, the worn throne out of his mind. The Dawnbringer dragged on the ground, a grating sound piercing their ears. "It's not like I had a choice about becoming a vampire, ya know," he replied evenly, his voice a constant pulse amid blistering conflict. "This is kind of racist." he quipped, but she was in no mood for jokes. 

Their words exchanged as rapidly as blows. Callaia lunged, her blade a silver streak aimed at his exposed shoulder. With a swift pivot, Ilyas deflected her razor-thin strike, his eyes narrowing in focus. "Your anger is blinding you," he murmured, forcing her blade aside and countering with a quick jab that grazed her forearm, drawing a thin line of blood. "I am also irritable, but I’m at least attempting to be calm."

"Ha!" she spat, recoiling yet immediately recovering her stance. "Your bloodline carries only lies and slaughter! I will not allow you to continue your twisted crusade!"

 Each hit was calculated, each parrying a reflection of their inner turmoil. The moment stretched in a heartbeat when, almost imperceptibly, her strike landed true: a sharp, venomous dagger concealed within her attire stabbed into Ilyas's side.

Pain exploded like wildfire along his torso. His body twisted violently as he staggered, the taste of blood bitter on his tongue. In that moment, the healing began, and unlike before, the hunger was instant. His fangs extended and his eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits, locking onto prey. I…must…feed. He gasped, gripping the wound with trembling fingers as crimson seeped through his callused skin. In a moment of desperate resolve, Ilyas drew in a ragged breath and channeled the ancient power deep within—a power tied to the first light of dawn and the eternal struggle between night and day. His voice, low and resonant, carried an incantation unfamiliar yet primal.

"Come to me." he whispered, and in response, the throne room trembled as a searing brilliance coalesced at his side. The air vibrated with a promise of retribution as the dawnbringer manifested in his hands. The runes, evident of it being imbued with the radiance of a new sun. Its edges flared with a soft, pink glow.

"The sword of Erebus!" Callaia bellowed, her eyes widening at the sudden burst of light. 

A wicked smile tugged at Ilyas's lips despite the pain. "It seems everyone besides me knows about this stupid sword.” His voice was more deep, something unnatural about it.

The two surged into renewed combat. The spectral brilliance of the dawnbringer clashed with the cold, calculated strikes of Callaia's blade, their movements a breathtaking ballet of power and precision. Each maneuver was a story told in sparks and sweat—the rising sun meeting the twilight of eternal night. Their weapons met in ringing impacts, the sound echoing down ancient corridors. The dance of combat was fierce.The duel transcended mere physical combat; it became a struggle of Ilyas’s control over his own body. The glow of the dawnbringer danced upon Ilyas's features, illuminating his struggle—not just against betrayal, but against the hunger that would prove his accuser right. He swung his sword, she blocked it, despite her frame she was matching his strength, if not overpowering him. She deflected it, slashing at his face. He narrowly  bobbed out the way. He came back with the Dawnbringer overhead, slamming it downwards. She still managed to block it, a smirk ever present on her face. Sparks began flying as they struggled in the clash. 

 “Come on bloodsucker. Is this all you’ve got?” She pushed him back, tipping him off balance. She whipped the blade around, slicing across his chest. With one determined strike, Callaia stabbed into his sword and forced Ilyas back against a cold column, his back grazing limestone as she pressed her advantage. With a guttural cry, Callaia lunged anew, her blade arcing down with lethal intent, mimicking his own move. Ilyas barely managed to raise the dawnbringer to a parry that turned her momentum aside and sent cascades of brilliant light scattering across the stone floor. The new wound began to burn, and his hunger grew. He butted her in the forehead with the pommel, causing her to shut an eye in pain. He spun, the Dawnbringer slicing through the pillar to meet its target. Callaia pushed against it with her body, but she went skidding to the side. 

Dust and sparks danced in the air as each blow was met by another counter. Callaia swung her blade from the side, Ilyas blocked it, sliding forward and ramming his shoulder into her chest. She flew back, still grounded. He felt a tinge of excitement. He put some real strength into the move. No way she didn’t lose her footing. He went forward, swinging the Dawnbringer from the ground upward. It sliced through the floor before colliding with her defense, this time sending her into the air. As she fell back down, he used the momentum, pivoting off his right foot and spinning his heel into her side. She tumbled on the ground, jabbing her sword down to slow down the collision. 

Suika fluttered frantically near his face, a silent witness to the cost of battle. The creature's gentle hum contrasted starkly with the harsh cadence of clashing swords. For one long moment, the throne room held its breath, suspended between the echoes of ancient oaths and the final verdict of combat.

Callaia shifted her stance, her eyes softening for the briefest moment as if she found their bond to be humane. She shook herself out of it, screaming as she ran towards him with her blade drawn back. He accepted, following her lead. Their blades seemed to have paused mid-air as both combatants searched one another's eyes, the truth of their conflicted existence laid bare for an impossible second. They matched laboured breaths, chests heaving in and out. Yet, the fragile moment shattered as quickly as it came. Callaia ducked under, just before the blades collided, spinning on her knees she slashed at Ilyas’s left side, He clutched at the wound, swinging the back of his right arm into her. She tanked the hit, causing his eyes to widen in surprise, she instead pulled his arm towards her, kicking his legs out from under him, he was thrown over her shoulder. He hit the ground with a thud. She pulled her blade up, and stabbed it down at his face. His eyes went wide. Clang. They collided as he caught the blade between his teeth. Callaia was shocked. Ilyas grabbed the blade, tossing her to the side. He rose, holding his mouth. Damn that hurt. She came back with more fury, a relentless storm of strikes berating him. He managed to block most of them, still gaining a few slashes as he did. His heightened senses allowed him to guess fairly accurately where the blows were going to come from. Sparks still danced in the darkened hall as the fierce duel drew on. Light flickered on their faces. Ilyas staggered back, blood and sweat mingling, his gaze never leaving Callaia's determined eyes. The dawnbringer's light had faded into a weary glow, and every movement now came at a desperate pace. Their swords met again with a metallic roar that filled the ancient chamber anew.

"Enough, Callaia!" Ilyas gasped, parrying a lashing strike that forced him sideways. He had gotten a  grip on himself, panting at the idea of how much force he threw into each strike. Crap, this is bad. "We are both dead if we continue this! I can’t keep this up without this damned blood taking me over. I don’t want to hurt you."

Callaia's eyes flashed, her expression torn between fury and sorrow. "I cannot let you continue your twisted life!" she seethed, voice trembling as she swung her blade fiercely. "If I must die to achieve that, so be it!" She spat, and as she spoke, a faint glow ignited along her cheek. It was warm, almost hot as it burned brighter. A strange, intricate marking blossomed there, as if etched by flame and ancient prayer. The light pulsed in a rhythm

Ilyas staggered back a step, his eyes widening as he registered the sudden change. "That mark," he warned, voice rough and urgent, "doesn't suit you. You look prettier without the tattoo. You're too weak for that paladin magic right now. You’re way too fatigued. It will endanger you more than it’ll help." He took a cautious step forward, wiping sweat from his brow and glancing at her.

Callaia shook her head, her eyes fierce in defiance. "I don't care if it endangers me," she replied, voice low and resolute. "I have nothing to lose but my chains. That fire in my blood is real. I must use it." Her hand brushed against the glowing mark, as if drawing power from it. "I will not be held back by doubt or fear," she declared.

Ilyas snorted, a grim smile twisting his lips. "Your body is battered, and you’re extremely fatigued. It’ll be the end of us both if you use that."

Callaia's expression hardened, her jaw clenching as she advanced a step. "Your caution is noted, Ilyas, but I have fought demons without concern for my own frailty. My duty transcends weakness." Her eyes blazed as she squeezed her eyes shut and extended her hand. The air around her shimmered with a fervent light as she began to invoke an incantation passed down through generations of paladins. From the very depth of the ancient stone hall, the mark on her cheek pulsed brighter. "Feel the power!" she cried, her voice echoing around the cold, dark chamber. Each syllable vibrated with forgotten lore and an unyielding pledge to defy fate.

Ilyas stared, torn between disbelief and reluctant admiration. She’s psycho. He had only heard of the capabilities of a paladin. Witnessing them was something else entirely.

 Callaia's voice rang out as she thrust her arm forward. In that fraught instant, a searing beam of light burst forth from her outstretched hand.

Ilyas staggered as the radiant bolt surged toward him. With a grunt of determination, he raised the Dawnbringer high. There's no way I’m living after that! The glowing runes along the massive greatsword flared as the beam slammed into its ancient blade. The weapon trembled beneath the onslaught, slicing through the magical energy as foretold by Erebus.

A thunderous hiss filled the hall as the beam's power seared through metal and flesh alike. Ilyas cried out, his voice strangled by pain with shaking hands. An intense burn washed over him like molten lava. "Arrgh…!" he gasped, his eyes stinging with sweat and blood that now oozed from numerous wounds. The force of the impact hammered into him, and though the blade deflected the energy, a torrential wave of destructive magic lanced across his body. His shirt had been seared off, his chest filled with burns and gashes. As they healed his pain only intensified.

Callaia's eyes blazed with irritation as she stepped back, whispering, "How could you survive that?" Her voice trembled between fury and bitter certainty as she advanced again. The magic had taken a toll on her, and she felt her muscles weaken. The mark began to flicker dimly.

Ilyas staggered, the Dawnbringer still aloft as shards of burning energy cascaded from the point of impact. His breathing came in ragged, labored bursts as he struggled to maintain his stance. "Come on…let's stop this already, you’ve already done enough," he declared, voice raw with both suffering and stubborn will.

A fleeting pause fell between them as the fiery beam subsided, leaving a smoldering trail over the cold stone floor. Callaia's hand trembled on her weapon—a testament to the cost of her unleashed power. Her eyes narrowed with a mixture of pity and hardened resolve. "You leave me no choice but to finish what I started," she murmured, summoning another surge of her terrible radiant magic. The air around them pulsed with renewed energy. In that charged silence, Ilyas raised the Dawnbreaker once more, every fiber of his wounded being braced against the inevitable blow.

The chamber trembled as the beam pressed forward again, and Ilyas, bloodied but unbowed, met it head-on with the ancient blade.

Callaia fell against a crumbling column, her breath ragged and shallow. Her eyes shimmered with a desperate panic as she sank down, blood trickling from bruised lips. "I…I'm too weak, and I didn't even manage to kill you. How unfortunate," she rasped. Her once-fiery gaze now reflected numb exhaustion. Her eyes shut, and he could see her breathing halt even more. 

Suika peeked her head out from behind a column, watching with drooping antennae.

Ilyas paused, his grip on the Dawnbringer faltering as he stared at Callaia's fading form. He felt the hunger clawing at him—a raw, unbidden need that battled against his sense of duty and honor. "I can't," he murmured, the words strangled in his throat. "It’s…it's monstrous." His voice trembled with inner conflict as he eyed Callaia's fragile silhouette.

 He thought about it, despite how foggy everything seemed. He wondered if it might all be a dream. He hated it, but he had no choice. He thought of Erza, and Kaleel and Amira. He couldn’t leave them. Not yet. "I… I can't hold it," he murmured, voice ragged and unsteady, as a dark hunger surged through him. His trembling hand gripped the hilt of the Dawnbringer, but the weapon fell silent under the overpowering urge.

Callaia lay still against the cold stone, her body battered and bleeding yet eerily silent. Her eyes, once blazing with righteous fury, now remained closed, and her slow breaths were but shallow echoes in the tumultuous silence after their fierce clashing.

"Please… forgive me," Ilyas rasped, his eyes reflecting torment as much as desire, as he stepped close over her prone form. "I… I cannot stop." His voice broke into a pained whisper as he fought the growing compulsion within, the ancient curse of his vampiric nature.

In that tenuous, fatal moment, a guttural cry tore silently from deep within him. Ignoring the flash of horror even in his own eyes, he dropped into a knee, his fangs extending involuntarily. "No… I'm not a monster," he cursed, voice mingling with despair and dark pleasure. Unable to silence the ravenous urge any longer, he pressed his lips against her neck.