The events unfolding in the city were being fed directly to Stell. Tiny, near-invisible cara drones she had deployed earlier provided a constant stream of visual data.
The battlefield itself was not far from the city walls. From the very beginning, both Stell and Serie had subconsciously guided the fight away from the populated area, creating a buffer zone.
Unseen by the other, each had also set up their own defensive asures around the city, a silent agreent not to allow any collateral damage.
Serie looked up at the chanical angel hanging in the sky, and for the first ti in centuries, she felt a genuine sense of astonishnt.
It was more than just surprise.
As the battle had progressed, that initial curiosity had slowly transford into a palpable sense of pressure.
This creature before her was an anomaly. It used a strange, unknown energy that was not mana. It was a doll with no life-signature, yet it possessed a clear, independent will.
And most unnervingly, in combat, it had perfectly mirrored her own escalating power.
Her sharp intuition, honed over millennia, told her sothing was deeply wrong. The being she was fighting wasn't being pushed to its limits. It was holding back, just as she was.
She rembered its first attack, a powerful but non-lethal strike. It had never intended to kill her.
It had been matching her, forcing her to reveal more and more of her arsenal, to use different kinds of magic. Spells which it had then... copied.
The realization dawned on her, and the pieces clicked into place. She understood, more or less, what was happening.
This chance outing, this whim to stretch her legs, had led her to the most fascinating discovery of her very, very long life.
And now, as she watched Stell transform, entering what could only be described as a "second phase," even Serie, the ancient elf who had seen the rise and fall of civilizations, felt a tremor of an emotion she had long forgotten.
A single, cold drop of sweat trickled down from her temple.
Is this nervousness? she wondered. Excitent? Or is it... fear?
She was shaken, not by the power displayed before her, but by her own involuntary reaction to it. How long has it been since I felt this? Centuries? Millennia? She couldn't rember.
High above, Stell did not imdiately press the attack. From the halo of light above her head, a swarm of platinum-gold, feather-like cannons erged.
They moved with silent precision, arranging themselves on either side of her back, forming a pair of magnificent, angelic wings.
There was still a critical unknown in Stell's calculations: the vast, unplumbed depths of Serie's magical knowledge. Any prediction of the battle's outco was therefore incomplete.
But Serie was facing the sa dilemma. To her, Stell was a walking embodint of the unknown.
Most beings react to the unknown with fear. Serie reacted with a voracious, all-consuming curiosity.
As she calmly considered her next move, Stell broke the silence, her voice echoing across the battlefield.
"Warning: Depart now, and no one will be hard."
The tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but the ssage was clear. It was not a negotiation. It was a final notice.
To continue this fight would be to cross a line, to invite a catastrophe. Serie could feel it in her very bones. If she pushed this, she would lose. And the loss would be absolute.
But then, this battle had never truly been about life or death. When she had first arrived, her senses had picked up the fading traces of demonic mana.
She had correctly deduced that this strange "angel" had been the one to eliminate them.
And driven by her insatiable need to understand the unknown, she had chosen the most direct thod of investigation available: combat.
It seed her experint was about to yield a result far more explosive than she had anticipated.
"An angel..." she murmured to herself, a slow, complex smile spreading across her face.
She savored the word, rolling it around in her mind, then looked back up at the pure white figure in the sky.
"A fitting title, given your appearance."
With that, Serie was the first to stand down. She maintained a few of her personal defensive spells but dismissed the rest.
"I concede."
Serie was pragmatic. She knew when to fold. The only reason she'd never done it before was because she had never t an opponent who could force her hand.
And since she had been the one to start this fight, it was only right that she be the one to end it.
Seeing that her intentions were clear, Stell descended, hovering at eye level with the elf. She did not, however, dismiss her own armants. A certain level of caution was still necessary.
In Stell's calculations, even with the unknown variable of Serie's ancient magic, the outco of a continued battle was clear: Stell's victory was an absolute certainty.
She had calculated countless ways to end the fight from the very beginning. Michael was one of them.
Its Segva ability could seal a "concept." All Stell needed to do was touch Serie with the key, and she could seal away her ability to use "magic" entirely.
A mage who cannot cast spells is a helpless target. As for any potential defenses Serie might have, Stell had already analyzed every defensive spell the elf had used so far.
Unless Serie could produce a new, unknown type of defense, she could not stop the key.
And since Stell had never used this ability before, Serie would have no way to predict or counter it.
The only reason Stell hadn't used it from the start was to bait out more spells, to gather more data. Unfortunately, Serie had caught on too quickly.
But the goal of this "battle" had never been victory, not in the traditional sense. Both of them understood this.
That's why Stell had issued the warning, and why Serie, for the first ti in her long life, had surrendered.
To lose to a being so far beyond her comprehension was, in its own way, not a shaful thing at all.
As the white angel descended before the golden-haired elf, Serie finally got a clear look at her.
The elegant white gown perfectly concealed all of Stell's chanical parts. Her long, white hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall.
She was a vision of pure, flawless white, the very image of an angel from a myth.
But her eyes... those cold, unnerving, golden eyes were a stark reminder that this beautiful creature was anything but harmless.
"Warning: Any further hostile actions will be t with imdiate termination protocols," Stell stated, her voice as cold as her gaze.
Serie, having lost all interest in fighting, simply shrugged. "Fine, fine. That little spar was enough to cure my boredom for the next century or so. I promise I won't do it again."
"..."
Stell did not reply. She just stared.
"Hmm. Still a 'doll,' I see. Your emotional responses are remarkably muted."
Then, Stell extended a hand, her slender fingers clad in the white silk of her astral dress.
"Request: More magic is required."
"Oh? Was what I showed you not enough?"
"Affirmative. The current data set is insufficient to et the established objective."
Serie looked down, trying to hide her face, but not before Stell's sensors caught the wide, delighted smile spreading across her lips.
….
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