Chapter 96: THE PANDORA’S CODEX ARC; Stabbed

Chapter 96: Chapter 96: THE PANDORA’S CODEX ARC; Stabbed

The radiant shield around Lyra pulsed once more before fading into nothingness, leaving the clearing bathed in the pale light of the moon. Silver beams filtered through the dense canopy above, casting long shadows across the trampled grass. Theon remained on his knees, his body trembling from the effort of maintaining the barrier. Blood seeped steadily from his wounds, darkening the ground beneath him. Every breath felt like dragging broken glass through his chest. The suppression field pressed down on him like an invisible weight, stifling his magic.

Lyra pushed herself upright despite the weakness in her limbs. Her arms shook with the effort. She reached for him with shaking hands, her fingers brushing against the torn fabric of his clothing, sticky with blood.

"Theon," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Theon, please. You have to stop. You can’t fight him like this."

He turned his head toward her slowly. His face was pale and slick with sweat, his features drawn tight with pain. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. Yet when he looked at her, something steady remained in his expression. He lifted one hand and pressed it gently against her cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

"Stay where you are," he said quietly. "Do not move from this spot."

Lyra’s breath hitched. She grabbed his wrist, holding his hand against her face as though afraid he might vanish if she let go. Her heart pounded hard.

"No," she begged, her voice rising into a desperate cry. "Theon, please. Don’t go back out there. You’re already hurt. If you fight him again, you’ll... you’ll..."

She could not finish the sentence. The words felt like a prophecy she refused to speak aloud. Tears welled and spilled over.

Theon’s expression softened. He shifted closer despite the pain, leaning his forehead against hers for a brief moment. His breathing was shallow, but his voice remained firm.

"I promised you I would handle this," he murmured. "And I will."

"You promised you wouldn’t die," Lyra choked out. Tears streamed freely down her face now, hot and uncontrollable. "You promised me, Big brother. You said you wouldn’t leave me alone."

Theon closed his eyes for a heartbeat. When he opened them again, the determination in his gaze had deepened. He carefully pulled away from her, forcing his trembling arms to support his weight as he pushed himself to his feet. His legs shook beneath him, and he had to steady himself against the trunk of a nearby tree.

"I meant that promise," he said. "I am not going to die today, Lyra. Not while you are still here."

He reached for his sword.

The weapon lay a short distance away, its blade stained with dirt and blood. Theon’s fingers closed around the hilt, and he drew it from the ground with slow, deliberate effort. The metal felt heavier than it ever had before. His injured shoulder screamed in protest as he lifted the sword into a defensive position. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he blinked it away.

Lyra watched him with wide, terrified eyes. She wanted to run to him, to throw her arms around him and force him to stay beside her. But she understood the look on his face. He had made his decision. Nothing she said would change his mind.

Noel rose from the ground on the opposite side of the clearing.

He moved more cautiously now, his burned shoulder held stiffly against his side. The rage that had consumed him earlier had settled into something colder and more calculating. He studied Theon with narrowed attention, noting the way his opponent struggled to remain standing, the way his breathing came in ragged gasps, and the way blood continued to darken his clothing.

A faint smile touched Noel’s lips.

"You should have stayed down," he said. "You had your chance to protect her. You used your precious power to create that shield. And you sacrificed something significant, didn’t you? for what? A few more moments?"

Theon did not answer. He tightened his grip on the sword and shifted his stance, positioning himself between Noel and Lyra. His legs felt unsteady, but he forced them to hold. His vision blurred at the edges, but he kept his focus on the boy advancing toward him.

Noel attacked without further warning.

He moved with terrifying speed, closing the distance between them in an instant. His sword flashed through the air, aimed directly at Theon’s throat. Theon barely managed to raise his weapon in time. Steel collided with steel, the impact sending a jolt of pain through Theon’s injured arm. He staggered backward, his boots scraping against the earth.

Noel pressed the advantage immediately.

He struck again, this time aiming for Theon’s side. Theon parried the blow, but the force of the impact nearly knocked the sword from his grasp. His muscles burned with exhaustion. Every movement felt sluggish, as though the air itself resisted him. The barrier’s suppression weighed against his magic, making each spell and each enhancement cost far more than it should have.

He tried to summon even a fraction of his power to strengthen his body. The energy flickered weakly within him before vanishing, smothered by the oppressive field surrounding the clearing.

Noel noticed.

His attacks grew more aggressive, more precise. He targeted Theon’s injured points deliberately, forcing him to move in ways that aggravated his wounds. Each clash of their swords sent fresh waves of pain through Theon’s body. He could feel his strength fading with every passing second.

Lyra watched from where she sat, her hands pressed tightly against her mouth. She wanted to scream, to call out to him, to do something that might help. But she knew that any distraction would only make things worse. She remained frozen, tears streaming silently down her face as she witnessed her brother struggle to stay alive.

Theon’s movements grew slower.

His parries became less effective. His footwork faltered. Blood continued to seep from his wounds, leaving a dark trail across the ground wherever he stepped. Noel pressed forward relentlessly, driving him backward across the clearing.

"You are finished," Noel said coldly. "You cannot win this fight. Your body is already broken. Your magic is suppressed. You are fighting a battle you lost the moment you stepped into this clearing."

Theon gritted his teeth. He forced his arms to lift the sword once more, blocking another vicious strike that would have cleaved through his shoulder. The impact sent him stumbling. His knees buckled briefly before he caught himself.

"Not yet," he gasped.

Noel’s expression hardened.

He feinted to the left, then drove his sword forward in a brutal thrust aimed directly at Theon’s stomach.

Theon tried to twist away.

He was too slow.

The blade pierced through his defenses and sank deep into his abdomen.

Theon felt the cold steel slide through flesh and muscle. Pain exploded through his body, white-hot and overwhelming. He gasped, his mouth opening in a silent cry as his legs gave way beneath him. The sword remained embedded in his stomach, holding him upright for a moment before Noel yanked it free.

Theon collapsed.

He fell to his knees first, then toppled forward onto his side. Blood poured from the wound, spreading rapidly across the ground beneath him. His vision blurred, the edges of the world fading into darkness. He could hear Lyra’s scream tearing through the air, distant and muffled as though he were already slipping beneath the surface of consciousness.

"BIG BROTHERR!!"

The moonlight continued to shine down upon the clearing, indifferent to the tragedy unfolding beneath the trees. The night air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of crushed leaves and iron. Somewhere in the distance an owl called once, the sound lonely and soft.

Lyra’s scream still echoed in Theon’s fading awareness as the darkness pulled him deeper. His last conscious thought was of her face, the tears on her cheeks, and the promise he had made. He clung to that promise even as the world slipped away from him, determined to keep it somehow. The pain began to dull into a distant throb, and the cold of the ground seeping into his body felt almost comforting compared to the fire in his abdomen.

He tried to move, to speak, to reassure her one final time, but his body no longer obeyed. The darkness claimed him fully as the sounds of the forest faded into silence. Somewhere nearby he thought he heard the soft rustle of leaves under hurried footsteps, but he could not be certain.

All that remained was the memory of her voice calling his name and the unyielding resolve to return to her side no matter the cost. In the quiet that followed, the clearing held its breath. The blood on the grass continued to darken under the moon, and Lyra’s sobs became the only sound that broke the stillness of the night. Time itself seemed to pause around the fallen warrior and the sister who refused.