The unyielding flame
After watching Geralt get brutalized and sent flying for the umpteenth time Gemma knew she couldn't or wouldn't be able to drag this out for long. Although that was their main plan with the highest chance of success as they saw it.
The success of it looked grimmer and darker after every exchange.
The skillset possessed by the saint of white didn't give them much room to work with. They simply couldn't contain and pressure the saint as the old man was adapting to his current situation at an alarming pace.
Geralt was burning out faster than they planned, and Luciel was showing no signs of success on his end, after they sealed most of the white saint's abilities with a powerful charm the two of them couldn't inflict any fatal damage on the damn old man.
Even when they perfectly coordinated to execute a flawless attack from their perspective, the old man would dodge it gracefully mid-air. The only times she could wound him was when he took time to glance at the Grave Luciel made.
The saint of white from the Grey Legion was just on a different level of power.
She needed to deal severe damage to the white saint before Luciel's potential return from the Black grave, as the mission teetered on the edge of impossibility. The survival of Luciel remained an unpredictable factor, adding a layer of uncertainty to the already precarious situation.
Thinking of the consequences of her failure Gemma began to re-think her approach while trying to kill the old man standing before her.
She could try to risk it all in a single exchange since the battle of attrition was not in her favor.
but the situation was not that desperate yet, still confident in her victory even when it looked dim as a cloudy moon Gemma continued to think.
Firmly choosing her next course of action, Gemma signaled with her unarmed left hand and swiftly leaped backward, creating a gap between the white saint and herself Geralt being closer to the saint.
With precision and swiftness, she conjured a luminescent mirror in her left palm. Brandishing her sword into the air before the white saint could close the distance, she descended the sword's hilt to crash onto the glowing mirror, shattering it.
As the mirror fractured from the core and completely shattered, Gemma entered a trance-like state, her eyes emanating a purple glow while her body became enveloped in a radiant purple light originating from the now-shattered mirror.
Vulnerable to the old man's potential assault, Gemma endured the considerable drawback of using this particular ability but pressed on nonetheless trusting Geralt to halt the old man.
The mirror, upon breaking, triggered its sole effect—a simple yet potent absorption and release of power.
While commonly associated with acts of mutual suicide or considered akin to a modern grenade in the eyes of modern humans it was a simple yet highly potent memory in the right hands.
But right now, Gemma was trying to harness the mirror's power rather than letting it rampage towards everything.
Yet, the energy within wasn't from an ascendant or an awakened but one of the chosen saints of the Holy Church, making the absorption process exceptionally challenging and taxing on herself.
In the throne room, Gemma remained focused on her risky endeavor, while the saint of white seized the opportunity before him and tried to dash forward.
Before he could initiate his charge towards Gemma, Geralt intercepted him.
Anticipating Gemma's plan from the hand gestures, Geralt summoned a small shoulder-plate earlier to bolster his abilities and lunged towards the old man.
Typically for Geralt, the notion of successfully reaching the white saint would be a dream inside other dreams, given the vast difference in their capabilities.
However, as the saint propelled himself along a straight and predictable trajectory, it proved to be more than sufficient for him to grasp hold of the saint of white.
In an unprecedented turn of events, he managed to not only grab the enemy but the chance to hold onto the saint.
Despite the old man's disheveled appearance and torn clothes, Geralt recognized the vast difference in their strengths.
So rather than restraining the saint, Geralt clung to his waist with his legs, hanging on for dear life, and went for his eyes.
Whether or not the eye poke or rather eye spear was successful or not, it did not matter in the end.
If he could stop his movement and get the saint's attention on himself. Geralt's plan was already succeeding.
The saint initially focused on reaching Gemma, was forced to redirect his attention to the unexpected assault on his eyes.
Swatting away Geralt's pathetic and desperate attack, his fury grew as began ruthlessly pummeling Geralt.
With every punch the bone-shattering impact could be heard across the entire throne room, the white saint effortlessly tore through Geralt's flesh and bones.
The disconcerting symphony of breaking bones resonated through the empty throne room, yet from each caved-in bone, a green flame blazed with unwavering vigor, illuminating the relentless struggle between the two.
Ignoring the burning sensation on his arm, the white saint relentlessly pummeled Geralt into oblivion, even as Geralt attempted to gouge out his eyes.
Both remained unwavering in their pursuit of their goal, one hellbent on killing while the other desperately tried to buy more and more time.
The scene was unfolding like an adult mercilessly beating a helpless child in Raian's eyes.
Despite following the path of logic his whole life, Raian found Geralt's desperate attempt to slow the saint beautiful.
His appreciation for beauty while abnormal stemmed from the emotions people exuded when they put in their utmost efforts, and at that moment, Geralt epitomized that beauty.
He did his absolute best to hinder the transcended warriors.
Borrowing strength of his tomorrow self, no borrowing the strength of the rest of his life Geralt clung on like a transcendent being, enduring the relentless pummeling of a another transcended.
As the onslaught continued, it became apparent that Geralt was reaching his limits, slipping between consciousness and unconsciousness his grip was weakening.
Feeling his grip weaken 'Was it not enough' Geralt pondered the fruits of his efforts nearing the brink of death. ' Was I not enough, I did my best but it wasn't enough, I sure am pathetic.' blaming himself inside his mind Geralt almost let go at his final moments.
'No, I refuse, I refuse to be useless again, not this time' the flickering weakening flames on his injuries stopped moving.
'I REFUSE!!!!'
With a furious scream within his mind, Geralt latched his arms with the saint's, roaring with fury as the flames on his injuries breathed in a second wing and blazed once more with great vigor.
Brute forcing through Geralt's arm and easily bending it where it shouldn't bend the saint delivered a devastating counter before the green flame reached its peak.
Releasing his both arms and dropping Geralt to the ground unconscious.
Seizing the opportunity, the old man raised his fist for the final blow, only to have it intercepted by a swift sword slash.
Unlike before, the old man's instincts screamed at him to dodge the impending attack, kicking Geralt to the side while dodging and creating distance to assess the reborn enemy before him the saint of white looked puzzled.
The kick served as a last-ditch effort to finish Geralt, but it failed. Geralt continued to breath despite his efforts.
Now, unless he finishes Gemma in haste, the relentless and resilient flaming cockroach would come back to bite him.
Checking the status of his aspect, the old saint released a shallow sigh at the disappointing news.
In contrast, Gemma stood tall before him, emanating a dangerous aura that felt more like an endless ocean than a wild dangerous beast.
Her eyes glowed like the vast night sky, with star-like white dots inside her purple sclera. Her deep purple hair reversed gravity, flowing upwards, as she declared, "It was enough, Geralt. Now leave it all to me."
Brandishing her sword in front of her body she dictated.
" I will end this."