When Simon first made contact with Flema’s White Flame, he had been bewildered. It hurt—like hell, even—but was it truly unbearable? Kajan and Pier had reacted as though trapped in a living nightmare, yet for him... this was it? A small seed of doubt took root in his mind.
He was struck by the second blast of White Flame. The hellish agony subsided to a dull, manageable pain.
He was immediately exposed to a third. It felt like stepping into one of the notoriously hot baths back at the Kizen dormitories. He was holding up so well that he could honestly compare an attack from one of Efnel’s seven Saintesses to a hot bath. But it was more than that. ’Why are my wounds healing?’ he wondered. Flema’s White Flame was closing the cuts on his knees and elbows. The situation was utterly baffling, but Simon masked his surprise. This was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to waste. Flema was a zealot, her identity built on the absolute pride she took in her station. This power, the ’White Flame’ bestowed by her goddess, was supposed to be absolute, an instrument to annihilate all evil. Having seen this vulnerability, Simon committed to his deception. The moment the White Flame touched him, he began to writhe and scream, drool pouring from his mouth just as it had for Kajan and Pier. Worried it might not be enough, he bit his tongue, letting bloody saliva spill down his chin. At the sight of a necromancer suffering divine punishment, Flema had looked satisfied. A moment later, when Serne intervened, Flema had become visibly stressed by her inability to instantly incinerate the feathers. So Simon charged forward, again and again. He swung his greatsword, was repelled by White Flame, and rolled across the ground, biding his time. He still couldn’t get close enough for Pier’s blade to make contact. But his patience paid off. When Serne launched her powerful assault of a thousand feathers, Flema was forced to commit her full power to defense. In that instant, Simon rushed her back. His meticulous deception had left her completely unguarded. It was his most decisive blow yet. A deep gash opened from her shoulder to her back. It hadn’t cleaved her in two, but the gushing fountain of blood spoke to the wound’s severity. [Why!] Flema shrieked, her voice cracking. She hastily retreated, trying to heal the cut, but a wound inflicted by the Greatsword of Ruin could not be mended, not even with White Flame. [Why! Why! Why!] The pillar supporting her entire being—her faith—was shattering. [WHY!] she shrieked, her voice tearing. She lowered her stance, panting heavily, her trembling eyes fixed on Simon. [What in the world are you...?]
The emotion in the Saintess’s eyes was unmistakable. [What is this?]
Fear. A primal fear born from the unknown. "I don’t know either," Simon answered plainly, readjusting his grip on the greatsword. In truth, he had no idea why he was unharmed by the Saintess’s flames. He had simply used what worked without pondering the cause. [Die!]
When people don’t comprehend something, they seek to destroy it. The White Flame that erupted from Flema’s palm engulfed Simon with the most intense firepower he had seen yet. ’Ugh!’
Simon immediately swung his right arm behind him, shielding the Bone Armor that was Pier. He braced himself, taking the full baptism of White Flame head-on. He could hear Kajan and Serne’s terrified shouts. Despite his resistance to Divinity, his essence was still that of a necromancer. [Boy! What are you doing? Get out of there!] Pier’s voice roared in his mind. ’Pier,’ Simon thought, a faint smile touching his lips even as he endured the flames. ’How long will you hesitate?’
Pier fell silent. ’To defeat a Saintess of Efnel, your very essence must change. If you are truly the commander of my Legion...’ Simon’s gaze sharpened. ’...then follow me.’
[Bwahahah!]
Pier laughed. [Hehehehe! Muahahahahaha! Bwahahahahaha!] The sound echoed in his head—a raw, manic laughter that bordered on a wail. [There’s a limit to insulting the dead, boy!]
Yet even as he said it, Pier’s voice was filled with an unsettling delight. ’This isn’t an insult,’ Simon thought, a matching smile spreading across his own lips. The expression on Flema’s face, still unleashing her torrent of flame, froze into one of utter horror. ’It’s evolution.’
A single drop of water fell into a pond. Simon was that tiny drop. Pier was the pond. The white droplet vanished without a trace the moment it touched the stagnant, black water. Another white droplet fell. But this time, it was different. The moment it hit the surface, the color white spread in all directions like concentrated ink, dyeing the entire pond a brilliant, pure white. [Hehehehe! Muahahahahaha!] Bones scattered across the floor lifted into the air and began to affix themselves to Simon’s body as he stood firm against the White Flame. The bones seamlessly formed into armor, encasing his right arm before connecting to his torso and legs. The cape billowed out, wrapping around him once more. Finally. [Good! Son of Richard!] Pier’s skull helmet settled onto Simon’s head. He grabbed it with both hands and pulled it down firmly, covering his eyes and leaving only his nose and mouth exposed. [For your victory, I will now cast aside my very identity as one of the dead!]
In the right eye socket, a dark blue flame blazed like a torch. And...
...in the left, a pure white flame erupted. Flames in both eyes. At last, Pier had caught up with Simon’s growth. "Let’s go, Pier," Simon said. [Muahahahaha!]
Simon swung the greatsword. The blade drew a clean, straight line, tearing through the radiating White Flame and slicing into Flema’s abdomen. [What in the...!]
Her pupils trembled. A necromancer who could withstand White Flame was one thing. But an undead who could wield Divinity? The successive shocks were too much, and cracks began to spiderweb across her sanity. [Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!] Flema let out a piercing shriek. Impossible. A pure, primal terror seized her mind. Simon kicked off the ground and charged. The Bone Armor’s effects were fully active, his physical abilities skyrocketing. [Ugh!]
Wincing as if at something utterly foul, she shot into the air, raining White Flame down on the ground. Simon stomped hard, swinging his sword repeatedly at the empty space above him. His long-range slashes cut through her body and the flames around her, but the White Flame on her wounds immediately flared, healing them. [Just as I thought! Against that Saintess, it’s meaningless unless you cut her directly with the Blade of Ruin!] ’Yes, but I can’t fly,’ Simon thought. His only option was to leap and try to catch her. As he ran, his eyes darted around, searching for a foothold. ’Hm?’
Serne’s feathers were circling him.
— I’ll help you. Serne’s voice echoed in his mind. The feathers caught up to him, attaching themselves to his shoulders and back. Simon felt his concentration sharpen by several degrees. The mental image Serne had shown him in Combat Magic class was manifesting once more. The feathers on his back ignited like boosters, lifting his body into the air. ’Okay.’
Getting the hang of it, Simon kicked off the ground and soared. With the momentum of his flight, he slashed past Flema’s shoulder. Blood sprayed like a fountain as her face contorted in abject terror. [Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!]
Flema flew higher, a protective barrier of White Flame enveloping her. The barrier shattered the cavern’s ceiling and rock walls, carving a path toward the open sky. ’Hmph!’ Simon’s eyes hardened. He couldn’t let her escape. He was wringing out every last drop of stamina and mental fortitude; if his focus broke now, the backlash would be crippling. ’I will take her down!’
He pushed the feathers to their maximum speed and gave chase. Orbs of Divinity and house-sized boulders rained down. Simon stopped thinking, plunging into a state of pure battle focus. ’Cut down everything in sight!’
He swung his sword as he ascended, white slashes wildly dicing the air. Facing a storm of debris, shadows, and divine orbs, Simon transcended his own limits, slashing again and again. Finally. Every obstacle vanished. Bathed in the brilliant sunlight, Simon’s body floated thousands of meters in the sky. The wind whipped through his hair. Looking down, he saw a gaping hole in the mountaintop where the command center had been, the Kizen campus a distant miniature below. [Just die already!] Flema screamed from above, throwing her arms up. Pointed crosses sculpted from White Flame materialized around her. It seemed her sanity was returning; she had abandoned her obsession with burning him alive and was now resorting to physical force. "Here I come, Pier."
[Hehehe! Do as you please!] Simon shot upward as hundreds of crosses rained down. White slashes tore through the sky, but the crosses filled the gaps just as quickly. On the ground, the Kizen students fighting the Prima Materia’s monsters looked up at the continuous explosions. "Crosses!" one student yelled, pointing. "That’s a Priest, right?"
"But who are they fighting...?"
"Hey, move!" Meirin shoved Dick’s head aside and stared at the sky, her eyes wide. Her cheeks were flushed. ’Lord Pier...!’
Simon’s sword strikes shattered the crosses one after another, but he was reaching his limit. It was a miracle that he was pushing back a Saintess, even a mentally broken one. If this dragged on and she regained her composure, he would be at an overwhelming disadvantage. ’This is the last attack.’
’Grit!’
He clenched his jaw so hard he heard something crack. Floating in mid-air, he brought the greatsword behind his back, twisting his waist and lowering his stance. He poured every ounce of his remaining strength into the blade. The sword began to shimmer, surging with a tempestuous force as a brilliant radiance erupted from it. "What’s that?"
"I-It’s too bright!"
A flash of light so intense that even the students on the ground had to shield their eyes converged on the sword. ’The sensation of slicing...’
His arms swung, his waist rotated. The bones attached to his body recreated Pier’s lifetime of battle through him. A liberating feeling washed over Simon, and the corners of his mouth lifted. ’...through space itself!’
A pure white trajectory tore through the wind and sky in a straight line, slicing through clouds in the far distance before vanishing over the horizon. The massive shockwave that followed shook the entire Kizen campus. [Ugh!]
Along with the surrounding crosses, the Saintess was cleaved in half at the waist. But a Saintess of Efnel was an absolute being. White Flame swirled around her severed halves, attempting to fuse them back together. ’Not yet! It’s not over!’
Having unleashed the colossal slash, Simon was already rotating his body once more. As he spun, all of Pier’s bones detached and shot toward his wrist. Completing the rotation, Simon extended his arm and aimed the tip of his sword at Flema. His hands, gripping the greatsword now covered in a thick gauntlet of Pier’s bones, trembled violently, as if struggling to contain the gathered power. To this, he added one final thing. ’Precise Hit!’
Simon’s absolute command was issued.
’Simon & Pier Original - Projection’
With a roar that threatened to burst his eardrums, Simon’s arms shot up, and the bones encasing them scattered in all directions. Flema, focused on healing her bisected body, glanced upward. [What—!]
Before she could even perceive it, the Greatsword of Ruin shot past her head. Dazed, she followed its trajectory as it flew far into the distance. And then she saw it. [Ah.]
Her right arm was tumbling through the sky. [Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!]
The Saintess’s scream of agony shook the entirety of Kizen.

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