Nuria took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, shortening the distance between her and the Archon, and removing her battle armour, now tinged with sweat and blood.
“I forgive you.”
Rama’s cruel smile ceased for a moment.
“Say what now?”
“I forgive you. I forgive you for everything you’ve done, and for all blood you’ve shed. I forgive you for Kory, I forgive you for Kasim, I forgive you for the seige, I forgive you for every deed you’ve comitted against me, I forgive you in name of all you’ve hurt, including the man that was once your son. You may go in peace.”
Rama absorbed the words for a bit, and returned his wicked demaneour.
“Well, ain’t you the precious little thing, trying to mock me with forgiveness preaching. You’re not only wicked, you’re beyond pathetic, but at least you’re not that far gone as to realise that you need to die.”
And so, without further ado, Rama stroke, his spear of light hitting Nuria’s chest. Much to his shock, it dissolved in the air, instead reforming as shackles in his fists and wrists, as well as around his lion’s snout, paws and wings.
“WHAT!? You filthy witch, you will pay for this!”
“Like I said, I forgive you. You may go in peace, if you forgive yourself.”
Rama roared, summoning in his mind the divine power of the Light, praying for justice against the filthy wench. But, with each prayer, his shackles became tighter, drawing blood from the whimpering steed that was his lion. This went on for several minutes, incomprehensible and desesperate call for aid from the divine only dooming him further. All Nuria did was to stare, as non-judgementally and accepting as possible.
And then it hit him. He fell in absolute silence, in absolute horror. The shackles were gone, dissolved like his spear was, but it did not matter, for he willed himself to die.