Sin of the Saint

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THE PATIENT SAINT VS. THE SIN OF WRATH

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE**

Paten waited patiently—of course—for Irae to get to her feet. But many moments passed in a still silence where every mere breath and heartbeat could be heard. She kneeled on the ground still, her fingers barely touching the hilt of her weapon. The black threadbare dress she wore had no armor over it, and Caritas could clearly see her ribs beyond her dirty ashen skin through the gaping holes in her shoddy garment.

She glanced between Irae and Paten repeatedly. Paten had armor—he had strength in his body...and a sharp weapon—a claymore! But Irae was practically naked since her clothes were so thin...her sword was one she could barely hold—it looked incredibly dull, and obviously too heavy for her to even grasp.

He was prepared. She was not. He was almost fully protected. She was left completely and utterly vulnerable to the point of ridiculousness.

"This is absurd," Caritas whispered, and her surrounding comrades glared at her.

Modesta, who stood directly to her left mumbled, "Caritas...leave it be. This is how it must be."

Caritas glared at him. She knew that. They were fighting to stave off the apocalypse—they needed to harness every victory they could to save the world...but at this price?

Paten would have to kill an almost defenseless girl who looked like nothing more than a child.

Sure, once he achieves his victory, the world would be one step closer to being saved—but how could Holden go on like that afterwards? How would his mind react to this?

"Enough of this. On your feet, Irae," Paten finally said, bouncing the tip of his sword up, motioning for her to rise.

Her tired, yellow eyes looked up at him dimly and she dragged her sword forward before placing her feet on the ground, slowly rising up. She at long last stood up straight, leaning on her sword hilt while the tip of the dull blade rested on the ground, supporting her.

"Come at me with everything you've got, Irae—" Paten said, readying his stance once again, leaning back into his position, "—I refuse to fight one who won't fight back."

Caritas shot a dirty look at Cupid just then and he smirked back. Paten's words were similar to what Cupid said to Caritas in their last bout—Paten wouldn't like to take an unfair shot at a win either.

But for the sake of his master, Cupid did...and Paten, for the sake of the world, now must.

"Just do it quickly..." Caritas whispered, and as Paten charged forward, his blade poised at the ready, she closed her eyes. She couldn't watch. She decided she would not. Victory, she knew, must be achieved. But she wouldn't watch it be done this way.

She held her breath as Paten attacked, but instead of the sound of slicing flesh, she heard a clang—a loud one.

Caritas opened her eyes to an unbelievable sight—Paten's muscular entirety being forced back by the sheer girth of Irae's sword. Paten had the higher ground, as Irae was nearly crushed under his strength, but she resisted. She held the hilt upwards and ducked her entire body behind the blade, pressing her back to it with all her might as if it were a door, and she were trying to keep Paten out.

"She moved so fast..." Caritas heard Modesta whisper, "...almost inhumanly so."

Caritas instantly wished she hadn't closed her eyes—Irae must have had some kind of strength that couldn't be seen by her appearance, and she missed it.

Coach Luther had told her since the beginning—there were all types of strengths...not just physical. Irae must be one of those players in this game...a player with a lack of physical prowess, a player with a lackluster weapon...a player very much like...herself.