"No mercy for betrayers!" Kayle roared as her blade flashed with flame. Her golden armor shone while a blast of fire incinerated the patch of grass where her sister should have been. Morgana had sprung to one side, safe from the attack. The wind rustled through Morgana's purple hair as she snarled and bared her fangs.
"You angels are too petty to understand mercy," the fallen one answered. Her leathery wings beat through the air, but Kayle knew it was for naught. An angel could not fly without divine magic, and Morgana had long since fallen from grace. Her wings were useless, a vestigial reminder of what she once was, and what she had forsaken. Morgana closed her eyes, chanting. Moments later, she hurled a sphere of dark energy at her sister. Kayle flew up, evading the attack while taunting the former angel.
"Justice is anything but petty, sister." In her shining armor and sword in hand, Kayle charged. She slashed three times, knowing Morgana would not be fast enough to defend against all three. The third swing connected with flesh, drawing a wound down Morgana's arm, flinging black blood into the air and onto both sisters.
"The visor on your helmet," Morgana hissed clutching her arm, "must make it hard to see the blood on yourself. It suits you well, Kayle." The angel refused to deign a response, instead summoning light into her hand. It sprang from her palm, threatening to burn right through Morgana. Beneath purple hair, her eyes flared white and a field of blue energy met Kayle's magic. The opposed spells exploded in a torrent of light, blinding the angel. When Kayle's vision returned, her sister was gone.
"My sister's vile black magic," she muttered, cursing the words. Years ago, neither sister had known anything of the dark arts. It had been her wielding the sword of justice, her sister who commanded the light of judgment. Together, they were known as paragons, icons of perfection who kept order in their world. It had always been Morgana who was headstrong and reckless, so Kayle should not have been surprised when he came along.
He had been handsome and charming, dashing and daring. But Morgana had fallen in love with him, and he returned her affections, an act forbidden among those who lived to serve. Though the gods forbade her from seeing him, she refused and rebelled. Thus it was commanded that he must die, and a perfect being could not disobey. Kayle had no choice but to slay him, to strike him down where he stood. She could still remember how his face contorted and twisted when she impaled his heart, his shock and horror when she stabbed him from behind.
"It is your heart that is black," she had said, hatred dripping from her voice. Beneath the helmet, Morgana's voice still rang in Kayle's ears. Through the visor, Morgana's face was still stained with tears and blood. "It has withered from all the killing." Kayle had reached out to her sister, to comfort her and tell her it would be right in due time. But Morgana had swatted her away, spitting out the name "Kayle" as if it were poison, without a trace of love or familiarity. Never again would Morgana address her as "sister".
She had descended further into darkness, into madness. Morgana had cultivated the arts of manipulating life and death, breathing a perverted semblance of second life into his body. Once more, the angel of justice had torn him to pieces, and once more Morgana had wept. Morgana cursed her sister's name and cursed the gods. Tyrants, she had decreed to the skies. Heartless beings who did not feel, who had no right to rule over those who did. So she had forsaken the gods, willingly falling from grace. It was thus that she fell, and thus that it fell on Kayle, the sword of justice, to slay her.
Kayle envisioned the courts of the gods, the marble halls stretching endlessly and the formless infinities of the gods themselves. Verdict: guilty. Punishment: execution. Executioner: Kayle. The words echoed, stretching beyond all hearing, and they bounced back once more in her ears. She narrowed her eyes, squinting through her visor at the patch of grass, burned away by her fire. Kayle knew she had not failed. It was but a delay, because a perfect angel was incapable of failure. She removed her helmet, gazing at the perfection reflecting back at her.
If she was perfect, why hadn't he loved her instead?
A/N: Yes, I blatantly a line from Valkyrie Profile for Morgana to use. Live with it.