Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent-Chapter 333: Ch : The Divine Will- Part 1

The god-controlled Runa parried with surprising speed, despite his earlier complaints. fгeewёbnoѵel_cσm

But Kyle could see the cracks—how the limbs shook slightly, how her left foot always dragged half a second behind.

The god was powerful. But it was still using a body not its own.

And Kyle had no intention of letting him forget it.

"You should’ve descended properly. Now you’re stuck in a body that wasn’t meant for you. And I’m going to tear that mistake apart."

Kyle hissed as their blades locked, their faces inches apart.

With a grunt, Kyle spun, his blade cutting across the air like a razor of black flame. The god barely blocked, but the impact staggered him.

Kyle didn’t let up.

He moved in, striking again and again with precise, relentless blows. Each hit chipped away at the divine shield Runa’s body was struggling to hold.

And above all else, Kyle noticed something crucial.

Every time he landed a blow, Runa’s expression twitched.

There was still someone in there. Watching. Suffering.

The god may have control, but the woman inside hadn’t vanished completely.

Kyle steeled himself.

He couldn’t afford to show mercy.

Not yet.

The battlefield lay under an unnatural glow—war-torn, scarred, brimming with the pressure of divine confrontation.

Kyle stood unwavering, his sword humming with dark mana that pulsed at his side.

Opposite him loomed General Runa’s possessed form.

She—or it—stood tall, but contortions of divine power had already begun to reshape her: her spine arched unnaturally, ideas of wings forming under her skin, limbs stretching in nonhuman angles.

The god within was attempting to fit into this body.

Kyle’s eyes narrowed.

"You’re trying to remake her. But flesh resists divine will."

He said, voice low.

Kyle lifted his blade, and shadows gathered like living tendrils around his wrist.

At his words, Runa’s body spasmed—a subtle convulsion, the first sign of the vessel’s breakdown.

The god’s lips curved into a sneer, but no hint of righteousness remained—only raw hunger for power.

"This vessel will adapt. I will overwrite the body, erase the soul."

The god hissed through Runa’s throat, voice layered and cold.

The transformation accelerated. Her arms elongated, fingers thickened into claws, breastplates bent outward into blade-like ridges.

Divine energy rippled beneath her skin—it had gone from armor to weapon, from shield to fang.

Kyle didn’t blink. Instead, he drew a slow circle around her, forcing the god to commit to its creation.

"You’ll die half-formed."

He predicted, then lunged.

His sword flashed—infused with suppressed gods’ energy—aimed at a joint between bone and newly-fused divine armor.

She countered, divine claw slashing; the slice carried the roar of creation. Kyle backstepped, their weapons clashing in midair. Sparks of crushing mana scattered like embers.

Kyle’s form seemed to absorb light as he pivoted, his blade aiming a second strike—too fast to block.

The god twisted Runa’s form to meet it, the blade graxing off plasticized flesh and armor. A chunk of strange divine material snapped. Behind Runa’s left ear, flesh cracked. She staggered.

Pain—a real emotion—flashed across those glowing blue eyes.

Kyle seized the moment. He blocked a spear-like punch, pivoted, and landed a roundhouse kick to her ribcage. CRACK.

The god’s layered form shuddered, two ribs fracturing. Flesh bulged under divine growth at the wound but there was no healing—just reveal. The body was tearing.

She stumbled back. Kyle advanced, sword at management stance, calm, his mana a low hum like a heartbeat.

"Fall."

Kyle said softly. His next step was measured. Dragons of darkness flared from his blade.

Runa cried, her new form spasming as divine wings erupted—one wing half-formed, the other reintegrating back into skin. The body couldn’t keep up with the god’s restructuring.

She sprang upward, launching a torrent of divine mana downward, but Kyle dropped to one knee, blade planted point-first.

The aura around him shifted into a dome: anti-divine force smothering the spell midair. The mana collapsed, sizzling, as the ground splintered.

Kyle stood.

"You can’t reshape her. You can’t overwrite humanity with divinity."

He growled.

The god’s laugh tumbled into a roar, rebounding within Runa’s broken form. She lunged again, tried ripping Kyle’s blade from its sheath.

Kyle twisted, slashed low; the blade found a gap in her armor-changes, cutting deep into thigh. Runa screamed a distortion—two layered voices shrieking in unison.

Blood—holy and unholy—gushed in rivulets.

Kyle raised the blade halfway.

"You’re being forced out of her."

He whispered. Every word pressed weight onto the god, vise-like.

Runa collapsed to one knee. Her wings flickered—falling in on themselves. Her face contorted: pain, confusion, something human rising to surface again.

Kyle didn’t retreat. His blade glowed.

"This ends when one of us can no longer stand."

Runa struggled, trying to stand. The god tried to shake free, but the body collapsed again—one arm had been torn, lower ribs shattered, unnatural blade-ridges hanging loose. Her confusion grew.

Kyle advanced another step, steady, unflinching. Dirt and blood stained his cloak, but stance was proud—unstoppable.

Runa’s eyes hollowed in agony. She clawed at flesh that thrilled the god’s pride. The god burrowed deeper, attempted to occupy more of her broken flesh.

The air trembled around them.

Kyle pressed forward. His blade stopped inches from her chest. "Shed the illusion," he said, voice cold yet strangely gentle.

"Let her go."

Runa’s head bowed. Sweat and blood mixed as divine and human warred inside.

The god’s voice rumbled.

"No!"

But it was quieter, more brittle—her sentence.

She didn’t rise.

Divine energy pulsed in jagged spirals, flickering, then it faded—divided by overwhelming strain. Runa’s body slumped, taking a tremulous breath. Her eyes... they reopened with regret.

Kyle didn’t finish her off. He lowered his blade a fraction, then withdrew it fully. He stepped back, but kept blade ready.

Yet he didn’t walk away.

"This fight isn’t over. But it’s mine to handle."

He said to the broken form.

The wounded vessel gasped, looked up at Kyle with something between defiance and relief.

Kyle’s dark aura flickered, then calmed. He remained wary, world-weary.

He turned his gaze skyward... to where Runa’s god still lingered, hovering just beyond reality’s edge, its attempt to occupy this flawed body in tatters.

And as the wind rippled through shattered petals on the stained field, Kyle glanced at Amana, then back at Runa, forcing himself to wait—for the god to make its next move, so he could meet it.

Because when this fight resumed, he wouldn’t hold back.

Runa’s body trembled as she gasped for breath, her muscles twitching in revolt against the divine essence still trying to knit itself into her bones.

The veins around her neck bulged with unnatural light, fighting to stay embedded, but the human vessel had begun to reject the power.

It was slow, agonizing, but visible. Kyle watched it all with an unreadable expression, blade still gripped tightly at his side.

High above, the air crackled, as if the god whose descent had been thwarted was still looming—furious, spiteful.

"Even gods should learn when to retreat."

Kyle muttered.

A gust of wind blew dust across the battlefield. Runa raised her head again, bloodied lips parting with effort.

"You... knew this would happen."

Kyle didn’t answer. His gaze never left the horizon, sensing divine power still roiling just out of reach.

"This is your choice now. Resist him, or let him use you until your body breaks."

She clenched her jaw, the last flickers of divine light flickering wildly across her skin.

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