Machina Arcanis: Two Worlds Collided

TU29. The Loser Shall Fall

Fingers clutched at the long shaft of the spear, Aurora circled her enemy. Blood from the short graze opened a ribbon of crimson and pooled at her knuckles.

"What do you think?" Achilles hissed through a wry smile. His golden irises swam in a sea of bloodshot sclera. Compelled by the essence of Bloodwrath, he was only getting more formidable.

From the dripping blood on her forearm to the golden stare, Aurora remained unyielding. Her unbothered expression spoke volumes of the calculation in her mind.

"The next blow will decide the fate of the battle," she said, her tone flat.

"Oh, already?" Achilles's grin widened as he shifted on his feet like a pacing lion around its dying prey. "What makes you think you can finish me?"

"Honestly," she shrugged, "I think you're the best spear master I've ever encountered. It's my greatest honour that this clash is a reality, only now can I see why."

His legends were not glorified pieces of fiction; this duel was the stark evidence of that. A man who could massacre hundreds through the flurry of a battlefield, each strike took a life that had lived decades of discipline and training.

"Ha, sweet words from a losing foe!" The look in his eyes was full of incredulity, followed by a hiss, "What's your game? Stalling to catch a breath, perhaps?"

"Not really. I simply wanted you to know that," Aurora said.

And when Aurora didn't smile or mock him, Achilles knew her words were genuine.

"You really think that?" he gasped, a surge of pride rising in his chest.

Aurora nodded slowly. "Please do not take this as an offence, but the honour I return to you, Golden King."

Frowning, Achilles felt the uneasiness radiating from the murmuring crowds behind his back.

"But, I need to finish what I started. Let it be known. Even when heaven and hell stand against me, against my people, they shall crumble to ruination!"

With the end of her echoing bellow, Aurora surged forward, her boots crushing the dirt into the fractured soil. Dust kicked up into the air with powerful kinetic energy.

"FINALLY!" Achilles shouted, surging towards the approaching challenger.

His spear gleamed with light, its sharp tip pointing at her. He could see the intent in her motion, and that was to finish him at last.

In a blur of motion and the rapid drumming of the battleground, the two combatants were closing in the blink of an eye, each pointing their spear at the heart of the other. The audience sprang to their feet, witnessing the final joust of the millennia. Their eyes burst with excitement, their mouths screaming with ecstasy.

"This is it!" Tachyon cried her heart out, "This is the moment we've been waiting for!"

The Wildren snapped her head to Austria, who sat anxiously at the edge of her seat. But the Ashen Oracle offered a light smile. A more refined expression touched her face.

"Silence! I'm trying to capture this moment!" A renowned painter beside her hissed before his attention returned to his paint stand.

The bearded man grumbled as he went about his work, a paintbrush stroking the canvas.

Tachyon bared her teeth in embarrassment as she brushed the back of her hair.

Time seemed to slide into a million frames. Achilles studied the trajectory of Aurora's spear, the way her right boot came into its final skid, the momentum transmitted from her coiling legs to her arms.

The spear was never a difficult weapon to kill with, he knew. And her thrust was as simple as it was deadly. A powerful, deadly thrust.

"I could never have thought you'd come at me with such a basic attack," Achilles smirked when he realised she had committed her full thrust attack.

With masterful touch in his fingers, Achilles flicked and rolled his spear, veering its direction toward the closest body part of his challenger.

Aurora's hand.

There was a saying that striking at the limbs — hands and feet — was as good as striking the warrior's heart. Though it was not always fatal, wounding them could take the owners out of the battle.

A victory was a victory.

He understood that notion well. It was not a spear to his heart that cost him his life; it all started when Paris's arrow struck the back of his foot. The so-called Achilles' heel, as they named it now.

In a flash, he could see Aurora's silver eyes widen. His victory was within his grasp.

The spear tip tore through Aurora's hand and her fingers. The blade cleaved the arc between her middle finger and her ring finger.

In a blur of motion, her bloody hand twitched.

Achilles saw blood, muscle, and bone. His eyes lit up like fireworks.

"I WON—"

He coughed hoarsely. Achilles's voice became a wet gurgle as Aurora's spear went through his jugular.

How?

An incredible amount of warmth splashed down his chest. His bloodshot eyes dimmed as he watched her spear with disbelief.

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In the distance, he could still hear the crowds screaming in utter horror.

With the spear lodged in his throat, his flailing hands struggled to grasp the handle. His knees buckled to the ground as Aurora stalked, watching him with her silver glare. Her mangled hand hung at her side.

Pity? It was the first thought that came to his fading mind as he stared up at her unreadable expression.

"It's my greatest honour to duel with you, King Achilles," Aurora declared, her tone regal. A loose lock of hair swayed beautifully in the gentle breeze. "By my words, I shall never forget this duel until the last of my existence."

As her last words came through, Achilles fell flat on his back.

Blood still oozed out of his fatal wound while the fool and others came rushing to his location.

It was a victory, but there was no glory in it.

Aurora stood before the dead-silent crowds. Their burning eyes were those of contempt. Their lips curved into snarls and hisses, cursing under their breath until someone finally lost their boiling hatred.

Never in their lifetime had they seen their golden king fall into such a pitiful state. Just a man dripping in his own blood. A cruel fate, but true nonetheless.

"Witch! She used arcane!" An accuser pointed his finger at her.

"Cheater! It's witchcraft! There's no way she could move that spear without arcane!" Another shouted, spitting.

"Arcanist!" a man snarled. Aurora winced at the word; never in her lifetime had it been hurled as an insult.

"Dishonourable woman! You have no honour!" Another one shouted and threw a goblet at her feet.

Like an avalanche of heat, the angry crowd grew louder and more savage when Aurora remained mute. Even the warm breeze could not comfort her; the chill in the air was stagnant. They found anything, be it harmful words or their trash, to throw in her direction.

Rippling walls of mana surged up to the ceiling of the colosseum like a whirlwind of an untamed beast.

"Phoros!" Aurora shouted, conjuring an iridescent barrier and deflecting the trash outward.

But the powerful shield didn't stop there. It turned into a gust of wind that knocked even the strong men back into their seats.

It was a spectacular display of a master of the arcane. It quickly changed their anger into fear. They cowered behind the guardrails, mumbling inaudible words.

"That is the arcane!" Aurora declared as she remained steadfast. The respect of her power earned now.

A moment later, the approaching jester was near her side, and Aurora raised her injured palm in the air.

Jana dipped her head low into a curtsy, respectful. "The dead can't die twice, not with that spear anyway," she announced aloud so the others could hear her.

The jester gestured her palm to the Golden King, who sat up with his legs stretched out. Confusion, bafflement, and perhaps amazement were written on his face as he blinked back at Aurora. His tongue was still unable to form words then.

The surrounding arcanists had already closed his wounds with their healing spells, leaving only dry blood on his golden breastplate as a reminder.

"I figured," Aurora clipped.

"Now, let me study your hand if you don't mind," the Fool asked, her hands eagerly hovering over the mangled fingers.

Complying, Aurora moved her wrist. Her ring and pinky fingers flopped helplessly, no longer obeying her command. The blood was beginning to solidify, so Jana took out a wet cloth and gently cleaned it, eventually exposing the broken bones and cut tendons.

"Nasty wound, I see," Jana commented. "That tendon here was cut so cleanly that it makes your index finger and thumb roll in a certain way. Is that right?"

Aurora arched her brow, "I didn't take you for a doctor."

"Aye, just a fool." Jana curled her lips into a gentle smile. "My papa's a surgeon, Mama's a herbalist. I'm nothing like them." Then she moved her pursed lips close to Aurora's hand and whispered, "Iasis!"

The tendon re-twitched on its own, the muscles reformed and connected, and her skin mended.

"You're an arcanist. Of Virgo?" Aurora mumbled. She wouldn't have expected a character with such quality. "I have never seen such surgical quality in a healing spell before. It's mimicking a surgical operation."

As the pain receded, Aurora studied her palm, moving it experimentally without any constraint.

"Aye," Jana returned a humble bow, her belled hat jingling. "Nothing like modern arcanists, you see. We'll have to make do with our rudimentary arcane—"

"So, what's going on?" Achilles cut in, his voice demanding as he slowly rose to his feet.

The fool spun on her heel in a frivolous motion and shot a toothy smile. "There's no magic involved in that final joust, my king."

"Oh… I knew that. But what is that technique?" he insisted, scratching his head.

"It's not a technique," Jana replied, rubbing her blank forehead contemplatively for a moment. "The empress simply let you strike her hand where her fingers will twitch. Which eventually launched the spear into your throat. Basically."

"Basically?" Achilles gasped, but a half-smile revealed his amazement. "How?"

"Very precise calculation and some luck, I presume," Jana admitted, clasping her hands over her thighs. "Right place, right time."

"What? How did you know I'd strike your hand then?" Achilles pressed, locking eyes with the Silver Empress, who stood kneading her palm. Aurora shrugged in response.

"Anyway, my king," Jana cut in, gesturing to the nervous crowds. "You might wanna address this first."

An uneasy air drenched the unhappy crowds above. They looked at the combatants and at one another without uttering intelligible words.

"Though it might seem as if this involved the use of arcana, all the finest displays of war and power and invention appear as such!" Achilles announced, his voice booming with authority. "My friends, is it not true that the finest qualities performed by mortals are often accredited to the gods? But in truth, it is our own genuine capability. This is no exception." He stressed the last sentence, looking at the people. His people.

He spread his arms, his four fingers pointing at Aurora. "But I can assure you, on my golden honour and on my name, that Aurora Vere Borealis did not execute it with arcana, nor was it pure luck!"

A soft gasp relieved the tension in the sea of faces. Their knitted brows loosened into what looked like a smile.

"The Empress won this duel fair and square." He pointed at his temple, a charming smile flashing. "With the power within the mind. It's clear that she utilised her knowledge of the anatomy of the hand." He locked eyes with Jana, who reaffirmed with a curtsy.

"A trap so obscure and genius that even I fell for the bait," Achilles said, hanging his head in a mock motion.

The crowds chuckled, and their darkened eyes lit up. Some even nodded along with his recap. Rationale, the foundation of their belief, restored.

Achilles strode with full regal bearing, his chest propped up with valour and virtue, as he approached and grabbed Aurora's wrist.

"Teach me sometime, okay?" Achilles whispered and winked at her.

And Aurora returned an amiable grin. "You simply want a rematch. So maybe, when it's my time to reside here, I'll think about it."

Aurora scanned the platform, meeting Tachyon and Austria side by side. Their — or more like Tachyon's — giddy energy was like a dam-breaking flood. Tachyon's beautiful mane bounced as she jumped rapidly on her feet, even cajoling Austria to bounce with her. Aurora smiled fondly at that, because only a few had had faith in her since the start.

"Very well, my king?" Jana flicked her wrist at the line of warriors with blowhorns at their sides.

Without words, Achilles gave her a simple nod.

With the cue of the celebration horn, Achilles flung Aurora's arm into the air, the two powerful figures standing at the centre of the field. "I hereby announce the victor of this duel is… Aurora Vere Borealis of Osten!"

Contempt, fear, and anger soon forgotten. The crowds clapped their applause, and whistles thundered across the colosseum. Their spirit returned, and their enthusiasm went through the open roof.

And that fateful day ended with a long celebration with unfathomable amounts of nourishment.