“Pray, grant me passage to the stairs leading to an eternity beyond the stars and the lone space.”
“Let there be an invitation of chaos: revelry, destruction, oppression, abolition, and endless wanton hedonism.”
Once upon a time existed warriors possessing powers that could manipulate time.
They were said to all walk their paths—for the most part—solitarily. This was true, yet untrue. People were, and are, careless. They pick words without prior notice and spread them—not knowing in full about who they speak of.
“O ruler of the skies, descend, for I beseech you to bestow upon me your wrath.”
“For the decree of the Sovereign has been given. For the words of the Sovereign are absolute.”
Truly, the communities of human beings were, for the most part, uninformed about these beings. Even the few magicians—wielders of power beyond comprehension, were as uninformed as most men that inhabited the world.
“So that your holy flames would cleanse all that is evil, so that I may purge the impurities from the Realm.”
“Hearken unto me—my loyal retainers—my beloved knights. Together we shall rule the realm; be it men, devils, beasts, or the fay—all shall fall before the might of the conqueror.”
Their powers—in reality—were beyond compare with practitioners of magecraft. Their powers—in reality—reigned supreme even over nature itself.
Why? One may soon learn…
“O heavens, aid me!”
“Let the legitimacy of my reign be known!”
This is the tale of a meeting between two Descendants of Time, about how two friends had to fight each other. Forced, their blades clashed eventually.
***
When the mundane Kings’ pleas had reached the Witch of Germania, she was hardly surprised.
The leaders’ words were surely the most notable ones, but there were others. People from the Indian subcontinent’s clans, Romans, Arabs, and more. Thousands of people were undoubtedly fearing the coming reign of Alexandrina the Great.
The Queen of Macedonia was a figure so great and influential, that it was unthinkable to people that she was a woman. All the descriptions that passed from person to person, all the tales and stories and legends told; only made people believe that the sovereign figure was actually a male figure. This confusion would only escalate further in the future.
The Witch who originated from the Goths was unlike any other. Her people called her the Saint of Summer, for she could make the clouds reveal the sun in the sky. This was the miracle she was able to demonstrate, they say.
This Saint was often called a witch by the people who were thwarted away from the Germanic Tribes time and time again.
How did all these pleading voices lead to the Saint? Indeed, all the magicians approached referred to these strange Descendants as someone they could not match up to. Of course, the mundanes could not quite comprehend the type of difficult terms the magicians would use while conversing. However, a ray of hope was delivered at the mention of †˜Descendants’. The wording revealed that there was more than one.
Whatever Alexandrina the Great was—surely, someone like her would be on equal footing with her. Thus, a long search for such a being started as the great conqueror left for the campaign to fight and conquer the inhabitants of would-be India.
Upon her return, however, the Queen of Macedonia found out that a certain Saint was awaiting her… with armies apparently comprised from an unbelievable revolt. This battle never made it to the annals of history. The victor chose to keep it buried in darkness. However, it was a notable event to the Magic World and was indeed recorded by the magicians… to some extent.
“Never had I thought this day would come, Saint.”
“I had an inkling of this future, Dana. This was inevitable, it seems.”
“Regardless of what my people say of me now… I shall still fight. Even if it is you.”
“I expect no less. You, who gifted the Irish the tools of war and led the people of Tuatha would surely not fall back out of mere friendship… or kinship, for that matter.”
“Indeed. Come, to live is but to fight, and to fight is the true path deciding a victor—a conqueror. I shall demonstrate to you—my senior—why I am known as Alexandrina the Great!”
The sword the monarch held on the left was blowing with sharp wind. The sword the monarch held on the right was shining with the light of the sun. Brandishing these weapons that would one day be referred to as relics, Dana dashed forth to face the Witch in melee combat.
The Witch employed a spear to meet with Dana’s weapons. The blade of this spear displayed its splendor in every moment with its golden radiance.
The songs of resounding steel sung across the battlefield, a land full of corpses and fires. The land was made barren by the destructive forces of the two Descendants alone.
No one would believe that there were houses in the area. That was how devastating the Descendants were. They knew no sense of restraint when facing one another.
“I demand the Gates of the Fay to open forth, and grant life to the priestesses of eld. Maidens, each of you who know not of love, but of war and carnage. Each of you who treat seduction as but a weapon—come. My Sirens—I command thee, fulfil thy destiny. For me shall ye sing and for me shall ye call forth—the calamity the primordials feared so!”
Singing this verse, Dana struck once more with her swords.
There were women gathering. All wore ancient garbs, appearing to be priestesses. They appeared to be apparitions, for the Saint could see the stars of the dusk sky behind them. The sirens circled the battlefield, and were at least a hundred meters away from the pair of Descendants.
Another clash of steel, this time initiated by the Saint, and the Sirens began to sing.
Their song carried unnaturally far. This was hardly a daunting matter to the apparent Goth witch. As one would expect from the Commandment of a Descendant.
A second had passed and the Saint stabbed the gleaming spear against the earth, her back almost bending. This was the compelling force attempting to draw the witch into the sky.
The sirens’ songs had called forth the faeries of the wind. Drawing upon air that mixed with the spiritual energy from Dana, the result was the black hurricane. At the center of these vortices, one Descendant was struggling, while the other was approaching with leisurely steps.
“As expected of the Battle Maiden… you live up to your name.”
Despite the whirling great winds, both the swords of the conqueror were stabbed into the earth beside her. While the tip of the lance was embedded into the navel of the sovereign.
A single horizontal slash followed by a piercing strike. The speed was so deadly fast that even Dana couldn’t avoid it at such a distance. Indeed, she underestimate the witch, her senior peer, thinking the hurricane had put her at a considerable disadvantage.
Unlike ordinary hurricanes, this was designed to make it most suffering to stay in its center. This was thanks to an extremely consolidated collection of spiritual energy locked within the walls of revolving wind, made evident by the bouts of sparks occurring in the surroundings of the two.
The Queen, however, smiled. The swords flew back to Dana’s palms as she outstretched her arms. Subsequently, her blades mauled the Saint through her chest and tainted her white garb.
Despite these wounds, the battle continued. The conclusion was yet far from view. In fact, the few barely-living soldiers saw one of the rarest of unimaginable events taking place on earth, as the duo clashed again as if they were completely unwounded.
These soldiers, of course, were the few maguses Dana had among her army, and among them were her greatest knights.
In this colorless world—where time met its state of cessation—only very few could confirm the end with their own eyes, aside from the Monarch and the Saint.
Out came the Saint from the hurricane. Her winged back put the few pairs of eyes adaze. The battlefield was graced by her angelic feathers.
Momentarily, the kingdom’s ruler too, took off to the heavens in chase of the fluttering angel as the vortex ended. The Queen was not one to lose in a race so easily.
Clang!
“With the majesty of the Goddess of Tuatha—I command thee—Fragarach, have the wind submit to your whims. In consequence, your winds shall become my stairs—my passage to the heavens beyond!”
As she prayed to her left sword, Dana landed on air itself. This platform, of course, was without any true form; it was as though she was flying. In a way, perhaps, one could say she was indeed flying.
This was followed by another dash. With her shining blade thrust forward—she lunged at the Saint of Summer.
Instead of a collision of steel, there was a clear-cut stab.
Then a noise.
Flesh seemingly ripped, but instead of blood, feathers flocked out into the air, almost like cotton escaping from a pillow cut into two. Due to the flames cloaking the sword, the feathers burned as they fell towards the ground.
With a swoosh, a blade cut horizontally. The arc was swift, clear, and deadly fast—zipping past the neck of the Macedonian Sovereign.
The lance was swung.
“Oh, no—”
The Saint gasped. Indeed, she noticed the voices of the priestesses only now.
She looked down at Dana—a blade of wind had extended from her sword, Fragarach, stabbing her—without fully turning.
“Not so fast.”
The illusion of Siren’s Call was first experienced on this day, and the Saint would some day beseech King Solomon to place a seal on the Gates of the Fay to temporarily lock away this Commandment in the future.
Dana swiveled with the blade’s windy tip extending out from the Saint’s back. Pitifully, the Saint spun with the wind and her adversary, before Dana stopped and sent her all the way down to the ground.
The earth crackled in all directions; it seemed as though a spiderweb had formed from Dana’s aerial view.
“The higher you fly, the greater your fall is, Saint.”
Continuing to stand on the wind, the Ruler of the kingdom raised her sword up to the sky. It burned like the sun itself.
The clouds coiled and turned. Rings formed, and these circles of clouds heralded the beginning of the end.
“In my name, I invoke the wrath of the Goddess who breaks all chains keeping her bound as obstacles. Otherworldly concerns be damned—be it Heaven or Earth—none stands before the path of the victor, none stands before the path of the conqueror!”
From the sky fell a bright bolt. This pillar was erected upon the earth. The Saint could only stare below before the ground under her burst open with a massive explosion. The force dug deep and the crater was large. There was smoke wherever the Saint looked, and flames. She wasn’t sure if even the men of Dana were alive or not.
However, this was not over. As soon as the Saint realized this, she leapt off high into the air. The force of the Goddess of War returned, and soon the earth on the crater burst out once again; the large pillar of light had been absorbed into the soils earlier, only to come back out now for a second shot at the target, and the area along with it.
In the timeless world, Babylon was surely decimated. Completely, at that. This was confirmed from the aerial view the Saint had of the region as she once more flexed her angelic wings.
Not for long could the tyrant of Macedonia show her smug smile unfazed, however. Blood gashed and the clothes, too, soiled. A cut was formed on her flanks and the Saint demonstrated true superiority in the air.
She was so fast that Dana could hardly follow her with the naked eye. One horizontal slash blocked, two struck. Two vertical blows blocked, four running through the precious flesh of the ruler.
If one were still watching from afar, they’d think a shooting star was curving every now and then to assault Dana at extremely high speeds, as the Saint was indeed burning with a shimmering flash.
It wasn’t as though Dana was not able to at least time a counter, but rather, she couldn’t. Her blade—shining like the sun—visibly crossed the visage of the Saint, and sliced nothing but thin air. It was as though she swung her prized sword against a ghost.
***
At the very end, beyond the conclusion of the fateful battle that shook the spirit of the earth itself, and brought great destruction—Dana found herself laid across the earth she so tormented relentlessly. The light of her utopia shone itself brightly, with three of her finest remaining Representatives slowly losing their lustre across the skies.
Her efforts were for naught. She could not triumph against the elder Descendant of Time.
“Indeed, this is the pinnacle of impenetrable defense… I shall admit, Dana—you are truly deserving of the title of †˜Great’. As an adversary, you have earned my utmost respect.”
“...This isn’t over yet. One day… one day I shall avenge humanity for this travesty of a ploy that they played against me. If they wanted my rule to end—they should’ve faced me themselves, those cowardly bastards.”
“You must be aware—as am I—only a Descendant sympathetic to their concerns could actually face you.”
“Well, whatever the case, if I were to affirm to one fact today, it’d be that you were a worthy adversary. I enjoyed every moments facing you… much like the time I faced him… ”
“He who drinks deep of the earth… is it? Regardless, I shall confess that you were indeed worthy. There are very few even among my kin who drive me into such a corner that I have to cast the Wrath of Sovereignty.”
“Wrath of Sovereign… by the by, what do you intend to do now? Surely you can’t be contemplating on providing a live body a burial?”
“Perhaps I am.”
“Oh?”
“I shall have you sealed—Dana—just like Tuatha.”
“You dare to make a mockery of my creation, Saint? Even if it is you…”
“It is the only rational solution. If you cannot be killed, you will have to be sealed. For the sake of peace, if that is what must be done—is shall be done, Dana.”
“Very well. You are the victor, Saint. Do as you please. Don’t think, though, that I won’t attempt to break out and come back.”
“I would hope not, but perhaps we’ll reminisce this moment again when that time comes.”
“You sound confident… are you certain that you won’t die?”
“Me? Die…?”
For the first time, the Saint laughed, so much that it sounded eerie to even Dana, the Goddess of Tuatha.
“What is so funny…?”
“I—who am of the Heavens—would experience such a mundane end so fast? I think not.” The Saint of Summer—the one who’d come to call herself Guinevere in the future, before subsequently taking on the name Victoria—pointed her relic lance at the face of Dana. “The promise of the Father of the Sun is yet to be delivered. Until then, I am to wander the lands of the earth as his vessel… be it you or Cleopatra, I shall emerge as the victor in this battle against destiny.”