Pegasus's Resistance
The Goddess Athena stood rigid, perhaps from fear or from a strong level of conviction one needed to face fate.
A voice rose, an illusion of a constellation enclosing Athena and her attackers.
"Atomic Thunderbolt!" Between the black-stained Silver Saints and the goddess was a golden flash. Just like a lightning bolt, one could only blink and it was gone, followed by a roar from the atmosphere. Within a trained eye, or the perception of the divine, threads of light dappled the area. Whale Menkar, Bootes Bayer, and Hound Miguel were pummeled across the air. A flurry of golden bullets rain down on the Silvers, striking them from all sides like furious fists. The light speed fist of a Gold Saint left the treacherous Silver Saints writhing on the ground.
It had to be death for them next; but in the next moment, the Silver Saints arose stubbornly, chortles slipping from them as they lurched back onto their feet. Their faces were dark.
"That should've stopped them," said Sagittarius Seiya, "and their Cloths – their Cloths reflect the Underworld, but how can that be?"
After the array of Cosmos had calmed, Seiya lowered his fist and locked his eyes on the brilliant white-haired woman, and she answered back with her own verdant gaze filled with an imperious energy. Sagittarius's expression did not falter; his nerves always stood against a difficult situation.
"You are right Golden Pegasus," The rancor unveiled itself, filling the woman's words as she spoke. "Those are Surplice. I had your brothers killed."
The woman's reply elicited a shocking impression from Seiya.
"And I will," she continued, "keep doing so – as punishment."
"Surplice?!" Seiya retorted. He wanted to question the woman, but his mind blanked from a wave of agitation that he felt. The woman showed a smile, breaking her frigid countenance, and it conveyed a depth of wickedness that made everyone present at Athena's temple anxious.
"Golden Pegasus, Sagittarius Seiya, life and death are in balance of each other. This should not come off as surprising from his sister."
"That's—" Suddenly, Seiya clutched his chest and doubled over. A pain swelled inside him instantly, while at the same time his mind evoked a series of images. Ivory temples encompassing a garden layered by paperwhites, changing into a cascade of red that splashed over the heavenly image; the blood trickled from a large Greek water jar; Seiya saw a head – the head of a woman with long violet hair; the onyx glint from a bladed weapon. Seiya grabbed his head, groaning.
"Seiya?!" Kouga called to him in concern. "What's wrong?!"
"How does it feel Seiya? Do you feel the despondency of losing someone close to you? Or mayhap you are remembering something? Then understand, understand your crime and Athena's. For ridding the Underworld, the path to death will not be stabilized. But that is not why I do this, least not entirely. This is not why I personally feel pain."
It was a monologue of guilt often preached from God to mortal when the latter committed the sin of defying the vessels of the Mythological Age.
The woman slowly paced towards Seiya, continuing her talk. "While I may make nature fulfilling and prosperous, even I have, in this side of the world, the curse of being a forlorn mother. I already told you: Athena's Saints are criminals and deserve be executed. They imbalance the world more than enough, and you are the most destructive criminal of them all Seiya!" Her voice shook, narrowly holding back passion.
"That gives you no right to kill them!" A young voice rose in protest, and the woman seized in her tracks. She turned to see the defiant eyes of Kouga. It was to be expected from Athena's guardian. Eden was back on his feet and stood by Kouga's side.
"And not only did you kill Menkar, Miguel, and Bayer, you attacked Miss Shaina as well! Why would you call us criminals?" Kouga was brash as usual, and he believed what Shaina had said, ready to charge the white-haired woman. One look at his instructor's motionless body made him tremble with anger. He held back thoughts about the worse.
"What's with the racket up here?" called the gruff voice of a man. Ascending the stairs from the temple was a tall individual with a dark, heavy cassock. Gold highlighted the cassock at the collar, moving down the sleeves; a gold helmet adorned with wings, a pair of rosaries around the neck, it was the vestige of a true holy character.
"The one who holds the will of the Goddess, The Pope of the Sanctuary." The woman understood immediately.
"Heh, Hound Hollow!" Without warning or instruction, Miguel leapt high into the air. He stretched out his leg in a diving kick towards the Pope's face.
Precisely, his foot connected with the Pope's raised finger, and the Hound Saint grimaced. He heard a sound like a snapped twig.
"Uwaaaa!" Miguel crumpled to the ground, curling into a fetal position. He tightly grabbed his heel; the Silver Saint looked like a pathetic broken man.
"I think I broke your calcaneus, didn't I?" The Pope said, bending his fingers. The bones in his knuckles crack sharply. His face, or rather his eyes were shrouded in an enigmatic shade, but his gaze could never be averted. He looked at the woman.
"I believe there's a phrase that describes this very well: 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?' am I right?. I know where this is going. Are you up for a fight, Goddess of Harvest?"