WARNING: Violence, blood, injury, death.
The Dalit Prince
It was not long after the fall of the first pillar that the Indian Temple received a Saint. Chrysaor Krishna, whose Scale had been tainted by the debris and dust of the North Pacific, stood guard in apparent preoccupation. His brown eyes strove to get used to the strange view, to the lack of a building which forever scraped Atlantis' acme. The man's flanged trident yet rested against a shoulder, since, even though he was aware of the enemy's presence, he was confident enough in his own abilities as to not be caught by surprise.
This did not matter, for the one who came out to the courtyard was Dragon Shiryu; in deference, Krishna turned as soon as he was in view, weapon taken in each hand. Both stood their ground ere initiating combat, a testament of their mutual respect.
The General sighed at a thought and said: "I expected Pegasus to be my first opponent, though, with this and seeing the gap in our sky, maybe luck isn't on my side today."
"Seiya was the first one to breach the defenses," Shiryu replied. "From what I've noticed, he was also the one to single-handedly take down that pillar."
"Ah, of course," Krishna pondered that image and nodded — to him it was no longer absurd to fathom it. "I would expect no different from him." Thereon he freely spun the trident on one arm, took a full grasp of it again, and aimed its points towards Dragon. "It would've been an honor to take his life first, though if you are a friend of his, it must be no less honorable to take yours."
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," said Shiryu, so he assumed a stance one's own, a hand flowing forward, the other flexing back. "And I believe you will not allow me to destroy that pillar so easily."
"While I stand, so does the Indian Pillar!" Chrysaor said. "You are acquainted with me, I believe, but I have not been prized with your name as of yet."
"I'm Dragon Shiryu."
"Dragon Shiryu, forgive our circumstances. In defense of Atlantis and our Lord Poseidon, I shall take you down this very moment!"
Krishna was the initial aggressor, and it was recognizable to Shiryu that, despite his foe's respectable demeanor, he was no less serious about killing him. The General's advance was overtly fast, leaving a glow in his trail, and the way with which he swung the trident came as extremely perilous.
In that situation, there was no manner of dodging without minding one's next step. Dragon evaded each thrust and slice of the weapon by stepping and spending the least amount of energy possible. When safe avoidance seemed impossible, he paired it with deviating the blades' trajectory, always tapping it off with the back of a gauntlet.
Chrysaor saw no issue reacting to this; when his attacks were pushed off, he chained them together with inward swings, with the intent of cornering the enemy. Their velocity picked up further, and Shiryu was forced to bump the weapon off with the shield and skip afar, though this was not successful.
He knew then that either he would be struck, or he would have to strike directly at the enemy, so he took a great risk and stepped forth with a palm strike to Krishna's chest. This connected and took him by surprise, although the enemy was fast enough to slice down at Shiryu's hand; this superficially cut an exposed part of a finger and sent blood to the floor. Thankfully, the Saint was prompt enough in opening distance afterwards.
The Mariner walked forward while thrusting the trident overhead, aimed each instance at a different location. Once more Shiryu saw himself both dodging and slamming the thing off, and thus he flew under an attack and rose with an underhand. Since the distance was unfitting, Krishna rather elbowed the strike away, proceeding to skip backwards and cut the man's hand once again.
Not unlike before, Shiryu bled, a fate never ideal to one of his ability. He retreated and saw the extent of the injuries — one cut was shallow, and the other slightly deeper, both in the same hand. The bleeding was decent, albeit not severe. It was clear with his experience at that point that Chrysaor was a much faster fighter, and the additional range with the trident only made him more lethal.
"No good…" he whispered to himself. As far as he was concerned, he was already cornered. He had met a man whose strengths could as well outweigh his own, nonetheless, he clenched both fists, exploded in Cosmos, and continued to struggle for victory. If he did not valiantly clash against this foe the same way he did in the past, surely he would not find another means of achieving victory.
Right behind the Indian Temple, where Poseidon's temple and his Mainstay could be found, Athena yet rested in the couch of her temporary bedroom. It was the same atmosphere of prior, the same echoes of death through the windows, the aftermath of the first pillar's destruction well after the commotion in the building, with subordinates hurrying to keep the courtyard and hallways devoid of dust.
It had been a while since she was last visited by her uncle, although it was inevitable that he would return. Once he entered, his meek expression was a hint at Julian's dominance over the vessel, at least for the moment, and so he walked around the sofa and bowed before her.
His eyes raised to meet an impatient stare; he dug through this gaze to search the soul of Saori, but could only meet Athena and none else. Her sight turned astray to the lattice beside, and he only failed to approach out of fear of what his companion's soul could do to his beloved.
"Saori, my dear," he said, "I know it is yet the same day, but I feel myself slipping. I must ask — are you certain that you would not marry me?"
Her eyes returned, eyebrows straight, lips subtly pouted. She did not even dare move her legs or arms, lying comfortably and unbothered. "Your ambition has not subsided, and my mind has not changed," said Athena.
Julian sighed and shut the eyes, then turned them down to the floor, such was the pang in his chest. "My love, not ever have you sounded so cold," he told. For a second his finger's twitched; he brought a palm to the cuirass and stepped back, though he retained control momentarily. "No matter, my only fear is that I cannot express my desire for you. I feel that…" he stopped to lament the discomfort "… little grasp remains over this body — this body I was once so used to, now responds to another. What nightmare it would be to live without the liberty to yearn for you..."
Lifting the chin, Athena's acidic stare offered him no sympathy, no compassion. She spoke past the man's presence, as if to address someone behind him: "The Saints have started to bring down your pillars, and not even an hour has gone by since their assault on the blockades. There was never a chance for you."
What she saw was Julian's face twist into a self-assured smile. His voice deepened, and the one who answered was Poseidon. "I have you in my custody, so there is a chance," he claimed.
"Can you be certain?" the woman questioned. "With them surely outside this temple, nothing stands in my way." Even with her soothing voice, there was something menacing about her words, exacerbated by her standing so casually off the seat. "I may slaughter every Mariner in my path with the wave of a finger. If I so desired, I would ravage Atlantis whole, and then what would you have gained?"
Disregarding his determined shell, the god also understood this was no mere bluff. He stood before a weapon of mass destruction not much different from himself, but he believed not only in the greatness of his Marina, but also in the prospect of his plan. "Absent your Cloth and in my presence, your victory would not be certain," he commented, and in that he was correct. "My dear niece, behold equilibrium. Not just that, the Earth cannot survive the storms much longer. It would not require a lot from me to have them drown."
"Then we are better off defeating you at once."
Poseidon shook his head. "Do not be headstrong now," he suggested. "Humanity's demise shall only be quickened by my involvement. I need only join my Cult in its curse, deep in the Mainstay, if I am to doom them."
"I do not mind my Cloth," Athena revealed, and suddenly her monumental Cosmos began to burn and fill the room in light. Her uncle did not respond in similar fashion. "I must hand you death here right away, so forgive me, Julian."
"Athena, be at ease, for I offer you an egress," the god said while raising a palm in peace.
Since no danger loomed, she let her energy slowly subside, though she was as cynical as before. "What is it?"
"Enter the Mainstay in my stead, and allow me to redirect the curse to the pillar rather than the Earth. This should give humanity much needed respite, but in return, it would risk the life of your vessel."
Her power was now asleep, and she took only a handful of seconds to order, as confident as ever: "Bring me to the Mainstay."
The man walked back to the door, opened it, and held it so that Athena would pass by him. She followed and left to the adjacent hallway, which connected to many a chamber. They both went through till reaching a given passage, which they crossed to meet the temple's main court, where General-Marina once enjoyed dinner and talks.
Thus they went up the stairs to Poseidon's dais, and a handful of cultists cleaned the floor dirtied by the first pillar's remains. In their Lord's passage, they bowed more deeply. Behind the throne was a wide exit out to a long courtyard, which then led to the great pillar, the Mainstay itself. Each side was lined by podiums of marble statues, so well kept by servants, and they depicted not only Poseidon, but men and women of his past, from Chrysaor, to the Triton, the hero Theseus, a pair of sea nymphs, among others.
Though those were elegant sculptures of their own, the Mainstay up ahead was a titanic, humbling structure. If said pillars held the Earth's oceans, then surely most of the sea's weight was sustained by that one, for it eclipsed the dimension of anything else in Atlantis. It was much wider at the bottom, but remained large enough in its strictly vertical extent, then vanished in darkness.
While they moved to it, Poseidon called out to the Cult, who seemingly comprehended what they were to do straightaway. They moved back or around the temple to take something, and in the few seconds when her uncle was occupied with this, Athena admired the Mainstay's architecture some more.
The lowest portion of the front was opened into the inside, where she could see how monolithic it appeared. Any further elements of the building were been hidden within, and so she would only become acquainted with it upon entrance. This frontal hole was to be sealed by Poseidon's servants in the coming minutes. She then looked around, and her eyes were caught by a shadow in the temple's architecture. Alas, she could not pay heed to it much longer, for her uncle returned with a handful of men and women robed in white.
"Lady Athena," a priest calmly spoke and bowed, so she returned the gesture.
"It is a great risk what you are about to commit to, my niece," Poseidon said in sequence.
"You only buy me time," Athena countered. "Without doubt, the Saints shall take the lives of your soldiers, Marina, and Generals."
The god briefly scoffed. "There it is, the infamous killing spirit of Athena's savages. Let it not slip from your memories," he more loudly spoke, as if to present it to the cultists who approached; some carried trowels, ingots, hammers, wood, among other tools and materials.
"It is the same devotion they harbor toward me which I harbor toward them, though I often pray…" Athena began to speak in their defense, and therewith raised her voice in a way similar to Poseidon's "… that they bring no harm to our enemy, not even the apostate, unless given no alternative."
Her uncle raised an eyebrow subtly, estranged by the attitude — she was rarely the sort to care for what foreign cultists thought of her. While more of them encroached with sacks and carts of resources to seal the Mainstay, a shadow slithered along a faraway soffit, albeit without a hint of Cosmos.
The woman concluded: "Reality, however, seldom abides by ideals. Your Marina are unlikely to survive, as much as it pains me to admit."
Thereon she turned to the Mainstay and studied as some servants began laying the basis for the seal in the corners. As they did so, they blessed it with energy, the sort sure to harden it beyond the toughness of any typical substance.
"Are you sure that you would sacrifice yourself for such filth as humanity?" Poseidon asked.
Athena sighed in annoyance. Avoiding her uncle's eyes, she complained: "Your questions are impertinent. Bother me no longer." Thus she ventured past the passage, going up a small platform to stand in its center. She looked up and saw vents through which perhaps air could enter, or perhaps where ducts could discharge water.
The Cult of Poseidon took their time, but after a long while, the dozens of men and women blocked the way with bricks they had just readied, built of some rocky material mixed with small amounts of gammanium. The glue used to hold the building blocks together was enchanted in Cosmos, and thus hardened as quickly as it was laid, like the smoothest, lightest kind of cement.
Once encased, Athena stood at the very center of the platform, and the comparatively drier air within started to humidify. A terrifying Cosmos pervaded all of Atlantis, convening outside the Mainstay, and droplets drizzled from the seemingly infinite, shadowed heights of the obelisk.
It was almost entirely dark therein, though the goddess knew that water would first fall from the edges, and once the streams were large enough to parallel the noise of a river, she set up for when the water became unbearable. Only then would she allow her Cosmos to shelter her vessel's welfare.
On the other side, Poseidon had hands spread to the heavens, arms enveloped in black light. There was a partial awakening; though it was the god who acted physically and spiritually, Julian's voice quietly bemoaned: "Forgive me too, Saori." Rows of energy spread inward from the standing Oceanic Pillars, concentrating at the peak of the Mainstay, which was too high for eyes to see. All in Atlantis could witness the fearsome power of its ruler, and to those in the frontline, this was great reason to fight more viciously.
The second pillar was yet to fall by the time Shun reached the Antarctic. Apart from its priest's wicked energy in the pillar, there was no sign of life. Indeed, the temple therein was empty, and so he went straight to the courtyard, where he met no one. Rather, once he invaded such a sacred place, he experienced a barely noticeable déjà vu; this sensation he did not focus on, since he had more pressing matters to attend to, and it could've been by virtue of his recent visit to the South Pacific Temple.
Of course, he expected that peaceful atmosphere to be a tactic of the guarding Mariner, so, while wandering the yard, he acted oblivious to any potential surprise that would come his way. He strolled along the sides and observed the central structure, assuming that Seiya took the North Pacific down without care for the person therein. The more Andromeda studied it, however, the more likely it was that there was no manner to demolish such a building and spare the life of its priest, unless they wore great protection or possessed of unlikely power.
He looked at the dust, the debris, and how everything had been left dirtied after the crumbling, and for a moment he entertained the idea that the General had left the temple behind. Still, he knew this was the sort of thought to lead to his defeat, so he stayed alert.
"I can at least fathom a method to control the pillar's destruction," he said to himself. "With my abilities, I may surround it in winds and protect others from any damage."
Nonetheless, his attention was caught by a hint of autonomous movement from the chain. His instincts had become so attuned to the tool's that this came naturally to him, though he did not turn to the threat at once. He wished to bait them into a more advantageous position.
It wasn't much after the sound of boots landing that he let the circle end hunt for the one behind. Finally, he twisted the neck and looked, though the orange of the foe's armor was not that of Scale — it was Cloth, one he knew well.
With a pull, the Andromeda Chain quickly turned away from its target, though it remained tense. Shun ascribed this to the stress of the situation, paired with the destructive intent in the Cosmoi of Poseidon's cultists, since the one meters ahead of him was his older brother, and no Mariner.
His eyes widened, first in shock, then in joy. "Ikki!" he called, and the man offered him that usual sarcastic grin.
"That thing still isn't used to me…?" he said.
"Oh, do not misunderstand it!" the boy spoke and sighed, walking closer now. "This war has us at the tip of our toes, and the Andromeda Chain is no different."
While watching the wild tool be reeled back, Ikki also stepped in to say: "It will be over soon, then there will be no reason to fret."
"Of course! But where have you been all this time?" Andromeda wondered.
"Me?" Phoenix spread both arms and chuckled. "Where else but here? I was here the whole time."
"We invaded Atlantis without you, believing you to be elsewhere. To think that you were helping us…"
"I see you already took down one of those things, so it is not as if you require much aid."
"Ah, it was Seiya who did that," said Shun.
Phoenix's brow raised quite subtly. "Seiya, yeah?"
"Mhm. And how about the General here in the Antarctic, did you deal with them?"
"No sign of him, so I was just planning on how to destroy that thing."
"It cannot be impossible for us, but there is a person inside, and I would not wish them dead by the end of it," the younger brother mentioned, thus looking back to the structure.
"We might as well get to it then."
"Right, let me see if I can come up with something clever." With that Shun went closer to the material and analyzed its properties, whereas Ikki never followed him; he instead stayed back, watching, eyes shadowed by part of his overflowing hair. "Whatever this is made of, it is quite robust. Imagine building such a pillar out of something like this!"
"Actually," Ikki chimed in, speaking through the teeth, "do not bother with any of that, brother. I know exactly what we must do."
"Hm, do you?" the other asked, but he was so curious about the construction's hardness that he did not look back.
"I do." Not one second did that grin leave his face, and so a malefic energy subtly burned about Phoenix's shape, the kind of fire he never sparked even during his time as a Dark Saint.
Back in the courtyard of the Indian Temple, the fight between Krishna and Shiryu pressed on, even more sped up than prior. Dripping some blood over the marble, Dragon was careful to focus on what he did best, that being his great defense and countering, though his opponent was too fast to allow him even the comfort of thought.
He was uncertain on whether he could continue dodging the trident for long; each time Chrysaor's movements escalated, he became faster, and the way which he wielded the weapon appeared frantic, less predictable. Shiryu was sure to miscalculate again, and so he did, first being cut in the side of the neck once he tried to avoid the enemy's somersault. He responded by kicking back at the shaft, which sure stopped the Mariner in his tracks for a moment, but he was fast in twisting the other way and swinging the blades in an arc near Dragon's throat.
By little the man was not fatally wounded then and there. He flipped back and braced for what would surely be a brutal punishment from Krishna's part. Indeed, the General lunged to hunt the Saint down; he changed his grasp over the handle, elbow lifted at the head's height, therewith he spawned a sudden flash; he glowed gold and thrust downwards, shouting: "FLASHING LANCE!"
Shiryu curled up protectively, shield covering the face. What appeared like a single offense was in fact thousands of them; Chrysaor's arm moved at a rate unprecedented, and the trident appeared to wave side to side even under sight of one acquainted with the Seventh Sense.
There was no way a Bronze Cloth could withstand such assault; first the hardened Dragon Shield was cracked in twain, then it was almost fully split from another point, and then it crumbled into large pieces with each of the many hits it endured. Once it was gone, Shiryu's arm was pierced and he had to protect himself with the other gauntlet, destroyed much faster.
The force also sent him back, therefore he was sent far from Krishna's range, and the General stopped in his tracks, twisting the weapon in a hand as to rid it of fresh blood. He would've advanced without further ado had it not been for what took place next.
Before Dragon got up, the loud sound of cracking and crashing boomed from the South Pacific, Chameleon's doing. "Io…" the Mariner commented as the usual spectacle of destruction washed the Indian Temple. The air was filled with dust and debris, and sight became a scarce resource.
Under the veil of rocks and shards, Shiryu availed and charged with a series of moves. Sure, Krishna was faster than him and premeditated such offenses by the feeling of Cosmos, though, with lower visibility, it was troublesome to react in accordance. The Bronze Saint traveled near him whenever he evaded, leaving a trail of absolute destruction, of flooring uneven and cracked.
Once they inevitably connected, suddenly Shiryu's palm swings were like blurs; the extra range of the trident was worthless that close, meaning Krishna focused on moving a single arm for defense. After a series of alternating strikes he took to the chest, stomach, and shoulder, Chrysaor was therewith pushed back by the enemy's elbow, and so he twisted his own body violently to spread a few centimeters betwixt them.
Slicing the gap, he was able to keep the Saint at bay like before, all the while sight returned to them. Nonetheless, his surprise was censored by stoicism, and he stood guard.
"You are strong, yet I am sure to overcome you in the end. Give up for your own sake, Dragon," Krishna ordered.
"I will not stop until one of two things happen," Shiryu said, "either I topple that pillar, or no more life courses through my veins."
"Then so be it," the General did not dare object to this — they were both inflexible men, so he understood first-hand that this would be a vain endeavor.
The next time he went for an assault, his speed was so great from the get-go that Dragon could not help but be inundated with the long, quick thrusts of the trident. His exposed skin was speared once more, especially in the places where the gauntlets and shield once were, meaning the arms bled further.
There was little defending to do in such a state, but dodging was not oft an option; he got to the point of using his armored back to push the shaft, immediately as he was nearly missed by a strike. However, he was unable to step in reliably; Krishna could circle him nonstop, managing the space between them.
Minds and bodies busy with their absurd combat, both the fighters were unaware of strange steps that entered the Indian Temple, out to the courtyard. As Chrysaor bounced aside to avoid one of Dragon's failed tackles, a shadow was unveiled from behind the pillar, and so he braced for a newcomer.
"CRYSTAL WALL!" a youthful voice yelled. In his path, the General met a wobbly, nigh invisible obstacle that broke his momentum. This wall could not withstand the force and crackled to many a piece, launching its producer, Kiki, back with Athena's Cloth box.
Regardless, the surprise factor and sudden slowdown of Krishna's movement made it possible for Shiryu to stride into the enemy, and thus both were launched flailing far from the boy. They rolled about and the Saint rained his colossal punches unto the foe, filled with Cosmos and raw strength. The impacts stunned with every strike, and even the Scale, hard as it was, came closer to cracking.
Chrysaor pulled back and put the trident between him and a punch, diverting it momentarily. Knowing he was sure to escape that grasp, Shiryu swung back in preparation, exhaled a torrent of Cosmos, and screamed: "SOARING DRAGON!"
This technique was nowhere as strong as the Rozan Rising Dragon, although this meant blood loss would not be as much of an issue. His bleeding arms, nonetheless, spread mists of red beside that green plasma which he spawned, with Krishna thrown even further to a column that cracked fully in half. Had it not been for the remainder of the structure, a section of the courtyard's outer walls would've sunk atop him.
The General was fast in standing, helmet lost in the chaos. His long, graying hair had been freed, burning subtly at the tip; the appearance of his taupe skin, formerly injured in the fight of Poseidon and Athena, now flaunted extra bruises, bleeding, and exposed flesh due to Shiryu's strikes.
The Saint found Kiki, who ran around the pillar and hid from the Mariner. "You're not meant to be here, Kiki!" Shiryu told him.
"I have to! I'm taking Lady Athena's Cloth to her before it's too late," the boy explained.
Hearing that, Dragon frowned and walked closer to the obelisk, as to block the way to Aries' apprentice. Krishna, however, enjoyed the comfort of healing his recent daze. "Leave. Poseidon's temple is right behind this one. Our Lady is surely there," he said. "I will fight this man on my own."
"A… alright!" Kiki whispered and eyed about, looking for the two exits from the courtyard, since he would be unable to leap over the ceiling as did a more trained Cosmos user.
Because Krishna now stood casually, the boy sprinted to the exit on the other side, to not be chased in any way. The Mariner knew that, if he were to focus on the child, Shiryu would have little trouble handing him another beating. His focus was to be Dragon and no other.
With an abrupt spin of the trident, he approached at the speed of light to continue their fight. This once Shiryu did not attempt to evade or parry him, but to take his attack head on, standing in place. Once, twice, thrice did the blades scratch or pierce the armor, yet Dragon stuffed his chest, breastplate forward to take it as if in pride. Intoxicated by the need to defeat him, Krishna did not mind this.
Eventually the longest point pierced deep enough past the breastplate; it reached skin, and it was then that the Bronze Saint spun in place and held the weapon in both arms. Whereas he was slow, his strength was unparalleled, and Krishna found himself stuck in place.
"What?" he muttered. Dragon twisted the body more forcefully and purposefully tore that piece of plate off the chest along with the trident, such that Chrysaor had to let go. Not wasting a second, he approached with a series of punches; the first stunned the enemy enough to open way for other strikes to the chin and stomach. When a distance began to open, he somersaulted and kicked him in the temple, landed, aimed forward, and exploded in Cosmos once more.
"SOARING DRAGON!"
This attack struck more awkwardly than before, since Krishna was better prepared for it, but he was hit and pushed into multiple twirls till he fell aground. Shiryu had to walk backwards and quit the assault, for his chest bled from new cuts, and he started ripping out parts of the Cloth with a groan.
Krishna's injured eyes widened as best as they could, first when he heard more pieces fall, then when he saw the extent of the removal. The helmet, the abdomen, the shoulder pads, the upper arms, everything apart from the greaves and boots. He saw the Saint's envious physique: swollen, sculptured muscles, and the hint of that tattoo across the back, soon hidden by angle and hair. This was familiar to him — he was physically strong himself, though there was something odd to the one he faced.
Getting up, he asked: "Do you mean by your display that I am so weak as to not compel the use of armor? I did not take you to be so disrespectful." He thus pulled the trident by the tip of its extent, flipping it the other way so that the torn breastplate would separate.
Shiryu shook the head and aimed both palms ahead. "You are the most powerful opponent I have ever faced, as I have come to learn," he replied. "I have also come to learn throughout my life that, when this broken, my Cloth is no better than dead weight. It would be suicidal to have it on while I fight one as strong as you."
Thoughtful, Krishna lowered the weapon in peace, which the Saint found incomprehensible. He tugged at his own cuirass and removed it, so his front and back were exposed, dark muscles nearly as menacing as the other's. Then he took off the pads, which unveiled the toned arms. The trident, however, he did not let go of.
"And now you give up on your advantage," Dragon remarked.
"I happily do so," the General spoke with a smile. "Call me idealistic, but I cannot admire such courage and not follow its example."
Aware of his own bleeding and knowing that, while Krishna held that trident, he would only suffer more, Shiryu concentrated on it. The Mariner assumed his stance by spinning the weapon with both hands, flanged blades aimed at the Saint, and thus they engaged in battle like before.
As careful as Dragon was, Chrysaor indeed outpaced him with little issue, so his tactic now was to rid him of that remaining edge. Every thrust was methodically awaited and avoided; then he slapped the weapon off and swung the other arm at the Mariner, who predictably stepped backwards. This was not a serious attempt to strike him, but rather a manner to test his limits.
Krishna twirled in the air, swept around the Bronze Saint, speared from below, yet missed by a bit. Shiryu stood his ground quite well, changing direction only when it was necessary, and moving his legs and arms conservatively. The Mariner's fear was that his trident would once more be taken in the other's grasp, and that there would be no escape, so most of his swings steered off his arm's reach.
Once the next low advance came, Dragon surprisingly kicked the blades off course with the boots, a slow attack from a fighter like him. Chrysaor did not leave this unattended; he jumped forth and brought the weapon overhead, shining bright with Cosmos and calling: "FLASHING LANCE!"
Inevitably overwhelmed by speed, Shiryu stepped back and read each of the blinding thrusts that he could. Before their range was cut, he met an attack sure to hit him, thus he repositioned the arms to take it slicing over the shoulder, flush with the neck. The bleeding was severe, pain no less, yet he locked the shaft with both hand and arm entwined.
For a split second Krishna took in the absurdity of what was about to happen. The explosive energy with which the Saint swung — opposite palm straight to the middle of the metal — was enough to bend it in half. The force and speed launched the men apart, though the trident continued to vibrate in the Mariner's grip, till he let go of it due to how it pained his insides.
Gazing up, he noticed that Shiryu was already on his feet, disregarding a severe bleeding afflicting the shoulder. The view of the weapon so simply rendered useless, however, made the General wonder whether abandoning the Scale hadn't been a foolhardy idea.
"No ordinary power may defeat metal so tough," he thought to himself, "but what else did I expect? If these young men are capable of taking down our pillars, of course they would be capable of crashing through that material. Still, this Dragon…" Krishna fearfully observed Shiryu assume a fighting pose, unfazed by injuries and drenched in sweat. "Below the gods, he is the greatest man I have ever met — pure physical might refined by disciplined usage of the Seventh Sense. What honor it is to battle him! I imagine there are few men worthier of being bested."
"Only our raw power remains, Chrysaor," Shiryu commented.
"Thanks to your resourcefulness and ability, of course!" the other said. "This means I must not take any further risk. Your refinements are enviable, so I must use refinements of my own to ensure your defeat."
It was at this point in their battle that, from within the Mainstay, a subtle, tranquil Cosmos counteracted the terrifying one cast by Poseidon. Within the great obelisk, Athena saw the water level rise and submerge the platform, then her feet, and then her legs and waist. Once she felt the moment was right, she warmed her energy and caressed the liquid in a golden aura.
The pool lowered with an indent at the center, to reveal the lower half of her body once more. She could comfortably hold this for hours if she had to, but this was not her major concern. Instead in her mind was the well-being of those engaging in war, and whether her sacrifice was enough to ease the ills of those on Earth.
On the surface, the rain had started to inexplicably wither or halt in its entirety, a fact soon to bring sighs of relief to the world. Still, much destruction had been brought to humanity, structural and political, and those would persist for long after the curse was lifted.
Water levels were too quickly raised; regions of lower latitudes were now underwater, several island towns taken by surprise; rivers oft flooded to cause great material and vital losses, regardless of geography or upbringing. A series of landslides, cyclones, and tidal surges victimized people across the globe, too frequently and in too large a number for any response to be adequate.
As relieved as they were that the storms were ending, the Earthlings understood terrible challenges lied ahead. No less, if the hex were to return, they stood mere days away from civilizational collapse. Humanity's future lied in Athena's sacrifice, and depended on the triumph of Sanctuary over Atlantis.
But there were walls the likes of Chrysaor Krishna, who now stood in meditation steps from Shiryu. He brought both hands together by his stomach, every finger tied with the exception of the indexes, which pointed up in tandem. Thus he rose Cosmos and stayed still, eyes shut; this gave Dragon obvious flashbacks of Virgo Shaka's wondrous techniques, so he was not so rash as to attack at once.
He took note that the manner which Krishna burned energy was strange; it filled his torso from the core, up through the neck and to the head, following the spine and reaching the brain. The energy, too, did not feel like the usual Cosmos. Rather it was imbued with a creative, delicate disposition, the sort of emotion one would only experience through the Cosmoi of one such as Athena herself.
"Klīṃ... śvi... klīṃ... hrīṃ..." the man repeatedly chanted this mantra. Although he hushed these syllables, his tone became ever amplified by the energy produced. First it came as a low frequency, then slightly higher, in steps before it became lower than ever before. His outline shone with white, smoke-like plasma, adorning him like a flower, and thereon an incredibly high-pitched overtone accompanied the chant.
Unlike Athena's power, this one awakened by the Mariner was devoid of motherly compassion. It was a deadly weapon building up in his entrails, readied to be liberated in the right moment, haply a bloodier thing to wield than the trident. Sensing this, Shiryu prepared to charge in and stop him ere it was too late.
It would not have been enough. A fissure appeared to spread out of Krishna's forehead, whence shone the most unbelievable of lights. "MAHA ROSHANEE!" he shouted. This glimmer filled the courtyard and even the enclosed sections of the temple around; it appeared as if the man had turned into a star himself.
First it was the blinding light which set Shiryu back; second it was the heat which it generated, that ached the surface of his skin, slightly burning it; third it was how Chrysaor's Cosmos padded the perimeter, making it impossible to pin-point his location through it. The Saint blocked the eyes with both arms, since it was so intense that his retina felt deeply pained.
Regardless, the Maha Roshanee's brightness was enough to be seen through most human flesh, so Shiryu turned fully away, unknowing of what was about to befall him. As soon as the flash initiated its fade-out, Krishna lunged in with a strike straight to his stomach. The pain the Saint felt was profound, visceral, so he was stunned.
He could not vaguely take the man's sight without damaging his vision, although he mostly saw blurs as the Mariner distributed palm hits to his face and torso; trying to dodge was barely of use not only by virtue of his slowness, but also the fact he could not be sure of where the enemy was exactly.
When his vision had largely returned, Dragon leapt back and bought himself time, thus he read Chrysaor's incoming kick, which he forcefully uppercut to send the man far away. So casually did the General flip midair and land on both boots, assuming the same mudra from before. He was about to repeat the previous feat.
"What power!" Shiryu marveled amid groans of suffering. Even staring then, the foe's shape could barely be made out, and he was sure to offend once more, lest the Saint's eyesight sharpen. "Like Shaka, I might actually not be prepared to defeat this man on my own. Either that, or..."
The threatening chants returned: "Klīṃ… hrīṃ… klīṃ… śvi…" Once more the sound of his voice modulated, up, down, up, till it was so high that it pierced the ears. Cosmos methodically crawled from the core to the brain. "MAHA ROSHANEE!"
Therewith light overflowed from betwixt the eyebrows, so Shiryu struggled in the same manner he did before. There was no way to hide one's sight from it, at least not that close, and there was no way to seek Krishna's position from sensing alone. Sound was not fast enough to surmount his speed, and Cosmos was pervasive whenever that intense energy flooded the courtyard.
Despite being better prepared, Dragon was nonetheless overcome. He fell with the first strike, an elbow that tackled him back; he rolled to a three-point stance and swung an arm to preempt the next moves, though he barely met the next elbow to the stomach. Shiryu screamed and spun a kick in desperation, connecting by little, though Krishna expected this and blocked the head with an arm.
By brushing his blocking violently, Chrysaor distributed a series of palm strikes only broken by another of the Bronze Saint's uppercuts. Shiryu screamed and blew up in energy, pushing a firm tiger-paw swing ahead, enough to send the foe sliding back. This was a graceful series of movements, and somehow the marble was only scratched, but never cracked.
As vision returned, he knew the Mariner had reached the previous position. Shiryu could feel his arms and torso coated in blood, burning and itching; his consciousness would begin to fade if this continued, much more with the exertion. The plan was to weaken him until he could neither defend nor attack, when there would be no resistance to an execution.
"I can't do it. I can't defend myself," Shiryu realized. "Unlike with Perseus, there's no water to announce him. He is so fast that I cannot hear before he comes. His Cosmos surrounds me in that moment, so I cannot predict where he strikes from. Here I face an impenetrable wall, truly no different from Shaka!"
The Saint noted how damaged his vision had been. Floaters and ghosts haunted his sight, and it took longer for his view to sharpen each instance. He focused on the blotch that was Krishna and paid attention to how Cosmos traveled through his body — he was aware that this was not by accident. Cosmos used in battle was meant to serve as a tool, and every tool must be handled properly if it is to be of use; as such, this energy should travel through a fighter's body, through the universe itself, in the correct manner to inflict as much damage, to avoid as much damage, or whichever else.
He was reminded of how, each moment Cosmos traveled up from Krishna's core, it only exploded in light upon reaching the forehead. "It follows the path of the chakra," he remembered, a concept he was familiar with thanks to Old Master's teachings. "The third-eye chakra! If I were to block his other chakra before that energy reaches the third eye, he would be powerless!"
Howsoever obvious this had become, another fact became clear: he was going to have to look. There was no miracle by which one could defeat such an opponent in a manner so accurate; Shiryu prayed that the damage to him would not be so serious.
Chrysaor became subtly nervous upon observing that Dragon brought both hands to his temples, concentrating Cosmos into the eyes. At first he wondered if this would be problematic, but soon recalled that few things could see through the technique's light. The ensuing meditation required focus, so he ignored those worries.
"Klīṃ... śvi... klīṃ... hrīṃ…" the mantra returned like a deathly countdown. Shiryu ignored all other senses; no matter how the overtone harmed his ears, he did naught but stare straight at Krishna, memorizing the path through which that strange Cosmos flowed. "MAHA ROSHANEE!"
There again it came, that powerful brightness. Enhanced by polish, the Saint saw through it with difficulty. Chrysaor appeared as a faint outline, a formless shadow whose dimensions could only be averaged. He stared and stared, but soon the light was too much to bear; he ignored the ardor in his eyes, the tingling in his nape; that quickly, his irises clouded. Shiryu's sight darkened.
One chance remained, thus he charged in before Krishna. The courtyard was filled in that blessed flash of light, like an aquarium becomes full of water. Nonetheless, this did not perdure. The Maha Roshanee faded as quickly as it intensified, and the Mariner did not attack this once.
Dragon was in front of him, bleeding severally, both arms pointed to the chest. His fingers dripped fresh scarlet, warm and wet, and it was obvious this was not just his own blood, but mostly the enemy's. Five deep wounds had been ripped into Chrysaor's dark skin, going up from the lower stomach to the upper neck.
The mudra so religiously maintained by him was nigh limp, shaken. His eyes were wide and focused on the absurd before him: Shiryu's blank irises. "D-dra…" the General's potent voice had become frail "… Dragon, you… you have blinded yourself to…"
Burning with a green and golden aura, Shiryu screamed and sent his own body into Krishna's, and therewith both loudly crashed into the Indian Pillar's bottom, so impressive was his strength. Before the explosion echoed through Atlantis, a transfixing cry echoed from the obelisk's confines.
"ROZAN RISING DRAGON!"
Water, stone, debris, blood, flesh, and bone were launched up with the Saint. His path was not straight and perfect; it strayed in and out of the crumbling pillar several times. Those in the frontline heard the shriek of his ability, and the plasma cutting the heights like punishing flame.
Before his force and momentum were lost, Shiryu was in free fall, unconscious out of blood loss. At the same pace that he fell, so did the pillar, and soon the grounds were engulfed in more clouds of dust. The Dragon dropped harshly into rubble, marking it vermilion, and close by were only the pools left by Krishna and the priest, both crushed under the demolition.