The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

Thirty years ago, at the climax of the great war, Maia fought fiercely against the prince, Charles Anholt Dragnar, his silver-haired figure flashing in a blur of light that zipped in zig-zags. The high-pitched shrills of his light pierced her ears, and her mind shook slightly, her Ein disrupted as her nearby flames wavered. Her snake anima, melded into her whip, hissed, sensing the encroaching danger and acting on its own will. The irritating sound held no problems for her anima; her senses linked to its own.

His powers were far too concerning. Maia couldn't let such a dangerous factor roam freely, but she couldn't finish him off either. Concentrating all of her Ein into her snake's fangs, she snapped the whip backward, gaining momentum and heat, embers collecting onto the snake's head at the tip. Only one chance remained. She had to make it count. Maia swung her arm forward, the air cracking a thunderous cry from the whip's lunge forward, her snake hissing loudly. Her whip resembled a burning spear piercing ahead against the beam of light that was Charles.

The light shrieked, dissipating and revealing Charles, who had stabbed with his dual blade, two golden dragon heads extending sharp swords from their throats, his entire body straight as if he had become a part of the weapon. Her snake anima caught the end of the blade at its fangs, sparks of radiant motes and fiery wisps spewing forth from the clash. Charles' half became engulfed in light, and Maia floated in a blazing inferno, the elements interlocked in a fierce struggle. A flicker of shock raced across his expression, and Maia smirked, but not for long.

It sounded like glass shattering, a sound that concerned Maia. A large splitting crack spread on her snake anima's fangs, red flames bleeding from the wounds. Maia shouted and tried to rouse more Ein, but the battle had been long, and her Ein Awaken couldn't keep up with the constant use. Another crack formed, this time on Charles's blade, his pale face paling further. Their hands trembled as both weapons shattered, the brittle Ein breaking away like skin peeling off, Visages of an Amphiptere, a scaly dragon-headed wyrm with wings and no legs, and her white snake showed briefly before crumbling away.

Maia felt the rebound of her anima's destruction, a great pain that stabbed into her core as if someone had struck it with a hammer. Clutching her chest, she fumbled back, hastily balancing herself on thin air. Clearly, Charles fared no better than her, and Maia had no leeway to back down now, not since the war was nearing its end. One more push, she told herself. Maia wiped the blood from her lips, lamenting at her wounds, several deep cuts that cut to the bone on her legs and ribs, seared black and shut.

'I can't lose here!' Maia rallied herself and stood firm. To lose here would be a tremendous waste of all that her family spent, the waste of the lives that her beloved aunt, close cousin, and countless others had given. Thinking of her aunt, who passed away years ago in a reckless charge on Orbis, she looked at the stormy sky, wondering if there was any happiness for the dead. Aunt Diane never found her peace and joy in living. Ever since that day after the prison break, she knew her aunt was simply living, driven only by her duty and nothing more, a shadow of who she was.

"Hey, Dragnar prince." Maia called out, still looking at the burning sky, scorched by fumes and cut by streaks of lightning. Her voice, drained of energy after a long battle, sounded hoarse. She couldn't believe it was her voice. "I can still fight. And you?"

"An absurd question. So long as my people draw breath and fight, I answer the call twice-fold. That is the Dragnar way." A shining clarity flared in the prince's golden eyes, strength and determination pouring from the gilded gaze, no compromise and no cowardice. "The only pity is that my powers can't help the others. But that goes for you as well."

Maia glanced over the broken city of Dragonheart, a horrible sight welcoming her. Vast wreckages of airships from both sides decorated the roofs and streets, consumed by fires from the broken cores and engines. Clumps of bodies sprawled over the streets. As her eyes traveled toward the widening streets to the Imperial Palace, so did the number of bodies, many from her alliance, many decorated by the red uniforms and emblems of fire from her home. Countless of her allies rested on the streets, never to awaken ever again.

"Don't tell me you're beginning to feel regret and pity?" Charles gnashed his teeth, its grinding grating on the ears. "You, of all others, don't have the right, not after your vile methods." Was he referring to her brainwashing in the Rurin Gaols or the unleashing of the beasts that leveled Orbis and other fortresses? It could be either, but both were equally terrible, she admitted without remorse.

"It's too late to have any regrets," Maia said, gripping her whip and tugging her white hair back. "But, the only one I have is that I failed to kill Oscar Terr."

"Oscar? You damned wench." Charles's voice dropped several tones, anger laced in every syllable. He raised his dual blade in a high guard, arms raised above his head. "He is one I call brother and the hero of this land. Curb your tongue, or it will be the first I carve out."

Both stepped forward, charging toward the other. Maia sidestepped and lashed her whip. The beauty of the weapon was that it required no great amount of strength, needing only good motion and timing for it to become deadly. Keeping a distance, she sent out a flurry of flickering whips, none reaching Charles, who deflected them with a masterful spin of his dual blade. She tried to adjust so that even with a deflection, the whip's tip would still bend toward its target, but Charles proved her match again, scraping his blade downward to reduce the extent of the bend.

'Damnit!' Maia cursed inwardly. Her expression turned to shock as Charles bolted forward in her moment of lapse, his objectively handsome face before her as the high guard stance lowered into a deadly slash. Her whip returned in time, and she blocked the Einless attack. The blade stretched out the whip, forcing its way closer and cutting into her shoulder, right before the neck. Grimacing in pain, she felt the cold metal lodging itself into her flesh, blood splurting into her peripheral. Retreating was not an option since that would allow the rest of the blade to cut through fully.

She had to overpower him. Kicking forward, she aimed for his groin, the most sensitive part of a man. Charles kicked in response, repelling her blow. Stunned, Maia gritted her teeth, noticing that put Charles somewhat off-balance. Her flexible leg reached the side of the blade where Charles's positioning could not pour too much strength in that direction. She rammed her knee into the blade, its sharp edge scraping the skin off her shoulder as she knocked it away.

Parched, Maia took out an elixir, a lowly grade-three but enough to stop the cold bleeding from her fresh wound. Charles had done the same, both equal in thought and action. She downed it all in one gulp, feeling warmth in her veins as the wound slowly semi-closed, clots already forming. Seeing that Charles had already healed and had bolted for her, Maia chuckled weakly, her legs and arms refusing to reply, numb and dead like a corpse. Her strength had been spent, all gone in the small action of drinking an elixir, how comical. She closed her eyes and waited for her death.

'At least I can die with a peace of mind.' Her mind raced through all the memories of this horrid war. To die without seeing the burdening conclusion and to die in a great last battle, a one-on-one duel with the prince, Maia felt no regret, holding only an expectance to see whether she could find peace and joy in death. Her lips mumbled out the names of her lost, Diane, Willet, and many others. As the cold blade reached her neck, a loud horn resounded over the land, and she opened her eyes to see the blade had stopped.

The horn droned on, drowning out all other sounds. Descending from the storms, a golden airship peeked out like a glowing sun, the flags flying the blue and gold colors of the Brilliant Drake Empire and the red and black colors of the Bloodlands. "No!" Maia cried out, staring widely at the figure standing proudly on the front of the ship, with blue hair, eyes, and a presence that overwhelmed all others. They had lost.

"A decree from the great Primaere! Gilbert Lockwood won great honor for the Bloodlands in the Primanomachy and married the holy daughter. Throw down your arms. As of today, the Farsky continent belongs to the Brilliant Drake Empire. This matter is settled! No one else is to be harmed. The other three empires may withdraw and settle your affairs, either submit or leave." A stalwart man, garbed in imperial uniform, read from a thin, crystal tablet, his voice reaching all corners of the city.

"We…lost." Maia lost strength in her legs and dropped to her knees. She bit her lips and muffled her cries, tears dripping to the ravaged streets below, lost in the pools of her allies' blood. Endless regret ate at her. Why was she spared? Why couldn't the blade swing faster? Why didn't Gilbert arrive later? In her cries, she murmured, "Why am I alive?" She had hoped to end it here.

"Who knows? While I wish to cut you down, I don't intend on disobeying the Primaere's decree." Charles retracted his blade and turned around to walk away. "What you do with your life is no concern of mine. Figure that out on your own."

"Why am I alive?" Maia looked at the sky, her voice trembling. She couldn't understand. After a deep breath, she lowered her head and picked herself up, limping toward an active airship. Since she was alive, she had one final duty, to see the war to the aftermath.

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