The Skytrack screamed through Vanterra's storm, its neon-lit windows flickering like a dying heartbeat. Inside, the air thickened into smoke and shadow, laughter crawling across it like a disease.
Arthur Morningstar stood at the carriage's center, his hand tight on the hilt of Excalibur. The blade gleamed with a holy brilliance that seemed out of place in this city of glass and grime, its light cutting through Harlekin's swirling cloak of smoke.
Harlekin danced across the seats, smoke dripping from his fingers like tar, a dagger in one hand and a jagged grin on his face.
Harlekin: "Oh, Arthur… Your Excalibur glows so bright, like a bedtime story for children. Do you think fairy tales will protect you from the punchline?"
Arthur's voice was steady, unshaken by the chaos.
Arthur: "This blade was forged for kings and carried through wars. It does not falter against a clown's tricks."
Harlekin's laughter stabbed into the air, jagged and wild. His body twisted unnaturally, joints bending wrong as he hurled his dagger. It dissolved midair into smoke, reforming above Arthur's head, stabbing downward.
Arthur parried cleanly, steel singing. Excalibur's light flared, scattering the smoke into embers. He lunged forward, his slash leaving an arc of radiant energy that carved across the entire carriage. Seats split, sparks rained, the floor hissed, and the people screamed.
Harlekin caught the blow with both hands wrapped in smoke, soul aura crackling around him. The laughter in his face twisted into something darker.
Harlekin: "You don't get it, do you? My smoke isn't smoke. It's cursed chaos. The breath of things that should not exist."
The carriage lights shattered. The smoke writhed into shapes—faces screaming, hands clawing, eyes blinking in wrong places. The passengers screamed as the shapes swirled, but Arthur stepped forward, his aura a steady beacon against the horror.
Arthur: "Chaos devours itself. Knights endure."
He raised Excalibur high. Its light burst outward, a holy aura filling the carriage like dawn breaking through a nightmare. The cursed smoke recoiled, shrieking. The passengers clutched their seats, blinded by brilliance but safe.
Harlekin's laugh echoed from every shadow, warped and many-voiced. He emerged from the wall itself, his dagger pulsing with cursed runes, his entire body trembling with ecstatic chaos. He slashed. Arthur met him.
Steel and soul energy clashed in a storm of sparks and screams.
Arthur fought with disciplined grace: every strike calculated, every step firm, his blade arcs forming a shield as much as a sword. Harlekin countered with unpredictability, his movements wild but deliberate, bending rules of combat with a soul aura that made his dagger stretch, split, and reform mid-swing.
Harlekin: "See, Arthur? This is why I chose you. You're a straight line, and I'm a thousand scribbles. Together we make… ART!"
Arthur's response was another slash, Excalibur blazing, cleaving through the smoke so hard it tore open the side of the carriage. Wind roared in, rain blasting the fighters, and neon lights of the city streaking past below.
Passengers clung to their seats, screaming as the battle consumed the train.
Arthur pressed forward, his eyes burning with focus.
Arthur: "If this is art, it ends tonight."
Harlekin tilted his head, then screamed with laughter and unleashed another technique.
The smoke thickened, collapsing inward, cursed energy surging until it became a storm of chaotic curses. Faces twisted around Arthur, whispering mockeries of his own voice, knives of smoke stabbed from every direction. The floor melted beneath cursed symbols.
Arthur braced Excalibur with both hands.
Arthur: "Radiant Strike!"
He swung. A wave of blinding light erupted from the blade, a line of pure holy energy that cut through the entire length of the carriage, splitting the smoke storm in two. The cursed faces shrieked, dissolving like ash in water.
Harlekin stumbled, his laughter faltering, but only for a second. He steadied himself, smoke claws curling around his arms.
Harlekin: "Yes! Yes! That's the spirit! Make me bleed light, Arthur boy. Make me FEEL!"
They collided again, blade against dagger, light against shadow. Sparks flew with every clash. Arthur's precise thrusts cut through cursed illusions; Harlekin's chaotic swipes broke rules of distance and angle. Each hit rattled the train, threatening to derail it.
And then—silence. Smoke receded. The light dimmed.
Arthur and Harlekin stood locked, blades crossed, breath steaming. Neither yielded an inch.
High above, on a rain-slick maintenance platform, Sirius von Schatten watched with arms folded, his ledger tucked neatly under one arm. His sharp eyes trace every motion, every strike, as if calculating the weight of chaos and order in his head.
Sirius: "Knights and clowns. Two sides of a theater the world was not meant to watch."
The air behind him shimmered. Ash gathered in the wind, coiling into a shape—a woman's silhouette. Black hair spilled over her shoulders, her eyes were fever-bright, and her smile was a slash too wide.
Yuri von Shadow emerged fully, licking her lips, a strand of saliva glistening as she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Her Ash Awakening pulsed faintly across her skin, her very presence humming with sadistic delight.
Sirius didn't turn, but his voice was sharp.
Sirius: "What do you want, Yuri?"
Yuri stepped beside him, her body trembling faintly as her eyes locked on the battle below. Her voice was low, thick with hunger.
Yuri: "How could I miss this? Two Soul Reapers going all out… the knight with his holy toy, the clown with his cursed jokes… Ohh, Sirius, it makes my body shake in awe."
She dragged her fingers down her throat slowly, moaning, then licked her lips again, giggling as she wiped away another line of saliva.
Yuri: "I want to taste the blood that drips from this fight."
Sirius's gaze didn't waver from Arthur and Harlekin's clash.
Sirius: "You're sick."
Yuri grinned, her teeth sharp, her eyes wide with sadistic joy.
Yuri: "And you're boring. But admit it, Sirius… this is beautiful. Order against chaos, light against shadow. " And I…" She shivered, clutching her arms. "I win either way."
Sirius finally turned his head, his expression unreadable.
Sirius: "Just remember—beauty doesn't last when it's drowned in blood."
But Yuri was no longer listening. Her eyes were glued to the carriage, where Arthur and Harlekin clashed again, their powers flaring brighter and darker, threatening to consume the city itself.