This was the war between the Daseras Imperium and the Neonam Sovereignty. Dravenmoor won. In the royal city of Dravenmoor, a fight was being held. Not a fair fight. A show. --- It was hosted by the king's eldest son. Prince Ansoff. Inside a stone chamber beneath the palace, warriors waited near the arena ring. Among them sat two women. Aura. Luinus. Both warriors. The crowd outside roared. Metal clashed. Someone screamed. Then "He won!" "Crush his head!" The crowd laughed. --- Luinus looked at Aura. "I heard you was leaving," she said quietly. "Then why are you here?" Aura didn't look at her. "You know why," she replied. "For them, everyone in this kingdom is just a toy."
Another scream echoed from the ring. Luinus clenched her fists. "They are mad." Aura turned to her. "Why did they bring you? You just gave birth a few days ago. You shouldn't even be here." Luinus's eyes trembled. "They said if I don't fight, if I don't entertain them" She swallowed. "They will kill my child." Silence. Outside, the fighting continued. Women against men. Sometimes five women against two or three men. It wasn't war. It was entertainment. The royal bloods sat high above the arena, watching from golden chairs. Safe. Smiling. Like gods looking down at animals. The king was not there. Only his son. Prince Ansoff. The man who claimed he was making the kingdom stronger. --- Suddenly The noise stopped. A guard opened the gate. "It's your turn." Aura and Luinus stood. Two women. Against one man.
But there was something strange. The man was given a weapon. The women were not. The gates opened again. Not for a beast. Not for a condemned slave. For them. --- Luinus stepped into the light first. Tall. Controlled. Dark hair braided tight against her head. No weapon in her hands. No armor beyond fitted leather and bracers. Aura followed half a step behind. Blood still marked across her chest like a soldier's tally. The crowd's roar shifted. Confusion mixed with excitement. Across the sand stood a single knight. Heavy shield. Long sword. Full steel chestplate. He looked between them. Two women. Unarmed. He smirked. Above the arena, Ansoff rose from his seat. He lifted one hand. The arena went silent. Then he gave the signal. The horn sounded. The crowd erupted. --- The knight charged.
Straight at Aura. His boots threw sand. His sword rose and came down in a brutal diagonal cut, meant to split her from shoulder to hip, meant to end this farce in one stroke. Aura did not step back. She stepped inside the arc. The blade sliced air behind her, close enough to feel the wind, close enough to smell the oiled steel. She caught his shield arm at the wrist. Her fingers closed like iron. She twisted sharply, using his own momentum, feeling the bones grind beneath her grip. His balance broke for half a second. That was enough. She ripped the shield from his grip. The leather straps snapped. She pivoted away, the shield heavy and foreign in her hands, her shoulder screaming from the weight. The crowd gasped. The knight recovered fast. He swung horizontally for her neck, furious now, humiliated. The blade hissed through the air, hungry for flesh. Aura raised the stolen shield. Steel smashed into it. The impact thundered up her arm, numbing her elbow, sending a shock through her spine. She felt her boots slide in the sand, digging for purchase. Before he could pull back She drove the shield upward with explosive force. Her legs uncoiled. Her hips snapped. The metal edge caught his sword arm and lifted it high, too high, exposing the hollow beneath his arm where the plate ended and the padding began. Open. Aura stepped in. She slammed the rim of the round shield into his jaw. The crack was loud. Not the sound of wood on bone. The sound of bone on bone. His head snapped sideways. Teeth shattered. White fragments sprayed sideways, mixed with blood, arcing through the hot air like hail. The crowd cried out. Half horror, half thrill.
The knight staggered. His eyes rolled, unfocused, trying to find the sky. Blood poured from his mouth, thick and dark, running down his chin, soaking the gorget at his throat. The shield's rim stuck briefly against his broken mouth as he tried to wrench himself free. His gauntleted hands clawed at the metal, fingers slipping in his own blood. Aura didn't wait. She pivoted and kicked the lower edge of the shield with brutal precision. Her bare foot struck the rim, adding her full weight to the momentum. The force snapped the shield upward. The metal edge rode up his face, scraping across his cheekbone, his eye socket, his temple. A sharp cracking sound split the air. Not one crack. Two. The cheekbone went first. Then the temple. The rim punched through the thin bone at the side of his skull, driving inward, compressing the brain against the opposite wall of the cranium. His upper skull fractured. The knight froze mid-breath. His body went rigid. His bladder released. His eyes, still open, stopped seeing. The light in them didn't fade. It simply ceased, as if someone had blown out a candle. The sword slipped from his fingers. It fell point-first into the sand, standing upright for a moment, quivering, before it toppled. He collapsed straight down. Not forward. Not backward. Straight down, like a puppet with its strings cut. His knees hit the sand first. Then his torso. Then his face, still turned sideways, the broken jaw hanging open, the blood pooling beneath his cheek. --- Silence swallowed the arena. It had lasted seconds. Luinus had not moved. She stood calm, watching. Evaluating. The sand darkened beneath the fallen warrior. Blood spread in a slow, widening circle, darker than the sand, almost black in the torchlight. The crowd slowly found its voice again. Not laughter.
Not mockery. A stunned roar. No one had seen a shield turned into a weapon like that. No one had seen a knight fall so quickly. Aura let the shield drop beside the body. It landed with a dull thud, rim-down, rocking slightly before it settled. She looked toward Luinus. For a brief moment, their eyes met. No words. But something passed between them. Understanding. Control. Power. Two women. One arena. And not a single drop of their blood on the sand. --- Above them, Ansoff did not sit back down. He was still watching. And this time He was no longer smiling.