A gust of wind howled through the ruins Meliše had conjured up—away from prying eyes, but more importantly, away from Hael's interference. She was ready to give Ceremus the beating of a lifetime, and she didn't want anyone getting in her way.
The sorceress watched as Ceremus tightened his grip on his gladius, his eyes locked on Meliše. He was glad they moved away from the ship, giving him the chance to go all out in this battle. Though he appreciated Hael very much, he didn't want his interference during this fight either. Since he was the one who instigated her, it was only fair that he would be the one to fight her. Even as king, he preferred not to have others fight his battles.
Ceremus was more than confident that he could defeat Meliše—in fact, it was now his life's mission to do so. He had always had a distaste for sorcerers and all those who practiced dark magic. A true warrior fought with their fists, not with a stick.
The sorceress, on the other hand, stood poised, her onyx robes billowing, her staff alight with swirling embers of magic. There was a cruel smirk on her lips, as if she had already won before the battle had begun.
Ceremus' face hardened, not at all liking the overconfident look on her face. With inhuman speed, he was the first to strike. His blade cut through the air, aiming straight for Meliše's torso. But before steel could meet flesh, a shimmering barrier of violet energy erupted between them. His sword struck it like a hammer against glass, sending sparks flying.
"Tsk, tsk," she teased. "Did you think you could win with brute strength alone? Such a man-ish thing to do."
With a flick of her staff, the air around Ceremus ignited. Fire twisted into tendrils, reaching for him like hungry serpents. He barely managed to leap back, rolling across the temple floor as the flames singed his robes. The heat pressed against his skin, searing, reminding him that Meliše was no ordinary opponent. And yet his confidence in his strength never waned. Not for a single second.
Without hesitation, he charged again. This time, he feinted left before pivoting sharply, slashing at her exposed side. But Meliše anticipated it. She spun gracefully, her staff glowing as a shockwave of force blasted outward. The invisible impact slammed into Ceremus' chest, launching him off his feet. He crashed against a broken column, dust and rubble falling around him.
He coughed, shaking the dizziness from his head. She was faster than he expected. No, not faster—smarter. She wasn't meeting his strength head-on. She was keeping him at a distance, forcing him to fight on her terms, and that alone was enough to anger the king. He was not one to be toyed with.
With a grunt, he surged forward again, his sword now humming with the energy of his divine blood. He swung it downward with all his might, aiming to shatter whatever defense she conjured. But the moment his blade came close, the very ground beneath him vanished.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
A split-second later, he landed—hard—on solid stone. He was no longer in the makeshift ruins. He was standing in a void, surrounded by swirling mist and whispers that clawed at his ears. His breath became ragged. An illusion.
This was the first time Ceremus had ever fought a magician, but he was aware of their style of fighting. Contrary to his looks, the king wasn't just brawns, but also prided himself on education and research. During his years of preparation for taking over the throne, he read countless books and manuscripts about the arts of war, strategy, and combat. In the works he read, he came across a tome dedicated to magic and witchcraft. It was then that he had learned about the different techniques sorcerers used to fight. Creating illusions to confuse and disorient their opponents was one of them.
Curious about this foreign way of fighting, the young prince looked into magic and its origins. Magicians, warlocks, sorcerers and sorceresses were all worshipers of the goddess of magic and witchcraft—Dianae. She was a powerful goddess who represented hidden knowledge, the unknown, the power of magic, and much more. Those who wished for her powers would need to become devoted priests or priestesses of the goddess. Having such a powerful goddess on your side would not only make you stronger, but better equipped in drawn out battles as well.
Unfortunately for Ceremus, this was a fact he had long forgotten since overtime he had come to dislike the use of magic in battles, chalking it up to cowardly tactics that were not worth his attention. Now faced with his current predicament, he wished he had thought through this battle more carefully. His overconfidence and hubris would potentially be his undoing.
Meliše's laughter echoed, distant yet all around him. "Getting lost, dear king?"
He closed his eyes, focusing. She's toying with me. He had fought magicians before, but this was something different. She wasn't just powerful—she was a tactician, a predator.
"Have you finally realized the clear disparity between our powers?" She said mockingly. Though Ceremus couldn't see her, he could imagine the smug look on her annoyingly beautiful face. Looking down at him as if he were a mere bug capable of being squashed at any second. "There is no hope for you king, bow down to me and reveal to me the location of the sword and shield."
Ceremus scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "I will not bow down." He said as he straightened himself.
Though he didn't want to have to resort to using his divine powers, he knew that in the face of such a powerful illusion, he'd need them in order to get out of this predicament. Ceremus couldn't afford to drag out this fight any longer; he needed to return to Hael; he could already tell just how worried the guard must have been.
With a sharp exhale, he drove his gladius into the ground, summoning the raw force of his demigod heritage. The blade pulsed with divine energy, and in a burst of white-hot light, the illusion shattered.
He was back in the makeshift ruins. Meliše stood just a few feet away, a flicker of annoyance in her blue-green eyes.
So he knows how to break through illusions; he also has a brain, not that it'll be much help to him now.
Before he could regain his bearings, she slammed the butt of her staff against the ground. Jagged chains of lightning erupted, arcing toward him like striking vipers.
Ceremus dodged the first, parried the second, but the third caught him in the ribs. Pain surged through him as the magic coiled around his body, locking his muscles in place. His sword slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor.
She stepped closer, tilting her head. "Not so indomitable now, are you?" she murmured. "You know you can make all of this go away if you give me what I want."
Ceremus clenched his jaw, rage flaring in his gold eyes. He refused to be beaten so easily.
But as Meliše raised her staff once more, the air thick with magic, he knew—this was her fight to win. Just as he was about to accept defeat for the first time in his life, something incredible happened.
Above them, in the celestial realms, Aria—the goddess of healing and protection and Ceremus' mother—watched with narrowed eyes. She had always been proud of her son's strength, but to see him struggling against a mere sorceress? It was unbearable. Her fingers curled into a fist, and with a whisper of divine will, she sent a surge of power down to her son.
Ceremus felt it instantly. Heat flooded his veins, his muscles surged with newfound strength, and his vision sharpened. His movements became faster, his strikes heavier. His sword, once dulled by Meliše's relentless spells, now carved through her defenses with impossible precision. The tide of battle had turned, and her confident smirk wavered.
"What in the world?"
She realized it the moment her staff barely managed to deflect a strike that should have been manageable. "What—?" she gasped, her breath hitching as another devastating blow nearly knocked her off her feet. The surrounding energy flickered. Her spells, once unstoppable, started to falter under the sheer force of Ceremus' counterattacks.
Meliše staggered back, her body screaming in protest. A final strike sent her sprawling onto the ground, her staff knocked from her grasp. She lay there, dazed, her chest rising and falling heavily as Ceremus approached. He raised his sword, prepared to finish what he had started.
Then he saw it.
Her face—no longer filled with excitement or defiance, but devastation. Her eyes, wide and vulnerable, searched his own, not with hatred, but with something far more painful. Defeat. Fear. A quiet, almost heartbreaking acceptance of her fate.
Ceremus froze.
His grip on the hilt tightened, but his arm refused to move. The power surging through him demanded he strike. His mother's presence still lingered in his mind, urging him to claim victory. But he hesitated.
Why?
For the first time, he wasn't sure if he wanted to win this way.
The battlefield was silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing. The moment stretched between them, heavy and uncertain.
"What's wrong? Hurry and end my tedious life already. Gods know if you don't do it, he will." She whispered.
Ceremus frowned when he heard this. "He?"
Meliše closed her eyes. "I dare not utter his name. I don't wish to incur his wrath right now." She said.
"…Is he the person who sent you to steal the sword and shield from us?" He asked.
The sorceress said nothing, but her silence was answer enough. Though there was still quite a bit he was missing, he was able to piece a few things together. He let go of his grip on her, surprising the woman.
"What are you doing? I thought you were going to kill me."
Ceremus was silent for a moment before he spoke once more. "I won't be killing you. Not yet, at least. I believe it would be much more beneficial for us to keep you alive than to send you to the depths of the underworld." He replied.
"I don't understand."
"You'll understand soon enough; now hurry and take down this veil, he must be worried sick." He ordered.
Meliše looked up at him in confusion and quickly got up, watching the king with caution. By he, does he mean Sir Hael? She wondered. She did as she was told and lifted the veil. They were now back on the ship and Hael stood exactly where they had left them.
The guard looked at Ceremus' beaten appearance and almost lost his mind. He quickly took Ceremus into his arms before pulling back and examining his wounds. "Are you alright? What happened in there? You've been gone for so long, and why is she still here?" He asked.
Ceremus chuckled at his barrage of questions. "One thing at a time." He said.