Snap Back

Artemis stumbles backwards, warm blood running down her skin, and the burning pain makes her wince. All of humanity shudders, staring in awe at the scene before them. Both fighters are wounded… but they haven't been fighting on equal footing since the very beginning. A mortal and a god could never be considered equals, and that is an irrefutable fact. And yet the human managed to hurt the deity.

Hannibal adjusts his stance, shifting most of his weight on his left leg. His fingers clutch the sword's grip, but he doesn't attack. He watches closely as the goddess lowers her bow. She is just barely out of range, and her tunic is stained with blood… But Hannibal doesn't attack just yet.

"Ha! Wipe those surprised looks off your faces, you fools!" a burly man demands, aggressively scratching his belly. "That's my son for you, you idiots! He's stronger than any one of you scoundrels! Hell, he might be stronger than all of you combined!" he yells. "That's why… I'm so proud of him."

The harsh words Hamilcar spat don't match the tears of joy dancing in his eyes. The soldiers behind him rise from their seats to salute him as he grabs onto the balustrade. His son is out there, risking his life to confront the gods. Covered in wounds, against all odds, Hannibal is fighting. Why is he so determined to win? Why did he even agree to take part in this outrageous battle? The answer is simple.

"He's doing this for us," Hamilcar says, his knuckles white from grasping the parapet so hard.

"You're wrong."

"Huh?"

"You're wrong!" Alexander erupts. "Ugh, my throat is getting sore from all this yelling. I cannot fathom how you, who all claim you were close to him, can misunderstand this Hannibal guy so easily! Think about it… Why would he fight for our sakes? We've already fulfilled our roles down there, and we're already dead. Hannibal is fighting for them!" he says, striking an overdramatic pose and pointing towards the ground. "He's trying to save them, the people who're still alive."

Hamilcar and Scipio exchange a somewhat confused look, as if briefly forgetting that their two republics were once sworn enemies. But at that moment, by pure chance, they realise something. Enemies or not, it doesn't matter now. Standing there, breathing the same air filled with dust, watching the same gory battle… they are all the same. If seven fighters fall, mankind is doomed. So, before the immense threat the gods pose, they are the same.

"Kingdoms, empires, fame and fortune… If you really think about it, they're not that important," Hamilcar remarks warmly. "I think I finally get it."

"Yeah," Scipio responds. "We fought for the sake of our people, didn't we? We won some fights, lost some and then we died. But some of those people continued to live. They had children, and those children had children too. Until…"

"Thousands of years later, the descendants of those you protected now live in that world." Alexander clasps his hands behind his neck and yawns. "I'm sure he knows it too. Or did you really think he was fighting for the hell of it? No offense, old man, but you seem much more like a war maniac than he does. On the other hand, why in the world isn't he attacking again? Does he plan on going back to that odd fighting style where he just runs around?"

Hamilcar lets out a hearty, if a bit sour, laugh before slowly walking back to his seat.

"You keep preaching like you know it all, but you somehow don't pay attention to the most important details. The reason is simple. He… is simply running out of gas."

One glance is more than enough to see that Hamilcar was right. Large drops of sweat cover Hannibal's forehead, and the rhythmic movements of his torso clearly indicate that he's panting. His grip on the weapon hasn't weakened, but his legs look like they might give out any minute. Normally, a bit of running around and whatnot wouldn't have tired him out like that… but the wounds, although shallow, are obviously taking their toll on the general.

Hannibal draws in a deep breath. The pain is nauseating, and his vision is slowly but surely getting blurry. He tells himself it doesn't matter if he falls. He just has to make sure the goddess falls first. He's sustained some injuries himself, but Artemis has entirely lost use of one arm.

"All according to plan," the man mumbles, gently touching the arrow shaft sticking out of his body. "Now, if only I could get her to…"

But before Hannibal has a chance to finish, the goddess launches herself at him, holding her bow with a one-handed reverse grip, as one would a sword. The general brings his own weapon up, and his arm shakes as he blocks the attack with the flat of the blade.

"I see. So you think that's enough to stop me." Artemis smirks, pressing down on the bow.

Hannibal winces, bringing his other hand to the hilt of the sword to steady it. Right now, he wishes he had a third arm… for, even with both hands supporting the weapon, it feels like an entire mountain is actively trying to crush him. His whole body is in pain, and Artemis is slowly pushing him back. At this rate, he has no choice but to retreat!

"Or so one would be inclined to think," he whispers through clenched teeth.

In the blink of an eye, every muscle in Hannibal's body tenses. All of his lost strength comes back for a split second, and, despite the immense pressure Artemis exerts on his sword, he manages to turn it! The goddess tries to jerk her bow back, but she's too slow. Assisted by the invisible blade of wind, the razor-sharp edge effortlessly splits the weapon in two before she even has the chance to react!

"Yeah, I should've known a blunt stick wouldn't do the trick. Oh, that rhymed. I bet Old Man Pan would be proud of me," Artemis jokes as the point of Hannibal's falcata hisses past her nose.

She pauses, glancing at the two halves now connected only by the string, and the look on her face is almost melancholic. Perhaps the poor weapon has endured enough. Perhaps, despite its being inanimate and untiring, it's time for it to rest. The goddess stifles a smirk. If anything, she's happy things turned out this way. Völundr or not, for a human to make short work of a divine weapon like that… As her hand reaches over her shoulder, the goddess finds herself thinking: "This is starting to look more and more like a real battle."

"Oh, that wasn't very smart," Hermes comments as Artemis leisurely takes her quiver off her back.

"What? What wasn't?" Ares asks, bewildered. "He got rid of her bow!"

"That was his mistake. That man is intelligent, but he overestimated himself. He forced Artemis into a close-range fight, made sure she can't reload or fire, then destroyed the bow altogether. Considering her usual fighting style, his strategy wasn't flawed. However… he didn't think for one moment that maybe that flashy technique wasn't the only ace up our sister's sleeve."