Chapter 808 – You Versus You

The problem of the human spirit is simple enough, yet that simplicity is what makes it grand. There are many who talk of Arda as a poisonous world that corrupts all it touches. Yet Arda is a planet and a rock. It is in tune to humanity just as humanity is in tune to it. Arda could not be what it is without its favoured children, and none of its favoured children would be able to survive in the freezing vacuum of space. The relationship is symbiotic.

It is this will of theirs, with this seemingly mystical ability to incarnate the myth, that is most dangerous about them. Whilst on a low-level, there is no danger, a Divine of an individual mountain is merely a permanent creature that inhabits it, but the further up the ranks of Divinity that we travel, the worse we get. What happens when the Goddess that is supposed to be the incarnation of Love is obsessive, and controlling with a weather’s touch? Is it not comedy to have the creature that is supposed to embody romance be a wartime spymaster?

Or another creature, of Pride, that defines pride and makes it concrete. A Goddess of Peace whose ethos relies almost entirely on being so overwhelming powerful that none would wish to war against her? A Goddess of Magic that is elitist and exclusionary, and who has to be dragged from her school by other Divines to bring the gift of magic to new blood? Of Sorcery, who is just as bad? The Goddess of Hatred, so respected on their civilization because of her ability and character that they seemingly forget what her title is. A Goddess of Death that is fundamentally lazy and despises the idea of needing to clean up lost souls, or a Goddess of Health that seemingly relishes in the fact that her healing is painful?

There is a thought experiment here, what if the Goddess of Love was actually about teenagers holding hands, and if the Goddess of Health did all she could to cure as painlessly as possible, or if the Goddess of Peace was a renowned diplomat. If the Goddess of Hatred was a warning against, and not a mentor of. If the God of Pride was one to wield power for, and not against the universe. What would Arda be then?

I suppose, we would be wary of the planet, and diplomatic contact would have been made far earlier, to guide and to gently steer as much as it would be to monitor. We would have scholars talk about the potential danger of that world and how to stop it. Maybe, on Paraideisius, there would even be a militarist faction that would have predicted the Arascan War.

Yet that is not the situation as hand. The reality of the moment is that ancient humans have decided for a God-King, and Arda gave them Arascus. They prayed for Peace, and Arda spat out Fortia. They prayed for health, and not painlessness, and thus Kavaa was pulled from whatever comedy she was supposed to dwell in. They hated their own magic, and Arda returned the favour with a Goddess of Magic that seemingly takes the art of teaching it as torture. Their Goddess of Order is a child’s conception of the subject, a brick wall has more character than Maisara.

And the loop is self-fulfilling. For humanity’s greatest facet is its endurance, and they are more than happy to endure their own Gods.

If only we could be certain that they would forever stay on that rock, then they could be forgotten out. But we have to remember them, because everyone who reads this text knows that the entire problem comes from the fact that they fundamentally think they are destined for greatness!

And who decides what greatness is for them?

Not us, that is for sure.

- Text written by Archangel Rapheum.

Maisara grabbed her axe, her eyes only focused upon herself. “I’ll take on me.” Maisara said. That was the simplest thing to do, against Fortia or Maisara, there was risk to it. Against herself though? Maisara knew how she fought herself, and if anything could win against Maisara, then it would be Maisara herself. And this Maisara was her, but it was not her.

“Then I’ll do me.” Fortia said.

“Well that’s an even split.” She snapped her fingers and began to advance. “Iniri! Get to it! Dispel them!” Behind, off the massive pillar base, Iniri placed an acorn on the ground. It started to flower downwards, not growing anything taller than a waist-high bramble. But under the ground roots started to twist and rip twist, stone bulged as Iniri got to work.

Maisara’s mirror lunged forward as the fake Fortia reared to throw her spear and the real one charged her. Bronze spear-tip flashed downwards as metal met metal and the two entered into each other’s step where neither could truly use the full length of the weapon. Beasthood crashed into Beasthood, claw and tooth and jaw tore and ripped and backed away as the two descended into a mess of animalistic grappling resembling desperate wolves tearing at each other.

Maisara, real, struck first. There had been a time when she would wait for the other, but not now. Iniri put the others on a timer, they would be desperate. And Maisara would not let the Goddess of Nature kill her. Kassandora had to remove Order and Peace from Olympiada when she made her escape precisely because axes cut trees down.

The silver axe twisted in Maisara’s grip as she wrapped both her hands around it and came in close, the other Maisara’s gaze turned slightly, and Maisara knew the sign in herself. She took a step back as Fer on Fer ripped between two Goddesses of Order. They fell off to the left and Maisara dodged a blow from her copy. A wide swing from the side that was just a hair’s length from cutting her two. In the past, Maisara would have taken a step away, now, she almost felt the pointed tip on her armour slide across her armour.

Maisara returned the swing and the other dodged with just as much ease although Of Order spotted the difference. It was in that dodge, the other had extended to a safer distance. More than a head’s length out of the blade. “You’re not me.” Maisara shouted and came in closer.

The blade was a feint this time, to the shoulder of the weapon hand, to force a dodge. Maisara knew the dodge, to the side and to the left, and her fist caught her copy in the torso. That silver plate was just as hard as it always had been, it didn’t crack even if the copy bulged. And finally, the fake spoke. “You fight fast.”

Maisara knew the tell in herself, you spoke when you wanted to catch a breath and slow the fight down, or let your own regeneration work its magic. She stepped into swing, past the blade of the axe and blocked the blow with her wrist bouncing against the polearm’s shaft. Bone crunched, cracked, and the real Maisara’s fist landed into the side of her copies head. It wasn’t over, but Maisara couldn’t cull her own smile as she watched her copy be lifted off her feet and into the air. A Divine was a fake enough creature already, a Divine that was actually a mirror image of another was deluded delusion. It didn’t have a right to exist.

Maisara followed up on herself as the other dematerialized and then rematerialized her axe from one hand to the next. She swung madly into the air, trying to create a field and give herself some space for regeneration to fix her face. Blood spilled down from her eye, nose and the corner of her lip. The real Maisara swung her axe forward and rebounded the blade, the edge caught her ear. It didn’t matter though, if she died, she would stay here and Neneria would catch her again, and she would a new body.

Axehead met axehead, and then the proper Maisara pressed onwards, the butt of the shaft coming up and slamming into the other’s side. All Divinity had a fear of death, it was the most natural reaction on Arda. There was a reason that Neneria was the oldest Divine.

One had to die to get over it.

The other Maisara managed to keep her legs steady as both axes once again blinked in and out of existence. And both weapons came down. Both dodged to the exact same side, perfectly, but the real incarnation of Order made her dodge cleaner. The axe practically skimmed her arm as she closed the distance with her fist again. A fist with enough power behind it to crack stone cracked a shoulder with just as much.

The fake Maisara screamed as she tumbled into the air again, and then kicked herself up into the air. “Who do you think you are?” Maisara said slowly as she stared daggers at her own incarnation. “Bastion of Order? What a parody of this world. Kill yourself.” The other Maisara backed off and swung her axe around without saying a word as the real one kept up the pressure.

“You are not me.”

“Oh I know.” Maisara said, twisting her foot and kicked her fake in the calf, the other went down as Maisara’s axe followed her. The fake rolled over her head, pushed herself up with her arms and landed back on her feet again. The exact same move, Maisara was following herself, already predicting the blow and moving her hand to catch the Divine weapon of the fake.

Maisara’s fingers closed around the shaft of her own weapon, the weight was the same, she pulled it forward and brought her knee up. The fake didn’t let herself be pulled, she dematerialized the axe, it reappeared in her other hand as the original’s leg came up to kick herself in the side.

The other Maisara flew a short distance as the real followed up. Maybe someone else would have stayed to watch, or inspect how the others were doing, but the room had been filled by the sound. Fer was still fighting herself, there was constant rolling and swearing and screaming from that side of the room. And Fortia’s brawl had descended to a silent mirror match, the only sound of them the faint pinging of metal hitting on metal. Maisara slammed the axe down into herself. “You’re not me.” Maisara said as the blood in her stump stopped flowing. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“I am a perfect copy.” The other Maisara said, her arm was starting to crack back into position, the bones breaking as she forced the regeneration to go faster. The real Maisara held her axe upon into the air and brought it down, dismembering the axe-arm from the body.

“No.” Maisara said. “You have never died. I have. And I am not scared of dying again.” She held the axe up, took a step to the side, and then brought it down in a single swing over her the neck of her fake. There was almost something disappointing about the ease with which the blade passed through and cracked into the stone. The light in not-Maisara’s grey eyes went out a moment later, and Maisara died. It should have been more of a struggle, even though Maisara knew it wasn’t, but it was her herself. How could the Goddess of Order just give up that easily?

Maisara finally turned and inspected the room. Fortia on Fortia and Fer on Fer where still stalemated. Fer’s theory that they were of the stone may have been correct, or may have been wrong, but it did not matter now. Maisara turned to the two Fortia’s, Fer could hold on still, and frankly, Maisara wanted to help Fortia more. But as she stared at them, she realised there was no tell. She could fight herself without getting confused but this mess?

“Fortias!” Maisara shouted. “I have killed my copy.” She held her executioner’s axe swaying from one to the other. From behind, one Fer roared, then another, the tumbling between those two frenzied masses of limb and claw continued. Well, Fer had shown them the method, it was just a matter of implementation. “I am the real Maisara! The one who knows who Helenna and Malam.” They needed another question then. “Who is Tremali?” That was specific enough that if you knew, you knew, and if you did not, then you did not.

One of the Fortia’s replied immediately. “A God!” Full of confidence, but it was wrong. The other Fortia stopped and held her spear steady as Maisara picked out her target.

“The man is the fifth greatest living tactician on this world, and he is an elf.” Fortia said. “You didn’t know that though.”

“No.” The fake Fortia at least had the decency not to hide her mistake. Maisara took a step forward.