Jack charged, her sword raised above her shoulder and her eyes burning flames of conviction. Celestia took a defensive stance, ready to deflect the earth-folk’s attack the instant her blade was swung.

The attack came. A barreling swing from her shoulder and downward at an angle. A reckless strike that threw her sword into a one-handed grip and drug the tip through the dirt.

Celestia took advantage of Jack’s weakness and stepped forward, slashing at Jack’s torso.

Once more Jack reached for the weapon, only this time she knew she wouldn’t get the guard or the all-folk’s hand. Instead she did the dumb thing—a summary of her life in one sentence.

She leaned in and snapped an elbow up mid-swing of the weapon, too early and she would be cut across her arm, if lucky. Too late and her entire chest would have been dug into by the weapon, but her gamble, her risk paid off. The cut was disrupted from its original target thanks to striking the blade's flat, the sword raised high and off point, its speed slowed enough for Jack to snap her hand forward and grip the weapon by its edge.

The thing about swords that people not experienced with them didn’t understand, is that gripping an edge wasn’t what cut you. Dash, on more than one occasion, had used her sword as an improvised club, bashing a creature with the guard to break through rough scales. No, there were only two ways to realistically get cut by a sword. Either the weight of an edge would act as a wedge for hacking, splitting a target in two, or a more narrow edge with less weight would have to be pulled or pushed over an object. Though Jack’s weapon was clearly made for hacking in mind, Excalibur was the latter. At least Jack hoped.

Her grip was measured, precise, and ironclad. It was a bit of luck she caught it like she did, rather than severing a finger, but sometimes it was better to be lucky than good. No matter how hard Celestia pulled, the sword didn’t budge an inch, Jack’s strength and Rarity’s armor giving her purchase upon the weapon. With the hand still holding her own blade, Jack clumsily snapped it to the side while thrusting Celestia's sword away from her.

The all-folk was no mere rookie to battle. She had been fighting for not only years, but generations, and the instant Jack’s sword came for her she let go of her own weapon and twisted under it, spinning on one knee until she had safely dodged the blow. Though disheartened, Jack nearly cheered when she saw what she did.

At Celestia’s hand, a small line of blood had appeared, cut, perhaps as she had held onto Excalibur for too long.

With a clench of her fist, Celestia’s sword vanished from Jack’s grip and reappeared in the all-folk’s hand. An exasperating trick for anyone that had the misfortune of making an all-folk an enemy.

Celestia rose to her full height. Jack had thought of it before, but was reminded of it as she looked at her: Jack was taller than the all-folk. Sure, she was taller than many of the men and women that occupied Cabello, her family was built tall and wide, nearly matching the Norfolk race even, but as Jack looked at Celestia, it dawned on her that Rarity was taller too—though that fact would irritate Rarity relentlessly. The thing about Celestia, though, was that she held this presence to her. A presence of strength, of beauty, of drive. Of even a sort of divinity. In any other situation, Jack would feel an overwhelming awe about the woman.

Right now, though, she focused entirely on the scratch she had made.

“It’s over, princess,” Jack said. It was Celestia’s turn to say nothing, to observe rather than close in. “Acacia flower,” she continued, nodding down at Celestia’s hand. “Ya know what that is?”

The word seemed to ring a faint, distant bell in the all-folk’s head. One of warning, perhaps? An advisor, a friend, a former lover had spoke of it. Somewhere within her was a whispering of the word.

Jack watched her for what felt like a solid minute before adding, “how ‘bout magesbane? That has ta say somethin’.”

At that Celestia’s eyes shot open in alarm. Magesbane lived up to its name in a very real sense of the word. In the same way some earth and sky-folk had allergies to certain plants, soul-folk had an aversion to the yellowed flower. It weakened the connection between magic and the self, could completely shut-down a soul-folk’s casting for not hours but days depending on the dosage. There was a reason it was a restricted good, sold only to a few reputable distributors and schools. When Jack was still in school, magesbane, alongside a cocktail of other ingredients, had nearly killed Rarity. The fact that Jack mentioned it...

Channeling her magic, Celestia attempted to pull the poison out of her system, control the flow of her blood and dissolve the chemicals within the composition. Though she could feel the toxin dissolve with a faint relaxation of pressure, she knew the damage had been done to her spellwork for the moment by the strange muddling of words hosting an arcane strength clouding her mind, turning once-sharp mental images of power into blurred, warped things. It was no more than a nick, but had done more damage to her approach in combat than any deep laceration had over the years.

“You’re so low that you use poison in a duel like this?” Celestia’s earlier alarm had died down and she felt a scowl approaching, her earlier respect for Jack drying up as water within the desert.

“An’ I’d do more if I had ta,” Jack replied, her sword at the ready, the oil from the blade being masked under its majestic sheen. “Jus’ like everyone else if ya get that damn thing.” Jack spat to the side. “I jus’ brought ya ta my level. No wings. No spells. Another ant in a hill full-a ‘em.”

Though there was a numbness within her, one that seemed to spread through her body with every beat of her pulse, Celestia knew it was a limiter, not a full on destroyer. She still had some power within her, it was only faint graspings, rather than the river she normally held. But those graspings could mean so much against the earth-folk.

“I’ve been through wars. The Crusades, oversaw the conflicts between the races in the youth of Cabello. I fought alongside your father and Rarity’s during the griffon wars. I’ve seen atrocities you couldn’t begin to comprehend. The only level you’re on is that of an entitled child, Jack.”

Jack took a cautious step forward, testing Celestia’s reactions, how she positioned herself, how she adjusted her grip for Jack’s movement.

“Maybe I am,” she agreed. “Reckon that’s a problem if even a kid can see what yer wantin’ ta do is wrong.”

“I’m doing everything for my country. Everything for people like you. Why can’t you see that, Jack?! Let me take care of Cabello.” Celestia said, taking a step towards the earth-folk, ready to double-back at a moment’s notice.

“Ya can take care of it without the grail. We can stop this. Celestia, I don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“I’d worry about yourself first, Jack.” Seeing the farmer had no interest in yielding, the princess got into a striking position once more, the leg in front of her bent, ready to spring forward.

The farmer followed suit, assuming a defensive stance to Celestia’s offensive one, ready to push aside whatever the all-folk threw at her.

Celestia charged forward, her sword coming down with tremendous speed at Jack’s body, foregoing all forms of dance, all forms of mercy. Her eyes housed the killing instinct Jack had, in a way, hoped for all along. The type of glare that stopped the pit of guilt in her stomach over having to fight the all-folk, for having to crush her dreams, her wishes for the country.

The sword cut through the air and clashed against the flat of Jack’s towering sword, the blow knocking Jack back and making her scramble to keep her footing. For everything Jack had over the woman, her height and her strength, she could only just match the all-folk’s precision and speed, only deflect blows, never coming across a chance to counter them, Celestia’s onslaught only barely being restrained. Even without magic, the all-folk housed skill, trained skill, that Jack’s wilder blows couldn’t measure up to, not without struggling every step of the way. A snap of Celestia’s fist caught Jack at her kidney and she let out a sharp barking yelp of pain, every synapse of her brain firing off in alarm at the impact against her. Celestia tried to swing her blade towards the earth-folk while she was vulnerable, but the farmer, through sheer stubborn will, lifted her sword to parry the woman, narrowly avoiding the weapon’s deadly edge.

Now Celestia took to fighting dirty, no longer an elegant, knightly force, the sort tales were made of; rather, she became a furious typhoon of sword swings, feints, kicks—a snap at Jack’s arm nearly spun her around from the impact—and all Jack could do was hold on, try to read the woman and anticipate her, all while her thoughts screamed at her to push the woman back, gain even a scant inch of distance so she could bring her greatsword back to its terrifying and colossal offensive powers, but that seemed an absurd notion, as impossible as fighting back the tide of the ocean or stopping the sun from rising, but she had to, she had to stop her. Even if it was hopeless, holding out just a little longer against the all-folk was a victory, winning a battle within herself. Jack had to give it her all, otherwise she’d regret every second afterwards, even if she did live. She had to try to leave her mark on history, even if it was an unsung, unspoken one, she had to resist. She had to struggle. Because if she didn’t, who would?

Celestia came with a low thrust near Jack’s pelvis. Jack’s instincts told her, forced her to before even she was really cognitive of the approach she was doing, to step to the side and lunge forward.

Her free hand worked automatically, almost independent of her, as if God himself guided her fingers and she grabbed the all-folk by the hair, brought her foot behind Celestia’s ankles, and threw her down with all her might.

Celestia landed on the ground, the impact seeming to almost shake the earth itself.

The all-folk seemed dazed, more surprised than hurt, Jack guessed, but she took what she could and brought her greatsword down, an executioner spotting another head to take.

Gesturing upward, the all-folk showed there was still a spark within her on her magic spells and an earthen shell wrapped Celestia’s body, forming an improvised stone cocoon a heart’s beat before Jack’s sword bounced off. As Jack brought her sword at the ready again, intending to bring it down for a far more aimed strike, there came a single word from the shell and Celestia rose, already in mid-spin as she burst from her encapsule, daggers of dirt erupting from her shield and blasting across the arena.

Jack had no time to react, no time to prepare. The splinters of the hardened earth pierced her arm, her collar, one narrowly avoided her groin and embedded itself in her thigh instead.

Jack howled. The spikes dug into her; Rarity’s armor once again pulling through and stopping anything piercing deep enough to hit bone, the internal curve and fold of the armor realigning the punctures to less dangerous parts of her body, but it still hurt like hell and she already had a sheen of sweat coating her forehead from the agony she felt. Yet she ignored her injuries, ignored the spiral her stomach felt like it was doing, and instead put on a brave face and grabbed the hardened dirt at her collar. Tugging it out, she crushed it into a fine powder in her hand and let it fall to the ground.

“That the best ya got?” Jack growled out, pulling another piece of debris from her thigh. “Thought this was a fight, not a tea party.”

Celestia scowled. “You’re doing nothing by feigning strength, Jack.”

“This is nothin’,” Jack dismissed, reaching to pull the last of the reminits of Celestia’s attack from her body.

Celestia was by Jack in a flash, already swinging her sword at the farmer’s arm, catching Jack by surprise—the woman had only just finished speaking and had already resumed their engagement, seemingly thirsty for blood.

Jack was more than eager to oblige. Seeing her own blood ebb down her body, crimson lines pointing to her wounds in the same way roads lead to Rome, had done something to her. It was waking up an angry part of her, a part she tried not to show to anyone if she could help it. Moving in closer, she decided to forgo her weapon for the moment, knowing this close it’d simply slow her down, and stepped into Celestia’s next slash, batting the all-folk’s armed hand away and struck her hand forward, grabbing Celestia’s throat and squeezing, rising her up to the air in one-hand, lifting her off her feet.

The all-folk immediately took to gagging, struggling for breath within Jack’s powerful grip.

On instinct, Jack shot her free hand to the side, blocking another slash Celestia attempted to deliver in an attempt to escape, then swung her fist forward, hitting Celestia’s solar plexus, the blow sending a violent tremor through the other’s body, the convulsions making Jack bare her teeth in feral satisfaction. An eye for an eye wasn’t the way to live, but Jack would be damned if it didn’t feel good sometimes.

Rearing back, Jack threw her weight behind another strike, only for a foot to instantly connect to her face. Her arms went limp and she stumbled backwards as Celestia did the same, the farmer clutching at her bleeding, broken nose, the princess drawing deep gulps of air, rubbing at her neck, where her skin showed red marks from Jack’s fingers.

“Goddamn bitch,” Jack sneered, her eyes watering involuntarily from Celestia’s blow but her soul burning hot enough that she didn’t care about her yet-again ruined face; rather, her fists clenched into heavy iron pendulums and she paused, torn between moving towards her greatsword or attacking while Celestia was still recovering. Playing it safe, she moved to her sword and brought it into position once more, stumbling a hair as she did, her body aching, screaming at her to stop. Celestia, likewise, assumed stance, both in a way back to square one, save for Jack’s growing collection of injuries and fatigue and Celestia’s wince every time she shifted her body. That and the still-present marks on her neck were the only real proof that Jack was keeping up, that it wasn’t just Icarus flying too close to the sun. That maybe there was still hope, still a chance.

But Jack had to act. Digging her feet into the hard ground, Jack knew on a subconscious level, that the next blow landed. That would seal the fight. She wasn’t as catastrophically injured as she had been when fighting Dmitri, when her lifeblood soaked the carpet of his posh office. But even then, she wasn’t as afraid as she was now.

Now it felt like she had a lot more to lose, worse. It felt like she could lose.

Gritting her teeth, Jack sucked in one more breath, and charged.