Chapter Text
When the large magic box falls apart around her, the first thing that comes to her mind is that they tricked her. They had lured her like a trusting prey into a carefully orchestrated trap, and she fell for it.
Hook. Line. but not quite Sinker.
The sight that greets her is a sea of audience, eager faces, weary expressions, and confused glances.
“Ladies and gentlemen... this concludes my opening performance. Now, without further ado... we may proceed to the trial of our god.”
Even as the magician Lyney begins to bow and talk to the audience, Furina hears not a word of it. As if submerged in the ocean’s depths, the voices around her muddle and distort like water.
The court hall of the all-too-familiar Opera Epiclese brings dread to her stomach; the scorn and hateful voices of the mob from only hours prior still ring loudly in her ears amongst the inaudible echoes of the ones around her.
“We trusted you to save us!!”
“Why didn’t you do anything?!”
“How could you let such a tragedy happen!?”
Their words bite with venom, and in her heart, she knows they have every right to spite and hate her for her inaction, but what was she to do then?
She is powerless to the prophecy, just as she is powerless to do anything of help. There’s nothing—not a word of platitude or explanation—that she could offer them.
Nothing she could do but keep her head firmly up and continue the centuries-long opera she’s been dancing so many circles around; she wonders if there’s a reality out of it once the truth comes out.
Now here she is, once more in the ever-blinding spotlight. It is only natural for her to follow the unwritten script with the ease of someone who’s been doing it for years.
Never mind the turmoil that shakes underneath the mask; the lights are still on, the audience is still watching, and the show must go on.
It has to.
Furina chuckles at the teen boy, her tone taking on a hue of amusement. “Ah, so this is what it is. Yes... you deserve praise for the effort you took to raise the dramatic stakes."
Truthfully, she may have harbored some bias against the Fatui—the children of the House of Hearth by extension—but who wouldn’t when an established member and one of their Harbinger struck her claw hands into her chest and left her shaken and scarred with terror?
Children they may be, but they are still part of the nosiest organization in the seven nations. However, a much more vulnerable part of her is deeply wounded by this, to think they would collude with the Fatui to get the jump on her.
In the corner of her eyes, she sees the ever-unbiased Iudex looking down at them with his steel eyes on her every move, as if to ensure she doesn’t escape. Had he truly lost faith in her to resort to this traitorous betrayal?
Could Furina blame him? When all is said and done, she deserves not an iota of it anyway.
What person would respect a farce, a liar? With the centuries of deceit standing between them, perhaps this is a long time coming.
“Do not forget, however, that I am Focalors, the God of Justice—the embodiment of justice itself.” She muses, churning every bit of her will forward to overrun the waves of heartbreak.
A human’s heart is easy to break, but she isn’t allowed to be human at the moment or the last couple hundred years. Then again, what is a few more heartbreaks to do to a heart that’s beyond shattered far too long ago already?
Crossing her arms, she stares down at the magician intimidatingly. “Does it not strike you as even the least bit absurd to bring the very concept of justice to trial? What even for on that matter?"
Lyney takes a step back, an unreadable expression on his face, with his twin sister joining beside him. She could make out a few Fatui agents loitering around near the stage, perhaps as their protection.
How cute! Despite what they are, she wouldn’t dream of doing them harm.
“Of course, it is only natural for humans to struggle to understand the actions of a god. However, you will need more than that to convict me of a crime... ”
Besides, she’s not really capable of doing much harm in that manner. Her sword may be ornately beautiful and sharp as it is crafted, yet it is genuinely next to useless in her unskilled hands.
A fine blade reduced to nothing more than a prop for a performance, just like everything else in her long, interminable fate.
Lumine crosses her arms, “That is true, but my charge here is unrelated to your conduct as an Archon.” She begins calmly, too assured for an outlander who knows nothing of what she's messing with. “Instead, I would like to charge you as a fraud who's never been the Archon in the first place."
There’s only so many things that’s ever truly capable of striking fear into someone who essentially can’t die and has lived through more generations of her people than she ever wants to; this is one them.
‘How in the ever-loving fuck,’ is what she wishes to say.
Five centuries and not a whiff of doubt, at least in her identity and station as Archon. Little Miss Troublemaker comes along one day, and suddenly its the most obvious thing?!?!
Instead of freaking the fuck out at someone seeing through her, she throws her head back and cackles like no tomorrow because if she doesn’t patch this up soon, there might just not be.
“That’s truly absurd! There is no way that I, Focalors, otherwise known as Furina de Fontaine, a member of The Seven, and the Regina of All Waters, Kindreds, Peoples and Laws of Fontaine, could be anything other than your true Archon.”
“May I interpret these words... as your refusal to stand trial?” Finally, he speaks and Furina does not know what to make of his indifference. “In that case, you will have the opportunity to defend your honor through a duel.”
To her left, Clorinde marches up to the stage poised and ready, her violet eyes darkened with determination. Furina wants to laugh; no, she wants to cry, or perhaps do both simultaneously while swimming in hysteria.
“You... You would draw your blade against a god?” She would. Furina knew the answer to that question even before it left her lips. She knew this woman well and long enough to know that she would, in fact, do it.
But she can’t help herself anyway, because Furina is pathetic like that. “You would draw your blade against me?” is what she truly wishes to ask but she can’t.
Not now, not ever. Because that’s not her role, that’s not allowed in her script. It doesn’t matter if they shared idle gossip over tea and cakes between trials, doesn’t matter if she’s often discussed fashion trends with her at times. So what if she was the closest thing to Furina that could be called a friend? It does not matter anymore.
Here is a woman who Furina always felt safe with. Seven knows she has very few people with whom she could feel safe in their presence. She has been there for almost every trial, social calls and the occasional outing since she first took up the post.
Not even a decade ago, she swore her allegiance to her archon, and pledged her loyalty to protect her. Now she stands before her, sword drawn and the very sharp tip just barely touching Furina's neck.
Clorinde knows she does not need to answer that question, even she knows her so-called archon well enough that it is one question that answers itself.
Ah, this might be her hardest scene yet.
Perhaps a century or three earlier, Furina might have broken character. However, the mask she wears is practically fitted on her face like her second skin by now, so all the self-proclaimed goddess does is tilt her head back and laugh even more.
She found out very early that the best way to muffle down threatening tears is by laughing out loud. “I see... It seems like you have made up your mind,” Furina declares, confident and arrogant. Her thoughts, on the other hand, are scrambling to find an out.
Every scene has a script, and each one has a Start and End.
Ad-libbing is practically her specialty, but even that needs to have a foundation for how she could reach End with her secrets in tact. She could stand trial, but with this level of setup, clearly the prosecution has some kind of preparation to wretch the truth out from her. She could stake on the gamble and try to weasel her way around it, but her failure would doom everyone.
No, it’ll only back her up into a corner she can’t escape from—more than what she is in now. Yet Furina knows it’ll be a cold day in the underworld before she even dreams of defeating the Champion Duelist; far more formidable opponents have felled by her hands, and Furina can barely parry properly.
The archon finds herself caught between two impossible options, unstoppable force meets immovable object. Curiously, she wonders if this is fate tugging the prophecy's strings along. This trap they conjured is ingenious, she has to admit; she’s never been cornered like this in all her centuries of ruling.
And its all because of a chaos magnet named Lumine.
Furina knows she should’ve done something about that conniving, sly, thrice-damned one nosy fuck of a traveler sooner; with her running around, it’s almost laughable that she didn’t anticipate this.
It's a wonder how this hadn’t happened sooner; didn’t it take her no more than three measly months to end Inazuma’s year-long civil war?
“Lady Furina, do you accept the duel?” The dragon asks her once more; even the crowd is starting to get anxious with her hesitance.
How is she supposed to choose? A risky trial that can doom Fontaine or a duel to death—
Oh
Oh, the answer has been glaring at her all along, hasn’t it? The words in the script are written so prettily in the color of her pain, and only her denial blinds her to it.
But alas as leading lady, she has to follow each word to the letter.
After all, if the scales of justice have the lives of the people on one end and her suffering on the other, it is more than obvious which side it should tilt, has tilted.
It wouldn’t be the first time she bled for her nation and its people, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.
But she would do it, endure it with all the might of her human self. For them, she would, because she at least owes them this much for being the fake who couldn’t do anything to ease their suffering.
Furina is a human, but when she is on stage, she is first and foremost an actress, playing the role of a god.
Good actresses hone their craft to mesmerize the whole crowd, so much so that they don’t notice the show they’re in or the play they’re a part of.
Furina sighs, dips her head down and takes a step back. The entire hall watches in silence with bated breath. The Gardes are on standby, waiting for their commands, while Lumine readies her stance to restrain the self-proclaimed goddess should she bolt.
Instead, the Hydro Archon’s sword manifests in her dainty gloved hand. Splendor of Tranquil Waters some would recall the name of the blade, its ornate embellishment reflecting the blue glow of the Oratrice.
“Dear me, one duly hates how this is how things came to be. Fret not, for I am your archon, god of Justice, and if this is what my dear people demand of me as their justice, Then so be it."
Furina de Fontaine holds the sword up to match her surprised opponent’s stance; judging by the bewildered expressions all around, this is not an outcome they anticipated.
Good, she is nothing if not amazing at destroying other people’s script and rewriting her own lines.
Her champion’s serious expression falters for a moment into one of worry; a less observant person would have missed it. The two outlanders behind her each gasp with surprise, and even her oh so dear Iudex is speechless at her choice of action.
“I accept your challenge; it shall be the most grandiose duel of all time!” She proclaims almost tauntingly, and loud with bravado, she turns to face her shell-shocked audience.
“What’s the matter my dear people? You all seem so shocked teehee!!” Furina sings with practiced glee. “Come now…. Did you really expect me to fall for such a sham of an attempt at trickery? You underestimate the divine!”
“I’m the Hydro Archon, God of Justice, Focalors.” She grins wide, cheeky, and side-eyed at Clorinde who watches on in stunned silence. “What harm can a mere mortal as she, inflict on me, a god?”
But her part does not end there; she addresses the audience with renewed fervor: “People of Fontaine, as your god, I will admit that I've been running away for a long time. I'm sorry, everyone. I was unable to protect the people of Poisson... It is my duty that I’ve failed, and such is my crime.”
This song and dance are familiar to her—the drama, the theatrics. And on cue, the people respond with their adoring appraisal and approval—a song she’s played for centuries that she could do in her sleep.
“You are not the only ones to be disappointed in me. I, too, am exceedingly disappointed in myself.” Yet, Furina allows herself just a single breath of honesty. She regrets what became of Poisson and mourns them as the people mourn their loss, a failure she could never forgive herself for.
Her greatest failure, and perhaps this could serve as her repentance even if the blood she would bleed would not bring them back. Maybe if she bled enough to match the death toll of casualties from that incident, her heart could stop aching with guilt.
“But now, it is time for the Hydro Archon to show you her courage and resolve!” The audience claps and cheers, jovial and eager with excitement.
They've never seen their archon in combat before so it is quite a rare treat for them, and just like that, the matter of why she has to be trialed is long forgotten from their minds.
Same song, different beat, same melody, different lyrics.
Furina brandishes her sword up and above her head, “Children of justice, judgment is your right. Behold, you shall spectate the might of the divine. I, Furina, will use this trial to show the world the true meaning of justice!”
Her high, mighty front hides the very much terrified person underneath. Even then, nothing would stop her from playing her part: ‘I’ll do anything to protect you, even this.’ Furina thought to herself, it is all she can do.
As the target of their schemes turns their meticulous plan around, Lumine shares a concerned glance with Clorinde, who looks all sorts of conflicted about what she agreed to do.
The duel is meant to scare her into agreeing with the trial; never did any of them expect the lady to actually accept going on with it.
“Is she really serious? This wasn't the plan!!” Paimon frantically whispers to her companion but Lumine shrugs, “Doesn't matter, she's ready to actually go through with it to protect her secret…… What are you hiding, Furina?”
Their plan is already going sideways, and there’s been no countermeasure placed beforehand should they come into this situation. They underestimated the archon and thought she be too meek to do anything but the obvious.
Neuvillette, in particular, is getting the inclination that things are about to fall apart at the seams; this course of action is much too unlike that of his lady.
But then again, it is quite established that, despite their 400 years of ruling side by side, he doesn’t actually know her at all.
With their predicted fate changing course—or perhaps even staying on track where it has been going all along. The Chief Justice believes something huge is approaching them.
And they are powerless to stop it.
Furina is no combatant; a choreographed fight in a performance is worlds different from a true duel. She is slow, she can barely dodge, and the most she could do is parry and take the hits.
In fewer words, she's fucked.
Oh, but she can take the hits alright, more so than anyone will ever think she’s capable of. Enduring the pain is nothing to her; it’s all she’s good for, really.
The stage is cleared, the battle platforms added, and their lovely extras of pesky magician siblings and nosy travelers take a seat in the audience. The gardes surround the perimeters, ensuring no way for her to flee, not that she would.
Silly children of hers, you can’t cage someone who put the chains on themselves and threw them the key.
She stands at the ready on one side and Clorinde on the other; the champion has her sword out on one hand and her pistol on the other. With impassive violet eyes watching her god, she wondered if the woman would hesitate or show some semblance of mercy.
Furina doesn't want to think of the implications if she doesn't.
Neuvillette taps his cane, garnering everyone's attention: “This duel to the death shall be between Duelist Champion Clorinde and Lady Furina de Fontaine."
“You can still stand down.” Furina taunts her increasingly reluctant opponent. “Surely none here would judge you if you wish to; it is understandable after all.”
But the woman huffs in retort, “You ought to know by now that I wouldn't.” Clorinde snaps, her frustrations building. “And yet, it appears that you are the one that’s uncertain.”
Furina knows she's referring to the tremble of her hands, her sword very much wavering in her grasp for all to see, her terror manifesting in actions she can't control.
What she can hide on her face, her body betrays her. But Furina is a perfect actress; no matter what mistakes she slips through the mask, she can cover them with the same ease.
Furina forces a chirpy laugh, sweet and deceitful. “My dear champion,” she says, not her name that's heavy on her lips like lead. “I am merely concerned for your well-being. I may not seem like it to your mortal eyes, but I do care deeply for my children of justice. I’ve always cared for them.”
From the very day she came into being, she looked her mirror-self in the eye and took on this treacherous role, to the endless days for five centuries filled with loneliness and sorrow with no one to confide in. Everything she’s ever done—every strained laugh, every forced smile, tears, and agony she's endured. How the pressure presses down on her is heavy and suffocating and she may stumble, bend under the weight but never allow herself to break.
All for them, always for them.
How can she not care? How can her actions be anything less than the love she harbors for the people she so desperately wishes to save?
“You can still stop this. It's not too late just yet." The Hydro Archon smiles, leaning on her weapon handle with her chin resting on top. “Regrets don't become of you, my dear Champion.” She presses on, knowing it surely will click Clorinde’s buttons.
Ah, it would be most cruel to use her like this.
Furina is sure that after this duel, no one would ever have the guts to question her ‘divinity’ ever again. She just has to make sure the duelist is angry or at least frustrated enough to follow her script.
Or perhaps, maybe, just maybe .
The woman would withdraw from the duel because she would not harm her god…… ridiculous, she shan't be thinking up such ridiculous scenarios.
Clorinde’s face looks stormy from her words, and Furina exhales tiredly. This is going to hurt like a bitch. She certainly invited it upon herself, but it doesn't mean she likes it.
Such pain is only relieving when inflicted on her by her own hands; she knows a thing or two about mortal wounds. She did have to test the extent of her ‘cannot die’ curse after all.
What a hassle! She's wearing one of her favorite outfits as well, and now it's going to be ruined.
She steals a glance up at her resident dragon sovereign, but he is placid as ever. Losing his faith is probably the harshest blow for her, but she supposes that at the end, she is still human and he is still not.
She only wished she could have held onto it for a little while longer.
“Let the duel commence," he announces, and like lightning, Clorinde zips forward towards Furina, making her move first.
Electro energy flutters along with her movements, and she slashes with her sword swiftly and mercilessly. Probably wanting to end the fight as quickly as she could.
Furina, with all the grace she could muster, leaps and dodges. She does not anticipate such direct attacks, but her observant eyes could immediately tell that she's now not the only one putting on a show. While Clorinde may look like she's being ruthless with her, in actuality, the duelist is holding back quite a bit. Movements exaggerated more to intimidate than harm, fast yet full of openings.
She probably wants to overwhelm her into surrendering, operating under the belief she's not actually an god and would back down in a real fight. She doesn't know that any tactic to overwhelm Furina is nothing but a laughing joke.
Make no mistake, Furina is terrified.
Like that night with The Knave, but amp it up by a thousand because its Clorinde, and she never thought she would ever need to fear Clorinde.
Her body is moving with pure survival instincts, vibrating with terror despite the playful smile she wears. Her blows don't land, and her parries barely save her; she's quickly sweating, but she is nothing but persistent in her act.
This is a performance, and she would damn well put on a damn good show because, in the end, that’s all they want to see after all.
A shove.
“Ah! Got me there!”
A hit to the side.
“Hehee good one, my champion!”
The champion, in her frustration, sends her stumbling and on her back. “Do you yield?” She thunders, her sword grazing her archon’s jugular.
It's a headache and half fighting someone who deliberately doesn't fight back, more so when she doesn't want to hurt her. Yet Furina laughs loudly and boisterously while rolling over. The sound is grating on her ears, it sounds so wrong.
The blade cuts Furina's neck, making a fine, thin line that is bleeding red. Clorinde flinches back, pulling her sword away instantly. Furina stands on her feet, the fingers of her glove red from caressing the cut.
“My my holding back are we? Come now, my dear champion; hahaha we all know you are capable of much more than that,” She sings songs, her bloodied hands twirling her blade while blood seeps and drips from the cut.
The hall is unusually silent, watching the duel with morbid fascination, for they've never seen their god act in such a way. Disturbed would be a word to describe the feeling in their guts at the spectacle before them.
Furina's usually pleasant smile filled with bravado is now eerie, taunting, mocking.
As if she's daring her champion and bodyguard to kill her.
Even the Chief Justice for once wears an expression that resembled that of a stricken man. Watching this duel unfold, he found himself unable to recognize the person wearing his archon's face.
Outside the opera house, heavy rain thunders down like a dark omen.
The words 'Stop the duel’ and 'Miss Sigewinne, please tend to Lady Furina’ almost burst from his lips at the sight of her red blood. The wood of his balcony seat cracks under his death clutch, but he could not stop this fight, not with how things are or with the position he's in.
Honestly, what was the point of their trap if this is what it led to? Forced to spectate, he only wishes that Clorinde does something quick.
In the arena, Clorinde staggers back from her opponent with shock. She did not mean to hurt her; the sight of Furina's blood makes her sick. She gasps, lowering her blade, “Lady…. Lady Furina—”
“Don't,” her cold voice echoes off the walls. Angrily, she glares at the woman.
“You had your chance champion; you made your choice, now stick to it. ”
But the fury in her voice catches Clorinde off guard. Is her archon always capable of sounding so scathing? Furina rolls her eyes at Clorinde's unmoving stance. Must she do everything herself?
“Does the word of a Harbinger carry more weight than your faith in your god? Is it easier to trust an outlander than the one you've served all these years?”
Furina circles her frozen opponent, unlike the true prey that she is; she is an actress, and this is a opera. And a opera by her will never risk being boring; she is the Hydro Archon and they will get nothing less than a spectacle befitting of a god.
“What did they tell you, my dear champion? That I cried for mercy and begged for my life at her hands? That I'm too pitiful to be god? Does it not speak for itself when one still stands before you despite an attempt at assassination by a Fatui Harbinger?”
Neuvillette's face immediately pales; he doesn't know of this. When did this occur?! Navia herself looks like she's been slapped; the woman who helped her during Poisson's crisis had attempted to kill their archon?
In the audience, the two children of the House of Hearth flinch at the reminder of their Father's attempt, and Lumine winces at the jab, knowing that's one piece of information she didn't divulge during their discussion. Whispers break out, and people start to hiss and sneer at the two magicians.
Meanwhile, Clorinde’s face grows grim, although for an entirely different reason. When was this? Had she failed her archon even before this moment?
Furina, on the other hand, suppresses a shudder at the memory; it certainly wasn't her most fondest memory having to sneak into the Palais Mermonia and back into her room undetected while sporting a bleeding, gushing wound on her chest.
It was a damn miracle she hadn't bumped into any melusines, nor had she dripped any blood on the way that they could've sensed. Furina laughs amusedly at their faces, all worried and shocked as if they held any care for her. Before this, she would have fallen for it, but she knows better now.
It'll always be just herself, on her own, carrying this burden.
“Foolish of you! I am Furina de Fontaine, and the whole lot of you should have known better than to underestimate me, your god.” She beckons her head at Clorinde.
“Time is ticking, my champion. Are you just going to stand there this whole time? This duel needs to end someday. ”
This urges the woman to take her stance, but her hesitance is much clearer now. Darting forward, they resume trading blows after blows, leaving only the sound of metals clashing as they meet and Furina's hysterical laughter.
“Yield!”
“I’m good, no thanks!”
When the electro allogene accidentally miscalculates a dash and leaves a long cut trailing up Furina's forearm, she jumps back, balking and horrified.
“Worry not, tis but a scratch!” She giggles, “I do say it's an honor to be on this side of your blade for once; you truly live up to your title, my champion.”
“You are not fighting back,” Clorinde seethes, her own hands trembling. The last thing she wants is to hurt Furina, but all she's doing today is hurting the one she swore to protect.
Furina shakes her head. "False; I'm giving you my all.” True, it's only through her sheer willpower that not a yelp or scream of pain escapes her lips.
The woman has to push the bile that spikes at her throat. “Then fight me properly. Attack me." There's only so much more of this insane farce she could deal with, but Furina does not even look bothered, unwavered by anything thrown at her.
How much of her resilience did they truly doubt of her?
Inspecting her wound, the self-proclaimed goddess shrugs. “What reasons would I have to do so?” Crimson drips from the large cut and dribbles down to the point end of the blade held in her hand.
Furina smoothes her face to one of pity: “You are an innocent child of justice doing what you must to uphold your justice; I’ll sooner die where I stood than to harm you.”
Clorinde wants to scream; she nearly does. It's like Master Callas all over again, except this is Furina, her archon, her god, who is supposedly a human by Lumine’s words. She does not want her archon's blood on her hands, whatever entity she is notwithstanding.
“Will you yield my champion?”
And she hasn't said her name ever since they started this damned duel. Clorinde, in all her pent-up rage and frustration, goes for a much deadlier blow than she intended to ever allow herself.
“Whatever you do, I can take it! I’ve always been able to take it; I’m made to take it! I can take it ALL—”
It's only by her misfortune—or was it Furina’s? At this point, it is no longer clear—that Furina is too slow to block or move away in time.
A deathly hollow silence blankets the hall, and every eye that is watching widens with horror at the scene. A few lesser-willed spectators even scrambled up to their feet to leave the hall, bolting for the restrooms to empty their stomachs. The champion’s sword buries deep into Furina's torso, puncturing through her body and causing blood to splatter nearly everywhere. By the lady's small gasp of surprise, even she doesn't see that one coming.
Clorinde blanches, letting go of the handle in a blink of an eye as if burned by its touch. Her legs stagger back in small hasty steps, her composure completely destroyed as her face twists to one of pure, unadulterated terror.
For those brief few seconds, not a soul dares to draw breath until the quiet is broken by Furina’s own maniacal laughter.
“AHAHAHAHAHAhahaha oh goodness! That's….. wow, I didn't think you had it in you! Look, everyone, I'm impaled!?!”
Her screeching is loud and piercing through that tense silence. “Good show, good show!! Bravo my champion Clorinde!!!”
The duelist in question tumbles to her knees, her entire body shaking from the very potent scent of Furina’s blood assaulting her nostrils. Her pupils are wide and her breathing erratic but Furina pays her no mind. She's done her part, and all that's left is for Furina to sell it good.
Compared to everything she’s been through, this is nothing. A mere pinch to her mountains of torturous years. Compared to everything she sacrificed—her blood, her peace, her sanity—this is nothing.
Compared to what doom lies at their feet at any sign of her failure, she would shoulder each jab and stab metaphorically or literally with her head held high and not a stutter in her act. Furina may be broken; maybe what awaits her after the lights go off is her long-awaited death. Yet she’s prevailed all this time; she hasn’t faltered yet, so she would not begin now, and Celestia be damned if a blade through her torso is what breaks her act—what a petty thing to fall over about—she would curse herself twice over if this is what do her in.
Either way, Furina takes no shit, she’s going to come out on top by hook or by crook with her entire existence screaming for death. If that’s what it takes, she would not allow everything to be for nothing.
“I'm sure our duelist here would be missing her trusty blade but I'm afraid I'll make quite the mess if I pull it out.” She nonchalantly drones on, gliding back and forth on stage as if her entire body isn't on fire with agony from the gaping wound.
A pool of red begins to gather at her feet; the hall is so muffled in stifled, dreadful silence that save for Furina, it sounds like no one else dares to even blink or take a breath. All too terror-struck to do anything but look away from the gruesome sight.
They each wondered how they got to this point, what even was the previous trial about. What is going on?
“I'm many things, but this body can be fickle to fix as it is, however, fear not, my citizens! Our champion is armed with a secondary weapon after all, or!! Or better yet, she can have mine!”
Throwing her sword towards the fallen champion, she lets the weapon fall before her trembling figure while Clorinde's blade is still skewered through her.
“Pick it up,” she tells her sweetly, with not a pitch of pain or a twitch in her grin, ever the perfect actress.
“Dearest champion, my champion, the duel is still on. Or have you realized that you can't kill me as you would a mere mortal?”
Clorinde's fearful gaze is forced to look up by gloved fingers caked in the smell of wet iron. A normal human would be dead by now, bled out dry, but Furina is still standing tall, not a limp in her step or change in her demeanor.
“Pick.”
Heterochromia eyes of water drops staring down at her with manic eyes, and yet what are those very faint hues of pain glazed in those orbs? What is she so desperately hiding that this is the natural course of action for her?
“It.”
A hand yanks for hers, pushing the handle of a weapon into her grip, not that she's able to muster the strength to do so. Distantly, it can be heard that the storm outside rages harder than ever, with angry raindrops slamming down on the opera rooftops.
“Up.”
Furina, battered and injured by her hands, stood firmly in front of her as if bored with her inability to continue. Clorinde's eyes spill the tears she's been holding in since the moment she drew the blade against her god.
Her god, always is, always has been.
“I….I yield.” She sobs, kneeling forward until her forehead touches the blood-spilled ground.
Furina’s own heart aches with guilt, but an actress gotta do what an actress gotta do to sell her act. She nods and slowly backs away, letting out a small breath of relief now that's done.
“STEP ASIDE!! Let me through!” A little human-looking melusine burst through the circle of gardes, rushing towards the injured lady. The poor thing is white as sheet and its probably not even her natural color.
The self-proclaimed goddess drops to her own knees herself; blood loss is not fun, even if it doesn’t kill her. “Lady Furina!” Someone calls out, but its all getting hazy now. She groans when the sword is pulled out, and more blood gushes out.
She’s being made to lay down, and someone must be using their lap as her pillow, or was it the other way around? She really should get up now; she can’t have the people seeing their archon in such a sorry state.
The show is still running, and what in the world is that noise?
“—Oratrice? Did Neuvillette activate it anyway?”
So that’s the Oratrice’s glow, a sign of it being activated and the mechanical parts whirring with life.
“No! My lady you must’n move!” She ignores Sigewinne, the melusine’s name she could finally recall. Isn’t this one meant to be thousands of feet underwater in coupon town, working as their head nurse? What’s she doing up here?
Furina pulls herself up to sit. “Oh for Seven’s sake…… bloody dragon, do you loath me that much? ” She is wincing through her words now that the adrenaline has flushed out
“I’ve no idea what caused this situation. It seems the Oratrice is taking the duel as the trial’s verdict. And according to the judgment of the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, Furina is—”
Furina swears to her mirror-self if that blasted machine causes her more work, she’ll take it apart gear by gear with her own bare hands. Her field of vision is flickering, and the smell of blood is so strong that she sort of forgets its her own.
"The Hydro Archon, guilty…….. to be punished via the death sentence."
Why did the dragon sound so horrified—Oh, that’s new.
Was that always an optional sentence? She honestly needs to pick that thing apart, like, yesterday, it can’t be spouting nonsense sentences like that willy nilly. Did her mirror-self create the damn thing? It couldn’t be Egeria…… and it most certainly isn’t Furina. If only she could remember.
Screaming. Lots of screaming and stomping, as well as the loud whine of an…..animal? Furina can’t tell with her senses, just shutting down on her one by one.
“Furina!! Furina! Furi—”
She feels herself being cocooned by a pair of arms, and two worried golden orbs flicker in her gaze before everything goes black.
“Shhhh take a nap my dearest Furina, your grand Finale awaits."