In the not-so-distant past, electric shock therapy was often carried out in secret on patients with mental illness. The helmet-like restraint devices used were less a treatment than a method of torture, breaking minds and spirits to enforce silence and obedience.
If the helmet on the hero's head truly served a similar function… then what, exactly, did the gods—or Zeus himself—intend by forcing such treatment upon this man?
An urge welled up in Aslan to shatter the grotesque device. If the gods sought to erase the hero's will, he would not allow them to succeed. After all, if the hero's own thoughts posed no threat, there would be no need for such a cruel restraint.
With his resolve set, Aslan shifted tactics. He angled the tip of the holy spear toward the hero's head. If he could destroy the helmet, the tide of battle might change.
Hercules, his chest wounds now sealed beneath layers of mecha plating, hefted his axe once more. This time, however, he did not unleash his full might. It was as if he had learned from his earlier exchange, adjusting his attack to account for Aslan's ability to reflect damage. His movements no longer seemed directed by instinct or experience alone, but rather like the cold calculations of a machine analyzing data and correcting errors.
From afar, Helen watched through the eyes of the birds circling overhead. The corner of her lips curved as she observed Aslan's repeated strikes toward the helmet. Turning away, she prepared to withdraw into the divine realm. To her, the outcome was already decided.
By tomorrow, Hercules would no longer walk this world.
This would surely spell trouble for Zeus—but what of it? So long as she was satisfied. Helen raised her hand in a languid wave, whispering as if in parting.
"Goodbye, Hercules. I wonder… how does it feel to fall from the heights of divinity back to the earth? Welcome back to the ground."
A calculating glint flickered in her eyes. It was her time to step onto the stage, to dazzle the gods with her performance. She had already chosen a title for her play: Rebellious Helen.
Back in the canyon, Aslan's blows continued to be parried. Hercules's raw strength exceeded his own, forcing Aslan into a defensive rhythm. If brute force could prevail, he would have broken through long ago—but against this opponent, that was impossible.
Gritting his teeth, Aslan darted back, then lunged, thrusting the silver spear toward the side of Hercules's head. The hero casually raised his hand and caught the strike mid-surge, halting it with unnerving ease.
Aslan strained against him, but the spear would not budge. He dared not release it. If Hercules seized the holy weapon, his already terrifying skill with axe and body would only grow deadlier. A spear in one hand and axe in the other—he would carve Aslan apart like meat for dumplings.
Yet if Aslan refused to let go…
The axe was already poised, ready to fall.
And then—
A figure leapt from behind Hercules, a massive forging hammer raised high. The weapon crashed down, meeting the arc of Hercules's axe with a resounding clang. Fairy words flared across the blade in glowing script.
Aslan's eyes widened, recognition flashing. He shouted the meaning aloud:
"[Collapse]!"
Estée Lauder might not have grasped the full nuance—after all, she had only just begun studying the modified fairy script under Aslan's guidance. The language of the fairies, once used for blessings, had been painstakingly adapted by him for combat. To fight with it, the symbols had to be twisted into their inverse: curses, decay, destruction.
Through his research, Aslan had even forged entirely new characters, reverse-engineered from the original script.
Estée Lauder, in striking to aid him, had etched that very word upon the axe.
The blade cracked. A heartbeat later, it exploded in a violent burst, shards scattering like deadly shrapnel. Weaponless, Hercules's threat diminished in an instant.
Estée Lauder wasted no time. She hurled open her box, unleashing a swarm of small mechas. They latched onto Hercules's limbs and torso, grappling to restrain him.
The opening was all Aslan needed.
He drove the holy spear into the earth, vaulting upward. His legs hooked around Hercules's neck as he drew his forging hammer. With a savage swing, he brought it crashing down upon the helmet. Fairy words blazed across the metal, fusing with his craftsmanship. The device cracked, sparked, and shattered.
The electric backlash jolted Hercules violently. Stimulated by the current, the great hero roared and seized Aslan by the throat as if he were no heavier than a cat. In a blur, Hercules hurled him aside.
But Aslan twisted midair, driving the holy spear into the ground to halt his momentum. His boots skidded across stone as he steadied himself, gasping but alive.
-End Chapter-
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