Because, Black men with afros.Originally Posted by Chojomeka
The bullets are the holy shit factor, the gun is just something that fires the bullets.
Still pretty awesome, and real.
Could he have been Bazzet'ed if it never happened to Bazzet in this dimesnion? :P
Convenient Spoilering Is Convenient
I've got a published book!
Please go and give it a read!
http://www.jukepopserials.com/home/read/767
Bazett as in, "Whoops got my arm torn off".
NASUVERSE STAMPEDE!!!
The Passing Lily.
…
Disclaimer: No monetary gain is made from this, I actually lose money due to electricity costs…
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“Our lives are not our own, we are bound to others, past and present. And with each crime every kindness, we birth our future.” –Cloud Atlas
…
-“It’s the oddest thing, you know?”
-(No I do not)
-“There are hundreds of universes that are exactly the same, except they’re not, you know…”
-(No…)
-“Sometimes, the eternal spirit of some universe mingles with the one in the next, kinda like a glitch of sorts, correct?”
-(Not really…)
-“Sometimes, the flow of time isn’t worth a jar of excrement in those universes, and some couples start boinking incarnations before they’re supposed to.”
-(I should’ve taken Lord Melloi’s classes…)
-Wizard Marshall Zeltrech, A Class on Fractures of Reality. (Attendees: 1)
…
The wagon was a rickety affair as it traveled upon the rough road. Pulled by two oxen, however, the horrible form of transportation was the most tenacious of the many wagons that traversed the dirt snake that flowed across the green hills of Britain. Like a single stream of ants the carts carried their payloads with diligence, but the one pulled by the brawny oxen was one of the few who stayed at the very forefront, untiring even as many pulled aside to rejoin at the end when their beasts of burden were fully rested.
However it was not the animals that made the wagon special, nor was it their odd tenacity that markedly made them different. Amidst sacks of potatoes, a page slept soundly clutching contently upon the two and a half short sword that was held against rough cotton. Against all odds, it seemed, the page was lucky enough to choose this singular wagon that miraculously did not need to stop, and therefore not have its stocks checked.
The page would not be discovered until the wagon arrived at the town, but the merchant driving the wagon would be so pleased he would simply leave the child there and return the page later on.
…
I doubted I would ever see such kindness from any merchant. The fact that he had promised to return me to my village baffled me soundly. The many merchants I had met, would tirade endlessly upon discovering a stowaway had been present upon their wagon.
The situation was so bizarre that I decided to leave before the merchant acted as I expected of him and enter the town at the end of the pathway. I wondered if I could truly return to the trading depot to request a ride home, but the conclusion to that train of thought rested firmly upon the outcome of how well the merchant would be able to sell his wares.
If his good spirits and light demeanor carried over as he sold his wares, as well as his advantage of being the only wagon currently present with the important foodstuff, wheat and oats, that many families depended upon. Concluding that logical train of thought, I found that it was very likely he would be in a very optimistic spirits when I hazard my request for my passage home.
A great weight lifted from my shoulders at this conclusion, though I still worried lightly if it was a forgone end; it was nowhere near the weight that dropped beforehand. Excitement started to bubble within me as I saw the sharp steeple of the church in the distance.
So engrossed upon those thoughts, I did not hear the footsteps upon the muddy terrain I was steadily working myself through. Work towards all the forms of combat aided me in my steps, keeping me steady as my leathers sank into the muddy pathway.
It was another matter entirely for the person who crashed onto me however, and quite suddenly I was tumbling down the side of the hill upon grass. The world becoming a steady, yet chaotic, twirl of red, green and blue. I have no doubt, had I not been trained by my mentor so fastidiously to shield my neck even at the slightest provocation of falling I would have most definitely have died.
As the ground finally stilled after my tumble, I was able to get myself upright within a moment. My state of dress was abysmal, scratches by rocks along the ribs and stains of grass on my brown tunic made me look like one of those children that roughhoused the day away. Sir Ector would undoubtedly say the same and have me mend it myself, and his inquiries would undoubtedly lead to my plan’s ruin within the day’s end.
I quickly sought out the being who was responsible, my eyes scanning the area with righteous fury.
I spotted the edge of a red scarf within a bush, and it’s rustling gave the person away, and I strode confidently as I realized that the cause of my future punishments was hiding and had no thought upon apologizing.
I was more than ashamed of myself when I met pitiful gold eyes as I looked over the bush. The boy had the long, wild hair of many peasant families, a vivid red in color, and was clad in a thick canvas sweater that was patched with a multitude of other colors. The article was many sizes larger for him, possibly belonging to the his father rather than himself. It pooled around him as he splayed himself out arms determinedly holding himself up, and noticeably keeping his weight away from his legs.
If my oath had not forbade it, I would have sworn in the Holy Father’s name right there.
I could not harm someone in need of help, with good conscience, especially if I was to become a knight alike Sir Ector.
I ignored his pitysome look with a sigh.
“Are you hurt, badly?” I inquired, attempting to harden myself against my emotions.
He shook his head thoroughly, attempting to reach for something. My eyes followed his grasping’s, maybe he was a cripple and required a crutch? It was unlikely, since the force that sent me tumbling over was much too fast for a cripple.
My eyebrow raised at the tablet lined with clay a few feet from his grasp, a wooden stick with a pointed stone attached to it with a piece of twine. I deftly reached the object with a few strides, the aches from the fall steadily registering themselves as I walked. They were worth noting, merely because I would have to hide them from sight later on, they were negligible otherwise. The warnings of Sir Ector to properly clean wounds rang from deep within my mind, however, and I realized I may have to ask this boy to lead me to the town’s well should I wish to do so.
Once the tablet reached his hands, I was awarded to the interesting sight of him quickly writing upon the clay tablet. I was flummoxed when he handed it to me, however, and returned it to him after a quick glance.
“My training in the literary works begins the next solstice.” I stated as he looked aghast at me. I felt a twinge of discomfort at his countenance, but that was swiftly crushed at the remembrance that I but one of the majority that was unable to read. Not only did I hide my pride under the deficits of the multitudes, but also under the premise that I would most certainly learn how to read later on.
It took me a moment to realize the importance of the tablet, but when the marks connected I voiced my thought into the air.
“You are unable to speak.”
The boy gave a nod and a smile given by mother’s when their children learned something quickly. The smile was alien to me, and I was left dumbfounded for a split second. The boy just found that his only source of help could not understand him and his inability to speak aired out, yet he smiles? His demeanor was undoubtedly even more confusing than that of the merchant, since I could find nothing benign upon his plight.
As I was engrossed upon my thoughts, he attempted to get up. His face contorted in pain and his legs shook with effort. It was not until he almost fell, quickly grasping onto a tree for support did I break out of my stupor and aided him wrapping my arm around his waist and pulling another over.
I almost wish I had not.
I was well aware of the famines that plagued the land I was within at the moment, information brought forth by listening to the many boisterous voices and avarice-laced claims of the merchants that followed the wagon I had chosen. A marauding band of bandits burnt the town’s crops months ago, to spite them for repelling their attack yester-year and the merchants had in stock the resources that would undoubtedly save the town and intended to sell it at exorbitant prices.
The boy’s body felt like bones wrapped upon skin to my hand, and the shift of his scarf as he stumbled into my arms revealed the silvery hue of scars across the front of his neck. They were the same I had seen countless times upon the burly arms of Bram, the blacksmith Sir Ector had commissioned to craft my blade. The boy’s still had the strange luster that accompanied Bram’s newer burns from his billowing forge, signifying their recent manifestation.
I was disgusted by my own disgust at the sight, certainly I could respect someone who could endeavor despite his wounds instead of feeling weak at the knees. That disgust gave away to surprise when my eyes trailed back up to his face to see his smile once more, as he pulled up the scarf with the hand holding his tablet. It was a sad smile, but understanding, I had the strangest feeling he wasn’t wearing the scarf for his own sake but for others.
I pointedly looked away, swiftly awarded with a small sigh from the benefactor of my aide. Whether it was one of contentment, or of disappointment of my actions I did not know. The mixture of surprise and disgust threshing my nerves fairly, and it was not until my beneficiary made a feeble attempt to clear his throat.
The odd sound startled me at first, and terrified me the next. It was guttural sound that I was sure that no man should make, vaguely reminiscent of the sound of an animal that had its throat cut open to end its life.
The sound was so dissonant to his smile and features I nearly lost my nerve and left him to seek aid. Preferably from the confines of the castle I resided and not this imbecilic property that allowed him to traipse in its territory as if he was in complete control of his linguistics and not suffering from malnutrition and maybe even starvation.
“I will aide you to your home.” I stated, fully intending to forsake my attempt to conceal my identity and demand the right to take him from where he resided and return with him to make sure he is under proper care. However, I had not even finished my sentence when he started to shake his head rapidly, pointing in the direction of the Trade Depot with the hand not hooked over my shoulder.
“You are harmed,” I stated pointedly, and when our eyes met I couldn’t help but feel smaller at the ferocity within them. While certainly not one that I expected from one of his countenance and disabilities, I could not shake the feeling that such an expression held true to the personality he most likely utilized the most. “It would be unwise to wear your body any further, unnecessarily.”
His continued glare made me want to swear, my patience was quickly being steadily worn away by this odd boy. I had half a mind to simply leave him and guard him out of sight, but fear crawled into my bowels at the thought that he might attempt to climb up the steep hill with his bare hands should I not aid him.
Despite the improbability of such a thing, I could not help but to fear the drastic measures he may take should I leave him to his own devices. The ferocity of gaze, his continued pointing toward the Trade Depot, only strengthened the fear that someway, somehow he would do exactly as I feared without my aid and bullheadedly rush up the mountain without even a care for his own countenance and safety.
“So be it.” I muttered in such a dark fashion I feared Sir Ector would bend reality to simply chastise me for my tone. I gave him a pointed look, that I hoped conveyed my true displeasure at his choice, but otherwise let no bone in my body convey my displeasure.
The only question was why I was not troubled the least about aiding him, or why I worried more of his health and his inability to speak more than I did of his displayed stupidity. It felt odd, but correct at the same time to support him. Each step helping him, made me feel more at ease, while each gasp of pain made me worry more and more of his health.
I could only acknowledge it as the teachings from Sir Ector shining through as if a revelation upon the true joy of helping others as a knight.
When we reached the road where he knocked me over, I had already forgotten of my own aches and pains. When my boots touched the muddy pathway as his did, I had already forgotten that I was not supposed to be there and I beamed at Sir Ector as he stood furiously upon the pathway where I slipped and fell.
It seemed when I was being taken away, I could not help but have my thoughts continuously brought back to the boy. Even Sir Ector’s continuous rambling about the sword that was no longer at my hip could not bring me out of my stupor.
I didn’t even know his name, yet I could not help but feel fond when I think of him. The way he attempted to speak through his tablet even as Sir Ector carried me as if I was a bushel of wheat to his horse, despite the fact he was doing it through a godly amount of pain. There was no doubt in my mind that he was truly grateful for what I had done, my first true attempt to aid someone culminating fruitfully as he furiously sought to clear my name despite my actions.
Sir Ector would not allow me leave of the castle for months afterward, not even for the hunts for provision in the wilds. I found myself unable to loathe my choices, even as I slowly forgot about the boy himself. I found myself slowly warming to the staff and befriending the men and women who cared for me my entire life, and even seeking out to aid them in menial duties.
Some nights I would, of course, be unscrupulously asked what instigated the change in my relations with the servants and the lower classes and truly I was only able to grasp at straws.
Though an odd smile and the color of gold was always brought to the forefront of my mind whenever the question was asked, I thought nothing of it and favored replying most befitting a noble squire to a favored companion by soaking said companion with a pail of water.
I began to make friends.
…
“Sir Kay…” I muttered a tad spitefully, “A tournament with the rule of the kingdom on the line and you forget your sword?” I sniffed egregiously as I passed the garbage dump of the encampment, “You have most certainly done this to simply spurn me for revealing your romances to Sir Ector.”
How many weeks must we stay at this rapidly rotting place? All for the sake of some sword buried within a stone, for the sake of a wizard’s words. As the story went, a being that went by the name of Merlin appeared amidst thunder and lighting and thrust the sword into the stone. Then he declared that that whoever pulled the sword from the stone was rightful ruler of Britain.
What a load of bollocks, the wizard had probably enchanted the stone to never relinquish it and simply wanted to be entertained for moment’s time. Once the Holy Order of the Church arrived, the wizards folly would be unraveled and he would be put the pike like the rest of his kind that intruded upon the lives of well-meaning.
Maybe they would even ask for the help of the Sirs and Lords present, and Sir Ector would allow me my dagger Carn once more. It has been a fortnight since I had last seen the blessed knife, given to me by the foremost-priest in the Monastery a week’s ride from my home. It had been a boon when seeking that witch in her pitch-black cave, and aiding an old friend of Sir Ector’s to marry his lover.
It would be undoubtedly helpful to finding whoever was causing this maddening, meaningless tournament that was an absolute waste of time.
Though I was quite sure that Sir Ector would consider my own machinations to continuously seek my companions to be the same. I could not help myself to allotting time to my numerous relations, it was a ghastly thought to even suggest that I ignore my acquaintances in favor for something as trivial as this tournament.
By all means, at this rate I’ll never find out if Tolle finally gets it past his perplexingly dense head that Scylla was nearing the end of the rope when romantic advances were in question and was pondering on strapping him onto a bed and having her way with him to convey her affections.
So distracted was I upon the spite; I was unable to notice the quick movement ahead of me. One moment I had been upright, the next I was upon the well-trodden grass with an uncomfortable weight upon me. My eyes met those of the trollop that had follow onto me, all intents upon trouncing him soundly with both fists and speech suddenly draining away as a wave of strangeness engulfed me.
He left my grasp almost immediately, pulling us both upright and between the spaces of a canvas tent. Thunderous footsteps and boisterous yells erupted from where we were previously occupied. His actions alongside the lack of ringing metal told me all I needed to know, the tournament’s collection of unsavory proprietors had grown tremendously the past week. The town would have been ransacked had there not been an overwhelming presence of knights in the area.
Still, anyone carrying anything vaguely of any worth would be pursued and beaten for whatever they had.
Truthfully, I had cared very little of the occurrences of this town, due to my abhorrence to the festivities and its overall un-necessity. For some reason or another however, I found myself caring very much of the increase in the town’s crimes this day and the inherent stupidity of the fellow for even traversing the outskirts of the tournament where criminals roamed and hunted.
I did not even bother with introductions, I immediately pulled down his red scarf and glared right into his surprised golden eyes.
“You should not be out here.” I hissed plaintively, glaring at him for all my worth. Taking in his features akin to a sponge to water. Despite the years that had passed I recognized him the moment he entered my proximity. His features were noticeably filled out, his eyes less sunken and his cheeks less prominent. His hair was trimmed, far from the excessive length I now remembered with extreme clarity, akin to Sir Kay’s despite being more lengthy and of the color of red.
His eyes widened further when he took in my own features, undoubtedly remembering me as well. He fumbled for the briefest of moments, before suddenly starting as though a torch had lit him. His gaze left mine and I instinctively glanced to where he brought his own vision.
Upon the muddy ground, was the selfsame clay tablet I had seen years ago. At this point in time, it was completely within my ability to understand all but the most complex of literary works and communication between the two of us would have come as easily as breathing.
The only complexity at this plan was that the tablet lay in pieces, the stylus broken into twigs and the clay returned from the earth from whence it came.
I had not felt such an urge to swear since my dagger had been taken away, the only solace I found was from my erstwhile companion who seemed far more depressed about his undoubtedly assured lack of communication until he procured another. Given the majority of the populace’s view on the art of literature and inscribing, I doubted that he would be able to procure it easily. It would be facetious for me to be presumptuous of the fact, but tablets such the one lying broken were most commonly found in monasteries where monks rewrote literature for future generations and could make no mistake in each transcript. The process of repetition that they tenaciously employed in their teachings dictated that without the tablets they would swiftly consume far too much parchment and ink to be self-sustained fiefs that they were.
Due to these multitude of reasons they also held a monopoly on the tablets and would rather eat their own extremities than give one away without a great deal of hazardous bickering and bribery. My own education at the behest of Sir Ector only came to fruition due to the knight’s un-doubtable reputation as the keeper of the lands surrounding the castle and sheer force of presence in full armor and equipment.
Coincidentally I was already planning on procuring one from the nearest source available in a similar manner, despite the inherent costs and time the endeavor will consume upon its course I did not find myself mitigated from the flow of thought. Despite the un-doubtable tedium the procurement will produce I did not find myself the least bit demotivated at the simple behest that I would be able to communicate with my companion.
The plan already set within my mind I turned to the boy who just finished his sigh of dismay.
“Do not fret.” I assuaged him simply, gaining his attention. “Such things are easily acquired.”
The sight of his face as it contorted into a picture of dismay was a memory that I would not sell for anything in the world. He obviously knew the tablet’s importance, and was in dismay due to the knowledge that attaining another would be nearly impossible.
At my behest however, attaining one would only be a tedious affair that I should undoubtedly hasten to accomplish to save both my precious time and his own. I could even fetch Sir Kay’s sword as I changed into more appropriate attire for dealing with monks.
Coincidently that brought the wind behind my sail of thought to peter out. Changing would most certainly reveal my hidden gender to my unlikely compatriot, yet at the same moment I could not find it within any territory of my mind to suggest he make his way without aid to the church within the town.
Oddly the revelation of my gender to my unnamed companion did not strike me as odd, especially under the remembrance of his actions to clear my name against a furious Sir Ector. The feeling that he would not share my secret even under the direst of threats should I tell him to keep it, assuaged the little fear I had of the revelation that I had planned. Having saved his life I was assured that he would not say anything, even when taken into account his way of speaking was through the written word.
I looked him up and down, making note of his superior height, the shorter length of the slightly patchier sweater, and the woolen trousers that fitted him akin to an oversized saddle upon a mule with larger boots to match. He would be akin to a piece of coal amidst stones if he walked alongside me in the more populous areas of the encampment, and seeing as the crest upon my chest marked me as a Page of Sir Ector, the situation would be called upon by a bevy of sly eyes and passed on by dozens of mouths by the end of the day.
Notwithstanding my plot to demand a ways for my unlucky ward to communicated with me by threatening the local parish within full armor and armaments afterward, which I had planned to do with him in tow.
…bah, I cannot simply gave up in the face of such meager adversity. I’ll ascertain a way to explain the rumors that will filter to Sir Ector’s ear after I had acquired my companion another inscribing tool to communicate with.
My mind set in resolution I beckoned for him to follow me through the maze of tents, his long stride easily keeping him within arm’s reach should he somehow slip and fall. I could not ascertain, as of yet, the condition of his leg, but taking into account the fact that many towns hardly gave adequate treatment of any wounds I would not be at all surprised if his leg was improperly healed and he was coping with the pain the past years.
Maybe an appointment with a the towns surgeon may be in order, but given the inconsistency between towns of the professionalism and skills of doctors I would be more at ease if I took him to my own physician rather than one I hardly knew. The doctor here could be mad and think that amputation would be necessary to relieve the pain, and that was certainly not a thought anyone would find at all pleasant.
So I made sure he was within arm’s reach as we steadily made our way to the tent that was the quarters I resided in with Sirs Ector and Kay.
I hesitated briefly as I let him in, and my features must have contorted at the hesitation more than I had imagined as his eyes quickly caught my own.
He cocked his head for a second, before a light I recognized lightly as realization illuminated his cheeks akin to a hot fire.
My own face felt as if I had pressed it far too close to the fireplace as I attempted to reconcile my features and heartbeat into something more presentable. Could I truly have been so transparent so that he could see through my disguise without even seeing me undressed? The thought truly made me wonder solidly about the entire method of my practice of keeping my gender discrete.
His pointed finger at my Squire crest, and a gesture towards areas of the body that usually depicted the anatomy of a woman, managed to both infuriate me yet cause my cheeks to feel as if there were coals merely inches away and my heart to start imitating a horses gallop.
“I-it’s a complicated matter.” I almost swore when I heard my own stammer, and I turned away from him as I crossed my arms of my chest. No matter what I did I could not regain control over my heart or where my blood continuously boiled. “My gender must remain a secret, I expect only this in return for my aid.”
Much to my chagrin he did not even pause before giving a nod and pointing to the table where a few slices of bread had escaped the ravenous bowels that had assailed the table just this morning. The remnants were but paltry remains that I considered scraps, but at the begging look upon his face and intermittent glances as he awaited for my conclusion made all too clear that underneath clothing and the height he was still the starved boy from years ago.
My heart stilled and I found myself assailed by feelings I could not accurately describe as they were truly foreign to me. When I acquitted to his pleadings his smile was so radiant that the feelings intensified and I desperately missed the gallops that my heart had been doing only moments ago as it was replaced by the feeling of cracking glass within my chest.
The feeling only continued to grow as he did not eat the paltry offerings left behind by the ravenous appetites of two Knights and a Squire and regarded as scraps. My red-haired companion merely packed them into his pockets with a beatific smile that I could only describe as saintly.
I could not bear to watch another moment as he consumed to smallest piece that had been left behind, and I regretted consuming the rest of the loaf at Sir Kay’s teasing behest mere hours ago. If I had only left that singular piece intact he would have been able to take that and consume the rest…
I decided that if I pondered upon the matter anymore I would go mad, and strike out. Given the fact the nearest solid object was one of the poles that lifted the grandiose tent up, such a bout of anger would only threated the integrity of the structure.
As I undressed and began to equip my armor and arms, I could not help but wonder about my mysterious golden-eyed companion. He seemed to readily radiate a seemingly benevolent aura whenever I glanced at him, his features were kind and fair, his build towering akin to the many knights I had seen despite his youth and lack of nourishment and the selfless nature only seemed to continuously grind against my conscience if he was the one that received the benefits I had readily reaped.
The only conclusion that I found completely and irrevocably sound was that he would make for the perfect knight.
…
Everything was slowly spiraling out of control. The barbarians of the North were rampaging through the countryside unmolested as the kingdom was ransacked by famines. There was no food to be found to feed the men needed to man the battlements, and those that attempted were too weak to hold back the tide of muscle and rage. The few strongholds that remain are manned by tired knights protecting the starving peasants within as the world outside slowly burned under the torches of the invaders. Horses were slaughtered long ago and messengers no longer came from the outlying fiefdoms, having done the same.
Camelot was filled with refugees, a mass of writhing skeletons and thin sinew that begged for food that I could not provide. My most loyal Knights were spread thinly in support of the meager army sent out to quell the massive numbers of barbarians that plagued the countryside. My faith in them was resolute, but I could not see that they could not hope to quell it before much of my people starve upon the streets of my own city.
Camelot was bathed by the setting sun in a bright red light reminiscent of blood, the streets toiled restlessly by the homeless and forgotten. Even those with titles of nobles were lucky to sleep near the furnace of a blacksmith or the empty coal ovens of the bakeries. The farms near the city were plagued so by vagrants and homeless that their crops were mere fractions of what were required to support my burgeoning city.
My knights were culling the barbarian horde, my servants have been dismissed to the farmsteads, the guards patrolled the streets below and gathered the dead, and Merlin used his magics to traverse the lands in search of aid from the fiefdoms that had been not heard since the last solstice. The mad hope that some may have weathered the storm and had fruitful harvest was tantalizing enough to send the wizard away.
“My King!” A voice I had not heard for months sprang to life, and I peered down the hall only to be flummoxed at the sight of Bediviere running towards me with all due haste. Clad in full armor and plate, no Knight ever ran within the confines of such armor as he wore, his breathes were ragged and once he neared. “I bring grand tidings from Lord Leodegrance! You must accompany me at once to-”
“Calm yourself, Sir Bediviere, catch your breath them you may address me.” I offered no alternative in my tone, and his jaw snapped shut at a moment’s notice. After his breath was stable and his eyes person less manic in status I inquired: “What tidings do you bring to me from my Father’s most loyal friend?”
“They had weathered the first barbarian onslaught successfully, my King!” Bediviere declared ecstatically his countenance now far removed from the battered knight he seemed to be, and my own eyes widened in conjunction with his declaration. His lands were mostly crops such as wheat and oat… “They have an abundance of food and crops, ready to be sent at Lord Ledegrance’s command!”
“Why has he not sent the bounty along with yourself?” I demanded, quickly surveying the streets below to assure myself that I was correct in the lack of foodstuffs.
“Father awaits for my call, my King.” A melodic voice came from the same direction from which Bediviere had come and I turned to face the speaker. Her gown was extravagant, soft, white linens supplanted by an shawl extravagantly embroidered with gold. Her hair was hidden by the same shawl, as she used the garment akin to woman in hiding, though I could not comprehend as to how something of such color and golden embroidery could hope to attract less attention.
I understood a mere moment after she stopped utilizing it as the failure of concealment, pulling it back to reveal her face and let auburn tresses flow and frame her face.
Bediviere bowed lowly.
“Truly your face would have put Helen of Troy’s to shame, Lady Guinevere.” Bediviere declared excitedly, and Guinevere curtsied demurely to us both as he continued to speak with continuous compliments. I found myself suitably enraptured by her graceful features and a deliberate kindness that seemed to radiate from her smile without pretense or judgment.
I had no doubts about her beauty, many of the noblewomen within my court possessed an ethereal beauty that could hardly be matched by any of the peasantry. Guinevere’s beauty was breathtaking and utterly limitless, in comparison to her beauty I could not help but ponder that in comparison to her the noblewomen I had seen were the peasants they utterly outmatched in the spectrum of beauty. In comparison to her flawless features I could not truly believe that another woman could ever compare in the eyes of any man.
As Bediviere continued to pour continuous praise upon her, I was suitably confident in my ability to negotiate for the resources required to utterly bring the famine to a standstill without being hampered by her beauty during the negotiations and compromise my resources in any way, shape or form. I had no doubt if I had been a man like the utterly smitten knight by my side I would have be so enraptured by her beauty I would have proposed to her on the very spot.
I held up my gloved hand to stop my faithful knight from humiliating himself any further by continuously quoting authors upon abstract women from ancient times past. I had seen this behavior once before in a tournament, so smitten was he towards the local nobleman’s daughter he could hardly speak to her without quoting the Iliad or, much to the bemusement of the local chaplain, the old testament.
The words need not be uttered that we had to nurse him back to help after the viscous beating given to him after he began to compare the reputable woman of faith to Sodom and Gomorrah. Sir Kay and Bediviere had both been in the same room since, due to the former’s inability to stop himself from speaking about the humorous situation whenever the poor knight ever came within his sight. The only reason Bediviere could even sit amongst the Round Table next to my Foster Brother was that most of the knights already knew of the happening and no longer found the story of any meaningful interest.
The smile that graced my features were aided by the thoughts, the infallible humor whenever I recounted Bediviere’s plight against beautiful women, aided sufficiently against the lethargy and melancholy of the famine and invasion. I took her offered hand, pressing my lips against her remarkably smooth skin while as I kept my eyes on hers, my other hand upon my Caliburn’s pommel and my back utterly straight. The smile upon my lips widened very slightest as she realized her feminine charms had not affected me as it had undoubtedly down to dozens of Nobles and suitors before myself. She would have to negotiate before me as dozens of others had done, with her words and resources against my own.
I offered her my arm, a truly odd gesture as she stood a head above me, which she unhesitatingly took. Her hand sought for mine from her grasp upon my elbow with the most miniscule amount of hesitation, and I was utterly bemused at the lengths to which she was willing to go for whatever her father had ordered her to do from his perch in power. I quickly grasped it and kissed it once more, with the smile returning upon my lips.
“Pray tell, Lady Guinevere, I fear you no longer have any more hands for my lips to grace.” I utilized my miniscule skill in charming of those of similar sex to myself, as I uttered the words with the most charming smile I could manage. “Though I am not hesitant of placing my lips upon your fair skin, the church will most certainly object to my continuous upholding of my gentlemanly code.”
Her beatific face erupted into a lovely shed of red as she swiftly looked away. I let her hand fall from my glove and unto the crook of my elbow as was its customary placement. I swiftly tuned upon my heel and I closed Bediviere’s unhinged jaw. Though I was quite sure that his jaw had returned to its former state as he realized I was guiding the bashful beauty up to the stairs beside by throne and up to my quarters where we can speak in private.
I had the oddest feeling that once my business with Lady Guinevere I would undoubtedly find him sitting slumped against the wall where I had just left him. A haunted look would be upon him, as he slowly repeated the lines I had just uttered again and again in full plate.
…but that surely could not possibly happen, and I continued to guide the lovely maiden to my quarters and past the great doors that led to my throne room.
Lady Guinevere and myself reached my chambers within a few inconspicuous moments. I was at a loss for the briefest of moments as I gathered my wits and scrounged for something that would be of proper etiquette of a King towards a visitor of great importance. There was no food to be spoken of so it could not be offered and neither was there anything to drink…
Unless…
I excused myself from my stunning compatriot, and moved quickly towards a cabinet that had laid untouched since the last feast of my beloved city. It was after the first banquet celebrating the completion of my castle and its festivities that I had retired to my quarters with Sirs Ector and Kay with a nearly a dozen bottles of fine French wine. At the eve’s end we had decided that we would most certainly turn the small outing of the parties into tradition and we swiftly amassed a variety of different wines that steadily ripened and grew delightfully as it aged, away from the kitchens and wine cellars that serviced the rest of the castle.
Merlin had taken quite the liking to having access to such an array of fine drinks that he enchanted it to stay as cool as the wine cellars bellow the castle so the liquors would keep well. I let myself get lost at the memory of the last gathering within my quarters, with Sirs Ector, Kay Bediviere and Merlin more than a year ago. My eyes darted within the confines of the closet five times my width, twice my height, and could store three armored knights within. I quickly found the one I sought, the third to last of the original twelve I had brought with my Foster father and brother, the wine had been aged for over fifty years before being sent upon goodwill and stored for another five. To say it was befitting of royalty would be an understatement, especially within these perilous times.
She took the glass I offered with a surprising hesitance, either she did not drink or was worried that the wine would hamper her ability to ponder the negotiations that would occur. From the accounts of my knights and my own eyes, I had learned that many of those that did not participate in the regimented training we knights dutifully exercise ever day was inebriated by a mere three glasses of wine. To properly inebriate a knight of stature such as Sir Kay would require the same number of glasses but with the containing bottles as the containers instead.
I was glad that a one of my knights had requested a glass once upon a distant evening, otherwise the two of us might have had to share the bottle instead the single cup I had offered her. I was more fond of drinking the wine from the container myself, I always found the taste of the wine differing once the liquid entered the glass and found some of the wine’s flavor depleted from the action.
I sat on the mahogany table that was crafted for me by my old home’s master craftsman, the mighty piece of furniture could attest to the man’s skill as the wood had held up to more than a few fully armored knights sitting upon it. Having been carved rather than cut from a singular tree trunk, more than a few of my knights that were artisans adored the piece of furniture and insisted that the desk was a work of art. I sat upon it, leveling a leg length wise onto it and leaving the other barely brushing against the floor, while laying the three quarters full bottle at my side.
“So what does my uncle ask for his aide in ending these terrible times, Lady Guinevere?” I asked as she sat upon my chair and dutifully sipped at the near sixty year old wine with slightly hidden delight. I brought the bottle up to my own lips, taking care to not spill it upon the tunic I wore over my light scale mail, the embroidery upon had taken days to complete and would be sorely ruined when the odd color of a wine stain was upon it.
“My father offers his aide in return for a position of great importance to the Kingdom for myself.” She declared simply and effectively, to my bemusement her cheeks already had the lightest tinged of red that signified the beginnings of inebriations. “For such a position he would send his grains to lessen the effects of the famine and apply his troops to Camelot’s aid against the barbarians.”
“Two thinks quite lacking my kingdom at the moment,” I acquiesced to the offered items, feeling more elated than I had minutes before Bediviere had returned, I was only worried about the price I would have to pay. A position of great import certainly meant becoming my Queen, but with Bediviere’s enamored babbles in mind, I could think of a person who she would be far happier with and still receive great, if lesser, renown by being acknowledged as part of the court the presided within Camelot. I pondered the idea for a moment, only slightly contemplating the thought of maybe arranging the marriages of my many suitors to my knights, it most certainly had appeal should there be no qualms between the two or vows of chastity broken by my knights. “And a position of great import can be arranged easily for a beauty such as yourself amongst my knights.”
“Surely such aid in times of great hostility and famine such as this would be of more import than a single knight, my dear King Arthur?” She batted her eyelashes at me as she placed a free hand over her heart and tugged upon the fabric enticingly. Her beauty truly swept me as though I stared at a masterpiece created by a lost artist, appreciation of her beauty as effortless as breathing. I was once more thankful of my gender this day, this entire proposition would be lost had I been a man before this woman of near divine beauty. “Surely I single knight of the Round Table would be lacking in such of the regards of the lives to be saved by my father’s aid.”
I took another slow sip of the wine beside me, savoring the amazing taste of the perfectly aged liquid that utterly ruined the cooking of even my own chefs. I noted that she had drank the same amount as I had but was already in the state of inebriation that left her swaying ever so slightly.
“I fear that only a few of the knights would be happy with such an arrangement.” I stated simply, and her head tilted ever so slightly in confusion. I gestured for her to move her cup forward so I may fill it once more.
“I am confused, My King.” She stated wearily, and I had the oddest feeling she was playing with me as much as I was with her. I could not say that her blush was fake, but more than a few nobles could hold a glass of this strong wine. The way her voice was almost always alluring, the way she seemed so innocent yet ready, the way her beauty bordered upon a scandal yet somehow stayed firmly upon the ‘correct’ and classical term of beauty at the same moment.
I would not believe for a thousand years this woman was in any way not trained to use her body to attract and lull in men with melodic tunes that issued from her mouth, the always slight pouting of her lips, the way her back was perfectly straight yet angled her bosom enticingly. This young lady, would most certainly be the reincarnation of Aphrodite herself to achieve this all by only the sum of nature itself. She was the perfect weapon against a man, she would be able to toy with the heartstrings eternally and maybe without even malice in her intention.
She was quite the adversary I must admit, but until I grew a pair of testes and a scrotum I would not be hampered by her the slightest.
I nodded gravely as I poured the wine into her awaiting cup.
“I fear that very few knights would ever profess to you when you make your intentions clear that you intend to take more than one of them to marriage and unto the antechamber.” She froze perceptibly and the glass slipped out of hand. I caught it with no difficulty as I allowed a smile to spread across my face, my foster brother was most perceptive in women and I reminded myself to thank him later for the extensive repertoire of raunchy tales he told at the each of the gatherings.
I sipped the wine from the cup luxuriously as the woman in front of me lost her composure and began the stutter and blush as she recounted the words she had stated in her mind. The goddess of love disappearing beneath the blushing and utterly swept woman alike the dozens or hundreds that had attempted to woo me. I had faith that she would undoubtedly capitulate to my demands. The resources and forces will alleviate the strain of my kingdom and Bediviere will gain a loving wife in the process.
My people will be fed, my soldiers relived and returned to their families, and my most faithful knight will gain a wife that will make every man in the kingdom jealous of him and fill my kingdom with continuous allusions to history in attempts to romanticize women.
Damn I’m a great king.
…
Around 4000 words to go or 5000 if I'm feeling up to it.
Last edited by Sage of Eyes; January 17th, 2013 at 01:34 AM.
Convenient Spoilering Is Convenient
I've got a published book!
Please go and give it a read!
http://www.jukepopserials.com/home/read/767
Oh Arturia, you magnificent troll~ What clever wordplay that was at Guinevere's expense.
Great job with this Sage, but my do you keep re-posting the entire chapter whenever you add in new content? It's unnecessary and if your posting the chapter in parts only re-post the entire thing once the entire chapter is finished.
Last edited by ILurkNoMoar; January 17th, 2013 at 03:07 AM.
I enjoy this and the overly flowery language really sells the setting of Arthurian Legends, but there's some grammar mistakes that my mind won't let me skip over.
I think your missing something in this sentence, maybe a length of measure for the sword.
I don't think this is a word. Try a thesaurus to get some antonyms.
Binged All Of Gundam In 4 Years, 1 Week and All I Got Was This Stupid Mask
FF XIV: Walked to the End
Started Legend of the Galactic Heroes (14/07/23), pray for me.
Also, you should start indexing/a table of contents.
NASUVERSE STAMPEDE!!!
Dayum Arturia, you're a great king. x3
Hmm, I wonders just how the Lancelot/Guinevere issue will go because of this....also Merlin wold be proud of you Arthur.
Mostly cuz of great guys of mattias that I subconsciously manipulate in spellchecking and proofreading for me
Convenient Spoilering Is Convenient
I've got a published book!
Please go and give it a read!
http://www.jukepopserials.com/home/read/767
So YOU'RE that annoying voice in my head, that won't let me gloss over things....Mostly cuz of great guys of mattias that I subconsciously manipulate in spellchecking and proofreading for me
Binged All Of Gundam In 4 Years, 1 Week and All I Got Was This Stupid Mask
FF XIV: Walked to the End
Started Legend of the Galactic Heroes (14/07/23), pray for me.
Th Passing Lily.
(Due to the fact no corrections were made to the segments before these two, they have not been reposted)
…
Everything was slowly spiraling out of control. The barbarians of the North were rampaging through the countryside unmolested as the kingdom was ransacked by famines. There was no food to be found to feed the men needed to man the battlements, and those that attempted were too weak to hold back the tide of muscle and rage. The few strongholds that remain are manned by tired knights protecting the starving peasants within as the world outside slowly burned under the torches of the invaders. Horses were slaughtered long ago and messengers no longer came from the outlying fiefdoms, having done the same.
Camelot was filled with refugees, a mass of writhing skeletons and thin sinew that begged for food that I could not provide. My most loyal Knights were spread thinly in support of the meager army sent out to quell the massive numbers of barbarians that plagued the countryside. My faith in them was resolute, but I could not see that they could not hope to quell it before much of my people starve upon the streets of my own city.
Camelot was bathed by the setting sun in a bright red light reminiscent of blood, the streets toiled restlessly by the homeless and forgotten. Even those with titles of nobles were lucky to sleep near the furnace of a blacksmith or the empty coal ovens of the bakeries. The farms near the city were plagued so by vagrants and homeless that their crops were mere fractions of what were required to support my burgeoning city.
My knights were culling the barbarian horde, my servants have been dismissed to the farmsteads, the guards patrolled the streets below and gathered the dead, and Merlin used his magics to traverse the lands in search of aid from the fiefdoms that had been not heard since the last solstice. The mad hope that some may have weathered the storm and had fruitful harvest was tantalizing enough to send the wizard away.
“My King!” A voice I had not heard for months sprang to life, and I peered down the hall only to be flummoxed at the sight of Bediviere running towards me with all due haste. Clad in full armor and plate, no Knight ever ran within the confines of such armor as he wore, his breathes were ragged and once he neared. “I bring grand tidings from Lord Leodegrance! You must accompany me at once to-”
“Calm yourself, Sir Bediviere, catch your breath them you may address me.” I offered no alternative in my tone, and his jaw snapped shut at a moment’s notice. After his breath was stable and his eyes person less manic in status I inquired: “What tidings do you bring to me from my Father’s most loyal friend?”
“They had weathered the first barbarian onslaught successfully, my King!” Bediviere declared ecstatically his countenance now far removed from the battered knight he seemed to be, and my own eyes widened in conjunction with his declaration. His lands were mostly crops such as wheat and oat… “They have an abundance of food and crops, ready to be sent at Lord Ledegrance’s command!”
“Why has he not sent the bounty along with yourself?” I demanded, quickly surveying the streets below to assure myself that I was correct in the lack of foodstuffs.
“Father awaits for my call, my King.” A melodic voice came from the same direction from which Bediviere had come and I turned to face the speaker. Her gown was extravagant, soft, white linens supplanted by an shawl extravagantly embroidered with gold. Her hair was hidden by the same shawl, as she used the garment akin to woman in hiding, though I could not comprehend as to how something of such color and golden embroidery could hope to attract less attention.
I understood a mere moment after she stopped utilizing it as the failure of concealment, pulling it back to reveal her face and let auburn tresses flow and frame her face.
Bediviere bowed lowly.
“Truly your face would have put Helen of Troy’s to shame, Lady Guinevere.” Bediviere declared excitedly, and Guinevere curtsied demurely to us both as he continued to speak with continuous compliments. I found myself suitably enraptured by her graceful features and a deliberate kindness that seemed to radiate from her smile without pretense or judgment.
I had no doubts about her beauty, many of the noblewomen within my court possessed an ethereal beauty that could hardly be matched by any of the peasantry. Guinevere’s beauty was breathtaking and utterly limitless, in comparison to her beauty I could not help but ponder that in comparison to her the noblewomen I had seen were the peasants they utterly outmatched in the spectrum of beauty. In comparison to her flawless features I could not truly believe that another woman could ever compare in the eyes of any man.
As Bediviere continued to pour continuous praise upon her, I was suitably confident in my ability to negotiate for the resources required to utterly bring the famine to a standstill without being hampered by her beauty during the negotiations and compromise my resources in any way, shape or form. I had no doubt if I had been a man like the utterly smitten knight by my side I would have be so enraptured by her beauty I would have proposed to her on the very spot.
I held up my gloved hand to stop my faithful knight from humiliating himself any further by continuously quoting authors upon abstract women from ancient times past. I had seen this behavior once before in a tournament, so smitten was he towards the local nobleman’s daughter he could hardly speak to her without quoting the Iliad or, much to the bemusement of the local chaplain, the old testament.
The words need not be uttered that we had to nurse him back to help after the viscous beating given to him after he began to compare the reputable woman of faith to Sodom and Gomorrah. Sir Kay and Bediviere had both been in the same room since, due to the former’s inability to stop himself from speaking about the humorous situation whenever the poor knight ever came within his sight. The only reason Bediviere could even sit amongst the Round Table next to my Foster Brother was that most of the knights already knew of the happening and no longer found the story of any meaningful interest.
The smile that graced my features were aided by the thoughts, the infallible humor whenever I recounted Bediviere’s plight against beautiful women, aided sufficiently against the lethargy and melancholy of the famine and invasion. I took her offered hand, pressing my lips against her remarkably smooth skin while as I kept my eyes on hers, my other hand upon my Caliburn’s pommel and my back utterly straight. The smile upon my lips widened very slightest as she realized her feminine charms had not affected me as it had undoubtedly down to dozens of Nobles and suitors before myself. She would have to negotiate before me as dozens of others had done, with her words and resources against my own.
I offered her my arm, a truly odd gesture as she stood a head above me, which she unhesitatingly took. Her hand sought for mine from her grasp upon my elbow with the most miniscule amount of hesitation, and I was utterly bemused at the lengths to which she was willing to go for whatever her father had ordered her to do from his perch in power. I quickly grasped it and kissed it once more, with the smile returning upon my lips.
“Pray tell, Lady Guinevere, I fear you no longer have any more hands for my lips to grace.” I utilized my miniscule skill in charming of those of similar sex to myself, as I uttered the words with the most charming smile I could manage. “Though I am not hesitant of placing my lips upon your fair skin, the church will most certainly object to my continuous upholding of my gentlemanly code.”
Her beatific face erupted into a lovely shed of red as she swiftly looked away. I let her hand fall from my glove and unto the crook of my elbow as was its customary placement. I swiftly tuned upon my heel and I closed Bediviere’s unhinged jaw. Though I was quite sure that his jaw had returned to its former state as he realized I was guiding the bashful beauty up to the stairs beside by throne and up to my quarters where we can speak in private.
I had the oddest feeling that once my business with Lady Guinevere I would undoubtedly find him sitting slumped against the wall where I had just left him. A haunted look would be upon him, as he slowly repeated the lines I had just uttered again and again in full plate.
…but that surely could not possibly happen, and I continued to guide the lovely maiden to my quarters and past the great doors that led to my throne room.
Lady Guinevere and myself reached my chambers within a few inconspicuous moments. I was at a loss for the briefest of moments as I gathered my wits and scrounged for something that would be of proper etiquette of a King towards a visitor of great importance. There was no food to be spoken of so it could not be offered and neither was there anything to drink…
Unless…
I excused myself from my stunning compatriot, and moved quickly towards a cabinet that had laid untouched since the last feast of my beloved city. It was after the first banquet celebrating the completion of my castle and its festivities that I had retired to my quarters with Sirs Ector and Kay with a nearly a dozen bottles of fine French wine. At the eve’s end we had decided that we would most certainly turn the small outing of the parties into tradition and we swiftly amassed a variety of different wines that steadily ripened and grew delightfully as it aged, away from the kitchens and wine cellars that serviced the rest of the castle.
Merlin had taken quite the liking to having access to such an array of fine drinks that he enchanted it to stay as cool as the wine cellars bellow the castle so the liquors would keep well. I let myself get lost at the memory of the last gathering within my quarters, with Sirs Ector, Kay Bediviere and Merlin more than a year ago. My eyes darted within the confines of the closet five times my width, twice my height, and could store three armored knights within. I quickly found the one I sought, the third to last of the original twelve I had brought with my Foster father and brother, the wine had been aged for over fifty years before being sent upon goodwill and stored for another five. To say it was befitting of royalty would be an understatement, especially within these perilous times.
She took the glass I offered with a surprising hesitance, either she did not drink or was worried that the wine would hamper her ability to ponder the negotiations that would occur. From the accounts of my knights and my own eyes, I had learned that many of those that did not participate in the regimented training we knights dutifully exercise ever day was inebriated by a mere three glasses of wine. To properly inebriate a knight of stature such as Sir Kay would require the same number of glasses but with the containing bottles as the containers instead.
I was glad that a one of my knights had requested a glass once upon a distant evening, otherwise the two of us might have had to share the bottle instead the single cup I had offered her. I was more fond of drinking the wine from the container myself, I always found the taste of the wine differing once the liquid entered the glass and found some of the wine’s flavor depleted from the action.
I sat on the mahogany table that was crafted for me by my old home’s master craftsman, the mighty piece of furniture could attest to the man’s skill as the wood had held up to more than a few fully armored knights sitting upon it. Having been carved rather than cut from a singular tree trunk, more than a few of my knights that were artisans adored the piece of furniture and insisted that the desk was a work of art. I sat upon it, leveling a leg length wise onto it and leaving the other barely brushing against the floor, while laying the three quarters full bottle at my side.
“So what does my uncle ask for his aide in ending these terrible times, Lady Guinevere?” I asked as she sat upon my chair and dutifully sipped at the near sixty year old wine with slightly hidden delight. I brought the bottle up to my own lips, taking care to not spill it upon the tunic I wore over my light scale mail, the embroidery upon had taken days to complete and would be sorely ruined when the odd color of a wine stain was upon it.
“My father offers his aide in return for a position of great importance to the Kingdom for myself.” She declared simply and effectively, to my bemusement her cheeks already had the lightest tinged of red that signified the beginnings of inebriations. “For such a position he would send his grains to lessen the effects of the famine and apply his troops to Camelot’s aid against the barbarians.”
“Two thinks quite lacking my kingdom at the moment,” I acquiesced to the offered items, feeling more elated than I had minutes before Bediviere had returned, I was only worried about the price I would have to pay. A position of great import certainly meant becoming my Queen, but with Bediviere’s enamored babbles in mind, I could think of a person who she would be far happier with and still receive great, if lesser, renown by being acknowledged as part of the court the presided within Camelot. I pondered the idea for a moment, only slightly contemplating the thought of maybe arranging the marriages of my many suitors to my knights, it most certainly had appeal should there be no qualms between the two or vows of chastity broken by my knights. “And a position of great import can be arranged easily for a beauty such as yourself amongst my knights.”
“Surely such aid in times of great hostility and famine such as this would be of more import than a single knight, my dear King Arthur?” She batted her eyelashes at me as she placed a free hand over her heart and tugged upon the fabric enticingly. Her beauty truly swept me as though I stared at a masterpiece created by a lost artist, appreciation of her beauty as effortless as breathing. I was once more thankful of my gender this day, this entire proposition would be lost had I been a man before this woman of near divine beauty. “Surely I single knight of the Round Table would be lacking in such of the regards of the lives to be saved by my father’s aid.”
I took another slow sip of the wine beside me, savoring the amazing taste of the perfectly aged liquid that utterly ruined the cooking of even my own chefs. I noted that she had drank the same amount as I had but was already in the state of inebriation that left her swaying ever so slightly.
“I fear that only a few of the knights would be happy with such an arrangement.” I stated simply, and her head tilted ever so slightly in confusion. I gestured for her to move her cup forward so I may fill it once more.
“I am confused, My King.” She stated wearily, and I had the oddest feeling she was playing with me as much as I was with her. I could not say that her blush was fake, but more than a few nobles could hold a glass of this strong wine. The way her voice was almost always alluring, the way she seemed so innocent yet ready, the way her appearance bordered upon a scandal yet somehow stayed firmly upon the ‘correct’ and classical form of appreciation at the same moment.
I would not believe for a thousand years this woman was in any way not trained to use her body to attract and lull in men with melodic tunes that issued from her mouth, the always slight pouting of her lips, the way her back was perfectly straight yet angled her bosom enticingly. This young lady, would most certainly be the reincarnation of Aphrodite herself to achieve this all by only the sum of nature itself. She was the perfect weapon against a man, she would be able to toy with the heartstrings eternally and maybe without even malice in her intention.
She was quite the adversary I must admit, but until I grew a pair of testes and a scrotum I would not be hampered by her the slightest.
I nodded gravely as I poured the wine into her awaiting cup.
“I fear that very few knights would ever profess to you when you make your intentions clear that you intend to take more than one of them to marriage and unto the antechamber.” She froze perceptibly and the glass slipped out of hand. I caught it with no difficulty as I allowed a smile to spread across my face, my foster brother was most perceptive in women and I reminded myself to thank him later for the extensive repertoire of raunchy tales he told at the each of the gatherings.
I sipped the wine from the cup luxuriously as the woman in front of me lost her composure and began the stutter and blush as she recounted the words she had stated in her mind. The goddess of love disappearing beneath the blushing and utterly swept woman alike the dozens or hundreds that had attempted to woo me. I had faith that she would undoubtedly capitulate to my demands. The resources and forces will alleviate the strain of my kingdom and Bediviere will gain a loving wife in the process.
My people will be fed, my soldiers relived and returned to their families, and my most faithful knight will gain a wife that will make every man in the kingdom jealous of him and fill my kingdom with continuous allusions to history in attempts to romanticize women.
Honestly I feared the outcome of this meeting very much, but the hitherto experience in dealing with others I acquired from befriending my knights was invaluable. I had no doubt, that even had I still retained my advantage of not falling for this woman’s charms without my prior advancements in social etiquette, or rather the intentional lack of its usage, I acquired with the help of my knights this meeting could have ended with a marriage with no love between the spouses.
…
“My King…” Lancelot’s steps were astoundingly quiet for the gait of a fully armed knight, such was his prowess and skill in anything that was required of any knight. As one of the more recent members of the Round Table, I had not thought that he would have been the many to depart after my child’s revelation.
I tried to be calm and address my faithful knight, but I was being overwhelmed at the site of citizens congregating at the courtyard below, all of them calling for the same thing over and over: Explanations. I was sorely tempted to give my own account to them as the question as to what could my words could do to placate the crowd of people I had lied to for the better part of thirty odd years. My mind was continuously blank, and I could not help but panic at the mere thought of addressing the crowd below when I had been unable to withhold my own precious knights from leaving in disgust of serving a woman who assumed the role of a man.
My kingdom was falling slowly to pieces, and merely because I refused to acknowledge the truth of Mordred’s true identity before the gathering of a court. The simple act of lying and having my flesh and bone killed would have saved me from this pain and wretched agony as my subjects assailed the palace with their cries for truth. I… was unable to have Mordred silenced, my splitting image in red left as soon as the judgment was given back from whence my child had hidden and grown in anger at me for years and years.
The thought made my heart ache so much, the thought of hatred coming from my only flesh and blood as I aided others was-
A sword was pulled from it’s scabbard, Arondight’s blade sang through the air and my instinct to parry a blade and draw for combat against the most perfect knight was smothered by regret and pain. Undoubtedly following me was a shame he sought to erase and purge from the world, he would be heralded as a hero that destroyed the false ruler of England and freed the people from her false dominion.
Armored knees fell upon the floor as I had expected the blow to come, a helmet clattered across the room in a flash of silver and purple. My eyes tore their gaze from the crowd that steadily gathered below and onto the kneeling form of Lancelot with his head bared upon Arondight before him. The only thing that separated his head form the stone floor was the blade he so carefully cared for, never had he before so callously placed the weapon for the realms beyond upon the ground.
I stood speechless before the prostate knight and could not find the will to call him up.
“Forgive me, my Queen.” He annunciated, his words as honest and humble they always were. His voice so clear like a brook trickling onto a lake, eased my nerves as I comprehended what he was saying. “For not being able to stop my fellows from leaving you in these tumultuous times. I ask that you do not punish them for breaking their oaths of fealty and accept them when they retur-”
“Oaths?” I whispered, turning away from the prostate knight, my voice felt dry as I rasped. I did not remember the last I had drank, neither did I remember when I had taken off the armor that seemed to weigh upon me so much. I could not remember where the sun was when I began watching the crowd of people below gather in protest. I could only feel the dryness of my throat, the overbearing weight of plate steel, and see the sun slowly cresting into the horizon. “You took no oaths to a woman, Knight of the Lake and neither did they. The power to punish your fellows does not lie with me. Sir Lancelot.”
The speed at which he stood shocked me, I expected him to attack but he left his sword as he grasped my shoulders and turned me away from the scene I could only describe as a time of judgment and execution.
“Then who DID I take an oath to, my lady?” He demanded violet-azure eyes blazing akin to rolling storm clouds or harsh waves manifested by only the largest of lakes. “Who holds the authority to punish renegade knights that broke their oaths at the slightest tremor of the unshakable mountain?” He aimed his finger down at the crowd below. “Who can answer the call of the people as they demand they see the ruler, who saved each of their lives tenfold, unharmed and unchallenged?”
His hand reached for the blade at my hip and I immediately grasped the blade and caught his wrist in such a manner that he was unable to move .
“Who can hold the sword that could split mountains, and carve up the lands?” He questioned with subdued fury and another emotion that I could only see as alien in his eyes. “Who can utilize its power without becoming a worthless tyrant of all the free men and women within the isle?”
He withdrew his hand from the blade the alien emotion and the fury that was not aimed at myself still boiling as he kept continuously asking questions.
“Who can save their country from barbarians and famine acting together against the will of God?” Lancelot inquired, voice filled with passion and fire I had yet to see before. “Who can unite so many fiefs under a single banner by simply swearing fealty to them and uphold the weak bond through three decades?”
“I do not know.” I admitted, shame burning my throat as they left my mouth.
Ferocity faded from his eyes leaving only the alien feeling within his eyes as he slowly kneeled, never breaking lock with my eyes.
“I do.” He declared softly, picking up his sword by the tip and its midsection. He held the point at his neck and the handle towards myself. The ease to which I could kill him was the same to throwing a rock.
Another rebel tear made its way down my cheek, joining its compatriots that had been overcoming my defenses regularly hours hence.
“I do not deserve this loyalty.” My voice cracked, I could only speak in such a whimper at this very moment.
“I do not deserve such a marvelous ruler.” He declared a smile gracing his features a moment before his eyes broke away and he finally bowed his head and awaited my decision to ascertain his faith.
Arondight was heavy in my hands, built for Lancelot by the same hands that created my Excalibur and Caliburn, it was blade that could break past any defense and remain unbroken. I held it fast, the flat of the blade making me unable to see the knight before me.
The words that issued from my mouth were ones that I had given hundreds of times before in numerous ceremonies, to grant prestigious knights entry into the Round Table. They felt so odd as they issued from my tongue, as if it was their first moment leaving them rather than the a hundredth.
Lancelot resolutely agreed to each and every single one, and when the final line came and I dutifully changed my title and to my true name he smiled, looked upon me with eyes of great joy and said.
“So as I swear to you, upon my honor as a knight, Queen Arturia, I shall entrust you with my body and spirit, armor and sword till the end of days.” He paused and looked earnestly into my eyes, “For I am sure that no other could hope to do as you have done, or do as you will do.”
He rose as my first true knight. He was the first knight to come back to the round table, the first knight to look at my actions before my gender after my offspring’s revelation and the great splintering of the round table. He gave me hope that others will return and that my actions will overshadow my gender.
Lancelot turned and sheathed his sword, as he walked to my side my breath caught at the sight at the doorway behind him.
He was not the last.
There were many missing and my heart ached so much for the faces I could not find amongst the crowd of steel and flesh. My heart ached for them, yet at the same moment joy refused to remained shackled by the chains I had weighed down upon it alongside my sorrow and grief. I could not speak, I was unable to address the congregation that filled the hallway as far as I could see.
“You all stand before the monarch of this country?!” Lancelot declared by my side, I had not even felt him kneel, but that was how he was upon his declaration. “Have you forgotten your places amongst royalty, Knights of Queen Arturia, rightful heir of the throne, savior of your lives and those you love?”
Sir Kay stepped forward, moving from the congregation in withering silence until he was in the distance between.
My foster brother met Lancelot’s eyes, blue against purple.
“Nay, Knight of the Lake.” The knight I had known longest stated, his prevalent smile shining as he knelt. My foster brother’s eyes sought mine, and grew unbearably soft and kind a look that I had not seen and felt for ages. “I have not forgotten how she had slain that barbarian who eclipsed my strength, or the countless others who would have gladly taken it.”
Bediviere kneeled opposite of him, the animosity between him and Lancelot that was ever present nonexistent for the first time in years as their eyes met and the tensest of nods flowed between them
He simply stated “Nay.” Before bowing his head upon his knee.
Each Knight followed, following either example whether they were behind the first who had done so. Two lines were formed and stretched from one end of the castle to the other, longer even that the lines for the holy host during days of litany and prayer.
The sight of the loyalty, the strength beyond words to someone such as myself, who lied to them my entire lives, made the situation all too clear that I could never hope to be the righteous recipient of this loyalty.
“Rise, my faithful knights.” My voice was barely a whisper, but as Lancelot rose from my side so did all the others.
I could never be worthy of such loyalty, no matter how much I worked to attain it.
“Stand at attention, before your monarch!” Lancelot bellowed, he drew his blade and aimed it at the sky in salute. Hundreds of blades were unsheathed, and cross-linked as knights faced one another in a ceremony I had not seen since I was crowned king.
For only the second time in my life, I walked underneath a roof of blades that collapsed behind me. My life entrusted in theirs not even a single strand of my hair was touched, or did I ever fear that I would be harmed.
I entered the curtain of steel once, and left a King.
I leave it once more, a Queen.
…
Convenient Spoilering Is Convenient
I've got a published book!
Please go and give it a read!
http://www.jukepopserials.com/home/read/767
.... Fuck, YES.
THIS is what Arturia deserved. Loyalty, and truthfulness to herself.
Awesome work with this so far, Sage. 8D
Very nice Sage, very nice.
The Passing Lily.
…
Disclaimer: No monetary gain is made from this, I actually lose money due to electricity costs…
…
“Our lives are not our own, we are bound to others, past and present. And with each crime every kindness, we birth our future.” –Cloud Atlas
…
-“It’s the oddest thing, you know?”
-(No I do not)
-“There are hundreds of universes that are exactly the same, except they’re not, you know…”
-(No…)
-“Sometimes, the eternal spirit of some universe mingles with the one in the next, kinda like a glitch of sorts, correct?”
-(Not really…)
-“Sometimes, the flow of time isn’t worth a jar of excrement in those universes, and some couples start boinking incarnations before they’re supposed to.”
-(I should’ve taken Lord Melloi’s classes…)
-Wizard Marshall Zeltrech, A Class on Fractures of Reality. (Attendees: 1)
…
The wagon was a rickety affair as it traveled upon the rough road. Pulled by two oxen, however, the horrible form of transportation was the most tenacious of the many wagons that traversed the dirt snake that flowed across the green hills of Britain. Like a single stream of ants the carts carried their payloads with diligence, but the one pulled by the brawny oxen was one of the few who stayed at the very forefront, untiring even as many pulled aside to rejoin at the end when their beasts of burden were fully rested.
However it was not the animals that made the wagon special, nor was it their odd tenacity that markedly made them different. Amidst sacks of grain a page slept soundly, clutching contently upon the two and a half short sword that was held against rough cotton. Against all odds, it seemed, the page was lucky enough to choose this singular wagon that miraculously did not need to stop, and therefore not have its stocks checked.
The page would not be discovered until the wagon arrived at the town, but the merchant driving the wagon would be so pleased he would simply leave the child there and return the page later on.
…
I doubted I would ever see such kindness from any merchant. The fact that he had promised to return me to my village baffled me soundly. The many merchants I had met, would tirade endlessly upon discovering a stowaway had been present upon their wagon.
The situation was so bizarre that I decided to leave before the merchant acted as I expected of him and enter the town at the end of the pathway. I wondered if I could truly return to the trading depot to request a ride home, but the conclusion to that train of thought rested firmly upon the outcome of how well the merchant would be able to sell his wares.
If his good spirits and light demeanor carried over as he sold his wares, as well as his advantage of being the only wagon currently present with the important foodstuff, wheat and oats, that many families depended upon. Concluding that logical train of thought, I found that it was very likely he would be in a very optimistic spirits when I hazard my request for my passage home.
A great weight lifted from my shoulders at this conclusion, though I still worried lightly if it was a forgone end; it was nowhere near the weight that dropped beforehand. Excitement started to bubble within me as I saw the sharp steeple of the church in the distance.
So engrossed upon those thoughts, I did not hear the footsteps upon the muddy terrain I was steadily working myself through. Work towards all the forms of combat aided me in my steps, keeping me steady as my leathers sank into the muddy pathway.
It was another matter entirely for the person who crashed onto me however, and quite suddenly I was tumbling down the side of the hill upon grass. The world becoming a steady, yet chaotic, twirl of red, green and blue. I have no doubt, had I not been trained by my mentor so fastidiously to shield my neck even at the slightest provocation of falling I would have most definitely have died.
As the ground finally stilled after my tumble, I was able to get myself upright within a moment. My state of dress was abysmal, scratches by rocks along the ribs and stains of grass on my brown tunic made me look like one of those children that roughhoused the day away. Sir Ector would undoubtedly say the same and have me mend it myself, and his inquiries would undoubtedly lead to my plan’s ruin within the day’s end.
I quickly sought out the being who was responsible, my eyes scanning the area with righteous fury.
I spotted the edge of a red scarf within a bush, and it’s rustling gave the person away, and I strode confidently as I realized that the cause of my future punishments was hiding and had no thought upon apologizing.
I was more than ashamed of myself when I met pitiful gold eyes as I looked over the bush. The boy had the long, wild hair of many peasant families, a vivid red in color, and was clad in a thick canvas sweater that was patched with a multitude of other colors. The article was many sizes larger for him, possibly belonging to the his father rather than himself. It pooled around him as he splayed himself out arms determinedly holding himself up, and noticeably keeping his weight away from his legs.
If my oath had not forbade it, I would have sworn in the Holy Father’s name right there.
I could not harm someone in need of help, with good conscience, especially if I was to become a knight alike Sir Ector.
I ignored his pitysome look with a sigh.
“Are you hurt, badly?” I inquired, attempting to harden myself against my emotions.
He shook his head thoroughly, attempting to reach for something. My eyes followed his grasping’s, maybe he was a cripple and required a crutch? It was unlikely, since the force that sent me tumbling over was much too fast for a cripple.
My eyebrow raised at the tablet lined with clay a few feet from his grasp, a wooden stick with a pointed stone attached to it with a piece of twine. I deftly reached the object with a few strides, the aches from the fall steadily registering themselves as I walked. They were worth noting, merely because I would have to hide them from sight later on, they were negligible otherwise. The warnings of Sir Ector to properly clean wounds rang from deep within my mind, however, and I realized I may have to ask this boy to lead me to the town’s well should I wish to do so.
Once the tablet reached his hands, I was awarded to the interesting sight of him quickly writing upon the clay tablet. I was flummoxed when he handed it to me, however, and returned it to him after a quick glance.
“My training in the literary works begins the next solstice.” I stated as he looked aghast at me. I felt a twinge of discomfort at his countenance, but that was swiftly crushed at the remembrance that I but one of the majority that was unable to read. Not only did I hide my pride under the deficits of the multitudes, but also under the premise that I would most certainly learn how to read later on.
It took me a moment to realize the importance of the tablet, but when the marks connected I voiced my thought into the air.
“You are unable to speak.”
The boy gave a nod and a smile given by mother’s when their children learned something quickly. The smile was alien to me, and I was left dumbfounded for a split second. The boy just found that his only source of help could not understand him and his inability to speak aired out, yet he smiles? His demeanor was undoubtedly even more confusing than that of the merchant, since I could find nothing benign upon his plight.
As I was engrossed upon my thoughts, he attempted to get up. His face contorted in pain and his legs shook with effort. It was not until he almost fell, quickly grasping onto a tree for support did I break out of my stupor and aided him wrapping my arm around his waist and pulling another over.
I almost wish I had not.
I was well aware of the famines that plagued the land I was within at the moment, information brought forth by listening to the many boisterous voices and avarice-laced claims of the merchants that followed the wagon I had chosen. A marauding band of bandits burnt the town’s crops months ago, to spite them for repelling their attack yester-year and the merchants had in stock the resources that would undoubtedly save the town and intended to sell it at exorbitant prices.
The boy’s body felt like bones wrapped upon skin to my hand, and the shift of his scarf as he stumbled into my arms revealed the silvery hue of scars across the front of his neck. They were the same I had seen countless times upon the burly arms of Bram, the blacksmith Sir Ector had commissioned to craft my blade. The boy’s still had the strange luster that accompanied Bram’s newer burns from his billowing forge, signifying their recent manifestation.
I was disgusted by my own disgust at the sight, certainly I could respect someone who could endeavor despite his wounds instead of feeling weak at the knees. That disgust gave away to surprise when my eyes trailed back up to his face to see his smile once more, as he pulled up the scarf with the hand holding his tablet. It was a sad smile, but understanding, I had the strangest feeling he wasn’t wearing the scarf for his own sake but for others.
I pointedly looked away, swiftly awarded with a small sigh from the benefactor of my aide. Whether it was one of contentment, or of disappointment of my actions I did not know. The mixture of surprise and disgust threshing my nerves fairly, and it was not until my beneficiary made a feeble attempt to clear his throat.
The odd sound startled me at first, and terrified me the next. It was guttural sound that I was sure that no man should make, vaguely reminiscent of the sound of an animal that had its throat cut open to end its life.
The sound was so dissonant to his smile and features I nearly lost my nerve and left him to seek aid. Preferably from the confines of the castle I resided and not this imbecilic property that allowed him to traipse in its territory as if he was in complete control of his linguistics and not suffering from malnutrition and maybe even starvation.
“I will aide you to your home.” I stated, fully intending to forsake my attempt to conceal my identity and demand the right to take him from where he resided and return with him to make sure he is under proper care. However, I had not even finished my sentence when he started to shake his head rapidly, pointing in the direction of the Trade Depot with the hand not hooked over my shoulder.
“You are harmed,” I stated pointedly, and when our eyes met I couldn’t help but feel smaller at the ferocity within them. While certainly not one that I expected from one of his countenance and disabilities, I could not shake the feeling that such an expression held true to the personality he most likely utilized the most. “It would be unwise to wear your body any further, unnecessarily.”
His continued glare made me want to swear, my patience was quickly being steadily worn away by this odd boy. I had half a mind to simply leave him and guard him out of sight, but fear crawled into my bowels at the thought that he might attempt to climb up the steep hill with his bare hands should I not aid him.
Despite the improbability of such a thing, I could not help but to fear the drastic measures he may take should I leave him to his own devices. The ferocity of gaze, his continued pointing toward the Trade Depot, only strengthened the fear that someway, somehow he would do exactly as I feared without my aid and bullheadedly rush up the mountain without even a care for his own countenance and safety.
“So be it.” I muttered in such a dark fashion I feared Sir Ector would bend reality to simply chastise me for my tone. I gave him a pointed look, that I hoped conveyed my true displeasure at his choice, but otherwise let no bone in my body convey my displeasure.
The only question was why I was not troubled the least about aiding him, or why I worried more of his health and his inability to speak more than I did of his displayed stupidity. It felt odd, but correct at the same time to support him. Each step helping him, made me feel more at ease, while each gasp of pain made me worry more and more of his health.
I could only acknowledge it as the teachings from Sir Ector shining through as if a revelation upon the true joy of helping others as a knight.
When we reached the road where he knocked me over, I had already forgotten of my own aches and pains. When my boots touched the muddy pathway as his did, I had already forgotten that I was not supposed to be there and I beamed at Sir Ector as he stood furiously upon the pathway where I slipped and fell.
It seemed when I was being taken away, I could not help but have my thoughts continuously brought back to the boy. Even Sir Ector’s continuous rambling about the sword that was no longer at my hip could not bring me out of my stupor.
I didn’t even know his name, yet I could not help but feel fond when I think of him. The way he attempted to speak through his tablet even as Sir Ector carried me as if I was a bushel of wheat to his horse, despite the fact he was doing it through a godly amount of pain. There was no doubt in my mind that he was truly grateful for what I had done, my first true attempt to aid someone culminating fruitfully as he furiously sought to clear my name despite my actions.
Sir Ector would not allow me leave of the castle for months afterward, not even for the hunts for provision in the wilds. I found myself unable to loathe my choices, even as I slowly forgot about the boy himself. I found myself slowly warming to the staff and befriending the men and women who cared for me my entire life, and even seeking out to aid them in menial duties.
Some nights I would, of course, be unscrupulously asked what instigated the change in my relations with the servants and the lower classes and truly I was only able to grasp at straws.
Though an odd smile and the color of gold was always brought to the forefront of my mind whenever the question was asked, I thought nothing of it and favored replying most befitting a noble squire to a favored companion by soaking said companion with a pail of water.
I began to make friends.
…
“Sir Kay…” I muttered a tad spitefully, “A tournament with the rule of the kingdom on the line and you forget your sword?” I sniffed egregiously as I passed the garbage dump of the encampment, “You have most certainly done this to simply spurn me for revealing your romances to Sir Ector.”
How many weeks must we stay at this rapidly rotting place? All for the sake of some sword buried within a stone, for the sake of a wizard’s words. As the story went, a being that went by the name of Merlin appeared amidst thunder and lighting and thrust the sword into the stone. Then he declared that that whoever pulled the sword from the stone was rightful ruler of Britain.
What a load of bollocks, the wizard had probably enchanted the stone to never relinquish it and simply wanted to be entertained for moment’s time. Once the Holy Order of the Church arrived, the wizards folly would be unraveled and he would be put the pike like the rest of his kind that intruded upon the lives of well-meaning.
Maybe they would even ask for the help of the Sirs and Lords present, and Sir Ector would allow me my dagger Carn once more. It has been a fortnight since I had last seen the blessed knife, given to me by the foremost-priest in the Monastery a week’s ride from my home. It had been a boon when seeking that witch in her pitch-black cave, and aiding an old friend of Sir Ector’s to marry his lover.
It would be undoubtedly helpful to finding whoever was causing this maddening, meaningless tournament that was an absolute waste of time.
Though I was quite sure that Sir Ector would consider my own machinations to continuously seek my companions to be the same. I could not help myself to allotting time to my numerous relations, it was a ghastly thought to even suggest that I ignore my acquaintances in favor for something as trivial as this tournament.
By all means, at this rate I’ll never find out if Tolle finally gets it past his perplexingly dense head that Scylla was nearing the end of the rope when romantic advances were in question and was pondering on strapping him onto a bed and having her way with him to convey her affections.
So distracted was I upon the spite; I was unable to notice the quick movement ahead of me. One moment I had been upright, the next I was upon the well-trodden grass with an uncomfortable weight upon me. My eyes met those of the trollop that had follow onto me, all intents upon trouncing him soundly with both fists and speech suddenly draining away as a wave of strangeness engulfed me.
He left my grasp almost immediately, pulling us both upright and between the spaces of a canvas tent. Thunderous footsteps and boisterous yells erupted from where we were previously occupied. His actions alongside the lack of ringing metal told me all I needed to know, the tournament’s collection of unsavory proprietors had grown tremendously the past week. The town would have been ransacked had there not been an overwhelming presence of knights in the area.
Still, anyone carrying anything vaguely of any worth would be pursued and beaten for whatever they had.
Truthfully, I had cared very little of the occurrences of this town, due to my abhorrence to the festivities and its overall un-necessity. For some reason or another however, I found myself caring very much of the increase in the town’s crimes this day and the inherent stupidity of the fellow for even traversing the outskirts of the tournament where criminals roamed and hunted.
I did not even bother with introductions, I immediately pulled down his red scarf and glared right into his surprised golden eyes.
“You should not be out here.” I hissed plaintively, glaring at him for all my worth. Taking in his features akin to a sponge to water. Despite the years that had passed I recognized him the moment he entered my proximity. His features were noticeably filled out, his eyes less sunken and his cheeks less prominent. His hair was trimmed, far from the excessive length I now remembered with extreme clarity, akin to Sir Kay’s despite being more lengthy and of the color of red.
His eyes widened further when he took in my own features, undoubtedly remembering me as well. He fumbled for the briefest of moments, before suddenly starting as though a torch had lit him. His gaze left mine and I instinctively glanced to where he brought his own vision.
Upon the muddy ground, was the selfsame clay tablet I had seen years ago. At this point in time, it was completely within my ability to understand all but the most complex of literary works and communication between the two of us would have come as easily as breathing.
The only complexity at this plan was that the tablet lay in pieces, the stylus broken into twigs and the clay returned from the earth from whence it came.
I had not felt such an urge to swear since my dagger had been taken away, the only solace I found was from my erstwhile companion who seemed far more depressed about his undoubtedly assured lack of communication until he procured another. Given the majority of the populace’s view on the art of literature and inscribing, I doubted that he would be able to procure it easily. It would be facetious for me to be presumptuous of the fact, but tablets such the one lying broken were most commonly found in monasteries where monks rewrote literature for future generations and could make no mistake in each transcript. The process of repetition that they tenaciously employed in their teachings dictated that without the tablets they would swiftly consume far too much parchment and ink to be self-sustained fiefs that they were.
Due to these multitude of reasons they also held a monopoly on the tablets and would rather eat their own extremities than give one away without a great deal of hazardous bickering and bribery. My own education at the behest of Sir Ector only came to fruition due to the knight’s reputation as the keeper of the lands surrounding the castle and sheer force of presence in full armor and equipment.
Coincidentally I was already planning on procuring one from the nearest source available in a similar manner, despite the inherent costs and time the endeavor will consume upon its course I did not find myself mitigated from the flow of thought. Despite the un-doubtable tedium the procurement will produce I did not find myself the least bit demotivated at the simple behest that I would be able to communicate with my companion.
The plan already set within my mind I turned to the boy who just finished his sigh of dismay.
“Do not fret.” I assuaged him simply, gaining his attention. “Such things are easily acquired.”
The sight of his face as it contorted into a picture of dismay was a memory that I would not sell for anything in the world. He obviously knew the tablet’s importance, and was in dismay due to the knowledge that attaining another would be nearly impossible.
At my behest however, attaining one would only be a tedious affair that I should undoubtedly hasten to accomplish to save both my precious time and his own. I could even fetch Sir Kay’s sword as I changed into more appropriate attire for dealing with monks.
Coincidently that brought the wind behind my sail of thought to peter out. Changing would most certainly reveal my hidden gender to my unlikely compatriot, yet at the same moment I could not find it within any territory of my mind to suggest he make his way without aid to the church within the town.
Oddly the revelation of my gender to my unnamed companion did not strike me as odd, especially under the remembrance of his actions to clear my name against a furious Sir Ector. The feeling that he would not share my secret even under the direst of threats should I tell him to keep it, assuaged the little fear I had of the revelation that I had planned. Having saved his life I was assured that he would not say anything, even when taken into account his way of speaking was through the written word.
I looked him up and down, making note of his superior height, the shorter length of the slightly patchier sweater, and the woolen trousers that fitted him akin to an oversized saddle upon a mule with larger boots to match. He would be akin to a piece of coal amidst stones if he walked alongside me in the more populous areas of the encampment, and seeing as the crest upon my chest marked me as a Page of Sir Ector, the situation would be called upon by a bevy of sly eyes and passed on by dozens of mouths by the end of the day.
Notwithstanding my plot to demand a ways for my unlucky ward to communicated with me by threatening the local parish within full armor and armaments afterward, which I had planned to do with him in tow.
…bah, I cannot simply gave up in the face of such meager adversity. I’ll ascertain a way to explain the rumors that will filter to Sir Ector’s ear after I had acquired my companion another inscribing tool to communicate with.
My mind set in resolution I beckoned for him to follow me through the maze of tents, his long stride easily keeping him within arm’s reach should he somehow slip and fall. I could not ascertain, as of yet, the condition of his leg, but taking into account the fact that many towns hardly gave adequate treatment of any wounds I would not be at all surprised if his leg was improperly healed and he was coping with the pain the past years.
Maybe an appointment with a the towns surgeon may be in order, but given the inconsistency between towns of the professionalism and skills of doctors I would be more at ease if I took him to my own physician rather than one I hardly knew. The doctor here could be mad and think that amputation would be necessary to relieve the pain, and that was certainly not a thought anyone would find at all pleasant.
So I made sure he was within arm’s reach as we steadily made our way to the tent that was the quarters I resided in with Sirs Ector and Kay.
I hesitated briefly as I let him in, and my features must have contorted at the hesitation more than I had imagined as his eyes quickly caught my own.
He cocked his head for a second, before a light I recognized lightly as realization illuminated his cheeks akin to a hot fire.
My own face felt as if I had pressed it far too close to the fireplace as I attempted to reconcile my features and heartbeat into something more presentable. Could I truly have been so transparent so that he could see through my disguise without even seeing me undressed? The thought truly made me wonder solidly about the entire method of my practice of keeping my gender discrete.
His pointed finger at my Squire crest, and a gesture towards areas of the body that usually depicted the anatomy of a woman, managed to both infuriate me yet cause my cheeks to feel as if there were coals merely inches away and my heart to start imitating a horses gallop.
“I-it’s a complicated matter.” I almost swore when I heard my own stammer, and I turned away from him as I crossed my arms of my chest. No matter what I did I could not regain control over my heart or where my blood continuously boiled. “My gender must remain a secret, I expect only this in return for my aid.”
Much to my chagrin he did not even pause before giving a nod and pointing to the table where a few slices of bread had escaped the ravenous bowels that had assailed the table just this morning. The remnants were but paltry remains that I considered scraps, but at the begging look upon his face and intermittent glances as he awaited for my conclusion made all too clear that underneath clothing and the height he was still the starved boy from years ago.
My heart stilled and I found myself assailed by feelings I could not accurately describe as they were truly foreign to me. When I acquitted to his pleadings his smile was so radiant that the feelings intensified and I desperately missed the gallops that my heart had been doing only moments ago as it was replaced by the feeling of cracking glass within my chest.
The feeling only continued to grow as he did not eat the paltry offerings left behind by the ravenous appetites of two Knights and a Squire and regarded as scraps. My red-haired companion merely packed them into his pockets with a beatific smile that I could only describe as saintly.
I could not bear to watch another moment as he consumed to smallest piece that had been left behind, and I regretted consuming the rest of the loaf at Sir Kay’s teasing behest mere hours ago. If I had only left that singular piece intact he would have been able to take that and consume the rest…
I decided that if I pondered upon the matter anymore I would go mad, and strike out. Given the fact the nearest solid object was one of the poles that lifted the grandiose tent up, such a bout of anger would only threated the integrity of the structure.
As I undressed and began to equip my armor and arms, I could not help but wonder about my mysterious golden-eyed companion. He seemed to readily radiate a seemingly benevolent aura whenever I glanced at him, his features were kind and fair, his build towering akin to the many knights I had seen despite his youth and lack of nourishment and the selfless nature only seemed to continuously grind against my conscience if he was the one that received the benefits I had readily reaped.
The only conclusion that I found completely and irrevocably sound was that he would make for the perfect knight.
…
Everything was slowly spiraling out of control. The barbarians of the North were rampaging through the countryside unmolested as the kingdom was ransacked by famines. There was no food to be found to feed the men needed to man the battlements, and those that attempted were too weak to hold back the tide of muscle and rage. The few strongholds that remain are manned by tired knights protecting the starving peasants within as the world outside slowly burned under the torches of the invaders. Horses were slaughtered long ago and messengers no longer came from the outlying fiefdoms, having done the same.
Camelot was filled with refugees, a mass of writhing skeletons and thin sinew that begged for food that I could not provide. My most loyal Knights were spread thinly in support of the meager army sent out to quell the massive numbers of barbarians that plagued the countryside. My faith in them was resolute, but I could not see that they could not hope to quell it before much of my people starve upon the streets of my own city.
Camelot was bathed by the setting sun in a bright red light reminiscent of blood, the streets toiled restlessly by the homeless and forgotten. Even those with titles of nobles were lucky to sleep near the furnace of a blacksmith or the empty coal ovens of the bakeries. The farms near the city were plagued so by vagrants and homeless that their crops were mere fractions of what were required to support my burgeoning city.
My knights were culling the barbarian horde, my servants have been dismissed to the farmsteads, the guards patrolled the streets below and gathered the dead, and Merlin used his magics to traverse the lands in search of aid from the fiefdoms that had been not heard since the last solstice. The mad hope that some may have weathered the storm and had fruitful harvest was tantalizing enough to send the wizard away.
“My King!” A voice I had not heard for months sprang to life, and I peered down the hall only to be flummoxed at the sight of Bediviere running towards me with all due haste. Clad in full armor and plate, no Knight ever ran within the confines of such armor as he wore, his breathes were ragged and once he neared. “I bring grand tidings from Lord Leodegrance! You must accompany me at once to-”
“Calm yourself, Sir Bediviere, catch your breath them you may address me.” I offered no alternative in my tone, and his jaw snapped shut at a moment’s notice. After his breath was stable and his eyes person less manic in status I inquired: “What tidings do you bring to me from my Father’s most loyal friend?”
“They had weathered the first barbarian onslaught successfully, my King!” Bediviere declared ecstatically his countenance now far removed from the battered knight he seemed to be, and my own eyes widened in conjunction with his declaration. His lands were mostly crops such as wheat and oat… “They have an abundance of food and crops, ready to be sent at Lord Ledegrance’s command!”
“Why has he not sent the bounty along with yourself?” I demanded, quickly surveying the streets below to assure myself that I was correct in the lack of foodstuffs.
“Father awaits for my call, my King.” A melodic voice came from the same direction from which Bediviere had come and I turned to face the speaker. Her gown was extravagant, soft, white linens supplanted by an shawl extravagantly embroidered with gold. Her hair was hidden by the same shawl, as she used the garment akin to woman in hiding, though I could not comprehend as to how something of such color and golden embroidery could hope to attract less attention.
I understood a mere moment after she stopped utilizing it as the failure of concealment, pulling it back to reveal her face and let auburn tresses flow and frame her face.
Bediviere bowed lowly.
“Truly your face would have put Helen of Troy’s to shame, Lady Guinevere.” Bediviere declared excitedly, and Guinevere curtsied demurely to us both as he continued to speak with continuous compliments. I found myself suitably enraptured by her graceful features and a deliberate kindness that seemed to radiate from her smile without pretense or judgment.
I had no doubts about her beauty, many of the noblewomen within my court possessed an ethereal beauty that could hardly be matched by any of the peasantry. Guinevere’s beauty was breathtaking and utterly limitless, in comparison to her beauty I could not help but ponder that in comparison to her the noblewomen I had seen were the peasants they utterly outmatched in the spectrum of beauty. In comparison to her flawless features I could not truly believe that another woman could ever compare in the eyes of any man.
As Bediviere continued to pour continuous praise upon her, I was suitably confident in my ability to negotiate for the resources required to utterly bring the famine to a standstill without being hampered by her beauty during the negotiations and compromise my resources in any way, shape or form. I had no doubt if I had been a man like the utterly smitten knight by my side I would have be so enraptured by her beauty I would have proposed to her on the very spot.
I held up my gloved hand to stop my faithful knight from humiliating himself any further by continuously quoting authors upon abstract women from ancient times past. I had seen this behavior once before in a tournament, so smitten was he towards the local nobleman’s daughter he could hardly speak to her without quoting the Iliad or, much to the bemusement of the local chaplain, the old testament.
The words need not be uttered that we had to nurse him back to help after the viscous beating given to him after he began to compare the reputable woman of faith to Sodom and Gomorrah. Sir Kay and Bediviere had both been in the same room since, due to the former’s inability to stop himself from speaking about the humorous situation whenever the poor knight ever came within his sight. The only reason Bediviere could even sit amongst the Round Table next to my Foster Brother was that most of the knights already knew of the happening and no longer found the story of any meaningful interest.
The smile that graced my features were aided by the thoughts, the infallible humor whenever I recounted Bediviere’s plight against beautiful women, aided sufficiently against the lethargy and melancholy of the famine and invasion. I took her offered hand, pressing my lips against her remarkably smooth skin while as I kept my eyes on hers, my other hand upon my Caliburn’s pommel and my back utterly straight. The smile upon my lips widened very slightest as she realized her feminine charms had not affected me as it had undoubtedly down to dozens of Nobles and suitors before myself. She would have to negotiate before me as dozens of others had done, with her words and resources against my own.
I offered her my arm, a truly odd gesture as she stood a head above me, which she unhesitatingly took. Her hand sought for mine from her grasp upon my elbow with the most miniscule amount of hesitation, and I was utterly bemused at the lengths to which she was willing to go for whatever her father had ordered her to do from his perch in power. I quickly grasped it and kissed it once more, with the smile returning upon my lips.
“Pray tell, Lady Guinevere, I fear you no longer have any more hands for my lips to grace.” I utilized my miniscule skill in charming of those of similar sex to myself, as I uttered the words with the most charming smile I could manage. “Though I am not hesitant of placing my lips upon your fair skin, the church will most certainly object to my continuous upholding of my gentlemanly code.”
Her beatific face erupted into a lovely shed of red as she swiftly looked away. I let her hand fall from my glove and unto the crook of my elbow as was its customary placement. I swiftly tuned upon my heel and I closed Bediviere’s unhinged jaw. Though I was quite sure that his jaw had returned to its former state as he realized I was guiding the bashful beauty up to the stairs beside by throne and up to my quarters where we can speak in private.
I had the oddest feeling that once my business with Lady Guinevere I would undoubtedly find him sitting slumped against the wall where I had just left him. A haunted look would be upon him, as he slowly repeated the lines I had just uttered again and again in full plate.
…but that surely could not possibly happen, and I continued to guide the lovely maiden to my quarters and past the great doors that led to my throne room.
Lady Guinevere and myself reached my chambers within a few inconspicuous moments. I was at a loss for the briefest of moments as I gathered my wits and scrounged for something that would be of proper etiquette of a King towards a visitor of great importance. There was no food to be spoken of so it could not be offered and neither was there anything to drink…
Unless…
I excused myself from my stunning compatriot, and moved quickly towards a cabinet that had laid untouched since the last feast of my beloved city. It was after the first banquet celebrating the completion of my castle and its festivities that I had retired to my quarters with Sirs Ector and Kay with a nearly a dozen bottles of fine French wine. At the eve’s end we had decided that we would most certainly turn the small outing of the parties into tradition and we swiftly amassed a variety of different wines that steadily ripened and grew delightfully as it aged, away from the kitchens and wine cellars that serviced the rest of the castle.
Merlin had taken quite the liking to having access to such an array of fine drinks that he enchanted it to stay as cool as the wine cellars bellow the castle so the liquors would keep well. I let myself get lost at the memory of the last gathering within my quarters, with Sirs Ector, Kay Bediviere and Merlin more than a year ago. My eyes darted within the confines of the closet five times my width, twice my height, and could store three armored knights within. I quickly found the one I sought, the third to last of the original twelve I had brought with my Foster father and brother, the wine had been aged for over fifty years before being sent upon goodwill and stored for another five. To say it was befitting of royalty would be an understatement, especially within these perilous times.
She took the glass I offered with a surprising hesitance, either she did not drink or was worried that the wine would hamper her ability to ponder the negotiations that would occur. From the accounts of my knights and my own eyes, I had learned that many of those that did not participate in the regimented training we knights dutifully exercise ever day was inebriated by a mere three glasses of wine. To properly inebriate a knight of stature such as Sir Kay would require the same number of glasses but with the containing bottles as the containers instead.
I was glad that a one of my knights had requested a glass once upon a distant evening, otherwise the two of us might have had to share the bottle instead the single cup I had offered her. I was more fond of drinking the wine from the container myself, I always found the taste of the wine differing once the liquid entered the glass and found some of the wine’s flavor depleted from the action.
I sat on the mahogany table that was crafted for me by my old home’s master craftsman, the mighty piece of furniture could attest to the man’s skill as the wood had held up to more than a few fully armored knights sitting upon it. Having been carved rather than cut from a singular tree trunk, more than a few of my knights that were artisans adored the piece of furniture and insisted that the desk was a work of art. I sat upon it, leveling a leg length wise onto it and leaving the other barely brushing against the floor, while laying the three quarters full bottle at my side.
“So what does my uncle ask for his aide in ending these terrible times, Lady Guinevere?” I asked as she sat upon my chair and dutifully sipped at the near sixty year old wine with slightly hidden delight. I brought the bottle up to my own lips, taking care to not spill it upon the tunic I wore over my light scale mail, the embroidery upon had taken days to complete and would be sorely ruined when the odd color of a wine stain was upon it.
“My father offers his aide in return for a position of great importance to the Kingdom for myself.” She declared simply and effectively, to my bemusement her cheeks already had the lightest tinged of red that signified the beginnings of inebriations. “For such a position he would send his grains to lessen the effects of the famine and apply his troops to Camelot’s aid against the barbarians.”
“Two thinks quite lacking my kingdom at the moment,” I acquiesced to the offered items, feeling more elated than I had minutes before Bediviere had returned, I was only worried about the price I would have to pay. A position of great import certainly meant becoming my Queen, but with Bediviere’s enamored babbles in mind, I could think of a person who she would be far happier with and still receive great, if lesser, renown by being acknowledged as part of the court the presided within Camelot. I pondered the idea for a moment, only slightly contemplating the thought of maybe arranging the marriages of my many suitors to my knights, it most certainly had appeal should there be no qualms between the two or vows of chastity broken by my knights. “And a position of great import can be arranged easily for a beauty such as yourself amongst my knights.”
“Surely such aid in times of great hostility and famine such as this would be of more import than a single knight, my dear King Arthur?” She batted her eyelashes at me as she placed a free hand over her heart and tugged upon the fabric enticingly. Her beauty truly swept me as though I stared at a masterpiece created by a lost artist, appreciation of her beauty as effortless as breathing. I was once more thankful of my gender this day, this entire proposition would be lost had I been a man before this woman of near divine beauty. “Surely I single knight of the Round Table would be lacking in such of the regards of the lives to be saved by my father’s aid.”
I took another slow sip of the wine beside me, savoring the amazing taste of the perfectly aged liquid that utterly ruined the cooking of even my own chefs. I noted that she had drank the same amount as I had but was already in the state of inebriation that left her swaying ever so slightly.
“I fear that only a few of the knights would be happy with such an arrangement.” I stated simply, and her head tilted ever so slightly in confusion. I gestured for her to move her cup forward so I may fill it once more.
“I am confused, My King.” She stated wearily, and I had the oddest feeling she was playing with me as much as I was with her. I could not say that her blush was fake, but more than a few nobles could hold a glass of this strong wine. The way her voice was almost always alluring, the way she seemed so innocent yet ready, the way her appearance bordered upon a scandal yet somehow stayed firmly upon the ‘correct’ and classical form of appreciation at the same moment.
I would not believe for a thousand years this woman was in any way not trained to use her body to attract and lull in men with melodic tunes that issued from her mouth, the always slight pouting of her lips, the way her back was perfectly straight yet angled her bosom enticingly. This young lady, would most certainly be the reincarnation of Aphrodite herself to achieve this all by only the sum of nature itself. She was the perfect weapon against a man, she would be able to toy with the heartstrings eternally and maybe without even malice in her intention.
She was quite the adversary I must admit, but until I grew a pair of testes and a scrotum I would not be hampered by her the slightest.
I nodded gravely as I poured the wine into her awaiting cup.
“I fear that very few knights would ever profess to you when you make your intentions clear that you intend to take more than one of them to marriage and unto the antechamber.” She froze perceptibly and the glass slipped out of hand. I caught it with no difficulty as I allowed a smile to spread across my face, my foster brother was most perceptive in women and I reminded myself to thank him later for the extensive repertoire of raunchy tales he told at the each of the gatherings.
I sipped the wine from the cup luxuriously as the woman in front of me lost her composure and began the stutter and blush as she recounted the words she had stated in her mind. The goddess of love disappearing beneath the blushing and utterly swept woman alike the dozens or hundreds that had attempted to woo me. I had faith that she would undoubtedly capitulate to my demands. The resources and forces will alleviate the strain of my kingdom and Bediviere will gain a loving wife in the process.
My people will be fed, my soldiers relived and returned to their families, and my most faithful knight will gain a wife that will make every man in the kingdom jealous of him and fill my kingdom with continuous allusions to history in attempts to romanticize women.
Honestly I feared the outcome of this meeting very much, but the hitherto experience in dealing with others I acquired from befriending my knights was invaluable. I had no doubt, that even had I still retained my advantage of not falling for this woman’s charms without my prior advancements in social etiquette, or rather the intentional lack of its usage, I acquired with the help of my knights this meeting could have ended with a marriage with no love between the spouses.
…
“My King…” Lancelot’s steps were astoundingly quiet for the gait of a fully armed knight, such was his prowess and skill in anything that was required of any knight. As one of the more recent members of the Round Table, I had not thought that he would have been the many to depart after my child’s revelation.
I tried to be calm and address my faithful knight, but I was being overwhelmed at the site of citizens congregating at the courtyard below, all of them calling for the same thing over and over: Explanations. I was sorely tempted to give my own account to them as the question as to what could my words could do to placate the crowd of people I had lied to for the better part of thirty odd years. My mind was continuously blank, and I could not help but panic at the mere thought of addressing the crowd below when I had been unable to withhold my own precious knights from leaving in disgust of serving a woman who assumed the role of a man.
My kingdom was falling slowly to pieces, and merely because I refused to acknowledge the truth of Mordred’s true identity before the gathering of a court. The simple act of lying and having my flesh and bone killed would have saved me from this pain and wretched agony as my subjects assailed the palace with their cries for truth. I… was unable to have Mordred silenced, my splitting image in red left as soon as the judgment was given back from whence my child had hidden and grown in anger at me for years and years.
The thought made my heart ache so much, the thought of hatred coming from my only flesh and blood as I aided others was-
A sword was pulled from it’s scabbard, Arondight’s blade sang through the air and my instinct to parry a blade and draw for combat against the most perfect knight was smothered by regret and pain. Undoubtedly following me was a shame he sought to erase and purge from the world, he would be heralded as a hero that destroyed the false ruler of England and freed the people from her false dominion.
Armored knees fell upon the floor as I had expected the blow to come, a helmet clattered across the room in a flash of silver and purple. My eyes tore their gaze from the crowd that steadily gathered below and onto the kneeling form of Lancelot with his head bared upon Arondight before him. The only thing that separated his head form the stone floor was the blade he so carefully cared for, never had he before so callously placed the weapon for the realms beyond upon the ground.
I stood speechless before the prostate knight and could not find the will to call him up.
“Forgive me, my Queen.” He annunciated, his words as honest and humble they always were. His voice so clear like a brook trickling onto a lake, eased my nerves as I comprehended what he was saying. “For not being able to stop my fellows from leaving you in these tumultuous times. I ask that you do not punish them for breaking their oaths of fealty and accept them when they retur-”
“Oaths?” I whispered, turning away from the prostate knight, my voice felt dry as I rasped. I did not remember the last I had drank, neither did I remember when I had taken off the armor that seemed to weigh upon me so much. I could not remember where the sun was when I began watching the crowd of people below gather in protest. I could only feel the dryness of my throat, the overbearing weight of plate steel, and see the sun slowly cresting into the horizon. “You took no oaths to a woman, Knight of the Lake and neither did they. The power to punish your fellows does not lie with me. Sir Lancelot.”
The speed at which he stood shocked me, I expected him to attack but he left his sword as he grasped my shoulders and turned me away from the scene I could only describe as a time of judgment and execution.
“Then who DID I take an oath to, my lady?” He demanded violet-azure eyes blazing akin to rolling storm clouds or harsh waves manifested by only the largest of lakes. “Who holds the authority to punish renegade knights that broke their oaths at the slightest tremor of the unshakable mountain?” He aimed his finger down at the crowd below. “Who can answer the call of the people as they demand they see the ruler, who saved each of their lives tenfold, unharmed and unchallenged?”
His hand reached for the blade at my hip and I immediately grasped the blade and caught his wrist in such a manner that he was unable to move .
“Who can hold the sword that could split mountains, and carve up the lands?” He questioned with subdued fury and another emotion that I could only see as alien in his eyes. “Who can utilize its power without becoming a worthless tyrant of all the free men and women within the isle?”
He withdrew his hand from the blade the alien emotion and the fury that was not aimed at myself still boiling as he kept continuously asking questions.
“Who can save their country from barbarians and famine acting together against the will of God?” Lancelot inquired, voice filled with passion and fire I had yet to see before. “Who can unite so many fiefs under a single banner by simply swearing fealty to them and uphold the weak bond through three decades?”
“I do not know.” I admitted, shame burning my throat as they left my mouth.
Ferocity faded from his eyes leaving only the alien feeling within his eyes as he slowly kneeled, never breaking lock with my eyes.
“I do.” He declared softly, picking up his sword by the tip and its midsection. He held the point at his neck and the handle towards myself. The ease to which I could kill him was the same to throwing a rock.
Another rebel tear made its way down my cheek, joining its compatriots that had been overcoming my defenses regularly hours hence.
“I do not deserve this loyalty.” My voice cracked, I could only speak in such a whimper at this very moment.
“I do not deserve such a marvelous ruler.” He declared a smile gracing his features a moment before his eyes broke away and he finally bowed his head and awaited my decision to ascertain his faith.
Arondight was heavy in my hands, built for Lancelot by the same hands that created my Excalibur and Caliburn, it was blade that could break past any defense and remain unbroken. I held it fast, the flat of the blade making me unable to see the knight before me.
The words that issued from my mouth were ones that I had given hundreds of times before in numerous ceremonies, to grant prestigious knights entry into the Round Table. They felt so odd as they issued from my tongue, as if it was their first moment leaving them rather than the a hundredth.
Lancelot resolutely agreed to each and every single one, and when the final line came and I dutifully changed my title and to my true name he smiled, looked upon me with eyes of great joy and said.
“So as I swear to you, upon my honor as a knight, Queen Arturia, I shall entrust you with my body and spirit, armor and sword till the end of days.” He paused and looked earnestly into my eyes, “For I am sure that no other could hope to do as you have done, or do as you will do.”
He rose as my first true knight. He was the first knight to come back to the round table, the first knight to look at my actions before my gender after my offspring’s revelation and the great splintering of the round table. He gave me hope that others will return and that my actions will overshadow my gender.
Lancelot turned and sheathed his sword, as he walked to my side my breath caught at the sight at the doorway behind him.
He was not the last.
There were many missing and my heart ached so much for the faces I could not find amongst the crowd of steel and flesh. My heart ached for them, yet at the same moment joy refused to remained shackled by the chains I had weighed down upon it alongside my sorrow and grief. I could not speak, I was unable to address the congregation that filled the hallway as far as I could see.
“You all stand before the monarch of this country?!” Lancelot declared by my side, I had not even felt him kneel, but that was how he was upon his declaration. “Have you forgotten your places amongst royalty, Knights of Queen Arturia, rightful heir of the throne, savior of your lives and those you love?”
Sir Kay stepped forward, moving from the congregation in withering silence until he was in the distance between.
My foster brother met Lancelot’s eyes, blue against purple.
“Nay, Knight of the Lake.” The knight I had known longest stated, his prevalent smile shining as he knelt. My foster brother’s eyes sought mine, and grew unbearably soft and kind a look that I had not seen and felt for ages. “I have not forgotten how she had slain that barbarian who eclipsed my strength, or the countless others who would have gladly taken it.”
Bediviere kneeled opposite of him, the animosity between him and Lancelot that was ever present nonexistent for the first time in years as their eyes met and the tensest of nods flowed between them
He simply stated “Nay.” Before bowing his head upon his knee.
Each Knight followed, following either example whether they were behind the first who had done so. Two lines were formed and stretched from one end of the castle to the other, longer even that the lines for the holy host during days of litany and prayer.
The sight of the loyalty, the strength beyond words to someone such as myself, who lied to them my entire lives, made the situation all too clear that I could never hope to be the righteous recipient of this loyalty.
“Rise, my faithful knights.” My voice was barely a whisper, but as Lancelot rose from my side so did all the others.
I could never be worthy of such loyalty, no matter how much I worked to attain it.
“Stand at attention, before your monarch!” Lancelot bellowed, he drew his blade and aimed it at the sky in salute. Hundreds of blades were unsheathed, and cross-linked as knights faced one another in a ceremony I had not seen since I was crowned king.
For only the second time in my life, I walked underneath a roof of blades that collapsed behind me. My life entrusted in theirs not even a single strand of my hair was touched, or did I ever fear that I would be harmed.
I entered the curtain of steel once, and left a King.
I leave it once more, a Queen.
…
The ripples of magic that had summoned me from the Throne of Heroes dissipated into nothingness, to my bemusement another servant was already present. The situation for my summoning must have been upon the direst of circumstances, if the one I was bound to was already under assault. Excalibur was present, held in my right hand, but the reassuring weight within my left and upon my waist greatly doubled my confidence to the highest degree.
I had to wonder where Avalon, my final Phantasm, currently was, but the man wielding a spear’s expression steadily readied itself for battle. The man clad in blue and light armor was most certainly a hero, his mere presence absolutely not allowing any sort of contest to his status, I could not afford to hold back my strength.
The ground beneath my foot shattered as I stepped upon it with three times my normal strength, Prana Burst working as reliably as ever, much to my happiness. I threw the cursed spear in my left hand at the spearman, the strength behind the blood seeking spear had carried it through thirteen men even at my most fatigued. Thrown at the stupendous speed I was shocked to see him attempt to parry my treasured weapon, managing to block its advance with his own spear’s midsection.
The man clad in blue must not have thought upon the strength of the spear as he did of its speed, as his eyes widened considerably his spear struck him lengthwise upon the chest and carried him out of the structure with considerable force, his legs last to leave with his body first.
I was tempted to address my summoner, but such formalities were best addressed once the enemy was either dispatched or removed from the immediate area. The information provided by the Grail, that stated a summoner would be compatible with the servant to a very high degree, wrought a fierce battle upon my better senses. Who was the person who was undoubtedly alike to me to such an extent that I could be summoned to his aid.
I could not decide as to what I should do, so I made a compromise with myself.
I turned upon my heel, intending to merely look upon my summoner before pursuing the man in blue.
My eyes met gold, and the world invariably changed as his gaze met mine. The thrum of his mind meshed with my own as stated by the Grail would occur with highly compatible masters in the span of a few days, so that I would be able to aid him at the simplest thought. I had pondered upon the fear of another sharing my mind after a mere few days of knowledge of the other. His mind and my own connected within a simple meeting of eyes, and I could not say that it worried me at the very least.
Emotions flowed into me, fear prominent but utterly eclipsed by the extreme magnitude of his will to live. The thoughts were haphazard at best, but the moment since our eyes met had yet to pass when I began to understand how truly powerful the man I had forced from battle. The spear in his hand had pierced my master’s heart and destroyed it utterly within seconds of its activation.
When our eyes broke contact, I was already through the doorway, my mind awhirl at the thought of my master’s ability to survive such a blow and his stupidity at being killed in the war. When my strike with Excalibur was unceremoniously blocked by the wicked spear the blue warrior carried, my opponent was once more thrown aside by my strength. The warrior recognized the opportunity in the attack, and he immediately raised his spear to bury it within my heart in s single thrust. The provocation of my strength undoubtedly bringing forth to his mind the lethality of my presence and his choice to kill me at the earliest opportunity.
My left hand immediately went to the knife at my side, and in a movement born of habit I flicked the blade at the man. My fellow servant was about to thrust the spear whilst declaring its name to activate the power within when he suddenly had to stop due to the need to block my spear. He batted it away with as much force as he could muster, the knife generating sparks in contact with the blood uncovered spear.
My fellow was undoubtedly quite bemused when he had to do so again a mere second after he batted it away. The blade had taken off a witch’s head when I had thrown it into the darkness, the blade sought blood as much as my spear did. The blessed white blade was a constant flurry of speed that attempted to get past my opponent’s guard, my own energy was steadily depleting as the spearman was continuously harassed by the enchanted spear.
I took the moment of respite to accept as much as I could from my master, seeking as much energy as possible to utterly destroy my enemy.
Pain lanced through my link, my manifested heart suddenly beating strong enough to nearly cause an aneurism within my brain as sympathetic, phantom pain lanced through my entire body. My own mind was so clouded by the pain, all my control over my weapon disappeared and the spearman batted it away and retreated without another word.
Could it be another servant was already attacking my master?!
My heart stopped at the sight within the building, there was no servant attacking and harming my master, but my mind would have preferred had the situation been so. My master’s every pore was bleeding, excreting blood in such a way I had only seen once, when Merlin purposefully activated a magi’s latent power by forcibly opening the Circuitry within and draining it to an extent that it would need to activate to survive.
He was harmed by my own hand, and my own foolish thought to quickly dispatch the enemy that had escaped. Not only had I harmed him, but I also failed in the goal of the accidental harm I had inflicted. The energy coursing within me and thrumming within my veins, thrumming against its maximum capacity, only served bring more shame upon me. The mental connection did not cease in its constant transmission of pain, and I fretted anxiously as I strained to remember what Merlin had done after the poor youth’s pathways had been opened so forcibly.
I lifted him from his prone position, settling him upon a table after I cleared it of the various tools upon it. I fretted to and fro, my mind scrambling as I paced and wracked my brain for the solution my wizard had come up with the sooth the boy.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, it struck
The wizard had given the boy some of his own energy to sooth the circuitry within! The thought had not even finished when I was already by his side. I set the spear, that had returned upon my pacing, into the ground and grasped my knife. I did not know how much of my blood would be required, so I pierced the artery on my right arm quickly, leveling the opening carefully above his open mouth in the process.
A single droplet of blood dripped into his awaiting mouth before the wound immediately healed itself.
I swore, thankful for the lack of presence of those who knew me, I searched the room with a deft eye. I had been sure Avalon had not come with me, but the near instantaneous regeneration reminded me immediately of the magical sheath’s properties when I did not fill it with constant energy. The most ponderous part of the frustrating event, was the fact I felt the pain lessen the moment the blood had dripped into his mouth.
The agony that rippled through the mental bonds, however was still far too much in quantity for him to ever be in. I eyed my trusted blade, and my arm for the slightest of moments as frustration welled within me. The thought of pain from what I would do came alongside the thought that he would most certainly survive with what he was already given. Merlin had only given a few drops of his own blood, not even from the wrist, but from his fingernails. The amount of power within the drop of blood was enough for my master to weather this pain.
I did not hesitate was I cut a vertical slit from wrist to elbow, I could surely withstand this and the pain was only a splinter compared to his own. The amount of blood that left my veins was staggering to see, an incandescent river of life-giving rivulets of red liquid. I tilted my wrist downward, allowing the droplets into his mouth. The frustration that welled within me as a few strayed onto his stained shirt was volcanic, and I gritted my teeth in anger when the wound closed a mere moment after I managed to coax down a paltry cupful down into his throat.
I feel as if… something important has happened to me.
I could not understand it… was it possible?The pain that emanated from his mind was still staggering to comprehend, every single one of his nerves was on fire and steadily increasing in temperature. My blood soothed so much, I could not bring it to myself to halt. I felt alike to a bucket of water that steadily dropped water onto a thirsty man’s throat, I did not hesitate to harm myself again and allow the river of blood to stain the pure-white clothing provided by the Holy Grail as I coaxed more of it into him. The sight of him swallowing, and the slightest numbing of the pain that pulsed through our mental channels nearly brought tears of happiness to my eyes.
I had just met him.
The wound healed once more, and I readily reopened the wound with my beloved knife. The clothing and armor that had not been damaged at all by the enemy servant was stained by the blood I chose to spill by my own hand and knife instead. I angled the flowing river into his awaiting mouth, wiping away his blood matted hair with my free hand. When he did not need me to coax the blood down his throat, and he drank under his own power, my heart almost burst in joy.
But…
The pain that addled his mind was nearly gone, my full capacity of power continued to mock me, the desire to give him the same amount I had taken was bizarre yet feverishly desired. I wanted to help him more, I could not settle for him merely able to rest after I had brought him harm. My hand was about to create another river of blood when his rough, callused hand grasped my own weakly. A weak smile accompanied by his golden eyes made my knees weak and shaky, he stated: “I do not need anymore.” I was utterly entranced by his voice, I had thought him mute for some inexplicable reason. “…can I have your name?”
I stated my name, the gleam of recognition within his eyes manifested butterflies within me.
“Thank you, Arturia, for saving my life…twice.” I could not help but fawn over how my name left his lips.
“My name is Shirou Emiya.”
I had already fallen in love
And a love story began.
Fin.
Convenient Spoilering Is Convenient
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http://www.jukepopserials.com/home/read/767
Awww, I had been hoping for Shirou the Knight of the Round Table but this is okay too.
SoE, you have outdone yourself entirely here. Excelsior!
F/GO SUPPORT
Not what I was expecting, but still, a very nice piece of work.
NASUVERSE STAMPEDE!!!
The War
…
Disclaimer: I make no monetary gain is made from this.
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Chapter Two: Prologue.
…
“Please, Emiya-san, be reasonable.”
“I do not wish my son to be fettered in to such a life, Yamada-san.” Emiya spoke softly, but there was unwavering steel in those words.
“And I do not want the people I lead to be fettered to a miserable existence upon this mountain.” Yamada groused, bringing his fist sharply upon the wooden table. The frustration was building up to a climax within the chosen ‘Leader’ of the collection of survivors housed on what had once been temple lands. Thanks to the natural Leyline within there was no lingering residue of the cursed fluid that drenched the lands only two years ago, washed away by the strength of the nature itself.
Kiritsugu Emiya had personally led the collection of survivors that made up the bulk of the remnants Fuyuki city, before the government agent arrived from Tokyo twelve months ago. Yamada Karachi had expected to only be an advisor to the Magus when he arrived, especially when he did not find the remnants of the Police force within the communities’ protection finding the man’s leadership lacking even with the public backing of the seedier remnants that made up the bulk of the communities’ protection program.
Most of the people within the boundaries of the community carved into the mountain would still defer to the soft-spoken, tired man before him, rather than himself. Karachi could hardly blame them as well. Of the two thousand living inside the wooden city, he could hardly name a couple dozen who did not owe some sort of debt- ranging from food to their very lives- to the black-haired Magus, and they were indebted to the foreign Magus Waver Velvet who had been extracted to help his own country two months ago.
Though, the rather young leader doubted that if Waver Velvet had saved the majority and Emiya the minority, he would be the pseudo-leader of the group. Despite the boy’s soft-spokeness, he had a terrifying effect to create light amounts of fanaticism among those he saved. Seeing the young man lead a search party in the ruined city after a pillar of camp-smoke had been sighted had been an inspiring day, the difference was like night and day when the young man was in a situation where there were lives on the line.
Completely unlike the professionalism exuded by Kiritsugu Emiya when he risked his life everyday into the ruins of the city and saved lives so casually. The difference between the two was like night and day, the only thing they had in common was the subject of the current conversation.
The red-headed boy, gently sleeping on cot attached to the wall.
“Shirou is a ward of the state,” Yamada stated lowly, lifting his hand from low table. Feeling bile rise in his throat as he executed the threat he had planned. “You have no legal claim upon him, Emiya Kiritsugu, it is under my power as the ambassador to this town from the Japanese government to decide for his best interests.
“If that is such, I will go to a place where he and I cannot be bothered of such things.” Kiritsugu stated calmly, as always, before picking up the cup of tea that had been poured from the steel in the middle of the table. The heater inside worked to keep their legs warm as well heat the tea, a Japanese innovation that was steadily making its way through the world now with the strict rationing of Natural Gas. The cup reached had only reached the man’s lips when the normally dull tone and empty eyes sharpened to a razor edge alongside the next words. “You know better than to try and threaten me, Yamada. I am not as easily cowed as Waver Velvet by national ties.”
Then, almost suddenly, the man’s eyes returned to its normal dull luster as he sipped his tea contently, allowing the young man in the suit’s heartbeat to return to normal in the moment of silence later on, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved that he could say that he would be able to actually ask the man this time in his report to his superiors this time around.
Who knows, maybe when the Matou and Tohaska finally decide to go public Kiritsugu would turn his mind around.
…
Chapter Two.
…
I awoke to a gentle shake on my shoulder, I tried to rub my eyes only that it was a fruitless effort with the combination of glass and composite material that covered my eyes from the harsh landscape’s effects. As the dregs of sleep slowly filtered away, I carefully activated the twenty-seven circuits housed within my spine. The sudden buzz of magic alongside its familiar aches washed away the ebbing remnants of my sleep, the only remainder of my rest was the remarkable clearness of my thoughts.
The gloved hand left my shoulder after I lowered my hand and gave a short nod. A glance over the hood, past the pair of mounted fifty caliber turret mounts, of the uncovered pickup truck my compatriots and myself rode upon greeted me with the reason why I was currently upon a hastily refurbished American pickup truck that was easily older than I was.
“Any ghouls?” I inquired, the filter-mask making it awful to speak after my mouth went stale, but I was already used to that given the amount of time I spent having the piece of equipment on. Thankfully it wasn’t like the stock gasmasks my companions wore that was were more akin to rubber facemasks with tubing connected to a less than optimal filter wrapped around midsection. My own was a more expensive filtration system that just scrubbed whatever air I was about to breath in through the two scrubbers composed of layers of fabricated material held by ceramic composite lined with rubber and held in place by a magnetic link system housed within non-abrasive cloth that wrapped around my neck.
It was good to see my Tracing was still in order after my rest, sleep came by with such rarity I was sometimes convinced I would forget everything I learned the moment I closed my eyes.
“A few dozen,” The Staff-Sergeant replied, idly checking her semiautomatic rifle, a refurbished weapon from the World War 2 era. The only change from the refurbishment was that it was now chambered for rounds akin to slugs, a hasty necessity when limbs needed to be blown off to stop a target. “Nothing worth waking you over, though.” She jutted her chin towards the Corporal sitting next to the rear-most fifty caliber. “Nagisa was pretty convinced you were dead when you kept sleeping after he went to town on the last batch with his turret, mind sharing the secrets of your miraculous revival?”
“Sleeping next to a Helicopter rotor a few times helps,” I deferred lightly, earning a few chuckles from the fire team I was officially an attaché for the moment. “What’s our time of arrival?”
“ETA is around five minutes.” The Staff Sergeant said simply, before pointing at one of the buildings that surrounded the remains of the chemical plant. “My team and I will deploy in the second story after we destroy the stairwell and park this diesel guzzler a few clicks out with some camo-netting as protection.”
I shook my head. “Make that only a click,” I advised, changing their plans to keeping the car a few minutes away to a single minute. “If the Apostle gets past me, chances are you’ll need to gun it out of here.”
“But that won’t happen right- sir?” The man across me inquired hesitantly, as the Sergeant relayed orders to the driver, and I had to pause at his apprehension at my advice. I did not remember his name similarly to the Staff Sergeant, and his nametag was faded enough to make mistranslation a very dangerous option, so I didn’t know to address him.
“It never hurts to be prepared for any situation.” I stated simply, giving a nod towards the man. “I am prepared to give it my all, but these enemies we face are not to be taken lightly.”
As if my words weren’t ominous enough we hit a pothole at the end of the sentence, making our vehicle’s hull to creak. I made a mental note after I analyzed the truck to tell the mechanics to loosen the axles.
“You’re quite different from the last Magi we dealt with,” He seemed to flounder for a name I had not given, as in accordance with the orders I had been given.
“Hotshot.” I added helpfully, the my apt-designation within the small collection of Magi employed by the state. Truth be told none of us knew each other’s names, or even each other’s faces, moments in time when I met a fellow Magus was rare beyond measure since there were only 17 of us in the district. Each one of us had a nickname given to us for identification purposes.
I had enough luck to get assigned to a Rapid Deployment Unit comprised mostly of Japanese Self-Defense Forces on my first mission, and with their mostly passive nature when in battle, my… exuberance in the first battles and the subsequent conflagration that concluded them led to my nickname and it subsequently stuck through the report afterward.
It was better than Number 06 at the very least, and that gasoline truck should have definitely been siphoned for its contents and not left somewhere it was liable to get shot at.
“Hotshot.” He mulled the nick name over, before giving a nod. “You’re quite different from our last Magi, Hotshot, for one you’re-”
“Personable.” The Corporal stated.
“Normal.” The man across from him agreed.
“Human.” The last man snickered before the Staff-Sergeant clammed them up with a fierce glare behind the visor of her mask.
“-what they said.” The man across me stated weakly, and I took a moment to full out my own goggles from my coat as the winds picked up and began to blow dust onto us. “Clear Eyes wasn’t exactly the envy of socialites everywhere,” He flinched at the Sergeant’s glare. “She was very… apathetic to us.” He finished weakly as the other’s, even the Sergeant, scoffed.
“She didn’t give a damn if any of us survived,” Nagisa stated bitterly, “couldn’t even get a bit of Intel about what the hell a Ghoul was, yet alone a Apostle.”
“That must’ve been quite some time ago.” I speculated, counting the years that must have passed at the incident. The man nodded as he methodically counted the numbers of bullets in his magazines.
“’Round four years ago.” He admitted, “Clear’s probably your age by now too, not that it made a difference when the eleven year old started chopping things up like a machine the moment we touched down.” He finished bitterly, jamming the magazine into the receiver, had it not been a refurbished gun from the World War era it would have probably broken it. “One moment we’re trying to puzzle why we’re flying on fumes into a refugee camp, the next we get told we have to start shooting anyone that’s bleeding with a little girl spreading blood and launching limbs everywhere.”
I tilted my head forward, “Please accept my apology on her behalf, Nagisa-san.” I stated lowly, “As children we’re taught to subdue our feelings since they could cause fluctuations within our bodies that may end up killing us.” The back of the truck seemed quieter after my declaration, but I continued. “It is only after we’ve trained extensively, is when we can hope to open ourselves up to others and feel.”
My tinted wind buffers prevented him from seeing my eyes as I stared into his own. There was humility in there, and a touch of shame, I didn’t need to hear his acceptance, but I could hope.
The truck stopped and the driver gave a few raps on the window. The soldiers burst into motion, the first four quickly disassembling the four mounted guns while the driver and the Staff Sergeant quickly hefted the two cases of surplus fifty caliber ammunition.
I moved to make my own preparations off the truck when Nagisa stopped me, fifty caliber hefted on his shoulder with a degree of difficulty. On the ground I was suddenly aware that he was quite the giant, almost a foot taller than myself.
“I’m glad to know that she didn’t mean to act like she did.” He stated simply, before he poked a finger into my vest, it was almost the size of a bullets his gun was using. “And that means you don’t need to apologize, Hotshot.”
He was gone before I could reply, but I couldn’t help but chuckle as he made his way up the building obviously less grim than was while speaking about his mission with Clear Eyes.
It was humorless though, mainly because I knew Clear Eyes and she was almost exactly as he described. Cold, ruthless and without a care beyond what she could cut up with that blade of hers.
I didn’t like thinking about having to tell Command about another squad she couldn’t get placed in but it was their orders that anything ‘unsavory’ be reported so it wouldn’t conflict with what Public Relations were cooking up. Truthfully, I disliked the lies that were told about me and my kind, and what we did and how we acted. As if we were the answers to everyone’s problems.
I glanced around the disparate landscape, the lack of green or life upon the dark soil and sighed softly.
I only had to look in the distance to know why people needed the lies that they were told.
Because it is a lie that kept people alive.
A fake hope, that kept people alive and working.
It didn’t make it any less bitter.
I only wished someone would actually accept my apologies.
Wind blew past me and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stiffen when the stench of my prey reached my nose. A combination of rotting corpses and metallic iron, the stench came from the northeast and very, very far away. It was not a pleasant thought that I could sense the beast from such a far distance, only mature and therefore experienced Apostles had scents like this.
Given the fact my last experience with something similar almost got my arm lopped off, I was more than a bit wary of facing something that was accustomed to the near-unstoppable body and regenerative abilities that were inherent to nearly all Dead Apostles.
Not even counting whatever Mystic Code they managed to keep running after they went under, they were certainly more than what a rifle squad could deal with and even those were high in demand to maintain the civilian zones. With resources spread thinly the only reason the potential slaughterers were only targeted when they decided to take residence near a large population center or something classified as vital to the economy.
The Uchinagi Steelworks complex was a gigantic compound dating all the way back to Imperial Japan’s war buildup for the second World War. After the war it was shut down, the economy had no chance to support it. It was recommisioned two years after the sundering and its people flocked to man it, alongside the steady job that it promised it was protected by a platoon of troops making it one of the safest places in the world.
Well until two weeks ago when the platoon was slaughtered alongside the families they protected and turned into ghouls. The first signs of the demise of over a hundred men were when ghouls started appearing on the borders of the refugee town a few miles away, until the beasts came upon the town people thought that the factory was just experiencing radio problems again.
Militia caught unaware, the town was ravaged after they were consumed, the supply caravan hit the first wave of spreading ghouls thirty miles away from the town. They almost got overwhelmed but managed to make a retreat and consolidate with a patrol to wipe out the mindless bodies.
The threat was reported after the battle and now I was here, the closest available magus. The closest person that could have a chance to actually kill the being without launching a dozen cruise missiles into the vital factory.
To be completely frank, my training under my father made me very good at killing a lot of things, it was only error in application that could hope to get me killed.
Errors like not checking my equipment before entering combat, I dully reminded myself, cutting off my train of thought and removing my long coat to begin the process ingrained into my bones.
The ballistic vest needed new planting for the lower left abdominal side, a rifle round slammed into it around two days ago from the group of bandits that were hanging around my district. The shell was stopped by reinforced skin, but would’ve torn through without the ballistic vest’s ceramic plating. The chances of a bullet entering the entry point was slim though, so it wasn’t that high of a priority.
A quick reach into the side pouch strapped to my thigh and I retrieved my medical kit. The throwaway syringes were mostly painkillers, but had blood-clotters in the mix. Its kept me from bleeding out more than once, and stopped bleeding faster than bandages or stitches could, though the medical stapler was available if the cut nicked an artery and I had an two clips of the sterilized metal staples, enough to patch together the entire squad. The only problem was that I was at two of six of the syringes at the moment, not an ideal number to be facing any sort of creature beyond humans in prolonged battle.
I already knew I was in even worse straights when I felt the weight of my revolver, only double the number of syringes in bullets in its six chambers. The ammunition pile on my left thigh only amounted to a single one of my specialized rounds bringing me up to one short of a full cylinder.
Not good, and I only had six shots in my other gun’s magazine. If this Apostle was like the other one I faced, I would have to decide to unload the rounds from both my guns either into the Apostle itself or its familiars.
Whatever I chose though, I would have to face the other with either my bare hands or whatever projection I could manage. Kiritsugu would actually be rolling in his grave if he found out I’m planning to face something with swords of all things, while I was so horribly low in ammunition…
A frigid breeze caught my arms, and I grabbed my coat and reapplied the only protection I had against the wind rolling from the north before I got sick.
Natural Immunity to small caliber bullets didn’t come with protection to Influenza, and that killed scores of people every day.
I raised my hand towards the second story of the building, receiving a flash from a flashlight as a response. A communicator would’ve been a more efficient way to communicate, but ammunition was a higher priority than a sat-uplink and a whole lot easier to replace if things went south and we all died.
…
The entrances to the building numbers at a godly three, the first two were on opposite sides of the building with hallways that acted as designated kill zones. The third was the parking structure that acted as the exit zone, that was also the main kill zone wired with no less than thirteen ‘last resort’ charges that could send molten metal spilling into the crevice at ignition.
The only windows were narrow firing slits, the pipes were simply three inches in diameter and used in groups. Military paranoia at its finest during second world war was my infiltration objective.
Truly the safest way to enter would have been the underground steam circulator that led to a container three miles away from the site, but the molten metal that exuded within wouldn’t cool for another three weeks. The entire tube was filled with superheated steam and also showed no signs of the pressure lessening within.
Truth be told my own mission objectives were quite different from my allies, intelligence already verified that most of the bodies were accounted for, save for nearly eighty workers, yet the Apostle had yet to move to a new feeding area.
It was possible the Apostle was not a new born and was actually one that could think clearly, and was quite intent on securing a new, very defensible home in the form of the steel works factory.
I had noticed in my mission objective there was a new step before the usual culmination of undead hunts, and I didn’t quite like it.
‘Make Contact with Target and Verify Threat Level.’
And the usual ‘Swift Elimination of all Hostiles’ was changed to ‘Approach with Caution’. Quite frankly most of the higher ups have never even met a vampire, but was absolutely well versed in their threat to the few sanctuaries within the country. ‘Approach with Caution’ was standard procedure with these beings, alongside with heavy gunship support and napalm warheads.
A being that could create an untiring labor force to man the steel factory, doubtlessly provided from the Penal Workforce, would be endlessly beneficial to the overall war to keep humanity alive. I was quite aware that, should it have been possible, they wanted me to actually broker a deal with the being within the factory bartering the many prisoners deemed ‘irredeemable’ in the eyes of the government.
Any Mage raised by a standard family would undoubtedly kill the being, whatever its intentions may be. They were, after all, the culmination of generations of power brokering, skills, and magics that represent all the cumulative knowledge of hundreds, if not thousands, of men and women. The powers they had at their fingertips make my own feeble in comparison, but they were chained down by the same culture that gave them their strength. Those chains were utilized by my father to kill them with frightening ease, and he taught me to do the same and discount the very premise of such a narrow life. The legacy that I have today is not from three hundred generations but three, my father learned from his teacher, I learned from my father, and I continue to learn every day until I could pass it on.
Someway, though, I was somehow regarded the most efficient and effective magic user of my country, and debatably the world and that was probably why I was on this mission and not someone like Clear Eyes or Silence. Both of them would raze this place to the ground the moment they arrived and, due to their solitary nature, no one would be the wiser. I would follow the mission directive, since I saw what my superiors saw, and if it didn’t appeal to me it was still within my power to kill the aberration to life. That was why I was lauded by the general military as what a magic user should be, and the reason why I was scorned by most of my fellows.
I could only guess at their hatred, but I was sure that it was because I was scorning their cultural roots and getting the praise and admiration they had every right to. In a sense, I felt that it was a small price to pay to receive these unsavory missions, alongside my near zero contact with my fellows, in favor of being able to operate on my own and help as much as I can.
I still would’ve preferred doing my task in some large area rather than the claustrophobic, caustic confines of the solitary air vent I had to access on the structure’s rooftop. The grill that had protected the entrance was made from a thousand pounds of steel and within a slanted shaft of armored, reinforced concrete. It would’ve taken over a hundred feet of corded steel and two tanks of that time period to wrench the grill off and make it a valid entrance for a single soldier at a time.
They hadn’t accounted for the fact that a single infiltrator may have the ability to strengthen his body enough to create an opening from the solid steel with his bare hands, of course, and doing it silently by altering its metallic structure enough to do so silently, because that was supposed to be impossible.
I tend to do a lot of things that take advantage of supposed impossibilities, especially when I utilized the skills my father had taught me to their full potential. The three skills were the absolute core of my own magical techniques, and due to the fact that they were seen to be hopelessly worthless by other magic users, it was quite alright for me to seek ‘mundane’ help regarding how to augment them correctly.
In retrospect I may not be helping out my case of supposedly trying to reconcile steal the spotlight of my fellow magic users when I’m reading scientific journals on metal’s properties rather than old, dusty tomes and always discussing the concepts of my three magics so openly with others.
I reached the end of the vent, and it hovered directly below an empty vat that used to contain the molten compounds required to make steel. I removed my sooty glove from my right hand, after using it to brush away the residual ash from where I intended to apply my magecraft. It was for the best to manipulate as close to a hundred percent of a certain material as much as possible, more than a few elements do not react kindly when they are forcibly made weaker. Those tended to be the same which was mainly concentrated energy, such as coal or oil, and weakening their bonds sometimes resulted in immediate combustion.
Alteration was a simply magecraft used mostly by alchemists to break down elements to their base components, it was quite easy to utilize due to its simplistic nature of rearrangement and shaping of a material. It was the most useful spell in my possession simply because if I had access to all the compounds required it was a simple matter to manufacture my own bullets, or even recreate a car part from scrap so long as the exact amount or more than what was required to be made.
I heard Alchemists call it Equivalent Exchange in the mainland, and Alteration was simply one of the easiest ways to use it upon raw compounds.
For now, however, I simply weakened the four centimeters of steel beneath me, and shifting them to the sides. Unlike the thousand pounds of steel utilized in the grate, I had no difficulty in shifting this much mass of steel. Magic was simply using magical energy to accomplish a task that could be done by bore hands, after all. Moving the mass of a few square inches of steel barely 4 centimeters thick, was much easier than a shifting the higher density of the thousand pound grate to the sides.
Once the hole was wide enough to allow me entrance, I slipped through and aimed to fall past the cooling container of molten steel.
I was about midway to the floor when an object tore past my ceramic plate vest’s upper right chest piece within seconds, sending me flying through the railings and cratering the floor.
Reinforcement was the use of a mage’s energy to ‘perfect’ their body. Theoretically it is possible to layer enough magic to achieve diamond-like thickness and strength to skin, make nerves transmit reactions to ten times of that of a regular humans, and increase muscles enough to lift eight times your own weight. That was for the entire body as well, not just singular Reinforcement that slightly slows the perception of time, augments vision, are just a few projects many a Magus strive to complete and hoard.
There were dangers too it of course, imperfect attempts to double the oxygen content within my blood has led to more than a few fainting spells before I managed to find the correct, stable amount that allowed me a slightly faster thinking process. The number of times I’ve accidently damaged my eyes, arms and legs during my training to enhance my skills number in the hundreds.
The one that was I was at most ease with, however, was making my body as hard as steel. It was the same skill that saved my life, as the rusty metal railing pricked my back but did not pierce my skin as I was propelled by the object straight onto the floor. The pressure was enormous, my right shoulder was pinned down, and whatever held it down did not waver as attempted to crush it with the same grip I used to tear apart the metal shutters.
My surprise and confusion bled through, and I used Structural Analysis on the object that was pinning me down onto the soot covered floor.
Structural Analysis was my last form of magic, at the moment, another skill so common to Magi it wasn’t so heavily frowned upon to by seen by mortal eyes. The magic was created in conjunction with Alteration, to find and identify compounds and how they were arranged to create an object. Utilizing the power on a modern appliance created a blueprint in my mind that lists all the various metals and plastics used within, and how it can be fixed. To a further extent the common ritual was also utilized to pry into the body of organisms, probing for muscle groupings and arrangements to see the extent of training or skill. The pragmatic skill was the same reason why Mages burned their dead, and bodies of magical users were utilized as bargaining chips by nations, due to the easy ability to discern what created the prowess of the individual.
Due to the skills practical uses, the extensive training that I had been pressed into to learning the skill was the same for nearly all my fellow mages. As long as we were in contact with the enemy, its weaknesses were as clear as day.
The object was compromised of super-dense bone, and was linked through a serious of muscular tissues to a main body fifteen meters away, which was a dubiously misshaped flesh golem that seemed to be comprised of human remains. The tendril was compromised with almost the same amount of muscle as three fully grown men, but another was already reared for a second strike with a third erecting itself dubiously from its base. No wonder there were nearly no ghouls emanating from this place…
Two more strikes from this would most certainly kill me, the realizing coming as my perception of time slowed marginally as the first liters of hyper-oxygenated blood filled into my brain. Tranquility ruled my mind, as I formulated a plan to escape.
The hyper-compressed, human bone spear was holding me down with a dull point and the muscle fibers of no less than three entire humans could be stopped from impaling me with my right hand. The reinforced musculature and bone within the limb groaned and screamed as over bearing weight continued to press upon it. My ability to lift up an average four-seated car made it all too apparent that this weapon was by all means designed to kill with ease, a group of ordinary soldiers would have been ripped to shreds within seconds.
I retreated my Structural Analysis net from the creature, memorizing the tensile strength the was steadily gathering and comparing it immediately against the estimations on its arrival and my subsequent death at contact. If my math was correct, the second skeletal spine would reach me within three seconds at the least and five at the most, the third coming a second and a half later. Since I fully expected the worst, I suspected I would only get two second for my action before I was unceremoniously killed.
My left hand made contact with the concrete below, and I would have jumped up in elation if not for the spine pining me solidly upon the ground. Reinforced concrete lay underneath me, military experts of world war two somehow thinking to protect the factory even from an underground tunneling operation.
Finding the necessary substances adequate, I applied Alteration to the concrete and sifted through the material until my hand grasped the metal underneath. I would have attempted a similar thing to my attempt to destroy the spine, if not for the sheer complexity of its design. I swiftly pulled out a segment of steel from the gloppy cement, utilizing the complex carbons chains to manifest a monomolecular edge along one side of the steel rod.
The hyper-dense bone was strong but the musculature powering it gave away like butter. The tendril went slack for the merest of moments before I managed to peel away to avoid to second spear of bone. I quickly got up to a knee, my eyes tracing the direction of flight from which the tendril extended. The monomolecular rod within my hand was a poor weapon against such a beast, but it still had its uses.
I flooded the rod with energy, its non-magical origins quickly degrading due to the massive influx of energy. The bonds of the material would most certainly break and force the barely contained energy to burst forth in an explosive manner after it did so. The rod of metal was no longer aerodynamic in the least, after the surge of energy entered it and forced it to expand. A quick application of Alteration had me holding a barely cylindrical mass before I let it loose at the source of the third bone spear that forced me out of my position.
The outward, violent expansion of energy lit up the creature swimmingly and I had already un-holstered my revolver and aimed at the revealed beast when the metal exploded.
The gun itself was merely a regular weapon, the rounds within the near-empty magazine, however, were not. The bullets were tipped with armor-piercing, depleted Uranium with a full-metal jacket encasing a remote charge of miniscule amounts of Composition Four explosives. They were designed to only allow activation after rapid deceleration after rapid acceleration. The acceleration speeds provided by the near-explosive quality of the accelerants pushed the bullets to Mach 1 and generated a sonic ‘boom’ whenever it exited the barrel. It was an anti-armor weapon of the highest degree and designed to penetrate three inches of reinforced concrete and five layers of sandbags without dropping below the punching strength of a rifle round.
I held the revolver steady with one hand and fired into the beast with as much speed as I could muster, the chambers clicking to empty within seconds. The slow, enormous creature could not have dodged even given the chance of a friendly warning. The bullets made contact the moment the hammer reeled back after touching their respective percussion caps.
The hyper-dense bone had done a magnificent job of keeping the bullets within the beast’s body, so when I activated via then small transmitter by the hammer of the gun the Composition Four packets faithfully lodged within its body activated and the effects were marvelous. The Uranium tips were propelled forward and exited the body and punched through the wall behind, doing the least damage to the massive creature. The copper covering the explosive ordinance were propelled to the speeds of rifle rounds and ripped themselves out as if an angry gunner was within the beast. The C4, lodged within the beast as it was, had the same effect of four firecrackers exploding within a clenched fist.
It was very, very messy. The ammunition was so exorbitantly priced that I was the lone Magi provided with them in Japan, if not for the numerous other magi specializing in modern weaponry as I did, I would probably be the only one.
Then, just as I was about to start savoring my victory, an enormous roar escaped somewhere from the building. The rock, bone, and chunks of meat that littered the floor vibrated at the mighty sound. Thick and heavy steps grew closer and closer as the roar became more and more deafening, the sound began to echo against the walls so loudly and frequently that I lost the source of the sound within moments.
Then the wall behind me collapsed explosively, showering steel and concrete everywhere. I did not even have a moment to reach into my jacket for my second weapon when a gigantic, bony limb made contact with my body and ripped through my ceramic plate as if it didn’t exist making me drop my empty revolver in the process. Lances of pain erupted through my body as hardened bone dug into steel skin and muscle with little difficulty.
Raw instinct immediately dictated my next, foolish, move would be to pry myself off the massive object. Two bones pierced into my right hand trapping the limb without care against the sinews below and my left was perforated by a single, massive bone that erupted out the back of my hand, thankfully not being caught. The pain was the most I ever felt, the lodged bones ceasing to stop moving as muscles below continued to drive whatever godforsaken beast this was forward.
Then I was slammed through concrete by the limb as it moved through the walls. My body was flatted against the jagged bone, a shard pierced the mask upon my face with ease as my ribs fought against the invading bone. No part of my body felt hale and whole, but when the sun casted upon me after the second wall I forced myself up and look upon the beast that had me thoroughly at its mercy.
My breath caught.
Compromised of human flesh and bone, before me was a beast long thought to be exterminated by a Saint centuries ago. Eyes lined the ‘forehead’ of the creature ranging from blue to gray and standard brown. The collection of eyes were right above rows of jagged teeth that used to protect a human’s cardiovascular system. When my entire body responded to pain at my attempt to turn my head over to look upon the creatures back, I utilized Structural Analysis to manifest a framework model of the beast within my mind.
My eyes barely had time to widen before I realized this thing had wings and a fully intact mind within its cranium, when the former began to flap and drive the great undead reptile into the air. The beast gained altitude at an alarming rate that doubled at ever flap of its mighty wings, the watch on my wrist set to beet at every twenty five feet of elevation. I would have to free fall to get off this thing, and I doubted I could withstand a fall from whatever this beast’s maximum altitude would be, my survival at two hundred feet was dubious and three hundred would kill me no matter how much I managed to reinforce my cloak enough for a glider.
But this undead beast was most certainly an undead Apostle, dangerous was an understatement. I could not allow this to get away, yet at the same time the actions required to destroy it was well beyond my ability.
A third beep sounded, I was now seventy five feet from whence I had been a minute before. The ascension speed was almost the same as that of a helicopter, the beast made from the flesh of two hundred thirty three men and women was sculpted by the brain within to such an extent that I felt excitement in the study that will bear fruit to from the carcass that would remain. This beast was a masterpiece, no matter from which angle perception granted upon the well-informed.
I reached into the back of my neck with my right hand, willing the energy that hardened the flesh away made it succumb to strengthen steel fingers with ease. The pain was subdued compared to the massive hole that was upon the hand that had done the act, allowing me to concentrate upon the square inch of titanium that encased a Global Positioning Satellite Locater within. I molded the tracking device to the musculature underneath the writhing mass of bone scales, a web of titanium that rippled within the beast and made sure that the locator would not be dislodged or destroyed.
The fourth beep rang out just as I had finished, and I attempted to pull away only for my right arm to remain trapped. The massive tug that I had attempted to rip my arm away with did not succeed in pulling me free. The limb was unquestionably trapped, and I knew I was running out of options as the limb flexed and tore into my chest and legs.
A fifth beep, I was now a hundred and twenty five feet from the ground, I would survive a two hundred foot fall no question but I would no doubt be unable to walk afterwards let alone reach my comrades.
I needed to destroy my right arm to free myself, I would survive without it given that the medicine I had on hand and hyper oxygenated would working in conjunction to stem the losses incurred from the blood loss.
My options were limited in removal though, the bones were organic in nature the complex chemical structure made them a dubious choice to utilize and form into a monomolecular blade, the carbon within may be lacking to from the infinitely sharp blade. The arm would be ripped to shreds if I drained the power of its reinforcement away, but would take seconds I would not have. Forming a bone blade to hack away would be beneficial in conjunction with the second option, but would still take seconds I did not have at the moment.
The third option then, with the second helping.
I cut off the Reinforcement on my right arm, lighting strikes of pain rushed up as it was ripped to shreds, and my left hand darted to the holstered weapon strapped against my right rib section.
The weapon had a three round clip, each shell the size of my fist. The weapon was the best answer to heavy weapons requirements after the sudden brushfire wars that sprung up after the Sundering. Many vehicles utilized by rebel fighters were too light for a tank shell and an armor piercing weapon. A linked conference to weapon dealers worldwide came up with a solution that now I pointed at my right shoulder at angel away from my face.
The weapon itself was a simple design with a massive ejector to ensure jamming would only be a statistical anomaly, the single barrel was the same length as the magazine and therefore could only fit a single shell within. The barrel was reinforced by carbon thread to ensure that the velocities unleashed would not warp the weapon, the trigger was a simplistic affair of composite material, since recoil would destroy the handle from anything less.
I pulled the trigger and the hammer hit the activator at the end of the fuel supply for the rocket motor that carried three entire ounces of Composition Four and one ounce of White Phosphorous encased by hardened ceramic. The shell designed to destroy vehicles and all individuals within at a single shot vaporized my flesh and bone as it propelled itself to speeds where tank plating was like paper against the ceramic warhead.
Where it hit, not even a stub remained, my right collar bone was missing alongside the uppermost ribs next to it. A fortunate side effect, however, was that the heat from the backdraft burned the flesh to black, and assured my survival against blood loss. I detached myself from the beast the moment my watch beeped for a sixth time.
I was airborne for about three seconds before my back made contact with the soil, Reinforcement ensuring that I didn’t beak anything as I made contact with the unforgiving ground and finished skidding, barely five feet away from the solid concrete of the nearest building. Had I made contact with the building my demise would have been assured, but I didn’t happen and pain blossomed instead of the darkness of death.
The pain was absolutely staggering, but I managed to holster the weapon in an act that was ingrained into my bones to fetch a syringe within my pack. My habit of injecting it into my now-missing right shoulder made itself known for the very first time, and I applied the cocktail of painkiller and blood clot chemicals into my jugular. Relief was thankfully immediate, and I got back to my feet hastily and unsteadily as lack of on my right side made itself apparent.
I wiped away the blood that covered my eyes, allowing Reinforcement to work upon my ocular organs and allow me to commit to memory the beast that thoroughly defeated me and which I would be participating in hunting later on.
From tail to head the beast was covered in hardened bone carapace, the length was approximately the same as one of the smaller jetliners that ferried people across the Atlantic. The thickness, however, reminded me clearly of the massive fuel containers that trucks dragged around and was protected extensively. Six limbs, I had been attached to the foremost to the left as my right arm identified, each one was the length of a lamppost and thickness of an aluminum bin, and covered in sharp bone. The wingspan was entirely too small for its size, though three times the length of itself, I had no doubt of the magic infused within it and the protections that the massive flying organs were covered upon would be thick.
Much to my bemusement the same shell that I loosed seemed to have destroyed the beasts lower left jaw, even though I had only aimed the explosive shell at myself. The mighty beasts face was utterly destroyed by the round, but I stared in horrification as bones seemed to steadily expand and return the best to former levels of health. Regeneration to an unknown extent, given the mind located within the skull, I had no doubt that like all Apostles this one would be very difficult to take down and keep down.
Then I finally registered the numerous shots that echoed through the silent complex, I made note of the beast’s heading before relocating myself onto the top of the building by utilizing the window sills as stepping stones upward. My Reinforced eyes picked out the flashes from the windowsill a scant kilometer away, making it easy to spot the large congregation of ghouls that my fellows had attracted by simply being human and loud.
I was tempted to return into the steelworks factory for the revolver, but the thought of facing another tendril monster deterred me even with the remaining shots for my most powerful weapon. That thought in mind I began to leap from building to building towards my companions, though I dubious in what aid I could provide with one hand, I was a fair shot with a handgun and slicing through a mass of ghouls wielding a monomolecular blade was not completely out of the box when it came to the right situation. I still had plenty of Prana to spare, three quarters of my energy capacity still waiting to be used.
I entered unnoticed through the rooftop, where a part of the building had caved in decades earlier. I was able to tell the situation was grim when the Fifty Calibers were already disassembled and the two boxes of surplus ammunition lay empty. The group of soldiers were all at the windows and firing autonomously in single shot mode at the mass of dead below, a shot every second rang out and each one reloaded at the exact same time and within the same timeframe.
Judging by the fact that seven empty magazines littered the floor near each soldier and each one carried only ten, they were running very low on the high powered rifle rounds that fit only twelve shots into each magazine. After those were done they had their ten millimeter pistols and four clips of sixteen rounds excluding the ones already within the pistol.
“Looks like you need some help.” I declared offhand to the one I recognized as the Sergeant. The others did not stop firing, as they were already well within the near trance that was ingrained into their bones to follow when fighting against the horde of enemies.
“Looks like Mr. Invincible has been disarmed.” She quipped back whilst nailing a ghoul dead center on the forehead and turning the head into pink mist and grey matter. She continued to fire as if she wasn’t speaking. “You lead what did that to you here?”
“Target escaped.” I stated blandly, “Tagged it and gave it a goodbye kiss though.”
“Could you have killed it?” She was switched magazines along with the rest of them.
“Fully armed and informed of the danger anyone could kill anything.” I pointed out using my remaining hand to gesture inanely. “I doubt that I would survived the target even if I had both of those in play.”
“So how are you alive now?” Nagisa quipped farther down the line, these men were much better trained than I gave them credit for.
“A lot of luck.” I stated.
“Doesn’t look like luck to me.” the Corporal stated off to the left, they were reloading again. Their next to last magazine, this time. The palisade of dead more than five feet high was a testament to their skills, and I wondered if it would help when they started using their pistols.
“Luck is one’s ability to defy fate.” I stated, remembering the faint smell of tea and oil of my old home. The same place where I learned how to cook and clean guns while other kids were being taught how to farm and engineering “My father told me that.”
“He sounds like a wise man.” The Sergeant stated, before vaporizing the another head with impunity.
“He was a very nice man and quite wise while he was raising me.” I admitted with a small smile, as I finally managed to take the last 10 mm magazine from the Sergeant’s belt and attach it to my bandoleer. Doing it one handed was easy, but it was time I was waiting on.
“He wasn’t wise before he was raising you?” The sergeant moved out of the way from the window after she used her last bullet. I aimed a bitter smile at her while I saluted with my borrowed gun.
“He wasn’t a very lucky man.” I stated simply, I walked to one of the pillars opposite of the window, awaiting for the last high caliber rifle shell to exit the barrel. I busied myself in practicing reloading the pistol with a single arm as I contemplated my chances of survival against the horde below.
Taking into account their professionalism and marksmanship I would probably only be facing one hundred ninety five ghouls, at the very most. Facing monsters that felt no pain and were no longer restrained by the normal mental bindings that stopped them from harming themselves at such a large number was usually a daunting task for most army groups, even a few Magi would balk at the number. My proficiency in conventional weaponry, and my endless supply of cutting tools ensured I was one of the few that could safely take these odds on without fear of failure. However, that was before I fired a rocket propelled grenade at my shoulder and I was more than wary of the danger that hung over my head.
I acknowledged the danger, there was no stupidity in acknowledging that on that corpse ridden floor I would most likely die in my current condition. I could only utilize one hand, there were too many friendlies to utilize the weapon that had torn off my arm, and I only wielded a ten millimeter pistol with four clips of sixteen rounds. None of the men and women present could bring down a ghoul as efficiently as they did with their rifles as with the pistol, they trained to utilize the rifle and that was where they excelled, I had no doubts with more ammunition they would have destroyed these beast without even breaking a sweat. They would, at the most, account for fifty of the one hundred, ninety five ghouls and I would face them with sixty four bullets afterwards.
Bullets will account to one hundred, fourteen deaths of these ghouls, leaving me to face eighty one ghouls in hand to hand combat with one arm and a monomolecular blade.
The hammer of the rifles fell one last time, the last round entering the foreheads of the chosen targets. The weapons hit the ground with clanks, as metal and wood always seemed to do. Sidearms were drawn and the tiniest bit of fear came from the Nagisa as he started to pray underneath his breath.
They began to fire, and my thoughts quickly came true when I started to hear the distinctive noise of metal shattering rock instead of flesh. I pushed myself off the ground, a ground eating lope that almost had me almost vertical to the ground fueled by muscles nearly perfect from Reinforcement, there was so much force I was already out of the window within one tremendous motion.
The bodies below stared as I appeared above them, watching listlessly from dull eyes as their souls were trapped within their own bodies. Their arms could crush steel, they could not feel pain, and their speed against targets they located was incredible. No normal man or woman could compete with the physical prowess of these who were no longer held back by their own bodies.
Danger is real, but fear was a choice.
I emptied the sixteen rounds into foreheads with ease, I had been trained in utilizing the weapon three months after my father rescued me and I had never stopped since. There was no target I could not hit with a projectile, even more so when my body was accelerated by the effects of Reinforcement. The magazine slipped out in a half a second, the next magazine was already within by the end of the same second, utilizing my knee to send the second magazine into the vacated spot after I shrugged it off the bandoleer.
I had no more ammunition by the time I landed upon a ghouls head, ramming a magazine into its cerebellum and kicking the others into more of the dead men.
The dead seemed to pause, as if taking in the fact that so many of their members were dispatched in the span of five seconds, within the blessing of time I drove my arm into the nearest of the beings. My hand bypassed the ribcage, pulped the cardiovascular system into an unrecognizable mess, before reaching the objective I had in mind. I crushed the spinal segment within my reach, immediately causing the beast to go limp as electrical signals no longer flowed to the rest of its body.
Inspiration struck, as I remembered the lattices of the hardened bone. I applied as much of it as I could before I placed my heel on the ghoul’s abdomen and wrenched it out in great deluge of fluid. The density of the spinal column was only seven eighths of the bones of the winged beast, but it would suffice. I hurled the sharpened column lengthwise, I was rewarded with the decapitation of three ghouls at a single attack and another three’s spines severed. Throwing monomolecular blades led to too many messes with attempts by numerous men and women to take one for themselves, and steel never flew very well. Bone, however, was the strength of concrete and was three times lighter.
The enemy had taken my arm, but I had taken it’s technique, in magus circles I had won the war but it the battle.
I plunged my arm into another of the ghouls as they began to charge, I did not throw it this time. I Altered the skull to strengthen while allowing the fibers of the spine to elongate and stretch, I swung it out of the body in a circular manner akin to a flail. The Altered skull, still covered with pieces of flesh and a single ocular organ, shattered the heads of the ghouls charging me before it dislodged itself from the spinal column and into another hapless undead.
Curiosity overcame me with a fiery passion, I plunged my arm into the nearest unmoving cadaver, touching the spine before utilizing the body to block feral claws. I overcame the boundaries of bone with energy, as taught by my father to never do to my own body, altered the bone to its hardened form and threw it at the nearest mass of moving bodies.
Shrapnel, lighter than steel yet stronger than concrete flew in every direction surrounded by red mist of blood and the few body parts and organs only propelled by the explosion. The shrapnel bounced off my skin, but tore the beasts apart with otherworldly precision. The limbs that were merely propelled by the explosion were brushed aside by the unfeeling monsters, but the spinal segments were utterly destructive against the flesh of abominations.
It was not enough, there were still a large number of them, I grasped another body and I went beyond my previous limits of skill as I forcefully pushed energy into the body and compacted the bone to the degree I could barely differentiate it from hardened steel. In the back of my mind I realized I had surpassed the density of the beast’s scales driving the density up to a tenth more than the beasts, but I gave it no heed. I needed to correctly utilize this weapon and I could only do so against the enemy.
I threw the mass of flesh and bone, the flesh was bloated and pulsing from the leaking energy it seemed to be a mass of pulsating red flesh instead the human from it had once been, the ball of flesh landed amidst a group of ghouls and destroyed them utterly. The utter extent of the weapon was within my grasp, I only needed to utilize it to maximum effectiveness with minimal energy. The amount for the latest attack was equivalent to three shattered iron rods, about an eight of my total power.
The assessment was as I had thought it would be: the least energy intensive, while killing nearly as many as the third, was the second. I merely needed to strengthen the connecting spinal column to the skull some more to ensure it didn’t break off, then utilizing it as an extended flail would cost the least amongst the four in relative to the amount it killed.
I took the nearest beast and crushed the lower part of his spine, nearest to the smallest of his back. I placed my heel on the hip as I pulled it out akin to a gruesome Caesarian-Section from its body. I was rewarded with most of the ribs still connected as I tested my new weapon. As the entirety of the weapon crushed and destroyed the upper halves of the ghouls, an idea struck me and I manipulated the curves of the weapon into monomolecular edges. The results were catastrophic, especially when I struck overhead rather than swinging from side to side in a deadly hurricane. The latter bisected, but the latter destroyed. Red mist sprayed from the hunks of flesh rather than deluges of blood from midsections.
The gruesome weapon was nearing its end when I realized, that amongst the crowd of monsters only I remained.
As I looked upon the river of blood that flowed in every direction, upon the massive sprawls of red against the dripping buildings, glancing at the bodies that refused to allow the red liquid into gutters with their own pulped mass at the organs that were near pulped and lay against the ground outside of their containers. I wondered if there was a difference between me and the ones I fought. As I felt the blood dripping from nearly every edge of my body, and as the smell of blood was so thick and pungent it went through my filters I wondered if I could ever hope to close my eyes and awake to see that this was all just a nightmare.
Because out of three monsters I saw today, I could not imagine them doing as I have done in the span of a mere five minutes.
…
Convenient Spoilering Is Convenient
I've got a published book!
Please go and give it a read!
http://www.jukepopserials.com/home/read/767
Bad-ass Shirou, yeesss.
I like the update, although it seems you have a thing for a one-armed Shirou, please tell me this one gets a replacement arm and shoulder somehow.
Onto the rest of the chapter, it seems Magi have become a priceless asset when it comes to special operations, I doubt there's not even a 100 left after their existence became public, right?
Last edited by IhaxlikeNoob; January 28th, 2013 at 11:11 PM.
NASUVERSE STAMPEDE!!!
Most are dead, but there's a couple hundred mixed into the few million left alive.
But when you take into account Earth is irradiated by magic, and it isn't nearly as spread out as it used to be...
Convenient Spoilering Is Convenient
I've got a published book!
Please go and give it a read!
http://www.jukepopserials.com/home/read/767
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