"What... What did you just say?"
Agravain struggled to maintain his poker face, observing the stupefied blonde knight staring at him as if she had just lost everything she had.
The truth of the Knight of Betrayal was not lost to him, she was his sibling.
He pitied her.
She had bore the brunt of their craven mother's ruthless machinations.
Mordred's eyes had nearly lost their light, the brazen attitude she was famous for was nowhere to be seen for a moment before the hopelessness she felt came crashing back like a tidal wave, fury burned in her innocent eyes, "What the fuck did you just say?!"
"Sir Aston has perished in combat with Richard the Lionheart and an as of yet, unidentified enemy." She had come to him asking why her teacher's forces had disappeared all of a sudden, "The Lion King eliminated his men for refusing to assimilate into Sir Lancelot's forces."
"Bullshit! Stop fucking around you goddamn asshole!" She threw the chair she'd been sitting on at him and he stepped to the side, making it tear through the fabric of the tent they were in, "You always hated him so you're trying to bullshit me into some mission against him right?! RIGHT?!"
Mordred grabbed his throat and Agravain did not know why he remained passive, "I suggest you calm down, you are drawing unnecessary attention." He referred to the few soldiers peeking in from the hole she'd torn open.
Agravain's words were plain, concise and without emotion, he did not know why he found himself trying to explain himself, "I... have never once harboured ill will for your teacher. Annoyance, certainly, but I would never deny his works." Morgan didn't care about his words, she smashed her head into his and he took it in silence.
"BULLSHIT! No ill will! You think I fucking forgot how you always assigned him the most shitty fucking regions out there?!"
"Because I was aware he would overcome them... He did."
"You're lying! You're just trying to save your own hide! You snake fuck!" Mordred barked at him, eyes wild like a beast, yet wet like an innocent child who had just lost someone they thought never would, "I'm done with this bullshit! Where is he?!"
Agravain remained silent.
"You and father are just trying to get back at me for rebelling right?! That's it! Right?!"
Agravain remained silent.
"Not teach, teach would never lose! He'd take all you fucks on and still come out on top! I know it!"
Agravain remained silent even as her grip around his throat lost strength.
"Not... Goddamnit, not again..."
At the end of her rebellion, Mordred had died trying to reach the side of the person who had shown her the recognition she so desperately wanted, "Not when he finally..." And she had been denied that by her own Father.
"He was supposed to be... by my side this time." Tears dropped onto the cold metal of Agravain's armour and he watched in silent conflict, "W...Why?" The Knight of Betrayal fell to her knees, hands falling limply to either side and Agravain cast a stern glance that promised pain at those that dared to peek into his tent, forcing them to scurry away lest they learn just why he was called the Iron Hand.
He watched over her in silence as his sister sobbed, and then wailed, and then slowly rose to her feet, grabbed Clarent and listlessly walked out of his tent. Agravain put a hand on his face, hiding his expression, "I am sorry." He knew she was about to leave their camp, and he wasn't going to stop her.
"I can not watch over you."
For the ideal kingdom of their King, he had to give up much.
-
As the distant stars watched in silence, and the moon illuminated whatever little it could. Magical energy swirled and coalesced, forming a cognisable vortex where Tyron pointed with his hand, observing his ritual in solemn silence.
He had seen it before, and though the world could not aid him at this moment, he remembered how to go about summoning a person from another world, it had happened in front of him when a foolish girl stupidly summoned what could've spelled the end of man.
The sheer magical energy needed for such a feat had taken him days to accumulate, days that could've been spent leading his forces to conquest, but it was worth it. For his treasure, time would never be wasted.
The power he could access with his treasure present could make what he had done before look paltry in comparison.
"Gaia, deliver unto myself that which I seek. So that I may see your will done once more."
To his words, the World around him reacted.
The sands parted and dark clouds covered the sky to shelter him in a land where it should have been impossible, thunder struck the ground blowing through it as the latent magical energy skyrocketed, adding to Tyron's ritual.
The World itself rejoiced and aided in the grand feat of the King of Tyrants, to he who was the permanent solution to it's problem.
A six headed crown of thorns manifested on his head before dissipating into the darkness over his form, darkness that retreated into the crevices in his body soon after as light enveloped the surroundings for a mere moment.
This was something he couldn't do the last time, perhaps humanity faced an existential crisis, leaving gaps for his gracious mistress to utilise.
"Welcome to a new world, my treasure."
His treasure was born of the Primordial Sea of Life that was of the planet itself, and acted as what magi boorishly termed a World Terminal before he culled them for their atrocities. It-, She allowed him to access the complete godlike power he had used in a quest to conquer man, to create an eternal utopia frozen in time.
"Beloved." The word was spoken in a tone all would consider dull and uninterested but to Tyron, who had heard it all his life, the slight raise in frequency was enough to understand a giddy excitement, "I am sorry we could not complete your grand ambition."
To the world, it was a dull apology.
To him, the regret and sorrow was palpable.
Tyron would smile if he could as he opened his arms and was soon after embraced by a cloak of black and blue, "It doesn't matter, Morgan. The world sees fit to grant us another chance."
"How?"
"I do not know."
"Then I do not care. I am glad to be by your side once again."
In the first place, the King of Tyrants wasn't a servant that was supposed to be summoned without the Saint Graph of the self that was a hero of legend because he didn't exist in this world.
Unfortunately and fortunately, this was a time where the bounds between space and time struggled to maintain themselves, allowing for impossibility, to become possibility.
With their union once more established, the world around them trembled and morphed.
Magical energy, the sort of which no servant had any right to possess, radiated off Tyron in waves before he culled and brought it under control. With a hand around the waist of his 'treasure', who was content in simply snuggling into cold metal, her arms wrapped around his form, "I am sorry I left you." He whispered and raised a hand to the empty desert.
"It should be man that is sorry for forcing us apart. They will be, should they attempt to foil us again."
"Indeed."
Out of thin air, swarms, hordes of knights clad in armour appeared, brandishing weaponry ranging from spears to swords to clubs and picks, they stabbed their weapons into the ground and knelt in unison as deafening thunderous clangs echoed across the vast lands.
What humanity had foolishly allowed to appear was no heroic spirit, it was a beast meant to devour them all should they refuse to submit.
-
I hope you liked it.
-
Here's the official lore text for all power displayed in this chapter,
Worldly Right EX: It is said that once the King of Tyrants has claimed a land, the world itself bends to recognise his authority. It moves as he wills, transforming deserts into greenlands and vice versa. A mere gesture can bring about the wrath of Mother Nature itself, leaving behind nothing but desolation and death. This skill can also be localised as Territory Creation EX.
Inhuman Legion A: Tyron was a King that did not use humans as manpower, content to allow them to live with their every demand met, so long as they did not disobey. The agents and enforcers of his rule were the endless hordes of golem knights clad in crimson and black that patrolled his lands and fought his wars, yet were also the builders and farmers, the caretakers. Given shape by himself.
They possess not will nor intelligence and exist only to see their creator's will done. To all who saw them, they were an endless swarm.
As a noble phantasm, Tyron can summon the golem legions he had created with his spouse. They possess parameters comparable to low tier servants, with certain ones possessing capabilities beyond that.
Agravain put both hands on the war table, studying a map of the new 'world' they'd found themselves in, "We face a new threat."
The Knights of the Round Table, the ones that had chosen to swear fealty to the Lion King, stood around him.
With the exception of Mordred, who had run off after being harshly rebuked by their King for her outburst... they couldn't afford to chase her down at the moment.
The other knights, namely, Lancelot, Gawain, Tristan and Gareth, stood with grim countenances, the lantern on the table casting long shadows in the dim tent.
"I find this troubling... and difficult to accept." Lancelot broke the silence with a sigh, leaning onto the table, "I apologise but, there is no way Sir Aston could possibly rebel."
Gawain looked at his fellow knight strangely, "Will you disregard what we've relayed? Our enemy is not Sir Aston, it is some vile mockery of a great knight made by false deities." The Knight of the Sun slammed his fist on the table, "We must avenge him! And put an end to what has taken his place!"
A certain gloom hung about the 'Round Table' without a certain someone cracking cheap jokes and taking jabs at the expense of his comrades.
"B-But Lord Aston wouldn't give in." Gareth offered meekly, fists clenched so tightly that her own nails dug deep enough to draw blood.
Tristan put a hand on her shoulder, "Ours is borrowed time. With his ideals... I fear your teacher may not have resisted as much as he once would."
Agravain grit his teeth, offset by the effects losing Aston had on their collective morale.
What did it matter?
One of theirs was gone, and it was their duty to see his will done.
Clearing his throat, he moved his hand along the map, circling a significant region on the piece of parchment, "This area was dunes of sand, as reported by Sir Tristan and Gawain. But, recent reports from forward scouts indicate that it has morphed into dense forestry."
He paused, letting the information sink in, "Any incursion has been met with swift neutralisation... The one report we did get would have us believe automata descended on them."
"Some kind of noble phantasm?" Lancelot asked calmly, his face oddly devoid of emotion...
That was strange, the knight was stoic certainly but never made an effort to hide what he felt.
Ignoring his thoughts, Agravain nodded, "I believe so."
He then traced his finger from the confirmed location they had of the Egyptian Empire to the newly formed forests, "A great degree of combatants have engaged these automata... The altercations have been sparse but brutal."
"How mortifying... It seems we must toil and wage war over the most minor of issues in all ages." Tristan sighed.
Agravain glanced at him before returning to his explanation, "This works to our advantage. We can let the enemy forces exhaust each other before moving for a swift takeover."
Leaving those words, he walked over to one of the side tables and picked up a rolled up piece of paper. He then laid it out on the main table, "These are the plans for Camelot our King has seen fit to share... We will focus our efforts on this for now."
"But... what about the refugees?" Gareth asked in a small voice, trying to make herself appear as small as possible.
"I was getting to that." Agravain nodded and tapped a finger on the new region, "While he has labelled himself the King of Tyrants, most of the refugees have started migrating to his territories... Scouts report mass movement. I do not know why he is accommodating them but I doubt it is for a good reason. It also goes against our King's plans for humanity."
Lancelot clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction at his last words but otherwise stayed put.
"Moving on," Agravain cleared his throat again, "This 'Tyron' boasts power we can not hope to counter, individually at least."
He looked to Gawain who nodded and explained further, "I am loath to admit it but he physically restrained Excalibur Galatine at it's strongest... He tossed me and Sir Tristan aside."
Tristan nodded in affirmation, not even slightly ashamed of admitting their loss.
This information was critical, withholding it could possibly lessen their numbers further.
It was a regrettable occurrence but they had been too ignorant in their approach to this campaign, evident in the critical loss they had incurred within less than a week of deployment.
"He sought to summon his 'treasure'. I theorise it is a weapon of some calibre, for him to let go of enemy combatants for it." Agravain spoke without pause, trying to relay as much information as simply as possible, "Furthermore, the automata he commands seem to be divided into separate groups, led by his 'children'."
"Children?" Lancelot repeated in slight confusion, "He has... children?"
"I've concluded that these are high-class servants not weaker than us." Agravain nodded at his fellow knight, "But since no scout has escaped with knowledge of their number or appearance, we are in the dark in this regard."
There were three empires vying for supremacy in this dead land, and his job was to make sure they came out on top.
"Sir Lancelot and Gareth will ride out to intercept a large convoy of refugees." Agravain relayed the orders of their King in a stern tone, "...Failure will not be tolerated."
""Understood.""
Both knights nodded at him.
"If you are to encounter 'Tyron' or one of his so-called 'children'. You are to retreat. His Majesty will move to neutralise them."
-
Tyron stood on a mountain, peering down at a vast expanse of forest as the darkness in his form coiled and shifted with the air, "I will not fail a second time."
His golem legions had started cutting down the trees and terraforming the land to set up the most decadent and indulgent of accommodation, housing and all.
The architecture and plans for the 'city' that would serve his foothold were overseen by a deathly pale fae with flowing pink hair, dressed in a Victorian attire complimented by ribbons and frills. A three pronged obsidian crown rested atop her head, in contrast to his six pronged one.
She 'stood' in the sky, relaying commands to the golem workforce.
"You did not fail the first." Morgan offered coolly, embracing him from the back and resting her head on his shoulder, "It was the... will of humanity that denied us our time... It can not do so again."
Their 'time' had been culled for bringing humanity's walk forward to a complete halt.
"Hm." Tyron didn't discuss the topic further, "...She is late."
The Witch Queen giggled into the metal that formed his neck, "And they say you don't worry. It will do them good to interact with their people. I don't believe anything here could trouble that little dragon."
"That... little dragon... can destroy the world."
"All the less reason to worry. Do you think she's upset with you for stopping her last time?"
They couldn't have children, their natures made it impossible but... that didn't stop him from taking in certain 'children' he believed deserved better... Ah that was a lie, he had taken them because they were too volatile to be left alone but... any who denied their kinship now were his foes.
"..." Tyron paused, "I... I do not know."
He hadn't subjugated the world of man to have it destroyed, he was not the enemy of man it's subconscious believed he was.
The fae overseeing the city jolted, raising her head, and looked back at her parents with a curious glint in her grey eyes, "I'll... make them proud."
-
Hope you enjoyed the chapter.
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