PROLOGUE: ANCIENT DIVIDES

Long ago, when the world was still young and the heavens touched the earth, there were two lands of immense power and legend. To the west lay Thrace, a realm of chivalric knights, enchanted forests, and ancient prophecies. Its people spoke of the Lady of the Lake, guardian of the sacred sword Excalibur, and a child destined to unify their fractured kingdoms under a banner of hope. This was the land of legends, where valor was the measure of greatness, and magic was both feared and revered.

To the east, across oceans and endless mountains, thrived Akitsushima, a land steeped in mysticism and divine heritage. Here, gods walked among mortals, and sacred swords carried the blessings—or curses—of the deities. Chief among them was the Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, a blade forged from the body of a serpent, said to command the elements of wind and fire. In Akitsushima, warriors upheld the code of bushido, and honor was the essence of their existence.

For centuries, these two realms existed as whispers to one another, divided by distance and culture. Yet their fates were intertwined, linked by a truth buried in the annals of history: both Thrace and Akitsushima were born of the same ancient source, a primordial force that shaped the world before time began. From this source came two legendary swords, forged as siblings to balance creation. Excalibur, a sword of unyielding justice, and Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, a blade of divine retribution.

But balance was fragile.

A shadow stirred in the forgotten corners of the earth, where myths were more than stories, and nightmares took form. Diecast Oni, a warlord shrouded in dark magic, sought to bridge the divide between these lands—not for peace, but for domination. Through ancient and forbidden rites, he uncovered the truth of the twin swords: united, they could awaken Amatsu Mikaboshi, a chaos god sealed away since the dawn of time. With this dark power, Daicast Oni would rewrite the fabric of existence.

The two swords, sensing the growing threat, chose their champions.

From Thrace, a humble child, Arthur, emerged, destined to wield Excalibur and become a beacon of hope. From Akitsushima, the prince Yamato Takeru, already a warrior of renown, rose to take up Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi as his people's protector. Yet, the same prophecy that united them also set them on a collision course. The ancient texts spoke of two heroes meeting under the shadow of war, their swords clashing to decide the world's fate.

The stage was set for a tale of light and shadow, of ancient divides and a destiny that could unite—or destroy—the world. The winds carried whispers of prophecy across oceans and mountains, to knights and samurai, kings and warlords. In the hearts of Avaloria and Akitsushima, two heroes prepared to embrace their destinies, unaware of the trials ahead.

Their journey would begin not with glory but with questions, their fates bound by swords of legend and a shadow that sought to consume them all.

ADVENTURE OF THE LEGENDARY SWORD

Season 1, Episode 1: “The Hero’s Humble Beginnings”

[Black Screen]Text appears in bright gold letters:

“This show was filmed before a live studio audience.”

[Cut to the rolling hills of Thrace, a picturesque countryside with golden fields and crystal-clear rivers. Gentle music plays, accompanied by the sound of distant birds and the low murmur of villagers going about their day. A narrator begins speaking as the camera pans across the land.]

Narrator (V.O.):“In the ancient land of Thrace, where legends walk as surely as men, every hill and forest whispers tales of heroism and woe. This is a world divided—riven by myths so old that even the stars scarcely recall their beginnings. Yet, here, amidst the grandeur of prophecy and swords of legend, life carries on for the ordinary folk.”

[The camera zooms into a small, bustling village nestled in the valley. It’s lively, filled with the chatter of merchants and the clanging of blacksmiths. Children dart through the streets, laughing, while farmers haul their wares to market. The scene settles on a young Black peasant girl, Nia, who is struggling with an overflowing basket of fruit and an exaggerated, comical gait due to her notably oversized buttocks.]

Nia (Muttering):“Curse this ridiculous rump! Why couldn’t I have been blessed with a graceful figure like the baker’s daughter? Oh no, not me! I have to be the laughingstock of the entire village.”

[She trips, sending apples and pears tumbling down the street. Villagers pause their tasks to chuckle, though a few step in to help gather the fallen fruit.]

Villager #1:“Don’t fret, Nia. At least you’ll never go hungry with that... er, extra padding of yours!”

Villager #2:“Careful now, or you’ll knock over the grain mill next!”

[The crowd laughs good-naturedly, though Nia’s cheeks flush with frustration. She picks herself up and continues down the road, muttering under her breath.]

Nia:“Legends and heroes everywhere, and I can’t even carry a basket without making a spectacle of myself. Some destiny…”

[The camera follows Nia as she walks, transitioning to a wide shot of the village. The narrator resumes.]

Narrator (V.O.):“Thrace, a land caught between the realms of ordinary toil and extraordinary destiny. Though its people work hard under the sun, they live in the shadow of ancient legends—stories of Excalibur, the sword of kings, and Kusanagi, the blade of storms. Few believe such wonders exist outside of bardic songs and children’s tales, yet these relics of power have shaped the very fabric of their world.”

[The scene shifts to a nearby hilltop, where a ruined castle stands silhouetted against the sky. A flash of lightning illuminates its crumbling towers, despite the clear weather.]

Narrator (V.O.):“But destiny has a way of finding even the humblest of souls. For in the heart of this village, beneath its laughter and hardship, lies the spark of a story that will change the world…”

[The screen fades to black, and the sound of an ominous wind rises. When the image returns, we see a mysterious figure cloaked in shadow, standing atop the castle ruins. Their voice, low and filled with menace, breaks the silence.]

Mysterious Figure:“The time has come. The sword must awaken... and the balance will be mine to command.”

[The camera cuts back to Nia, trudging up the hill, her basket still wobbling precariously.]

Nia (Exasperated):“If I trip one more time today, I swear I’ll—”

[The ground beneath her feet trembles. A distant roar echoes through the valley, causing villagers to pause and look toward the horizon in alarm.]

Villager #3 (Shouting):“What was that? Is it the army of Diecast Oni?”

The tremors rippling through Thrace paused briefly, leaving the villagers frozen in a tableau of fear. The camera zoomed out from their panic, pulling back and dissolving into a swirling mist of colors. The image of Nia clutching her basket faded, replaced by the jagged interior of a shadowy fortress.

At the center of the room stood a towering crystal ball, swirling with the remnants of the scene from Thrace. In its reflection, the hunched figure of Malicus the Wicked, clad in deep crimson robes embroidered with glowing purple runes, hovered. His long, claw-like fingers stroked his bearded chin as he surveyed the image, chuckling to himself.

Behind him, seated on a throne carved from obsidian and bone, was the warlord Diecast Oni, his massive frame radiating menace even in stillness. His ebony black armor gleamed with fresh polish, as if prepared for war, though his expression showed anything but concern. His dark eye bored into the crystal ball with disinterest.

"What nonsense is this?" Diecast grumbled, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. "A peasant girl and her... oversized backside? This is what you waste my time with, Malicus?"

Malicus turned slowly, his hood dipping just enough to reveal a toothy grin. "Ah, my lord, but this isn’t just any peasant girl. She’s a part of the larger story. You see, the boy—the one with the sword—he’s there too. And every great villain should know his enemies intimately." He gestured toward the crystal ball. "It’s all about narrative buildup!"

Diecast waved a massive hand dismissively. "Buildup? This is absurd. What’s the point of watching this... ridiculous play when I already know my destiny? I will claim the swords, awaken Amatsu Mikaboshi, and reshape the world to my will. What does this girl or this child matter?"

Malicus sighed, dramatically placing one hand on his forehead. "You really don’t appreciate the finer points of villainy, do you? It’s about the journey, my lord. Besides, this is one of over 3,000 channels I can watch on this crystal ball. You should see what the dragons are up to in Channel 472. They're fascinating this time of year."

Diecast’s eyebrow twitched. "Three thousand?"

Malicus nodded smugly, swirling his fingers above the crystal ball, causing the image to shift rapidly through bizarre scenes. "Oh yes. I get signals from all over the realms! Heroes, villains, strange taverns where drunken wizards discuss existential philosophy... Honestly, the entertainment value alone is worth my annual subscription to the celestial weaver's Network."

"Enough!" Diecast barked, slamming a gauntleted fist against his throne, causing a crack to spread across the obsidian floor. "Do not mock me with your games, Malicus. Show me something of value. Show me the boy who wields Excalibur."

[Cut to the Land of Thrace]

The sun had barely crested the horizon, spilling golden light over the rolling hills and cobblestone streets. A rooster crowed, its voice echoing through the morning mist, signaling the start of another day. But this day wasn’t just any day—it was Arthur Pendragon’s tenth birthday.

Inside a modest stone cottage at the edge of the village, Arthur stirred under a patchwork quilt. A stray beam of sunlight cut through the wooden shutters, landing squarely on his freckled face. He groaned and rolled over, his mess of blond hair sticking out in every direction.

Suddenly, a familiar voice called from outside his window.

“Arthur! Get up! Today’s the day you become a real hero!”

Arthur shot upright, his eyes wide. "It’s today! My journey begins!" he exclaimed, leaping out of bed. His excitement was palpable as he scrambled to find his clothes.

Throwing on a simple tunic and boots, he grabbed a small satchel from his desk, already packed with bread, a waterskin, and a dull wooden sword he’d carved himself. He paused for a moment to look at the wall above his desk. A hand-drawn map of Thrace was pinned there, dotted with imaginary locations he’d dreamed of exploring.

“Watch out, world,” he whispered to himself with a grin. “Arthur Pendragon is ready for anything!”

[Meanwhile, back in Diecast Oni’s fortress]

The crystal ball flickered, showing Arthur fumbling with his boots before stumbling out the door. Malicus laughed, his crooked teeth glinting in the dim light.

“There he is! The chosen one, our young Arthur, setting off like it’s some grand adventure! Isn’t it delightful, my lord?”

Diecast Oni’s expression remained impassive, though his crimson eye narrowed slightly. "That child? He is supposed to be a threat to me? He doesn’t even know how to tie his own boots properly."

Malicus waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, but that’s the charm of it, isn’t it? Heroes always start small. The scrappy underdog, the unassuming champion—they rise, they struggle, they—"

“They fail,” Diecast interjected coldly. “And I will see to it personally.”

[Back in Thrace]

Arthur sprinted down the path, nearly colliding with the village baker, who laughed and waved him off. His best friend, a big booty girl named Nia, stood waiting for him at the edge of the square. Her arms were crossed, and her basket was perched on her backside. She raised an eyebrow as he skidded to a halt.

“You’re late,” she teased. “Big day, isn’t it?”

Arthur grinned sheepishly. “I had to get ready! You know, pack my essentials.”

Nia peeked into his satchel and snorted. “Bread and a stick? Truly, the makings of a great hero.”

“Hey, it’s not just a stick,” Arthur protested, pulling out the wooden sword and striking a dramatic pose. “This is the Sword of Justice! Destined to—”

His performance was interrupted by a loud rumble. Both children froze as the ground beneath them quaked. Villagers stopped in their tracks, their faces pale with fear.

“What was that?” someone shouted. “Is it the army of Diecast Oni?”

Arthur’s heart raced. He turned to Nia, gripping his wooden sword tightly. "This is it! My first heroic battle!"

But before Nia could reply, a booming voice echoed across the square. "Arthur Pendragon!"

The crowd parted as a tall, robed figure stepped forward. His beard was as white as snow, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to shimmer with otherworldly knowledge. It was Merlin, the village’s enigmatic sorcerer.

“You,” Merlin continued, pointing directly at Arthur, “are needed for a quest far greater than you can imagine.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped. "Me? Really?"

“Yes, you,” Merlin said, his voice both stern and kind. “You have been chosen to wield a power older than this land itself. Come with me, and you will understand.”

Arthur glanced at Nia, who shrugged and gave him a little shove. "Go on, hero. Your destiny awaits."

Taking a deep breath, Arthur followed Merlin through the village and out into the forest, his wooden sword clutched tightly in his hand.

[Cut back to Diecast Oni’s fortress]

Daicast leaned forward, watching the scene unfold. “So, the old fool has found him.”

Malicus smirked. “The game is afoot, my lord. Shall I prepare the next move?”

Daicast’s gauntleted fist tightened on the arm of his throne. “Yes. Let’s see how long this hero survives.”

[Back in Thrace]

Arthur trudged after Merlin, excitement and nerves warring within him as they left the familiar sights of Thrace behind. The path grew narrower, winding through ancient oaks whose gnarled branches seemed to lean closer the deeper they went into the woods. The morning sun dimmed, its light filtering weakly through the dense canopy.

“Where are we going?” Arthur asked, trying to sound brave but unable to keep the quaver out of his voice.

Merlin glanced back, his face unreadable beneath his hood. “To a place where your destiny awaits. To a place that will test your courage and your spirit.” He paused, then added with a wry smile, “It’s also where I keep my lunch, so let’s hope you don’t disappoint.”

Arthur blinked. “Wait—what?”

Merlin chuckled softly and pressed on.

As they walked, Arthur’s imagination ran wild. He had heard tales of Merlin’s adventures: taming dragons, summoning storms, and even outwitting the fabled Lady of the Lake. Now here he was, chosen by the greatest sorcerer in Avaloria! The thought filled him with a mix of awe and doubt.

“What if I’m not ready?” Arthur muttered.

“You won’t be,” Merlin said without looking back. “Not at first. But readiness isn’t the point, young Pendragon. Action is. And you’ll have plenty of chances for that soon enough.”

The woods opened suddenly into a circular clearing, its edges ringed with glowing mushrooms and vibrant wildflowers.

The circular clearing seemed to glow with an otherworldly light, the mushrooms at its edges pulsating in soft blues and purples. Wildflowers swayed gently, though there was no breeze. Arthur hesitated, glancing nervously at the surroundings. It felt both enchanting and unnerving.

“Welcome,” Merlin said, sweeping his arm dramatically, “to the Grove of Mystical Truths! Or as I like to call it, my Thinking Spot.”

Arthur squinted. “Mystical Truths? Really?”

“Indeed,” Merlin said, twirling his staff. “This is where I commune with the forces of magic, ponder the mysteries of life, and—” He paused, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “—gather the best mushrooms for mushroom soup.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You brought me here... for soup?”

Merlin sighed, planting his staff firmly into the ground. “No, boy! I brought you here because magic flows through this grove. It’s a place where the barriers between the mundane and the extraordinary are thin. A place where a young would-be hero can test his mettle.”

Arthur took a cautious step forward. “Test my mettle how?”

“Ah, that,” Merlin said, stroking his beard. “You see, Pendragon, before you can truly wield Excalibur’s power, you must prove yourself worthy. The sword may have chosen you, but magic requires commitment. Sacrifice. And most importantly…” He bent down, pulling off his pants and plucking a glowing mushroom and holding it aloft.

Arthur frowned. “A mushroom?”

“Oh, it’s not just any mushroom,” Merlin said with a sly grin. “This little beauty is called Lumina Laughia. They say eating one reveals your deepest truth.”

Arthur crossed his arms. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, quite serious,” Merlin said, popping the mushroom into his mouth and chewing with exaggerated gusto. “Mmmm. Tastes like destiny.”

[Back in Diecast Oni’s Fortress]

The crystal ball hummed, showing Merlin theatrically chewing the glowing mushroom. Diecast Oni leaned forward, his crimson eye narrowing in disbelief.

“What is he doing?” he growled.

Malicus, lounging nearby, shrugged. “Looks like lunch.”

“That senile fool drags the boy into the woods, only to feed him… fungus?”

“Now, now,” Malicus said, smirking. “Perhaps this is all part of Merlin’s grand plan. Or maybe he’s lost his marbles. Either way…” He leaned in closer to the crystal ball. “Wait. What’s he doing now?”

The image shifted, showing Merlin tugging at his robe. Arthur recoiled in horror.

[Back at the Grove of Mystical Truths]

“Uh, Merlin?” Arthur said, taking a step back. “What are you doing?”

“Relax, boy,” Merlin said, pulling up his sleeves and kneeling. “I need to sit comfortably to channel the grove’s energy. These old robes are constricting.”

Arthur looked mortified. “Couldn’t you just… I don’t know, wear better robes?”

“Bah,” Merlin said, waving him off. “Magic doesn’t care for fashion. Now, sit. On my lap, if you please.”

Arthur sighed and sat down reluctantly,

[Back in Diecast Oni’s Fortress]

Diecast’s eyebrow twitched violently. “He’s removing his garments in the woods? With the boy right there?”

Malicus nodded, his expression amused. “It does paint a questionable picture, doesn’t it? Should we… call someone?”

“Call who?” Diecast snapped.

“I don’t know,” Malicus said, smirking. “Maybe 911?”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Diecast glared at him. “This is Avaloria. There’s no 911.”

Malicus wagged a finger. “True, but there are summoning spells. We could alert the town guard, or perhaps the Department of Misplaced Wizardry. I’m sure someone would take an interest.”

“I’m surrounded by idiots,” Diecast muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just show me something useful.”

[Back at The Grove]

Merlin closed his eyes, his breathing steady as he muttered incantations under his breath. The mushrooms around them began to glow brighter, their light coalescing into faintly visible runes that swirled in the air.

Arthur watched, both awed and uneasy. “What’s happening?”

“Magic,” Merlin said simply, his voice distant. “It’s alive, Pendragon. It’s in the air, the earth, the very fiber of your being. And if you are to wield Excalibur, you must understand it.”

The glowing runes began to spiral around Arthur, who tensed. He felt a warmth in his chest, a strange yet comforting sensation. The wooden sword at his side pulsed in response, its light mingling with the runes.

“See?” Merlin said, opening one eye. “It’s not so bad.”

Arthur begins to feel the effect of the mushroom magic saw before him.

At the center stood a moss-covered boulder, ancient and imposing, as though it had been there since the dawn of time. Embedded in the stone, gleaming like a shard of sunlight, was Excalibur.

Arthur’s breath caught. The sword looked alive, its blade shimmering with an unearthly light that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. Strange runes danced along its surface, their meaning tantalizingly out of reach.

“This... this is Excalibur?” Arthur whispered.

“The very same,” Merlin said, his voice reverent now. “A blade of kings, forged to bring balance to Avaloria. It has waited here for centuries, seeking the one worthy to wield it.”

Arthur stepped closer, his wooden sword clattering to the ground. He reached out, his hand trembling, but paused. “What if I can’t pull it out?”

Merlin smiled faintly. “Then it stays where it is. But something tells me the sword wouldn’t have called us here if you weren’t its chosen.”

Arthur swallowed hard. Gathering every ounce of courage, he gripped the hilt. The moment his fingers touched the metal, a shock of energy surged through him, and the world seemed to tilt.

Images flashed before his eyes: knights locked in battle, dragons soaring over burning villages, a dark figure in ebony black armor wielding a twisted blade. Over it all, a voice echoed—a deep, commanding tone that seemed to come from the sword itself.

“Arthur Pendragon. Do you accept the burden of destiny?”

Arthur’s knees shook, but he squared his shoulders. “I do.”

The sword pulsed brightly, and with a sound like thunder cracking, it slid free from the stone. Arthur staggered back, holding the blade aloft as the clearing erupted in a whirlwind of light and wind. The runes along the blade glowed fiercely, and for a moment, the air was filled with the roar of distant battles and the hum of ancient power.

When the storm subsided, Arthur stood in stunned silence, Excalibur gleaming in his hands.

“You did it,” Merlin said, his voice proud. “The sword has chosen you.”

Arthur looked up at the sorcerer, his expression a mix of wonder and fear. “What now?”

Merlin’s gaze turned serious. “Now, your journey begins. And it won’t be easy. For as you rise, so too does the darkness.”

[Back in Diecast Oni’s Fortress]

The crystal ball crackled with energy, reflecting the moment Arthur pulled the sword free. Daicast’s lips curled into a snarl.

“So, the boy has claimed Excalibur,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

“Indeed he has,” Malicus replied, a note of amusement in his tone. “And with it, he’s taken the first step toward fulfilling his destiny.”

Diecast rose from his throne, his armor gleaming malevolently in the dim light. “Destiny is an illusion. That boy’s journey ends when it crosses mine. Prepare the armies, Malicus. If the sword awakens, so must Kusanagi. Let the champions meet... and let their world crumble.”

Malicus grinned, his eyes glinting with malice. “As you command, my lord.”

Malicus gave a theatrical bow. "As you command, my impatient lord." He snapped his fingers, and the swirling colors in the crystal ball coalesced, forming the image of a young boy stumbling awkwardly through a dense forest. Excalibur glinted at his side, far too large for his frame, but he carried it with determination.

"There he is," Malicus whispered, his grin widening. "Arthur, the child-king. He doesn’t yet realize the burden he carries. He doesn’t yet understand the power he holds. Such... delicious vulnerability, wouldn’t you agree?"

Daicast leaned forward, his interest finally piqued. "And the other one? The wielder of Kusanagi?"

Malicus waved his hand again, shifting the view to show Yamato Takeru, clad in ceremonial armor, standing at the edge of a windswept cliff. The divine sword Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi glowed faintly at his hip. His expression was resolute, his stance commanding.

"He is as formidable as ever," Malicus said, his tone almost reverent. "A warrior in his prime, already a legend in the East. The clash between these two will be... spectacular."

Daicast sneered. "They are pawns, Malicus. Pieces on a board I control. Whether they clash or unite, they will bow before me once I hold the swords."

"Perhaps, my lord. But remember..." Malicus’s eyes gleamed mischievously as he turned back to the crystal ball. "...even the most powerful tyrants fall if they underestimate the pawns. Shall we keep watching?"

Daicast leaned back in his throne, folding his massive arms. "Very well. But if this turns into more peasant antics, you’ll regret your subscription."

Malicus chuckled darkly, swirling the image in the crystal ball once more. "Oh, I assure you, my lord, things are about to get very interesting."

The crystal ball flared, showing Arthur and Takeru, unaware of the dark forces watching their every move.

[The Eastern Highlands]

At the edge of a towering cliff, Yamato Takeru stood motionless, the wind tearing at his ceremonial armor. Below, the crashing waves of the Eastern Sea roared, their relentless rhythm echoing the storm within his heart. Strapped to his side was Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, the sacred sword of legend, its faint glow pulsing in time with his steady breaths.

Yamato, barely fifteen but with a presence that belied his youth, closed his eyes. He could feel the power of the blade, the weight of its expectations. It was said that Kusanagi could command the wind and fire, that it was a weapon of divine origin, gifted to mortals to protect the land from chaos. But for Yamato, it was a reminder of the burden he could never escape.

Yamato’s thoughts drifted to the night his village burned. He had been just a boy, no older than Arthur was now, when the invaders came. His father, the last wielder of Kusanagi, had stood against them, wielding the sword with unparalleled skill. The flames that engulfed the village had obeyed his will, driving the enemy back.

But even a legend could fall.

Yamato had watched, helpless, as his father fell to a shadowed figure wielding a cursed blade. His dying words to his son had been simple: “Take Kusanagi. Protect our people. Never let it fall to darkness.”

Now, years later, Yamato was a warrior in his own right. Trained by monks, hardened by battles, he had earned his place as the sword’s rightful master. Yet, the shadow of his father’s death loomed large.

The air around Yamato seemed to hum as Kusanagi's light brightened. It wasn’t the first time the blade had reacted this way. It usually meant one thing: another sword of equal power was near.

Kusanagi’s glow intensified, and Yamato’s hand instinctively moved to its hilt. “What is it?” he muttered, his voice calm but laced with tension.

Behind him, a voice answered. “It’s Excalibur.”

Yamato turned to see his mentor, Takeda, approaching. The old warrior carried himself with the ease of a man who had seen countless battles and survived them all. His weathered face was lined with wisdom, his gaze sharp.

“The sword of the West,” Takeda continued. “It has awakened.”

Yamato’s grip on Kusanagi tightened. “And its wielder?”

“A boy,” Takeda said, his tone neutral. “Barely more than a child. But the power of Excalibur doesn’t lie in age or skill. It lies in the heart.”

Yamato frowned, his brow furrowing. “A boy? How can he be a threat?”

Takeda studied him for a moment. “Do not underestimate him, Yamato. Excalibur is as much a force of destiny as Kusanagi. The wielder may be inexperienced now, but if left unchecked, he will grow into a formidable adversary—or ally. The question is, which path will you choose?”

Yamato turned back to the sea, his mind racing. The thought of another wielder, another sword of legend, stirred something deep within him. Was this boy, this Arthur, a kindred spirit or a rival? Would their meeting be one of unity or destruction?

“The winds of change are upon us,” Takeda said, stepping closer. “You’ve trained for this moment, Yamato. The awakening of Kusanagi and Excalibur is no coincidence. The gods have plans for you both.”

Yamato’s jaw tightened. “I don’t believe in destiny,” he said firmly. “I believe in strength. If this Arthur stands in my way, I will cut him down.”

Takeda’s expression remained calm, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Strength alone will not decide this, my pupil. Remember, the sword chooses its master not for their power, but for their purpose.”

Yamato said nothing, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

[Back in Diecast Oni’s Fortress]

The crystal ball swirled with light, showing Yamato standing defiantly against the backdrop of the sea. Malicus leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Now there’s a warrior,” he said, glancing at Diecast. “What do you think? A worthy adversary for your young Pendragon?”

Diecast’s eyes narrowed. “He will be more than an adversary. He will be a test. A crucible to temper the boy’s resolve—or shatter it completely.”

“And if Yamato doesn’t play along?” Malicus asked, his tone teasing.

“Then,” Diecast said coldly, “I will remind him where his allegiance lies. One way or another, both swords will be mine.”

The crystal ball flickered, showing both Arthur and Yamato simultaneously, their paths unknowingly drawing closer.

Malicus chuckled darkly. “It’s shaping up to be quite the spectacle.”

In the throne room of the obsidian fortress, the air was thick with malice and ambition. Diecast Oni, sat on a throne carved from the blackened remains of fallen kingdoms. His armor, inlaid with glowing runes, pulsed faintly like the heartbeat of a predator waiting to strike.

Before him, Malicus leaned casually against his staff, a faint smirk on his lips. “So, my lord, what is your plan? Beyond the usual monologue about destruction and despair, of course.”

Diecast’s crimson eye flicked toward the sorcerer. “You jest, Malicus, but you fail to grasp the gravity of what we pursue. This is no simple conquest.” He rose from his throne, towering over the crystal ball that still displayed Arthur and Yamato in their respective domains. “This is the fulfillment of divine design.”

Malicus straightened, his curiosity piqued. “Divine, you say? Do enlighten me.”

Diecast gestured, and the room darkened. The crystal ball’s glow intensified, revealing a swirling maelstrom of light and shadow. As the vortex grew, an image emerged: a sword of unimaginable brilliance and terror, its edges both gleaming and dark, as though it contained the essence of the universe itself.

“This,” Diecast said, his voice low and reverent, “is the Sword of Amatsumikaboshi, forged from the fusion of two legendary blades: Excalibur, the Blade of Jehovah, and Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, the Blade of Storms. Their union will awaken the celestial power of Amatsumikaboshi, the God of Chaos and Stars.”

Diecast’s voice echoed in the chamber as he began his tale.

“Long ago, when the heavens were young, there existed a deity known as Ama-no-mi-naka-nushi, the Divine Lord of the Middle Heavens. He ruled over the constellations, weaving the fates of gods and mortals alike. From his domain, he gifted the world with his swords—beacons of balance and chaos.

“The first, Excalibur, The blade of Light and Promise Was a blade of light, Imbued with the power of the holy spirit. wielded by champions of order and righteousness. It was said to be the weapon of Jehovah,

Excalibur’s luminous blade is said to hold the power of the Holy Spirit, aligning it with the Abrahamic pantheon. This sacred connection makes it a weapon for champions of order and righteousness, serving not only as a tool of war but as a testament to divine will. The sword is often attributed to Jehovah, the god of creation, and it bears a legacy as a force capable of vanquishing even the mightiest foes. In the West, it became a symbol of kingship and divine right, a blade destined to unite realms under a single banner.

Excalibur, the legendary sword, is more than a weapon; it is a divine artifact imbued with celestial power and profound symbolism. Known by many names across cultures—Caliburn, Caledfwlch, the Sword of Everlasting Hope, and the Crowned Sword—it stands as the greatest creation of the Fae King Oberon, forged with meticulous craftsmanship and blessed by God Himself. This consecration by the divine imbues the blade with unparalleled might and a unique consciousness, making it not just a weapon but a living entity guided by righteousness.

Excalibur possesses extraordinary properties that elevate it beyond mortal comprehension; its unrivaled sharpness the blade is so sharp it can slice through iron as effortlessly as wood. it’s

Blinding Radiance, In battle, Excalibur blinds Arthur’s enemies with divine light, confounding and overwhelming them.A woundless defense as Its scabbard is a marvel in itself, preventing its bearer’s wounds from bleeding, symbolizing preservation and endurance. And conscious will as Excalibur is unique among legendary weapons in that it possesses a consciousness of its own, harmonized with the Holy Spirit, making it not only a tool of divine justice but also a companion and guide to its wielder.

It would seem Excalibur is intrinsically tied to Arthur’s destiny and legitimacy as the King of Camelot. Its appearance from the stone signifies divine approval of Arthur’s rule. The sword is a physical manifestation of the “Sword of Promised Victory,” a title that speaks to its role in fulfilling the aspirations of an entire kingdom.

Beyond its physical and magical attributes, Excalibur is a symbol of everlasting hope. Its gleaming blade embodies the eternal struggle for justice and order, while its sacred origin reinforces the idea that true leadership is guided by higher principles.

Excalibur’s enduring legacy extends beyond its mythical origins. It is not merely a tool of war but a beacon of faith, unity, and the triumph of good over evil. As Arthur’s sword, it confirms his right to rule, yet it also serves as a reminder of the responsibilities and sacrifices inherent in leadership.

Excalibur’s story, with its many facets, inspires wonder and reflection. a blade that continues to illuminate the hearts of those who dare to dream of a brighter, just future.

“The second, Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, or "Grass-Cutting Sword," is a divine weapon born of storms and shadow, brimming with untamed fury and the raw essence of the natural world. Originally known as the Ame-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi ("Heavenly Sword of Gathering Clouds"), it emerged from the body of the monstrous multi headed sea serpent Yamata-no-Orochi after being slain by god’s Susano’o. The sword was gifted to gods and used to command the tempestuous forces of nature, cementing its place as a weapon of both destruction and redemption.

The blade possesses unparalleled abilities, both mystical and physical, making it one of the most potent weapons in existence: it’s control over storms: Kusanagi can summon and command storms, harnessing the power of wind and lightning to strike down foes with devastating precision. it’s extending blade: The sword can lengthen and retract its blade at will, allowing for attacks at incredible distances. It has telekinetic Control: Responding to the wielder's thoughts, Kusanagi can fight autonomously or return to the wielder’s hand with but a command. With its heavenly sharpness: Second only to Excalibur in sharpness, it is capable of cutting through the heavens, the aether, and all forms of physical and spiritual matter. The blade can even pierce through divine protections and harm god. As Well as it Onmyōdō: The sword channels the spiritual energies of the Shinto pantheon, enabling the wielder to perform Onmyōdō, a form of Japanese magical practice. This includes manipulating the elements—fire, water, wind, and earth—alongside life, death, and the balance of the cosmos itself.

Kusanagi’s essence is steeped in paradox. It is a weapon of great harmony, representing the balance of the universe, yet it also embodies chaos, having absorbed the destructive fury of Yamata-no-Orochi upon the serpent’s death. This duality makes Kusanagi both a force of creation and destruction, wielding the power to shape or devastate the natural and spiritual worlds.

Kusanagi remains one of the Three Imperial Regalia of Japan, a symbol of divine authority alongside the Yata no Kagami (Sacred Mirror) and the Yasakani no Magatama (Sacred Jewel). With the fragmentation of Excalibur during Arthurian conflicts, Kusanagi ascended as the sharpest of the divine armaments, its edge rivaling the cutting force of creation itself. Legends also suggest that the sword harbors the spirit of the Nine-Tailed Fox, Kurama, further amplifying its mystique and power.

The chaotic potential of Kusanagi did not go unnoticed by Amatsumikaboshi, the God of Chaos and Stars. Known as a deity of transformation and cosmic upheaval, Amatsumikaboshi saw in Kusanagi—and its Western counterpart, Excalibur—the means to transcend mortal and divine boundaries. Both swords, despite their distinct origins, represented the pinnacle of divine craftsmanship, capable of altering the fate of realms.

Amatsumikaboshi orchestrated a divine convergence, merging the essences of these two legendary weapons to create the Sword of Amatsumikaboshi. This fusion birthed a weapon capable of rewriting reality itself—a blade so powerful that its very presence could unravel the threads of existence. Its creation marked the ultimate amalgamation of light, shadow, chaos, and order, forging a weapon that embodied the full spectrum of cosmic forces.

“But Amatsumikaboshi, the God of Chaos and Stars, saw in these blades the potential for something far greater. He willed that their essences be combined, creating a weapon that could reshape existence itself. This was the Sword of Amatsumikaboshi, a weapon so powerful that its mere presence would alter the fabric of reality.”

Diecast turned to Malicus, his eyes burning with conviction. “The swords were separated eons ago, their souls sent back to the heavens to prevent their power from being misused. Excalibur became the symbol of kings in the West, while Kusanagi guarded the East. But now, fate conspires to bring them together again. And I, Diecast Oni, will wield the combined blade to rule all realms.”

Malicus nodded slowly, the weight of the revelation sinking in. “An ambitious plan, my lord. But how do you intend to merge the swords? Even possessing them will not be enough.”

Diecast’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “The swords are bound by more than metal and magic. They are tied to their wielders—the boy, Arthur, and the warrior, Yamato. When their wills collide, the swords will react, drawn toward one another. I will use that moment to harness their power and complete the union.”

“And then?” Malicus asked.

Diecast’s voice dropped to a whisper, filled with dark promise. “Then, I will ascend to the heavens and reclaim the power of Amatsumikaboshi. With the sword in my hand, I will not merely rule. I will become the God of Chaos itself.”

The swirling vortex within the crystal ball calmed, returning to the images of Arthur and Yamato. Malicus tapped his chin thoughtfully. “It’s a bold strategy, my lord. But what of the gods? Surely, they will not sit idly by as you seize their weapon.”

Diecast scoffed. “The gods are cowards, content to play their games while mortals suffer. They will not interfere. And if they do…” He rested a hand on the hilt of his own blade, a dark weapon his bladed polearm forged in the depths of his fortress. “They will learn what it means to challenge Kaizar Amatsumikaboshi.”

Malicus chuckled. “Well, then. I suppose I’d best prepare. This promises to be... entertaining.”

Diecast returned to his throne, his gaze fixed on the crystal ball. “Yes, Malicus. Entertaining indeed. But remember: entertainment is secondary. This is destiny.”

The fortress echoed with Diecast’s laughter as the image in the crystal ball shifted once more, showing Arthur and Yamato drawing ever closer to their inevitable confrontation. Far above, the stars seemed to shimmer, as though the gods themselves were watching.

[Scene: Yamato Takeru trains atop a storm-laden peak, the divine sword Kusanagi glowing faintly at his side. Lightning arcs across the sky as he swings the blade, splitting the air itself. Cut to Arthur, staring at the gleaming Excalibur in his hand, doubt and determination etched on his face.]

Narrator (dramatic voice-over):"In a world teetering on the edge of chaos, where blades of legend clash and destinies intertwine, a new chapter begins! Will the young Arthur rise to unite his fractured realm? Or will Yamato Takeru, guided by the power of storms and shadow, stand in his way? Only time—and the gods—shall decide."

[Scene shifts to Diecast, leaning on his weapon as he watches the crystal ball flicker with images of the two heroes.]

Diecast:"Let the pawns play their game. Soon, they will see that all paths lead to me. Once Excalibur and Kusanagi are mine, the heavens themselves will bow!"

Malicus (grinning):"Yes, yes, and then you can finally fund my 'Celestial Weaver's All-Access Premium Subscription.' Come on, boss! No commercials, ever!"

Diecast (face-palming):"Malicus, for the last time, stop using my war budget for your ridiculous entertainment! And what even is a 'Platinum Tier Add-On'?"

Malicus (grinning wickedly):

Well, I am glad you asked! my dark and brooding overlord, I’m so glad you asked! Let me introduce you to the ultimate power move... the Tyrant Comics Patreon!"

[Cue dramatic orchestral music as Malicus summons a glowing hologram of the Patreon page.]

Malicus (gesturing flamboyantly):"With Tyrant Comics Patreon, you can unlock a multiverse of exclusive content, secret lore, and insider access to the dark hearts of our creators! Let’s break it down by tier, shall we?"

EXCLUSIVE TIERS OF EVIL GENIUS:

1. Iron Minion Tier:"Start your journey to conquest!"

* Access to sneak peeks of upcoming content.

* Early access to content.

* Join the Tyrant community where you can discuss plot theories, character arcs, and, uh, my crystal ball subscription habits.

2. Silver Sorcerer Tier:"Get the magic touch!"

* Behind-the-scenes artwork, sketches, and concept designs.

* Personalized shoutouts from me, Malicus, in the next evil broadcast.

* Exclusive polls to decide the fate of minor characters (yes, their lives are in your hands).

3. Platinum Overlord Tier:"Rule the realm!"

* Full access to behind-the-scenes videos, including never-before-seen bloopers where Diecast trips on his cape. And Gwendoline dances for money!

* Secret Patreon-only chapters and extended scenes that dive deeper into the chaos and carnage.

* Oh, and yes... the infamous R-rated bonus content you've all been whispering about. (Don’t worry, it’s tasteful...mostly.)

4. Celestial Tyrant Tier:"Wield the ultimate power!"

* Get a personalized, signed print from the creators!

* Collaborate on shaping future plotlines (a.k.a. influence destiny).

* And yes... direct input into Malicus’s next evil scheme!

Malicus (leaning closer to the crystal ball):"But wait, there's more! Sign up now, and you’ll also get exclusive downloads of our original soundtracks, wallpapers, and access to the private Discord where all the chaos happens! Not even Diecast gets that kind of access!"

Diecast (growling):"Malicus, I swear on the Sword of Amatsumikaboshi, if this is another scheme to fund your reality shows—"

Malicus (cutting him off):"It’s not! It’s for the fans, my lord! For the art! And speaking of which..."

[Hologram zooms in on the Patreon link, glittering enticingly.]

BE THE HERO... OR VILLAIN!

Join the Tyrant Comics Patreon today and experience the chaos like never before. The multiverse is waiting for you to take charge.

Diecast (deadpan):"...At least the federal publishing laws won’t apply to Patreon, right?"

Malicus (grinning):"Exactly! And if they do, we’ll just rewrite them... like we do with everything else." Chris Ryahn for President! [Screen fades to black with a flashy overlay: https://www.patreon[Dot]com/Tyrant-comics]

[As Diecast’s rant echoes in the darkened chamber, cut to Arthur and Merlin preparing to camp for the night. Merlin stares wistfully at a mushroom glowing with unnatural light.]

Arthur:"Merlin, are you sure this is a good place to rest? This forest feels... strange." and you don’t have any pants on.

Merlin (stroking his beard):"Strange? Nonsense, boy. These mushrooms are rich in magical nutrients! And if you eat enough of them, you might just unlock the secret of life itself!"

[Merlin suddenly plucks a glowing mushroom and starts munching it with wild enthusiasm. The screen flashes to psychedelic colors as Arthur stares in horror.]

Arthur:"I’m not eating that."

Merlin (eyes now glowing with mystical swirls):"You say that now, but wait until breakfast!"

[Cut to credits, accompanied by an overly upbeat J-pop ending theme filled with lyrics about hope, swords, and... mushrooms.]

[Post-Credits Scene: Diecast’s Fortress]

Malicus:"Oh, and boss? You might want to call HR about that crack in the throne room floor."

Diecast (gritting teeth):"Malicus, if you mention that again, I’ll personally demote you to pest control!"

[Cue laughter from unseen minions as the screen fades to black with the words: “To Be Continued...”]