Guinevere and I stepped out of the Void into the material world. I looked at the ashen wasteland that had once been the Ancient Forest. When I saw what was left of the land I had first entered this world, I was angry. I wasn’t a tree hugger or anything, but this place had meant something to me. Its ancient trees, ruins, and monsters had all helped to shape me into who I was. I knew Exar’kun was responsible for much of this destruction but not all of it. The champions of the other gods had shown no mercy as they hunted down my vassals and scoured the forest for every gifted creature they could to enhance their power.
“Gods of law and order my ass,” I said. “I didn’t even do this much destruction on Camelot.”
“But you could have,” Guinevere pointed out.
“But I didn’t,” I reiterated. “I know I killed thousands but that was just how my abilities turned out; it wasn’t something I did on purpose. This though, there’s no way you could do this by accident.”
“Where to now?” Guinevere asked.
“Dragonhold,” I said. “There isn’t anything here to hunt and we need to start killing gifted. It doesn’t matter if they are even good abilities we get from the kills; we need to raise our stats as fast as possible.”
I opened a portal and took Guinevere’s hand as I stepped through. The tower I’d constructed outside of the city still stood but now it was occupied by Lunarian soldiers. They immediately rushed me but I just gripped them with Force of Will and held them up. I looked them over one by one but none of them were gifted.
“Where is your superior officer?” I asked.
No one said anything.
“Where is your leader?” I asked again, Voice of Tartarus making my words resonate with unquestionable authority.
“At the top of the tower,” one of the soldiers broke, tears and sweat speading out across his body.
I let them all drop; they were just base humans and no threat to me.
“What is your name, soldier?” I asked.
“Wilber Tanner,” he said.
“You have no place in this war,” I said to him. “You are not gifted and are little more than cannon fodder; your leaders know this but will send you to your death anyway. Join me as one of my knights and you will have the power to actually stand against men like me.”
The man blinked as he received a System notification, likely for the first time in his life.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Power,” I said. “Take it, keep it, and offer it to anyone who would stand with you.”
I left him behind as Guinevere and I ascended up the tower steps.
“I thought it was ‘keep power, take power, and deny it to others’?” Guinevere questioned me.
“I don’t want to be that person anymore,” I said. “I want to give people a choice, to make a better world, not just a bloodier one.”
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“It’s going to be bloodier,” Guinevere said. “Those who oppose us won’t let you make that world without a fight.”
I kicked open the door in front of us to the top of the tower.
“Then we fight,” I said to the room full of gifted knights and officers.
“He’s here,” the commander said into a crystal.
Attacks came my way, blasts of fire, glowing arrows, a javelin of pure holy light. Clarent spun into my hand as I deflected the shots and attacks. My hand raised up, lifting the knights into the air and pulling their arms to their sides. There wasn’t a man or woman in the room over Hero rank. I opened a portal and tossed them into the Void where they were imprisoned for sacrifice later. Stepping over to the table, I looked at the maps left out, seeing the various pieces and movements laid out.
“That was anticlimactic,” Guinevere said.
“Is what it is,” I said, shrugging. “The System should start spawning level appropriate monsters for us to fight but for now, let’s head into the city.”
“What for?” Guinevere asked.
“I have a feeling some old enemies are going to want to make contact and perhaps we’ll be enemies no longer,” I said, stepping off the edge of the tower.
---
Arthur looked down at the map on the table.
“What’s your plan?” Lancelot asked.
“We do what we did last time,” Arthur said. “The System and the gods themselves have made Mordred our number one enemy. We band together and hunt him down.”
“Last time you did that he only came back stronger,” Mira said.
“What is your suggestion then?” Arthur snapped. “Let him be?”
“Yes,” Mira said, shocking him and Lancelot.
“I’m pregnant, Lancelot almost died against him, you couldn’t ever defeat him in a one-on-one fight,” she said.
“That's it, you’re giving up?” Arthur asked.
“I am if your plan is just to group up and hit him tell he dies again,” Mira said. “I’m not sacrificing my son for your vengeance.”
“I have a son of my own,” Arthur said. “And two more children on the way. Do you think I’m here to sacrifice them?”
“I think your hatred for Mordred has blinded you,” Mira said, leaning forward. “You hate him more than anyone else, but what has he really done to you personally?”
“I was there in Camelot…” Arthur began, irate.
“So was I,” Mira cut him off. “But how many of those he killed were you even friends with? Now you want to send what friends you do have to chase down Mordred and die against him.”
“Mira, do you really think we can’t take him?” Lancelot asked.
“I’ve talked with Helen,” Mira said. “Her mother was Hierophant rank and she died against him. Her goddess refused to tell her more but warned her that facing Mordred would lead to her death.”
“So Helen is out then,” Arthur said, his shoulders slumping.
“No, she’s charging right after him,” Mira said. “She’s going to leave her daughter an orphan, but I won’t follow her example.”
“I could order you,” Arthur said.
“You’re not my king,” Mira said. “And frankly, I think you’ve grown too accustomed to being in charge. We are champions, we answer to our gods, not to you.”
“And what about you, Lancelot?” Arthur challenged. “Does your wife speak for you? Will you also abandon me to this fight on my own?”
Lancelot studied Mira’s face then turned to Arthur. “I stand with Mira; if this is your plan…I won’t join you. Come up with a real plan of attack and bring it to us and we’ll talk again. Until then, this quest for vengeance is yours alone.”
The two of them left and Arthur clenched his fist. He’d known in his bones that Mordred wasn’t gone; he wasn’t sure he’d ever be rid of that feeling even if Mordred’s corpse lay at his feet. He would see him dead no matter what it cost him.