This story is set in an alternate universe - namely one created in a course of a multiplayer Civ game I am playing for the better part of last 2 years now. If you're interested in details, check Apolyton site, and the Forever Future mod to the Call to Power 1 game. Over the time, a tradition of writing stuff developed around the game; I've decided to publish this particular piece, since it's of a better quality than most and it follows a standard short story pattern.
The sea of blood. Choking her, dragging her down with the hands of innumerable dead. Desperately, she turned to her distant past, trying to find a place, a dry island on this abominable sea.
But even then, at the very beginning, there was death. Death that started it all, the death of her family. Those were the troubled times of Boadicea's Terror. But her army of fanatics and monsters was only the indirect cause; the chaos that was brought upon the land made lives of all peasants unsafe, including those of the Llandarcy region, sailors and fishermen who owed their uncommonly fair complexion to the ancient French warrior-traders who settled these areas first, before being assimilated into the Celtic tribes. Raiders came in the night, with the sound of hooves, bringing fire and screams and fear. The little girl she was then survived by sheer luck, hiding under an overturned boat and not coming out, only crying, crying as everyone she knew was murdered. As hard as she tried, she couldn't remember the warmth and love she must've been surrounded by before that, she couldn't remember the faces of her parents or siblings. Only that one terrible night. So she moved on.
The years after that she spent by a family of a priest who found her and accepted into his home. Perhaps these were the perfect years, if there were any. She was growing up surrounded by old manuscripts, by the old tales of Celtic heroes who fought monsters and evil men, a tales of valor, sacrifice, honor and tragic fate. Tales of better men and better times, three thousands years in the past, when the Celtic iron swords had no match, and the tribes lived strong and peaceful with little concern for the outside world. But nowadays the Celtic iron seemed to only be used to murder innocents, and the Thebes, once an exotic city at the end of the world, commandeered an invincible fleet of giant ships armed with magical fire and could easily burn any Celtic harbour if they ever wanted to.
But even these times were marred. They taught her nothing but foolishness, idealism, an insane romanticism which pushed her onto that doomed path she had chosen when she heard the news of the Sword in the Stone, which supposedly had the power to unite Brittania again. She was already almost fourteen, and with such exceptional beauty as hers, she'd have no trouble finding a good husband and living out her life like a villager, a good life, as a wife and mother, and then peacefully growing old and passing away in blessed ignorance and innocence. Instead she fled her new home and travelled to Caerphilly, where the stone was located, just because she got really angry at her village, angry at them for mocking the magical sword and disbelieving that the country can ever be united, while doing nothing to help that to happen. She also dreamt of the sword... was she already being manipulated by Merlin? Was it him who sent the dream? Was she already picked for her role to play? Such irony would fit her life perfectly.
The Excalibur... Gods it was so beautiful. Shining in the sun, shining like a promise of victory after she pulled it from the stone and lifted it above her head with no effort at all, a fragile, teenage girl, half-starved to death after her fortnight-long journey to Caerphily, succeeding where all the strong, grizzled warriors have failed.
They'd probably beaten, raped and murdered her just out of spite, if not for Sir Percival, who suddenly stepped beside her and supported her claim for the crown with his authority, his ill-renown as a deadly swordsmaster and a dozen of his crossbowmen.
It turned out he, along with Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain and others were rulers of a loose coalition of fiefdoms, joined in keeping at bay the chaos that surrounded their lands, but divided by their endless rivalry. They could never accept any of them to rule over the others. Sir Percival figured out that by accepting someone from outside as a king to preside over them, a person blessed by Merlin himself no less, they will be able to finally put their differences away and truly unite, claim the surrounding lands and thus increase their power far more than any one of them could do on his own. At that point no one even thought of confronting Boadicea, she seemed too remote and too big to be of any concern.
At first they were understandably reluctant. But an idea of a leader who will never be able to rule on her own was quite compelling. Plus she seemed to have all the prerequisites, smart and humble, honorable but conciliatory, and honestly believing in the unity. And one evening, after Percival and Boer nearly started duelling, she was able to find a way for both of them to back down without tarnishing his honor. This impressed them enough to finally accept that she was indeed the one who was perfect for the role. In a way, she made them feel like they were much more, aspire to being much more than just local warlords they were. Summoning an old Egyptian knightly tradition from the dawn of their monarchy, a few hundreds years before, they called their council The Round Table; and to conceal the only uncomfortable fact remaining, that of her sex, they called her the King. Merlin brought one final blessing, the sheath of the Excalibur that gave her the power to heal from almost any injury, while the sword itself gave her the strength of a grown man.
As long as she wielded both these artifacts, she was the leader they needed. She learned swordsmanship, she learned tactics and in a few years time, the new kingdom started to spread its power, peacefully or otherwise. Many a local warlord joined them, either out of admiration or fear; many a warlord met his end in the smoldering ruins of his castle. Was this the crucial point? She was a military leader by that time, even if most of the details were worked out by her Knights. A military leader deals in death, and soon she had shown quite a talent in that area. But these wars were good... honorable... just. They helped to tame the chaos that was plaguing the land... or so she believed.
The next step that nudged her even further away from the life she could have had came pretty soon. Back then, they often travelled just a few dozen strong, and several groups of raiders joined their forces to defeat the threat to their trade. The first man she killed, it was just out of reflex, a spear thrown from the horseback that nailed him to a tree. Two more kills were a lot more personal, a quick, still sloppy by her later standards, but effective enough pieces of swordsmanship against foes who really preferred bows and knives. One was gutted, the other beheaded in one clean strike. She didn't feel guilty. These were evil men. She felt rather proud. With the amount of corpses she'd already seen, the physical revulsion to the act was rather mild too.
The success of the strange King Arturia and her Knights exceeded all expectations. Within just six years, they practically controlled a quarter of the country, and Boadicea finally noticed the threat. From that point on, it was clear the final confrontation was inevitable and coming soon... and the goal of unification started to more and more justify the less and less subtle means. But if it takes to kill hundreds innocents to save millions, the whole country, it seems like there is only one proper choice. It was a hard decision, naturally, at least a few first times, but does it really matter how hard it was on her? It was certainly harder on those who actually died. So maybe that was the point of no return, the death of these villagers... or maybe it was another death. The death of her most pure and loyal knight.
They have traversed the Cruacha Gorma mountain range through the Golden Vale pass, with an army twenty thousand strong, hoping to join the forces with the rulers of Numantia, the ancient seat of the druidic high council, the most holy and powerful city in the whole land. But as soon as the news of Boadicea's hordes approaching broke, Numantia's rulers fled the city, leaving it in chaos, defenceless and needing help itself, instead of being able to provide any. It was decided to divide forces. Three thousands of cavalry, including Arturia and her most renown knights were to quickly seize Numantia and try to restore order there. The rest was to continue their march. The only thing they missed in their calculations was the fact that Boadicea's forces actually moved out much sooner than the news of their approach appeared, marching quickly and stealthily through the forested hills of the Cill Mhantain Highlands.
Half of their army was slaughtered on the spot, the rest scattered. Some of these groups were hunted down and destroyed, four thousand managed to make it. In one case, her retinue arrived mid-battle and was able to rescue one of the groups. However, Boadicea's fanatics already inflicted a heavy toll on that unit. Among the casualties was unit's leader, his pale skin and hair even lighter than Arturia's betraying his origins from the same area as her own. He was a son of one of the minor lords who willingly joined the Round Table, and it was already past her power of healing to save him.
In a quite unkingly manner, she dropped to her knees by his body and grabbed onto his chest.
"No, not you, Sir Bedivere, I refuse, it's unfair... You can't die... Please, I don't know how I could go on without your..."
He smiled weakly then reached out to touch her face, a gesture much bolder than he ever allowed himself in life. "Do not cry, my king... it's unbefitting of your stature... yet you look even more beautiful when you do... I am happy this is the last sight I'll ever see... I'm happy I am dying for a just cause... for your cause, my beautiful king... I have... always... loved you..."
She didn't know what to answer, so she just franticly pressed his hand to her lips and kissed it, while her heart was breaking. He smiled one last time. "I know you will carry on... our dream...", he said, then his clear eyes blurred and his pure soul left his broken body, leaving her alone in her vale of tears.
They burnt his body this very evening. Next day, they gathered in the grand Numantian court, dreadfully empty save for a handful of servants and bards who for some reason didn't flee with the others. The mood was foul. Despite discussing the situation into the night hours, no solution had appeared.
"It boils down to this. We need an army," reiterated Sir Percival. "There are many unaligned lords in the East, but they will never accept our rule, especially after that disastrous battle that proved that going against Boadicea is a suicide. Which sadly appears to be true, for she is a slayer without a peer. As long as she leads her army in person, they're almost invincible."
"No one is invincible," Sir Lancelot shook his head. "Yet a display of power is needed to gather a sufficient force to crush her."
"Merlin!" called out Sir Boer, shifting his huge body. "Why are you just standing there in the shadows! You're a wizard, do something!"
"If only it was that easy," answered Merlin's deep voice from under his hood. "I have already given you my blessings, and a sword that has the power to sway human hearts. There is nothing I can do to empower you any further. I am just an old man with a bagful of tricks. The actual power to change things lies with warrior heroes like you are."
At least he wasn't lying. Even several centuries later, it still took the most powerful Master at the time, the yet-unknown Slavic god Perun, to bestow the power to make miracles into his divine child, Haruhi. And by that time, he was much more powerful than Merlin and Boadicea combined, and much more direct and narrow in the applications of his power. Merlin worked by portents and blessings; Perun manually hammered things out to do his bidding.
"Then we are doomed," concluded Boer.
"We could leave the army here and retreat with just the elite troops..." said Percival. "That way Boadicea won't be able to deny our passage through the mountains... and back home, we can defend for years..."
"No," said Arturia. "We won't be escaping like rats to only prolong the inevitable. We are the last, best hope Brittania has against Boadicea's darkness. So we will make our final stand here. Inside this city, we might have an actual chance of winning, however slim. A hope. At the beginning, hope, the hope Excalibur brought, was all that we had. We cannot ever abandon that hope."
"I agree." said Sir Gawain. "We mustn't betray the light. Even if we fall tomorrow, there is still the legend of the Holy Grail. The Grail has the power beyond compare, but it must find our country worthy. All we can do is to stay true to the light till the very end, and hope and pray that it will yet someday, past our deaths, save Brittania through some other hands."
"So this is it..." nodded Sir Lancelot. "So be it. Death is better than disgrace. If we only had something... anything..."
"Merlin." said Percival. "Are you absolutely sure there's nothing you can do? Nothing you can suggest? This is a suicide and we all know it."
"Well... there is... a way," said Merlin. "But you won't like it."
"Damned wizards and your games!" bellowed Sir Boer. "Just bloody tell us!"
"There is a creature that could bestow upon you the power you seek. Yet it is a creature most foul and corrupting."
Everyone froze, as they were already guessing what he was talking about.
"You can't be possibly meaning..." said Sir Gawain, obviously appaled by the very notion.
"The Black Dragon of the Cruacha Gorma Range. As old as the world and powerful beyond measure. You must seize his soul."
"No warrior ever managed to defeat it!" said Sir Boer. "His cave is filled with bones of those who tried!"
"It is because his scales cannot be pierced by any mortal weapon..." said Arturia, her gaze wandering towards the Excalibur which certainly wasn't a mortal weapon. The first seed was sown right then, fuelled by her pride; wasn't slaying a dragon the pinnacle of heroic achievement?
"No!" said Sir Gawain. "Just no! Accepting a dragon's soul is bringing upon ourselves a curse terrible and perilous beyond human comprehension! It is embracing the very darkness we seek to destroy!"
"Well, this curse is said to entail immortality..." mused Sir Percival, scratching his chin. "Not like it is much of a saving grace, naturally, but still kind of nice..."
"Immortality in exchange for one's very soul! How could you even..."
"But thou must!" said Merlin. "It is the only way to destroy the greater evil of Boadicea. It is the only way... of making Bedivere's sacrifice matter."
And of course he pushed the right button saying that, even at the price of earning her eternal contempt. She stood up.
"I will do that. Whatever the curse is, I am willing to suffer it. Our little lives, even our souls mean nothing next to the grand case we're fighting for," she said coldly. "I will face the dragon and force him to surrender his soul. Then I will defeat Boadicea. If I am to suffer an eternal hell afterwards, it is a price worth paying."
Of course, Sir Gawain stormed out of the room, saying they couldn't understand the true nature of the curse. He was never seen again. But the rest of them, in desperation, agreed. Or maybe they simply thought she had just chosen one kind of death over another, death to dragon's claw and fire instead of death to arrow and blade.
The plan to defeat the dragon hinged on the Excalibur alone, and orchestrating a single moment where she could use it, no matter how suicidal. Actually she remembered more of the gruelling climb into the mountains than of the fight itself. She shed all unnecessary things, her armor, most of her weapons, even her horse's saddle. She entered the lair of the great beast, a lair that smelled like an abandoned charnel house, and taunted it to attack, then when it decided to get rid of the nuisance in a most painful way possible, she quickly ran around the corner, jumped onto her horse and charged the monster. The horse or the lance didn't survive, but she found herself exactly where she wanted to be, on the ground as the dragon crashed into her and started musing about stripping her clothing first, then her skin, before eating her, and his armored chest was within the striking distance. And with a powerful thrust, the Excalibur found its way into creature's body.
"You have missed... my heart, little girl" groaned the dragon.
"I know. But it will be torn if either of us moves, foul beast."
"It almost sounds like you wanted something..."
"I do. I want your soul."
"My... soul? So you do want to kill me... but you want my soul. However, it seems you could only absorb it into your own body..."
"And that's exactly what I want."
The dragon started to produce horrible, throbbing sounds. It took her a moment to realize he was laughing. "So you desire my power... It almost makes it up for me for the fact I am about to die. Sure, take it... Drink my blood... Drink your fill, little fool..." He torn his chest apart, and the blood started pouring on her, it tasted like death, like acid, like a drug, as the dragon was dying, still laughing. She felt the blood outside and inside, she felt her clothes melting, and then the unimaginable pain came, as it was reforming her body, ravaging it, corrupting it... she had to admit that soon enough it started to feel really good, the pain turning into a pleasure. The moment the death took dragon's laughing away, she started to laugh herself, and even if it sounded much softer in her young woman's throat, it wasn't a laugh any less sinister or more sane.
It took Boadicea another week to gather all her forces at the gates of Numantia. The defenders have used that time to bolster their ranks. Smithies were working day and night to forge weapons and armor; all the city's open grounds became arenas of training. Any able-bodied Numantian citizen, man or woman, was drafted, and those who refused, were put to the sword. Their impaled heads, surrounding city's walls, now served as the first and the last warning to Boadicea's minions. Finally, the lights of the marching army were spotted, and the last night passed on repainting all the armor and uniforms in black, to match the new, imposing image of the King. Now it seemed like there was a second, living wall on top of the stone one, made up of black chainmail, breastplates, leather hauberks, shields and helmets. In turn, the encroaching sea of Boadicea's army had the color of flesh. Even her human minions usually fought naked or close to it; the Dark Ones, called Kakomorphai by the Theban Academia, were explicitly ordered not to wear anything, to fully expose their revolting image to the world, as it was causing fear.
"There must be more than a hundred thousand of them," said Sir Percival. Only the day before he was able to fight down the fever caused by the dragon's curse; in the process he had lost all his hair though, and his mouth was twitching all the time, like trying to assume an expression of a perverted smile. His eyes, however, were now shining with a hint of diabolical intelligence. "Even with all the new recruits, we're still outnumbered at least four to one. And most of our soldiers aren't warriors, just a motley of hastily trained spearmen and slingers."
"When defending huge walls like these," answered Sir Lancelot, "Quantity is more important than quality. As long as every part of the wall is manned, we can move our elite units whereever the enemy makes a foothold." He seemed the least affected by the curse; except for the whiteness of his skin and the constant weariness, he felt no ill effects.
"While this would be true normally," spoke Sir Kay, another of Arturia's fellow Westerners; while Lancelot was merely pale now, his skin was white like a parchment, and he was now surrounded by an otherwordly aura, like he was a ghost incarnated in flesh, and causing a disturbing feel that his bones could be seen through that flesh, if one looked from just the right angle. "Our enemy knows no fear. They will not back down nor they will break their attack, until either side is cut down to the last."
"It changes nothing", quietly said Sir Galahad. It was surprising as since the curse befell them, he hardly spoke at all. He was spending most of his time praying in the ancient stone circle outside of the city. "Our last remaining earthly duty is to destroy these hordes of evil."
"Hrm," snorted Sir Boer. He seemed the worst affected; the curse turned his visage into one of a feral beast, along with a pair of tusks, befitting his name. Thankfully he retained his human intelligence. "Fearless? Bah! Then today they shall learn fear."
There were no more. Out of the twelve original knights, only five remained. Sir Gawain had left. Three have fallen in previous battles. Two were instantly killed by the curse. The last remaining one, Lady Morgana, seeing their wizened husks, was stricken with fear and tried to save herself by the use of druidic potions and dark magics she had knowledge of; whether it worked or not, it was impossible to tell, as they turned her into a raving, murderous lunatic whom Arturia had to put out of her misery.
Now, she unsheathed the Excalibur, corrupted by the curse as well, no longer shiny but matte black and ominous red. "Make a circle and raise your swords," she commanded, and as they obeyed, she raised her own blade and started to speak. "To fight fire with fire. Rage with fury. Violence with even greater violence. We shall ride out to meet them." A murmur rose amongst her knights, but she continued. "The Excalibur was once known as the promise of victory, now it shall be called the Sword of Assured Doom. By its power, I, Arturia Pendragon call upon the immortal dragon soul and all that is the blackest and most evil. I call upon the wrath of human heart, the anger and the hatred and the fear that lurks in the darkness of the night; strike my enemies! Make their blood boil in their veins! Kill them, slaughter them, DESTROY THEM ALL!"
The crowds wavered, as the skies suddenly turned dark. Soon enough, lightning struck and the rain began to fall. But it wasn't a rain that makes plants grow and farmers rejoice; it was a rain of infinite bitterness and jealousy, which are the very essence of a Black Dragon. As the green droplets started to fall upon the masses of naked fanatics, their flesh began to boil and dissolve, and a great wave of screams rose above the throng. Yet the army didn't scatter. Boadicea's enforcers snapped their whips, flogging the masses into frenzy, and the human wave started to advance once more, stampeding the dead and dying under thousands of bare feet.
As if to welcome them, the gates of Numantia opened and hundreds of black-armored cavalry rode out, forming a wedge and levelling their lances.
"Archers, start shooting. Infantry, form into phalanxes and cover our flanks," Arturia, riding on the very tip of that wedge, adressed the messengers. Then she raised her voice: "Royal cavalry... Advance! Into the fray!" And into the fray they rode, under the banner depicting a black dragon, into the massed throngs of enemies.
They met on top of the hill, inside an ancient circle of standing stones. The dragon soul reformed Arturia's body, not only giving her superhuman strength, but also making her as tall as any man. However, next to Boadicea she still looked small. The giant redhead was not only almost seven feet tall, she was also ripping with masses and knots of muscle. She wore a royal headband on her forehead, but whatever else armor or clothing she had at the onset of the battle, was long gone now; her nude body was only covered with warpaint and blood flowing from numerous cuts and arrow marks. None of these wounds seemed to impede her cat-like agility in the slightest, though. Arturia looked like her opposite, her slim figure fully clad in an impeccably black suit of armor, untouched and pristine despite all the blood she shed this day, for the armor was forged from dragon scales and like her blade, it immediately drank and absorbed any blood that touched it. Only her pale face was exposed, and her blonde hair, almost as pale, ruffled during the battle, now reformed into a simple ponytail.
"So you're that nuisance who has all my land in uproar!" spoke Boadicea, spitting. "You've made me go all the way to personally meet you. Frankly, I am quite disappointed. You don't look like much. You don't even look much like a true Celt, to be honest. It doesn't matter though, soon I will throw your foreign carcass to my dogs."
"It is you who's going to die tonight," said Arturia, starting to circle her opponent, drawing her sword behind her. Boadicea mimicked her movements, brandishing a pair of wicked javelins from the quiver on her back.
"Bah. You feel strong for the black magics you've used, but next to me, you're just an ant. Since the dawn of time, I was the only Master of these lands; my rule knew no opposition for twenty five centuries, until that dog, Merlin, managed to trick and banish me through his accursed magics. It took me thousands of years to return, but this time, he had no power over me. My dominion returned a hundred years ago, and it shall live... forever!" With that, she suddenly threw a javelin, then another. Her physical strength was so great that they flew in perfectly straight lines. Arturia dodged one, and it crashed into one of the standing stones, shattering into tiny pieces. However, the other was aimed with exactly that kind of a dodge in mind. It struck the black knight straight into her chest, and sent her flying several feet backwards.
"Your dominion..." said Arturia slowly, getting up "...Is nothing. It is a land of no strength and no direction, and it shall be eradicated." She didn't appear wounded.
"Dragon armor, right? If I can't pierce it, I guess I will have to crush what's inside," answered Boadicea, smiling and reaching for her stone warhammer. She jumped forward, trying to destroy her opponent through the sheer momentum of her charge, but Arturia swung her two-handed blade and struck the falling warhammer mid-air with a mighty clash, miraculously stopping the devastating strike. Boadicea gritted her teeth and punched through the parry and into that pale, girly face; Arturia fell over, her nose crushed and bleeding, but she immediately rolled over, stood back up and parried the strike that was supposed to finish her off.
"What tenacity! I am known to knock out horses with my fist! Doesn't matter... if you bleed, you will eventually break-"
"DIE!" screamed Arturia back, and charged at her opponent herself; Boadicea was barely able to parry that strike. They started trading blow for blow, but while the ancient queen was stronger and more agile on her feet, Arturia's attacks were much faster and more precise. Boadicea could defeat any fencing technique through the application of sheer, brute force; the problem was, this enemy was hardly using any. She was just swinging her large sword hard and fast, hitting Boadicea's guard repeatedly, ruthlessly, giving no time to dodge or counterattack and pushing the giant woman into defensive. Before she started to be surprised by that turn of events, though, the blonde went for an overhead strike at her head. Boadicea raised her hammer to form a guard, too late realizing her mistake when Arturia quickly changed her grip and snuck her blade just under the parry, cutting a deep swathe through Boadicea's breast, abdomen and hip. Then she changed her grip again and impaled her opponent with a thrust from below, the black blade piercing the solar plexus and coming out through the top of her back.
Boadicea laughed, spitting blood. "Do you really think this is enough to kill someone like me? Many warriors have fallen to that trick, and you're next." The black knight retracted her sword and jumped back just in time to avoid being caught by her throat, but a following swing of the warhammer found purchase, slamming into the left side of her body with a loud clang, sending her tumbling across the hallowed ground. She tried to scurry even further away, but while the dragon armor was hardly affected, the force of the impact broke something inside of her... perhaps many things even, as she found out she had lost feeling in her legs, and her mouth started to quickly fill with blood, rising from her stomach. She rolled on her back, to see the giant shape of the redhead queen slowly approaching her.
"I feel tempted to give you to my master torturers, to see how much this body of yours can take, but you're just too dangerous. I will kill you here and now."
"You could... never... kill me."
"Oh? And that's why?"
Arturia unbuckled her belt and raised Excalibur's sheath. "That's why. It is called the Dark Utopia. Once it represented the pure and impossible to achieve... Now it stands for an utopia which can be created here, on this earth, with enough will. This is the difference between us... we both stand on a mountain of corpses. But while yours was used to only protect your pride... mine was piled up in the name of that grand vision. Once this sheath had the power to heal, drawn from that other, unachievable world... now it has a power similar..."
Suddenly, a wall of ephemeric, black tendrils appeared from mid-air, momentarily immobilizing Boadicea, before she tore them away. "Ugh... what have you done... to me..."
The black knight was already standing on her feet. "It still heals, but it draws its power from the death and wounds caused in the name of that Utopia. It merely made you feel the real pain of your wounds, just like a mortal would, just for a moment... And this... is the other reason of why you can't win. The Sword of Assured Doom. Tonight, yours."
She was already walking towards Boadicea, raising the accursed blade. However the ancient queen wasn't done yet. Another javelin appeared in her left hand and she suddenly lunged, striking the blonde at the waist level. This time, the javelin burrowed deep into the flesh with a satisfying sound.
"You're too confident in your armor, little girl. It can still be pierced at its seams, and I already know where they... whaa!"
Arturia grimaced in pain, but wasn't slowed down, she swung her sword, cutting deep into her opponent's left triceps and severing the briachal artery. Boadicea panicked and immediately responded with a hammer strike, attacking Arturia's exposed left side, crushing her shoulder. It turned out to be her fatal mistake. Although the blonde's left arm fell to her side, broken and useless, the rest of her body was still working, including her sword arm. She thrust the Excalibur into Boadicea's inner thigh, cutting muscles and veins, causing the ancient queen to drop down to her knee. Another strike cut off the hand that was holding the hammer. She sent a last, strangely indifferent stare into Boadicea's eyes, then rotated her body around, like in slow motion, for the single-handed strike to gather the neccessary strength. A fountain of blood squirted high into the air when Boadicea's head was disjoined from her shoulders.
In a few hours time, the battle was over. The darkness had fallen over the body-strewn fields of Numantia. "Our soldiers fought like demons, but it still would be for naught, if not for the fact that the Dark Ones started to immediately drop like flies once you've slain Boadicea," spoke Sir Lancelot. "Sadly, Sir Galahad didn't make it... he charged like a possessed man right into the thicket of enemies, and... May the gods have mercy on his tormented soul."
Arturia just nodded, her left arm still hanging uselessly by her side. "Gather the soldiers and order them to rest. The day after tomorrow, we march out."
"To where?"
"There are still many lords in this land who do not accept my authority. We will send a clear message to them. Those not willing to submit will be eradicated. All the land shall be divided between those who do, at the peril of anyone who dares to object."
"Is this... neccessary? With Boadicea dead..."
"Once we dreamt of a kingdom. But now we're immortals. We can extend our vision far beyond that. We will unite this country, by sword and fire if need be, and forge an everlasting Empire. For there are powers far and beyond we will have to face some day, one way of another. The Indians in the south rule a huge and rich land with a hand of iron, and someday this hand will reach out for our throat. The French to the north are wealthy beyond compare and contemptous of the likes of us. The Egyptians to the west command strange weapons and technologies we need to be wary of. The Russians to the east have innumerable fleets of pirate vessels that must be kept at bay. And far, far in the south there is yet another power, a constantly rising one, one whom all of the above fear, as it might one day grow to be the most dangerous of them all."
"Well... right," said Sir Percival. "We still need to figure out what to do with the thousands of prisoners we took. Since they're leaderless now, maybe we could convince them to join us, before they become bandits or otherwise start causing trouble..."
"Crucify them. Along the northern and eastern roads. Every last one of them."
The vision that came later was even worse than the ocean of blood she tried to escape from in the first place. Thankfully, something grabbed her and forcefully pulled her up, and out, and back into the world of the awake. She felt cold sweat all over her body, but seeing the familiar shapes of the furniture in her underground bedroom brought her relief, just like those terrible times passed away... even if they didn't. The eternal British Empire, the idea she sacrificed so many people for... Did she even still care about it? No, no... it's not like that. Now the empire was to encompass the whole humanity... and that new, strange Brittania was to be a part of it... not as slaves, but as equals... wasn't that... Borgia? Seeking an Utopia as well? And Ifurita herself, she could be reasoned with... But what if Azuria was right and they were planning to betray them, to side with the Japanese?
Only then she realized it was a phone what woke her up. It was still ringing; she picked up the receiver.
"It's the Commissar-Secretary Thespis speaking... The British made their move."
"...Go on."
"They struck at Yokohama and Sapporo. Used tactical nuclear warheads in both cases. They are occupying what's left of Yokohama now. Sapporo, along with the Haruhi Tower, is no more. Millions of Japanese casuaulties, over ten divisions of land forces, along with dozens of large ships and airplanes destroyed."
The relief she felt was almost audible. Damned Azuria, and the seeds of paranoia she sown. There was never any cause for distrusting the British. Arturia felt ashamed now. "Good. How did they bring that tower down? It survived our nuclear bombing."
"Used RNEPs, shot them at the base of the tower, they buried deep into its superstructure before exploding. The video is being shown on television all over the world. It took a lot of time for the damned thing to fully collapse. I am sure the Japanese morale will plummet, not only their goddess disappeared, but also their most holy place was destroyed."
"Right. Did Cleopatra already say something regarding that?"
"No... honestly, no one seems to be able to reach her lately. If even you don't know, Comrade..."
"Doesn't matter. With Yokohama secured, the general staff is likely to greenlight the offensive any day now, regardless of what she says."
"I agree..."
"That'd be all," she concluded and replaced the receiver. Now, since basically all the Japanese mainland was freed of their presence, save for two pitiful, if well-defended mountain fortresses, established in the ruins of Fukushima and Nikko, she was unlikely to take direct involvement in the war any more. She was no navy commander. Part of her desired more blood, but a bigger part was sort of relieved. When the Japan falls... maybe this nightmare will end. Cleopatra's age of chaos will finally end. But what a world in peace would need a monster like herself for...?
She reached for her lamp. The light fell on several photos. She wouldn't dare to display them to anyone... even not Cleopatra... especially not her. But it seemed a handful of people... actually were able to forgive her for all her sins. There were photos of her and Cleopatra there, but taken a long, long time ago, when both of them were still capable of smiling... before her... Master, as it was so obvious again these times... Before she shed, as it seemed, all the humanity Arturia admired her for.
The more recent pictures were much better. Kiritsugu, that British psionic intelligence man, he despised her, quite healthily, but he understood, and his wife was nothing but gentle towards her... And that strange being, Kasane Teto... her affection looked so sincere and certainly not shallow, but... were they that silly? Or insane, willing to get so close to a monster like her...? Or maybe, just maybe...
No. Certainly not. But their existence was soothing none the less. Much more soothing than the triple defensive ring around Thebes, tightly packed with the deadliest weaponry and most advanced defense systems on the planet. Still, the sleep was out of question, so it was either going out and not looking back, which she couldn't do, or her endless cycle of overeating and punishing exercise. Maybe it would've been better to die there, in Numantia, on the ruins of her dream and enter the legend, than to accept the dragon's curse. But that was then, and this was now, and there was a life to live and obligations to fullfill. She got up to get dressed.
I was asked to add a timeline to this, to make things less confusing...
The first part of the story takes place around years 750-760 of the Theban Callendar (with Year 1 being establishing the Kingdom of Egypt, their Immortal Master, Cleopatra, shedding the pretense of ruling from behind the shadows and directly taking the power), which will be used as reference, as through the Great Library of Thebes, it became the most widely used time counting system in the ancient world, only later contested by the Japanese system, establishing their Year 1 at the birth of their Goddess Haruhi (TC 2166).
While Arturia's British Empire wasn't everlasting, it endured for over 20 centuries, a populous, but increasingly backwater country whose only hope was in military strength. The twilight of Arturia's rule witnessed an endless war with India.
Her most famous campaign happened in TC 2540-43, culminating in the Siege of Delhi, the greatest battle of the ancient world, when she successfully seized the Indian capital. By that time though, the hardships she forced her people to endure were already undermining her power; the universal hatred to the ruler getting stronger than the fear. It was also the battle where the last of her Knights, Sir Lancelot, had fallen.
Increasingly alone, she pushed forward with the conquests, believing - as the history had shown, correctly - that this is the only chance for Brittania to ever join the ranks of the major powers, powers which were raising massed cannons regiments and fleets of sailed battleships, while her wars were still fought by sword and bow.
Her end came in TC 2931, deep inside Indian borders, at the hands of her own disloyal army, and a strike in the back delivered by Mordred, her clone created by Merlin himself. As she was his tool in the past, now she became a liability. And indeed, out of the death throes of Arturia's empire, an enlightened and powerful nation was eventually born; ironically though, the new ruler of that nation decided that Merlin himself was a part of the problem, not the solution... and Merlin had to be eliminated.
However, Cleopatra had her own plans. Being a Master more powerful and cunning than Merlin, she used her vast resources to make sure Arturia's half-dead body was recovered by her agents that very night. Was it a whim of an immoral immortal being, or did she really need a powerful servant to protect her and lead her armies (as she herself was not a military leader in the least), it is impossible to tell.
Cleopatra kept the former Empress in the half-dead state for several centuries, only deciding to revive her when Arturia's old world had long since passed. Using her powers over heart and mind, she corrupted Arturia until she became a creature much more to her liking... the Red Saber of the Communist Revolution, an avatar bestowed with Chaotic powers instrumental for Cleopatra to keep herself in power despite the regime change.
As Egypt was constantly rising in power, reformed Arturia took part in many military campaigns - starting with the Secession War of TC 3528, that birthed the future Communist superpower.
The events of the latter part of the story take place far in the future from these days still - in the TC 4148, the final year of the World War, the ultimate confrontation between Japan and the nations of the North, an alliance of Egypt and Brittania, a conflict that swallowed hundreds millions of lives. The sheer carnage Arturia witnessed and caused, as well as how distant and inhuman Cleopatra became - a being, she thought, she at some point loved - culminated with her unleashing the full potential of Chaotic powers that were bestowed upon her... resulting in Cleopatra's sweet corruption being torn off and the old Draconic hatred and bitterness emerging again... Yet, she wasn't, and couldn't, be the same as at the very beginning...