Apologies for our lateness, good people of fanfiction. net! The merrymaking of Christmas and the New Year, as well as some personal issues between the both of us, caused the time to get away from us somewhat. But we are here, Jarl of the North is almost done with his course (though renovations STILL aren't finished), and we are ready to continue!

As always, Batomys2731 and I do not own TYPE-MOON or Fate or any related properties thereof. If we did, there would not be nearly as many sexualized lolis... JACK THE RIPPER.

...


Agravain arrived in Camelot late – far later than he had intended.

His breaths steamed in the cool evening air as his horse plodded along, each step the steed took slow and heavy as he was sure it felt. He was certain they both looked more than a little haggard, with him having kept the horse as close to full gallop as he could – to put as much distance between himself and the Witch as he could.

He knew it was irrational. That in the end, mere distance wouldn't matter to her.

But at this point, he was willing to take damn near any form of comfort that he could.

He didn't register the guards' look of shock as he rode past them into the castle, the vibrant pink of the sky disappearing behind the castle walls. Agravain had barely brought his horse to the stables and dismounted when footsteps reached his ears.

"Agravain!"

The Knight glanced up, and only distantly registered that it was Ser Percival approaching him. He felt the fellow Round Table member grasp his shoulders, the contact jostling him and worsening the ache in his skull.

"Agravain, what's happened to you? You look like you've lost an argument with a pack of wolves!"

He knew it was no exaggeration. Morgana had been kind, or, rather, pragmatic enough to heal the bloody marks on his cheek – it wouldn't do for Agravain of the Iron Hand, Agravain who Knew No Wounds, to return home battered and bloody. But he had still ran himself ragged as soon as he was free from her, leading to his current exhausted state.

Nonetheless, he couldn't leave things stand.

"The King…" he managed, trying to push out of Ser Percival's grip, "I must… I must speak with him…"

"The King is currently having dinner," Percival's hands remained firmly on Agravain's shoulders, the black clad Knight lacking the strength to push him off, "What happened to you?"

Again, Agravain ignored the question, continuing to try and push him away, "This can't wait… I… I must speak with him, now…"

"What is it?" Percival pressed, "What could be so important that you are willing to disregard yourself like this?"

Agravain shook his head, "I… I have to…"

Percival paused, looking the man over. Like most of the Knights of the Round, there was no love lost between him and Ser Agravain. Agravain was a cold man – a man with what was best for the realm in his heart and mind, perhaps, but a cold man nonetheless. The polar opposite to Ser Bedivere, who was loyal, but empathetic, Agravain was known as the Hard Hand for a reason – he was one of the King's most trusted advisors, practically his left hand, who most often pushed Arthur to encase his heart in iron and ignore the feelings of the people in favour of what most benefitted the country.

In short, he was a man who wanted to serve a stone-hearted tyrant. A tyrant that championed all that was good and lawful, perhaps, but a tyrant regardless.

Indeed, Percival, and most of the other Knights, for that matter, could never approve of someone like him. Though they reigned in their disdain for the sake of the Kingdom, Percival knew that Agravain was fully aware of their feelings towards him. It often seemed, however, that he did not care; he simply carried out his duty without so much as a word of complaint or a twitch of discomfort, much like the King himself.

That, perhaps, was what made Agravain so infuriating to those around him.

But it also made it all the more disconcerting to see him so openly haggard, so panicked – to demand to see the King immediately like this, with no regard for what he was doing…

"Agravain," Percival began again, redoubling his grip so that the Hard Hand could not push past him, "You have to listen to me."

"I have to… see the King-"

"You're delirious. For God's sake, Agravain, look at yourself. Listen to yourself."

At this, Agravain finally gave some pause; he could barely hear his own thoughts over thundering heartbeat. The world had lost a good deal of its colour, and his deep breaths of air didn't seem to be doing anything to recover from the distinct, painful lacking that ached in his lungs.

"You've run yourself ragged," Percival stated, "Even if the King were free, you are in no condition to be delivering a report. You must be able to at least think and speak clearly, or the details will become muddled."

For a long moment, all Agravain could do was stare at the other Knight, resisting the angry, childish urge to reach up and rip out Percival's moustaches for getting in his way. But he had to admit that Percival's words rang clear; nothing good ever came from haste at the cost of rationality.

Slowly, he sighed, gritting his teeth, "… very well."

"I will not insist that you see a healer," Percival said, "But I must insist that you get a good night's sleep before you speak with the King."

"I said very well," Agravain all but spat, swiping Percival's hands from his shoulders. He then stumbled across the stables and into the castle proper without another word.

Percival stared after him, and then sighed, turning to remove the saddle from Agravain's horse; it was now bent over a trough, drinking with a vigor that bordered on desperation, as though it had not seen water in days. Even Agravain treated his steed with all the respect it deserved, something he shared with all the Knights of the Round Table; for him to just abandon the horse in the stables like this was also beyond out of character for him.

"I hope this does not bode ill…"

Agravain came to a halt, leaning against the wall as he attempted to regain his wind. He could feel his head beginning to swim, a dull haze clouding his thoughts…

Cursing his carelessness, he brought a hand to his brow, wiping away the cold sweat. He forced himself to breathe, long and deep, and his mind finally began to clear, if only slightly. Regardless, it was now enough for him to plan.

And now that he was free from prying eyes, he had a task to carry out.

He felt his hand trail to his chest, coming to rest directly over his heart. Its beat was steady as ever, having calmed since his arrival; but even now, there was a telltale throb, a faint stab of phantom pain that remained from his encounter with the Witch. A reminder that his fate was not currently in his hands – that she could kill him at any moment.

Or worse.

He shivered at the memory of his limbs moving beyond his control, then steeled himself to the task at hand, limping through the halls.

The homunculus' room was thankfully unlocked when he reached it. Entering the room, it was not all that different from what one would expect from a noble born child's room. Spacious, plenty of room to play about without causing a mess, but also organized with various toys and accessories dividing up the room into sections. The room was as tidy as could be considering a young child occupied the place, but more than once he had to maneuver around the items to ensure he didn't make too much noise by stepping on one.

He noted the newest addition in the room: a wooden sword that bore a near perfect match in appearance to Excalibur, resting against the end of bed where it could be easily grabbed and picked up the moment she woke up. He was not aware the homunculus had gained an affinity for swords. It almost made her appear genuinely human in his eyes.

Almost.

He crouched in front of the mirror, an ornate wooden frame as large as the homunculus was tall, supporting a bright mirror that, judging by the faint layer of dust along its surface, was not often used by its owner. Good. That would make this easier to hide any tampering if it didn't bother with the mirror frequently.

Briefly looking over a shoulder to ensure he still had time, Agravain reached into his belt, and pulled out what appeared to be a red-black piece of rock that had been broken down and chiseled to resemble a crude dagger in shape. He repeated the mantra Morgana had instructed to him, and he started as runes buried along its side started to glow a deep red hue, still floating in place even as he released it. Then, moving on its own, it moved towards the mirror, which seemed to ripple in response as it made contact.

The next moment, it merged into mirror itself, the ripple effect disappearing and no trace of the rock remaining. To the eye, there was no hint that any magic had been added to it.

Still, he had to be certain it worked. Which meant he had to contact her through the mirror. Again, he checked over his shoulder, knowing time was limited at best.

"… Morgana?..." he croaked, still struggling through his sore throat.

No response. Were it not for the seriousness of the situation, he would have thought himself quite the fool, talking to an inanimate object. Still, he tried again, slightly louder.

"Morgana, I have completed my task. Can you hear me?"

Again, it appeared that nothing immediate had changed. The Knight was about to curse at his folly, when the mirror suddenly rippled again. Its surface shifted, like the surface of a bowl of water, the once solid reflection appearing to have transformed into liquid. After a moment, the ripples in the mirror grew more numerous and chaotic, the reflection becoming more and more muddled by the constant motion until it was finally utterly lost in a sea of roiling quicksilver. After a moment, however, the ripples began to fade – but instead of the reflection of the homunculus' room, the inner sanctums of Morgana's lab came into view, as did the witch herself, the red hues more pronounced than normal, but otherwise a perfect replication. It seemed more like looking through a window than anything else. Her expression was a perfect balance of business focused and amused self-indulgence as their eyes met through the connection.

"Hello, Agravain." Morgana's voice had a faint echo to it, which only served to enhance the surreal effect of the magic, "I'm glad to see that your efficiency remains as impeccable as I remember. You're a hard worker."

The pale golden eyes then shifted beyond him, taking in the room Mordred that now served as Mordred's. The amusement faded from Morgana's smile, "Hmm... Not much of a room for a Princess of the realm. I was expecting something more… extravagant."

"If this is… what you would have of me…" Agravain spoke, "I will depart... I have a report… to prepare…"

Any hint of playfulness was gone as she focused on him again.

"I've already reminded you of your place once today, Agravain. Do not make me do so again. You serve me, whether you want to or not."

"My loyalty… is to Arthur."

"Deluded as always. But I suppose if that's what helps you sleep at night, I'll let you keep your little lies… so long as you do as you're told."

The Hard Hand gave no response, unwilling to give her more to bait him with.

Seeing that Agravain was not going to give her any more banter, Morgana's expression grew more serious, "See to it none discover the enchantment. I will contact you by different means later. You will continue to perform your Knightly duties, but my instructions are your top priority once given. Am I understood?"

"... understood."

"Good boy," she teased, her tone shifting, as though she were addressing a particularly dim-witted dog. She then stood, stretching slightly, "Now go get yourself cleaned up and into bed. Before Percival thinks to check that you've done as he requested."

Agravain twitched, the only sign of surprise he allowed to show at the Witch's knowledge of his encounter with his fellow Knight of the Round Table. He bit down on the urge to ask how she knew of it; he knew he would not get a straight answer.

Morgana raised a hand, and the mirror began to ripple again; like before, they grew more violent, and eventually calmed, and Agravain's reflection stared back at him.

He stood for a moment, uncertain of what to do. But finally, he departed, and made for his own room, no trace of his presence left behind.

As he prepared himself for rest, Agravain was already going over how he would detail his discoveries regarding the possible betrayal of one of the Twelve Kings, and the potential war it would bring if they didn't take action.

He wished he could tell Arthur of his encounter with the Witch, but that, unfortunately, was out of the question. He would have to handle the situation himself – and discreetly, so that Morgana would not catch wind of his treason against her. He suspected that she knew he would be planning against her… but that was a bridge he would have to cross when he came to it.

For now, the two biggest threats to the King were the potential of rebellion, and the homunculus in his care.

The former, he could leave to the King himself.

The latter would have to be eliminated, somehow, some way. Before Morgana could get it back and forge it into a weapon.


Morgana gave a slow sigh as she turned away from the ornate mirror on her wall. This had been a very interesting day for her; Agravain, with a little prodding, was finally doing as he was told again, she now had an indirect form of access to Mordred, and she had learned more about the current state of affairs in Britain at large.

Sometimes she truly regretted withdrawing from the noble courts. Back when she took an active role in the Kingdom's politics, it was easier to manipulate the pieces on the board and keep up with the game at large. Earn the affections of one Knight, and pit him against a rival lord; whisper rumours of betrayal into a King's ear and watch from afar, the spies she planted keeping her up to date with every passing event.

But she could not. How could she, after Guinevere's betrayal?

Her jaw set almost painfully at the mere thought of it. Ser Guiomar may have been one in a long line of lovers, but he had still been a source of comfort in the face of her situation - her loveless marriage to Urien, and perhaps more importantly, her service as Lady-in-Waiting to the woman who married Arturia. He was not a particularly noteworthy man by any means, but in the face of the merciless, tempestuous game that was noble politics, his kindness and solemn strength had been a surprisingly pleasant change of pace from the swaggering Knights and lords she was accustomed to. She would go so far as to say that she had been rather fond of him.

But who would discover their affair but the Queen herself?

She felt her teeth begin to grind, hands shaking as she stared into the dark pit that awaited her. She could see what was happening, the way one thought would lead to another. A downspiral that would leave her completely steeped in her own fury and misery.

She had to reign herself in. She wouldn't be able to get anything done if she allowed that to happen.

Letting out a breath that was shaken by the force of a calmly restrained fury, she turned, and reached for the bound journal that lay on the worn, stained oaken surface of her desk. A large, leather-bound tome overstuffed with pages that had been added over the course of many years, the bindings were on the verge of breaking and the spine had long ago snapped. Thick leather cords kept it together at the base, but even these were under strain, the newer, relatively unstained pages near the back standing in sharp contrast to the aged, yellowed pages at the front.

Morgana knew that it was likely time for a replacement… but ever since receiving it from Merlin during her time as his apprentice, it had taken a certain significance to her. The way the marks on the surface lined up with her hand and grip perfectly, the way the pages had a bow where her hand rested when she wrote… it was irrational, but it was something she didn't want to let go of.

She pulled the book open, reaching for her ink. However, the pages stopped upon a previous entry, and her hand stopped. Her eyes flickered across the page, and she felt herself being drawn back into the past…


'Damn it!

'After all the efforts I took - the months I spent learning the layout of Camelot Castle, the hours upon hours worth of midnight oil I spent learning to mimic that whore, the countless materials I used learning to make homunculi, and the painstaking precision I used to alter Mordred's creation over the nine months leading up to her birth - it's all undone because of that half-Incubus idiot and my own lapse in judgement!

'… starting over will be no easy task. Not only has Mordred been taken, but so have invaluable study materials and years of notes. An already hefty setback to begin with.

'But worse is considering the following:

'First. One of the most important reasons I opted to carry and give birth to Mordred rather than simply grow her is because growing a homunculus from scratch is an intensive and precise procedure that requires close attention if an automated system is not already put into place.

'While making basic infantry is simple enough, Mordred was not a mere foot soldier. Making a specialized combat homunculus is a difficult venture; making one capable of killing dear Arturia is even more so, especially considering Excalibur and its accursed sheath.

'Second. For the sake of maximizing Mordred's strength, I considered her parentage carefully. From a personal standpoint, I would have much preferred Lancelot; I take no shame in admitting my desire for him even now. His strength and determination are second to none; even taking into account the fact that he was raised by Nimue of all people does not detract from how impressive his abilities are, as a fully human existence.

'However, when I learned of Arturia's arrangement with Merlin to temporarily become a hermaphrodite for the sake of producing an heir, it was an opportunity I knew I could not afford to let slip away. Not only was it a chance to create a powerful mix of bloodlines - Arturia's Draconic blood, intermingled with my own Fairy blood - but it was a chance to rob Arturia of an heir, Guinevere of a child, and both of them of their dignity. Furthermore, it would have afforded me a way to foster a hatred of Arturia in Mordred based on her parentage, giving my weapon personal incentive to kill the King and take the throne.

'Third. Homunculi are creatures that typically expire very quickly. This is usually by design, as those who utilize them tend to treat homunculi as fodder for various purposes; despite their incredible raw magical potential, they are mass produced with little thought to specialization beyond basic "branches."

'It chafes me to admit it, but my expertise in making homunculi that go against this grain is… limited. Most of the pre-existing information on homunculi was made for mass producing them, not creating singular specialized operatives, which again ties into my reasoning for giving birth naturally with an altered development cycle.

'Even in Mordred's case, however, there was only so much I could manage. My intent was to maximize her development speed at the cost of her lifespan. Had things gone according to plan, she would appear to be approximately nine years of age today, and likely would not have lived to see twenty. However, due to problems of interference between her Magic Core and Magic Circuits, I was forced to slow her development so I could remove the interference before it began causing damage. She was taken before I could truly implement any repairs.

'But now, I suppose that is beside the point. Until I can get Mordred back, I will have to make do with a replacement.

'I can hardly pull off the same thing twice. Mordred was a mix of years of careful calculation and planning combined with a chance that practically fell into my lap; the result was something that could never be replicated. Something truly unique that outstripped everything I have made, and anything I could feasibly make in the future without a miracle. My magnum opus.

'Aside from that, I have no desire to go through the joys of carrying and birthing a child a second time - giving birth with no assistance was a Hell in and of itself. Along with that, both of the potential parents I would utilize for such a creation will be impossible to manipulate into position - Lancelot, for now, is beyond my reach, and I sincerely doubt Arturia will be making any arrangements with Merlin for another attempt at an heir ever again.

'But nonetheless, I need a champion, and soon. Now that Arturia knows the lengths I am willing to go to, I will need to change my plans. Opportunity will present itself, but as much as I enjoy getting my hands dirty, it's often better to use an agent.

'If I cannot use my magnum opus, I will simply have to find a way to break from the pattern and make a specialized warrior homunculus.'


She shut her journal, taking a breath as she resurfaced from the memories of an entry written nearly four years ago. Even now, the frustration at the repeated thwarting of her efforts burned in her stomach, adding to the dark flame in her chest that guided and consumed her.

It had taken her a full year to prepare a new ritual - delving into the works and notes of other magi, experimenting with possible branches in technique and gathering materials from the far reaches of the world. In the three years after, her study had become a constantly smouldering ember of magical activity, never blazing, but burning nonetheless as Morgana toiled.

The new vessel had been constructed where Mordred's crib had once sat, hidden behind the dark curtains; a great stone egg that was uncomfortably warm to the touch, so perfectly smooth that it couldn't possibly have been made by human hands. Held upright by thick, blackened roots that pulsed with Morgana's dark magic, it stood almost as tall as Ser Galahaut himself. If Morgana were a more proud magus, she'd doubt that he would be able to leave so much as a crack with his mighty blade.

A smile began to tug at Morgana's lips as her eyes swept over the flawless surface. When she had began, it was merely a stone bowl taken from a land far to the east - whatever purpose it was originally intended for, the Witch did not know, nor did she care. When she had finally turned the required herbs and spices, flesh and powders, and spells and potions into the brimming broth that would serve as the yolk, she introduced the final ingredient - a single egg, taken from her own womb, and enchanted with magic - and sealed it shut, the gargantuan bowl morphing into the ovate form before her now.

After a moment, she slipped her finger back between the pages, and turned her book open once more, sitting down by the table. She skipped past the entries detailing her travels and the efforts taken to procure her materials, instead moving straight to the entry marking the beginning of her homunculus' incubation.


'It's a frustrating balance to have to keep.

'Though giving birth without assistance is an experience I would never willingly endure again, Mordred's time in the womb made the incubation aspect of this process far easier to manage. All I needed to do was allow nature to take its course, only casting rituals during key points in my pregnancy to alter Mordred's nature.

'As I have noted in previous entries, however, I do not have the benefit of a pre-existing process to work with in this scenario.

'I need to manage this process on a daily basis - not just the development of the magic circuit, but the actual physical development of the homunculus as well. Though this is not a particularly intensive process at the moment, it is monotonous to cast a transparency cantrip on the stone, only to peer into the murk and see nothing, day after day for what could be months.

'However, it must be done. Once the fetus is far enough along, I must begin infusing it with magic - enriching its Magic Circuit and strengthening its body, a long, slow process akin to a long-term brine. Further monotony, but a task that I cannot simply leave be.

'Worse is that I cannot begin any large alterations at the moment. If I begin adding too much too soon, I risk killing the fetus outright, and ruining another three years of research, travel, and procuration. All I can do is attempt to replicate the incubation process of a normal human - add hormones here, begin a growth there… and I have to do it all manually because I decided to use a stone egg rather than an actual womb.

'I have begun seeing a faint shadow in the murk of the yolk I created. Perhaps I am further along than I think, but for now I shall not raise my hopes at nondescript shapes.

'… this is going to be a long, boring process…'


Morgana began flipping through the pages again, skipping past entries where no visible changes had occurred in the egg.

She wasn't sure why she was going over these entries again, really. It certainly wasn't for any practical use, as there was nothing that could be of use at the moment. Perhaps she was simply engaging in nostalgia?...


'There's something fascinating about watching something come into shape.

'When I watched Merlin work at his more permanent runes for hours at a time during my apprenticeship - tapping away at stone and wood with hammer and chisel, with barely enough force to leave a mark with each strike - I couldn't understand how he could stand it. It seemed unbelievably monotonous. Tap after tap after agonizingly gentle tap…

'I dreaded the day when it would be my turn to physically carve runes, rather than simply etching them into a surface with magic. A physical rune with a more solid foundation, be it left in the skin with ink or carved into rock with tools, is far more likely to last than one left by tracing prana into the air or the earth for a temporary effect. I recognized this, and knew that learning the craft was ultimately to my benefit, but that did not lessen my apprehension.

'However, when that day came, when I finally took up my master's hammer and chisel and set to work… I was quickly drawn in. When I counted the taps, it was only to ensure I did not go too deep or make my channels too wide. It was not chips or fragments that broke away from my work surface, but dust. I was completely absorbed in carving the foreign symbol into the smooth pebble on my desk, enamoured with every gentle strike, and how each one brought the rune a little bit closer to its finished shape.

'Before I had even realized it, the sun had set and my first rune was complete.

'In that sense, I was far too quick to judge the art of rune making.

'Perhaps history has repeated itself with the processes of my homunculus.

'I was correct in assuming that it would take some time for it to become visible through the murk of the yolk; for a month, I could only guess at how far along the development of my weapon had come. Day after day of nothing in the egg, monitoring resources with only a flicker of prana within to give me any indication as to whether or not there was something living within.

'Finally, a shadow had formed in the gloom.

'Small. Curled. All but invisible in its murky shroud. In that moment, I could not make out any details of the homunculus, only that it was small enough to fit comfortably in both of my hands.

'That was when I took to my work in earnest.

'Every day, it grew just a little bit bigger, a little more defined. Becoming something more than just a lump of flesh.

'Now, over three months since I began, I can begin making out its features.'


It was there that the writing stopped. Instead, the entry continued on the next page with a sketch.

To anyone else, it would have been grotesque, something unnatural conjured from a nightmare. It was humanoid only in the sense that it had a torso, a head, and four limbs, but that was where the similarities ended. It looked like an unfinished clay doll, like the artist had run out of material before the piece could even reach the halfway point.

Its body was thin, for starters - too thin and too long. What little flesh it had was compressed beneath the translucent skin, which gathered around the bones so tightly that Morgana could count the individual ribs, and see the outline of its pelvis, the joints in its shoulders, knees and elbows. Its countless black veins pulsed like flame, its hands and feet had not yet formed, its limbs ending in sips of flesh and skin with no discernible shape. It curled in on itself like an oversized infant, arms wrapped loosely around legs, so spindly that it seemed that even the slightest amount of undue force would cause the bones to snap.

But worst of all was its head.

Its skin was drawn tight against its skull, but it had none of the features required in a true face. Not a single orifice had formed on the hairless head, which seemed far too large for the rest of its thin form; no eyelids, no mouth, no nostrils. Just vague dips where the eyes should be, a rise where there should be a nose, a slight sink around the cheeks and where there should have been lips - proof that the developing entity was still missing teeth.

To anyone else, it would have been a monstrosity.

Morgana, however, merely found fascination in watching her creation take shape. Fascination, and a certain satisfaction as it grew.

She shut the book, turning her attention back to the egg, but not yet to the present; her mind was still enraptured with images from months prior.

As those months rolled by, the homunculus slowly took on a more distinctly human form; when the spindly limbs finally grew into hands and feet, each bone in the fingers and toes visible, muscle finally began to grow.

Its form thickened, however slightly, with each passing day. Skin once plastered to bone lost its definition, becoming utterly smooth without so much as a single wrinkle. Before long, the ribs and vertebrae had completely faded from view, only natural rises and dips remained at the knees and elbows.

The skin lost its clammy grey pallor, instead growing yet more pale, pale as death through the translucent yolk. Its face took on more definition, the skin on its skull becoming less stretched. Faint wisps of crimson hair began to grow in on its form - not the vibrant gold of Mordred or Arturia, or even Morgana's pale, platinum locks, but a bloody shade of red - and beneath the newly formed lids, its eyes flitted back and forth, perhaps in tandem with some unknowable dream.

And that brought the both of them here and now.

Now, it stood taller than Morgana, perhaps even as tall as her beloved Lancelot. The muscles had grown strong and taut like woven ropes, and the bones had solidified into steel. The skin was now such a pure shade of white that it seemed almost to be made from marble, a living statue not unlike what the Greeks and Romans oh so loved to make; however, the black veins had not faded with the sickly grey tone. Along the surface, they were etched into the homunculus' skin like streaks of pitch black lightning; further evidence of Morgana's work, the creature infused with a dark magic that would make it physically nigh indomitable in all respects.

A full mane of crimson hair floated around its head, long, thick and formless. Beneath the thick locks that obscured its body, the form was clearly that of a woman's, already possessing a certain feminine grace a beauty to balance - nay, complement its musculature. Its hands clenched and unclenched, already hinting at an immense physical strength, its expressions morphing between emotionless sleep and distinct discomfort. Though there was still more than enough room for it to float in the centre of the egg without bumping into the edges of its confines, it seemed to react to its surroundings now as though they were cramped.

Perhaps it sensed that the time to emerge was upon them.

It had not even occurred to her, earlier, that the same day that her homunculus' development would be completed would be the same day that she regained a foothold in Camelot Castle. It simply seemed far too serendipitous. The world had never made things easy for her before - opportunities had presented themselves, yes, but never had they been easy to take advantage of - so why should it start now?

But it seemed that in this case, even Morgana would strike upon good fortune at some point. She was about to be rewarded for her year of patience.

All that was left was the final step; breaking the vessel.

She stepped forwards, chisel and hammer in hand, and began to etch in the rune. The enchanted stone, harder than most steels, eventually began to give way beneath the tempered steel edge, dust gently falling to the floor as the sigil was engraved.

After nearly half an hour of continuous tapping, it was finally complete. The rune for "Fracture."

Removing her tools from the stone, Morgana stepped away, and began the agonizing process of watching, waiting for her efforts to bear fruit. She could not help muttering beneath her breath, "Do not disappoint me."

Moments passed in silence, before a loud hiss erupted from the stone slab. Hot steam began to spray out from a small but growing fissure, like a gout of fire from a dragon's maw breaking through solid rock. Morgana stepped off to the side as the fissure grew, allowing all liquid to drain from the slab out and onto the floor. Once the fissure was large enough, her homunculus fell out as well, a loud, wet slap echoing around the room as it crashed to the floor, momentum causing the body to roll onto its back, face up, but was otherwise prone and unmoving.

She watched it silently, waiting...

At first there was nothing, no hint of movement as the homunculus lay there, save for an odd twitch here or there, possibly muscle spasms. Then, with a sudden, jerking series of convulsions, the Homunculus' eyes snapped open, before breaking out into a series of ragged coughs, twisting onto her side and expelling yet more liquid from its lungs, kick-starting its organs to start working on their own. It's first breaths were haggard and gasping, but slowed as it regain control, limbs curling inward to gather itself.

Morgana was pleased but cautious, slowly walking around the homunculus before her, still studying, inspecting the finished product. She needed to be absolutely certain her newest weapon was ready. The moment of truth at long last...

Its head remained still, movements slow and cautious as it pushed itself into a kneeling position, but the eyes were moving about the room with great speed, gathering in its surroundings. Trying to make sense of its new world she found herself in no doubt. The eyes were golden, shimmering with power, much like her own. The pupils however were different. Pure white, seeming to absorb all other light into their centre, pulsing briefly after each blink. A side effect of her magical enhancements perhaps? It was not unwelcome, and certainly added to its inhuman nature. And its face...

Those unnatural eyes suddenly locked onto her as she deliberately stepped harder on the stone, registering the sound and her presence. The homunculus stilled, looking very much like an animal pressed into a corner.

And cornered animals were known best for their ferocity.

A massive boom, practically a thunderclap. Prana flowed through the homunculus as it half sprinted, half lunged straight for Morgana, leaving cracks the stone where it had been just moments before. Morgana didn't even have time to blink as she found herself slammed against the farthest wall of her lab, a forearm viciously compressing into her windpipe, the other arm raised in a fist ready to strike through flesh, bone and stone alike, the golden eyes burning and teeth bared with animalistic fury.

Despite the difficulty breathing, Morgana was smiling. No fear at all, only aggression in the face of an unknown danger.

Perfect.


Still alive guys!

Again, we are extremely sorry for our lateness. Unfortunately things got away from the both of us, but in particular they got away from me, Jarl of the North. Between the stress of a course that has dragged on for far too long, a play three months in the making, renovations of a new home and escaping all of it through Bloodborne and Dark Souls III, December and January have so far proved to be rather hectic in terms of my life.

But the chapter is here now, so even if it's short, we're forgiven now, right?

... right?...

... (ahem) Anyways, with any luck, we should be able to return to a regular update schedule as of February 2018. We'll do our best not to let our lives get away from us like this again.

With that being said, onto the review responses!

Lehw - Yep... this is gonna be a looong road for her.

Holix25 - No matter how much we may try to escape it, we are human. Trying to take on a role inhuman is against our very natures. That is what Arturia struggles with; she tries to be perfect despite the fact that it is fundamentally impossible. We hope you continue to enjoy!

kyugan - Heh. The fact that Mordred wants to be a Knight?

dgMax - Heh. We're glad you're enjoying things! Trying to make Guinevere was a slight bit difficult since she never really appears in Fate proper, but this is a woman who wants nothing less than the best for her daughter. As for Mordred, we suspect that this is a far happier childhood than what she got in canon; so with that in mind, maybe she wouldn't mind wearing a dres-PFFFTHAHAHAHAHA! (Jarl of the North: I can't even finish that sentence with a straight face...). Anyways,we hope you continue to enjoy!

miguelgiuliano. co - Heh. We're glad you're enjoying the story! Honestly, we aren't sure when Galahad is going to appear yet. In the legends proper, he doesn't actually come to Camelot until he's about fifteen years old, so that may be a while from now. We hope you continue to enjoy in the meantime though!

Guest - We're glad you're enjoying the story so far.

The Joining - Yeah, originally we were hoping to make the last part of chapter 3 part of this chapter since this one was so short, but honestly chapter 3 wound up feeling incomplete in our eyes. We hope you don't mind how short this chapter is. Anyways, we're glad you're still enjoying the story.

omegazero2718 - Heh. Damn straight! RESISTANCE TO MORDRED'S CUTENESS IF FUTILE!

blakekeane - We shall have the fluffs!... eventually. But first we need to cross the long pits of cold and despair... we hope you continue to enjoy!

Amphidsf - We're glad to hear you enjoyed it, and we hope you continue to enjoy.

King of Fans - Heh. Their relationship really is adorable.

It is unfortunate, but Cù Chulainn died anywhere between two and three hundred years prior to the Arthurian legends. As for Scathach... well, she lives on the island of Skye, and I don't think Britain is on good terms with Scotland as of this particular time period.

We hope you continue to enjoy!

ROCuevas - Thank you.

Jack vile Ripper - We don't know your circumstances. But we know how hard it can be to cry sometimes. We apologize if we hurt you... but we are glad if we brought out something positive. We hope you continue to enjoy.

EternityDragon2610 - Unfortunately we will have to deal with the cold for a while longer... we hope you continue to enjoy!

Monaxiron - Thank you! We hope you continue to enjoy!

sarude dandstorm - We're glad you're enjoying the story so far! Currently the story is based on Excalibur Arturia, though she does have Rhongomyniad kicking around somewhere... we hope you continue to enjoy!

etheral-23 - We're glad you're enjoying the story so far! Little Mordred is indeed adorable. And yes, that was a reference to Edmond Dantes... (Jarl of the North: ... I picked up the Count of Monte Cristo a while back.)

Inferno427 - ... that's arguably even worse. (Jarl of the North: I don't know about you, but if I were Dragonet, that would just be insult to injury). Anyways, we agree that there is a distinct lack of stories set during the legends and lives of the Servants themselves. But we guess them's the breaks; you make a setting like the Holy Grail War, and people will want to stick in the Holy Grail War. We hope you continue to enjoy!

DeathUser - Heh. Oh, a smartass, huh? We don't appreciate smartasses... but seriously, that is kind of funny. We hope you continue to enjoy!

archer09 - Thank you.

Random Person - Don't worry, we're taking care of ourselves. It's why this chapter's been so damn late... anyways, we're not using any particular version. (Jarl of the North: I've been meaning to read up on Le Morte de Arthur by Thomas Malory so that we can plan this out better, but things keep getting in the way...). We hope you continue to enjoy!

EVA-Saiyajin - Indeed. As much as we sympathize with Mordred, Arturia is arguably justified in rejecting her... and that's possibly the worst part. But someday, maybe...

We hope you continue to enjoy!

Guest - Heh. Maybe... we hope you continue to enjoy!

kojiro kakita - I think that depends on the version that you read... but for this story, we are not making the Orkney siblings Morgana's children. It's easier that way. We hope you continue to enjoy!

coronadomontes - Thank you.

logron - The Nasuverse is rife with suffering indeed. But hey... sometimes we can net ourselves a happy ending. We hope you continue to enjoy!

Guest - We finally updated! Hopefully the wait wasn't too painful for you. We hope you continue to enjoy!

Anon - Heh! Thank you! We hope you continue to enjoy!

allfictions - There is a distinct lack of "legend fics" for Fate, isn't there? But we suppose that's the result when you make an urban fantasy like the Holy Grail War. People like pitting Servants against one another.

Even if we had known about that aspect beforehand, we think that angle is one we would have deliberately avoided. There's already going to be quite a bit of drama in the story, and we don't need that aspect complicating things. Besides, there's a lot about Morgana in canon that we are more or less ignoring - though how much that matters is up in the air. Morgana isn't the first character that Nasu has directly contradicted himself on in terms of the canon.

Galahad is something we're looking forwards to quite a bit as well, though as we said it may take a while for him to show up. We hope you continue to enjoy in the meantime though!

Evowizard25 - Painting Arturia as the bad guy is a job left to bashing fics. This story is something intended to give hope to a series of tragic characters while remaining true to how they would have been at the time. Arturia is cold, and has done some dark things in her time, but writing her as an out and out villain would be discrediting to her character; she's far more complex than just a one note villain. As you said, there are a lot of things contributing to her cold behaviour at this point.

We hope they will bond as well, and we hope you continue to enjoy!

Guest - Heh. Wow, that's a lot of reviews... hope we didn't take too long!

Guest - Thank you! We hope you continue to enjoy!

Mingyu - Heh. Morgana is a crafty serpent, and knows how to worm her way into peoples' deepest insecurities... we hope you continue to enjoy!

Neo Byakuran - Thank you.

ffure21 - Heh. Thank you! We both found that Guinevere's role in Fate has always been rather... well, minimal despite the role she plays in the legends. Her arguably becoming one of the main characters in this story was a bit of an accident on our part, but honestly? We're glad things have turned out the way they have. She really needs a bigger role.

We hope you continue to enjoy!

King Draconias - It is strange how there's a lack of stories about Fate's Camelot, isn't there? Here's hoping we can remedy that! We're glad you've enjoyed the story so far, and hope that you continue to enjoy it!

Guest - Here's hoping. We hope you continue to enjoy!

Shirosakurai - Heh. Hope we didn't take too long! We hope you continue to enjoy!

Guest - Heh. Mordred really is one of the best in Apocrypha. She's just so much fun. We're glad you don't mind some of our inaccuracies, and we hope you continue to enjoy!

Guest - As we have said, we likely would have decided against going that route even if we knew about it beforehand. Let's face it, Fate Morgana is a bit of a mess at this point... We hope you continue to enjoy!

... okay, sorry guys, but this chapter may mark the end of the review responses. There's just too many for us to keep up with at this point.

Also, we can no longer find who mentioned it, but there was someone who commented on Morgana appearing very similar to Arturia's Alter form. There is actually a reason for this; Morgana inherited a dark power, one that is carried within Britain itself. A dark power akin to Angra Mainyu; that is part of why Excalibur in its Alter form is Excalibur Morgan, because it draws its power from the dark rather than the light like it usually does.

If the source of Morgana's power is as dark as Angra Mainyu itself...

... well, it's certainly soemthing to think about.