Chapter 87
A goddess.
That was the fate of the one who became known as the Lion King, clinging onto the lance even until death, surpasses the boundaries of mortality and ascending to become an immortal spirit without the heart of a human.
But that was not who Lancer (Alter) was. Instead, she was merely reflection of a reflection, the branching off of the distant possibility of Artoria taking the lance as her main armament instead of the sword and scabbard.
Artoria wielded many weapons , with variations of her legends highlighting one or two while neglecting the rest, when in truth she wielded all of them. Mighty Excalibur, Sword in the Stone Caliburn, Shadow-Treading Carwennan, Lightning-Flash Spumador, Blessed Prydwen, Holy Lance Rhongomyniad and more, were held in the hands of the King of Britain at one time or another. The anecdotes of her using these weapons on the battlefield became the basis of her ability to be summoned into different classes.
The most prevalent weapon in all her legends was the sword Excalibur and Caliburn, so it was for that reason that she was most likely to be summoned into the class container of Saber, drawing upon the anecdotes of her using Excalibur against her enemies, a sea of light drowning her enemies in it's radiant embrace.
According to the legends in the world Lancer was summoned to this time, the other classes she was eligible for and also likely to be summoned into were Lancer (Rhongomiant), Assassin (Carnwennan) and Rider (Prydwen), with the rest of the classes being beyond her reach, at least if one only looked at the Arthurian legends of this world.
In truth, the Throne of Heroes was connected to every timeline and every possible variation of the universe, allowing every Heroic Spirit to occupy any class, with all the different variations recorded within. The Root of Akasha was the infinite well of information recorded from the past, present and future of all worlds, being the source, process and termination of all events and phenomena. All souls originated from it, and they returned to it in the end, including the Heroic Spirits of the Throne of Heroes, which it was intricately linked to.
Hence, someone like Lancer (Alter) was able to be summoned, with the only question being the compatibility of the world's timeline accepting the summoning of the Servant of not. If the timelines legends lined up with the summoned Servants profile, then it was able to be summoned. If there were slight differences, then it was still possible, but certain conditions would have to be present for it to occur. If the timelines anecdotes regarding the Servant and the profile were wildly different, it was impossible. The past, present and future would reject that which did not belong in that world, the established fact rebelling against a Servant which should never have been. It was similar to how Gaia rejected the phantasms created by Gradation Air, an inconsistency that didn't belong in the natural world, doomed to be constantly targeted by the world and erased.
That was why it was impossible to summon Lancer Shakespeare, Saber Atalanta, Archer Tamamo no Mae, Rider Thomas Edison, Caster Fergus Mac Roich, Assassin Karna and Berserker Paracelsus in this Holy Grail War, just to name a few. The legends recorded in the Throne of Heroes that corresponded to the class simply didn't exist in that world.
However, exceptions to the rule also existed. In this case, it would be the existence of special pockets of space, timelines that weren't properly anchored in place, dimensions that existed outside of any timelines. Dreams that drifted the gap between reality and nonexistence, ephemeral and fragile. The singularities experienced by a certain young Master were one such, in particular the dream of Shimosa and the Cthulhu nightmare, as well as the various freak singularities he was dragged into as well. In those cases, since they didn't belong to any timeline properly, the possibilities were expanded to them, the restriction of summoning from the Throne lowered. However, the summoned classes would also resonate more strongly with the traits of that singularity, dream or lost space. In other words, it could be possible to summon a swimsuit wearing Archer Artoria to a beach singularity, but it would be nigh impossible to summon the special class Avenger Nobunaga to the same singularity.
On the other hand, King Arthur had stories regarding his use of the Holy Lance Rhongomyniad in this world, and these legends persisted long after his death, spreading across the world. While the spear was not as famous as the sword, it still managed to exist as a lesser known scrap of his legend until modern times, when the Fifth Holy Grail War was held, so Artoria was qualified to be summoned as a Lancer, if the right catalyst was used to divert her from being summoned to the Saber class.
The Lancer class was one of high qualifications, only just short of the Saber class with its highest set of standards in all seven classes, but they were conditions that Artoria Pendragon could easily fulfill. The 'Alter' attribute of Lancer came to be in a different method though, having originally not been summoned in such a state.
Bazett Fraga had managed to summon the untainted Lancer Artoria through the priest's prodigious preparation of the ritual venue. After his quick disposal of the key for summoning, he had immediately gone to work in altering the tool for his own means. Bazett had only served as the means for obtaining his own Servant, allowing him access to a pawn he could freely use to influence the Holy Grail War incognito.
He was well prepared for the fact that the summoned Artoria would most likely kill him after witnessing him murder Bazett, so he had readied a counter measure in order to overturn that situation. A secret ingredient that when added to the dish, would rend it's very essence, the innate nature of the dish changing from mild to spicy, like when Sichuan pepper was added to a plate of plain tofu.
His application of the corruptive substance harmonized with the legend from the Throne of Heroes, the legend engraved on the font of knowledge for all eternity recognizing the curse of the All the World's Evil that spawned from within the Holy Grail.
"Instead, I would like to use this."
These words sealed her fate, as her pale, supple flesh left the hilt of Excalibur, discarding it and it's sheath Avalon to reach for the curving ivory shaft of the Holy Lance.
From then on, her human nature declined, fleeing her body as the lance remained in her presence, each day injecting a minuscule amount of divinity into her body as the divine nature of the lance mutated her soul. Her rejection of her humanity was not intentional, but nevertheless it was inevitable as the lance eroded like water wearing away at a rock.
In spite of the change in her, she never lost her human form. Indeed, one could say that outwardly, she became more humanly than if she had kept the usage of her sword and sheath. Instead of the inhuman androgynous beauty that she kept with the limited immortality offered by the sheath, she aged. Her body ripened, her flesh stretching and lengthening as she became taller, her proportions swelling and filling in various places, making her womanly nature and charm undeniable. She also let her hair grow long as well, the golden mane wild and loose on the battlefield akin to a lion's, green eyes filled with light and wisdom.
Even so, she was still defeated on that fateful day, the bloody fields of Camlann strewn with the corpses of her former comrades and enemies as she knelt on the hill, the tip of her spear driven through the young boy who had only a single instance of his father's recognition.
"...Father."
*Shing-shlruk*
Blood spilt from her sides from the almighty deathblow of the boy, the curse placed upon the body by a witch animating the muscles even after death, a grudge that reached beyond the grave. Staggering, the King of Britain fell to her knees, the remnants of her kingdom scattered to the winds as only corpses were left by her side.
"Ah…"
Darkness clouded the edges of her vision, the sharp pain that burned her entire body seconds ago fading away as her sense became increasingly numb, blood pouring onto the ground like water from a fountain.
At this moment, a nameless knight spotted the kneeling figure on top of the small hill, drenched in the blood and guts of her enemies and allies alike.
"SIR, SHE'S HERE!"
Taking off his helm and cupping his hands, his voice reached the most faithful and gentle of her knights among the Round Table. The horseshoes crushed many bodies underfoot, the rider hastening to his lord's side, heart palpitating wildly in his chest under the silvery armor that shone brightly under the glow of the flames licking the battlefield.
"Arthur!"
Who...ah, so he's here…
Her head had almost lolled to the side, her body dipping to the ground even with the nameless knights support, having jumped down to grasp her shoulders and prop her against his horse.
The silver haired knight slid down from his mount, running across the blood and mud that stained his greaves and cloak, sliding onto his knees as he reached his lord. Other knights started gathering across the battlefield as well, loyal followers willing to assist the one who had sworn to lead and protect them.
"B...Bediv-vere…"
Slurred though her words were, they were still audible to the silver haired knight kneeling besides her, the ravens who had just descended on the corpses cawing loudly, almost blocking out her voice.
Stretching a gauntlet, he steadied her, pulling her hands off the shaft of the lance embedded in the ground to allow her to rest with her back against the horse lying down.
"What do you need, my Lord?"
Light green eyes stared in concern at her, one of his hands clenched into a fist at the sight of her grievous wounds.
"Help...me…"
"Pl-Place my hands...o-on the lance…"
Confused as to why she wanted to do so, he still complied, once again placing her hands back on the shaft as he allowed her to lean against him as a back rest, his armored chest plate cushioning her head as stray strands of blond stuck to it with slippery red blood covering them.
Her chest rattled as she took several breaths, then her eyes opened, her voice coming out in a resolute manner, using up all the strength she had left, for she would no longer need it any more after this.
"Thank you, Bedivere."
It sounded just like how her voice used to be, resounding in the great halls of Camelot, even with how quiet it was.
"You were a wonderful knight."
Leaning away from his trembling breast, she clasped her hands firmly around the smooth shaft, her hands slick with blood as her body shook, struggling to maintain it's posture. The scent of iron filled her nose, her ears invaded by the cries of the crows and ravens descending on the field of bodies, yet her heart was filled with peace. Her face, stained as it was by bits of flesh, blood and various liquids, was serene.
"I return thee to the World."
With one sentence, it was gone.
The Lance that Shines to the Ends of the World, returned to how it used to be. A pillar of light that fastened the Texture of the World in place, the authority to wield its power returning to its place of origin.
A smile graced the face of the Once and Future King, collapsing into the arms of Bedivere as the energies from the lance left her, the divinity no longer at her side to support her.
"My slumber...will be long."
She breathed her last, Bedivere and the knights following him witnessing her final moments.
"GRaaaHHH!?HHAaAHAAHHHHaaaHHH?!"
But that was not to be for the one who would be recorded in the Throne of Heroes as Lancer (Alter).
For she had refused to give up the lance of her own free will, her path aligned with that of the Lion King who would go on to oppose the King of Magic, yet running parallel to it in that she retained her humanity. For the curse rejected her divinity, firmly rooting her in the sins of the flesh as the mud and sludge cavorted within her body, each and every single cell breaking and reforming under the curse of the Holy Grail.
"-!"
After the flesh was the spirit, thoroughly broken in to become an existence far from that of the King of Knights and her sword. Her choice doomed her to an eternal existence, reigning as the tyrant known as the King of Storms. All semblance of morality left her mind, raped as it was by the curse of the Holy Grail, yet deep down, the core remained the same.
Slowly, the figure armored in black draconic armor, as dark as coal freshly mined, with an ominous spiked lance in hand rose up from the hill, under the horrified gazes of Bedivere and the knights.
After that-
An eternal reign, by an undying tyrant.