"This is your execution."
Arthur Pendragon delivered those words with a cold tone totally bereft of mercy, the same tone he used on the battlefield when fighting the barbarians that tried to invade his homelands, pushing them back more and more until they didn't have any choice but run away on their ships and never come back. Any politeness and goodwill was, frankly, utterly wasted on the monster in front of him, just like it was wasted on the ex-commander of Baginton.
The shock on Gracianus' face quickly morphed into raw, primeval glee and he bellowed, a sound more akin to a wolf's howl than a human scream. He drew out a sword and pointed it at Arthur.
"KILL HIM!"
[ Play: "Black Death (Driving Hybrid Choral Action)" by Alexandros Nikolaidis ]
At once the monstrous wolves and walking skeletons sprang into action: the former howled and surrounded the proud king, some baiting on the front while others attacked from behind, and the latter formed thick phalanxes of shields and spears, the archers shooting an unending rain of arrows.
Arthur could feel a part of his mind, something he never felt before, sneering at the poor attempt at his life, whispering to him to stand his ground and let the attack wash over him for the purpose of shaming the arrogant Devil once it proved unable to even scratch him. Showing Gracianus the futility of opposing him.
Another part, the draconic instincts that were gifted to him by the Dragon Factor installed in his soul by Merlin, instead urged him to charge forward and cut down his foe as fast as possible holding nothing back. Telling him that his adversary could and would change the tides of battle if given the opportunity, as small as it was; that this battle would be over only the moment the soul of one of the two would leave the body and travel to the Underworld.
He listened to the latter. With a Prana Burst to his legs he shot forward, the still invisible Excalibur raised into a stance designated to be both offensive and defensive at the same time, focusing more strength in the blow or moving quickly to interpose the blade between his body and an attack. He tore through the ranks of the monstrous beasts, his sword killing dozen of them with each swing before the exploding prana took care of the rest. Reaching the first phalanx he pivoted clockwise on his left heel, giving enough momentum to his right arm to cut away from the main body the jaws trying to bite him, and smashed his left fist in the shield. The explosion created a path through the formation that he immediately seized.
Arthur continued moving forward, killing only those in his path and ignoring the rest. Why did he do it? Because he 'felt' it was the best way to victory. Many considered this ability of his to be something close to true precognition, but in reality it was just a refined 'sixth sense' that let him subconsciously analyze battle conditions and deduce the course of action which would reap the most benefits if successful based on his knowledge and anticipations. Picking up all the details his senses register and uncovering the hidden patterns.
Yet no matter how many wolves and soldiers he cut down more appeared from the ice and the miasma, throwing themselves at him en masse with the aim to stop him. It became so crowded the blond swordsman was forced to focus more and more on the killing, slowing his advance to only one step every second.
'No.' He realized. 'This is not only a matter of too much enemies.' Indeed he could feel the unnatural cold created by the wolves' breath seeping into his flesh and making harder for the muscles to move. At the same time as he smelled the black mist released by the skeletons, an horrible stench of dead, rotting things that were best left non nominated, an unpleasant and sickly feeling settled in his lungs, making it difficult to breath. He narrowed his eyes. "I see. Their roles is not only to be expendable pawns to tire the opponent out."
"Kukuku! So you noticed." Municeps rasped. "The wolves created by the Authority I received from slaying Sköll, son of Fenrir, are bringers of Eternal Winter. With them I slain the Heretic God Nergal, granting me the ability to resurrect those that died by my hands as corpses that release the deadly air of the Netherworld, poisoning all living beings with Death."
Keeping the opponents pinned down with never-ending waves of enemies, letting the cold and the poison slowly weaken them until they are easy picks. A truly dreadful combination. Those Authorities were not only as powerful as Noble Phantasms, but also more versatile.
Gracianus smiled cruelly as he watched the sword-wielding god grimacing before putting even more efforts in his advance. Useless: even by themselves the cold of Sköll and the poison of Nergal where strong enough to affect even Gods, but when used together the cold made easier for the poison to spread by slowing down the body's natural defences. The only way to prevail was to destroy all the minions at once and kill him before he can summon them again. That this 'Artus' had yet to do it mean one of three possible things: either he didn't have an Authority capable of doing it, he hadn't realized the solution yet or he was confident he could resist long enough to kill him. Either way the advantage lied with the Devil King. All he had to do was waiting: the Heretic God would slow down more and more, until he is too weak to further resist. His minions would then rip him apart.
At least, that was what was supposed to happen. Instead, as time drags out, Gracianus' smile slipped as he realized that, yes, his opponent was weaker compared to the start of the battle, but he wasn't getting weaker.
"Why...?"
Arthur cleaved through the ranks of infernal creatures, the distance between him and the Devil King now less than twenty feet.
"Why aren't you dying!?" Gracianus roared as he put more and more magical power in his Authorities.
"Your cowardly tricks..." Arthur shouted as he moved to hold the sword backward. "Will never defeat me! [ STRIKE AIR ]!"
Wind and light were released from around Excalibur in a thunderous gale. This is how "Invisible Air", the Noble Phantasm that compresses the air and refracts light in an illusion, can be used in another way. The instant the bounded field is released it can blow the opponent with a single long distance strike with a gale made out of the super high pressure of the condensed air.
And this was the application of Arthur's plan. The point of holding the sword backward in a wide stance was for that: to accelerate the air strike even more. Not to hit a enemy with more force, but to use the same force to propel himself forward at higher speed. Released from the golden sword a jet of air comes out from behind the Once and Future King: at that point his speed was three times higher than normal. That is, nine times the speed of sound. 6192 miles per hour, equivalent to 1,72 miles per second.
The air didn't burn, it screamed at Arthur's passage, the bodies of wolves and skeletons alike torn apart by the ridiculously powerful shockwaves. Golden prana burned like molten lava around the king's body: not only a shield against his own power, but a terrifying spear that will disintegrate anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. Excalibur was raised high, ready for a blow that if it connects would slice him from one shoulder to the opposite side.
The only things that saved Gracianus were his own instincts as a Devil King and the fact he was standing atop his ride on a saddle without stirrups. At his mental command the skeletal horse stood up on his hind legs: the roman general left go of his sword and pushed himself off his back with both hands. The blow that would have ended the Devil King's life hit the infernal animal, disintegrating his body in a torrent of raw burning magical power. Even for a warrior of Arthur's calibre recovering his balance after such a daring move require a few precious seconds. Gracianus wasted no time taking advantage of the opening.
"[ Progeny of Hróðvitnir! Born and raised in the deep of the Iron Woods! Chase and devour the traitorous Sól, drink the blood and flesh of Árvakr and Alsviðr! Stole the warm from the world and bring Eternal Winter! ]"
It was a special attack that Gracianus developed by experimenting with his first Authority, the one stolen from Sköll. A wall of solid ice covered with spikes rose from the ground and surrounded Arthur before morphing into the visage of a wolf's head. The construct let loose a howl before the jaws closed, crushing everything inside under indestructible ice and fangs sharp enough to slay Gods.
"Kukuku! I compliment you, Artus." The roman general guffawed as he stood up. "For a moment you almost have me. But! It's the destiny of the weak to succumb to the strong. Know that I-"
Whatever he was going to say was interrupted as a brilliant golden light pierced the ice of Sköll, moving downward to brutally cut a breach in it. From it emerged Arthur: he was covered in blood, cut in several places and has holes in both his torso and legs, and yet he kept moving forward with iron-clad determination. In his hands he grasped the golden light that destroy the ice prison: shaped in the form of a blade, a gigantic sword of pure energy that he wielded as if it wasn't impractical or impossible at all.
Gracianus tried to escape, his fighting instincts battling against the surprise and disbelief that threatened to paralyze him.
SLASH!
To no avail. The sword of light cleaved his body into two, the light not only cutting but burning flesh and indestructible bones alike without leaving behind even ashes.
[ Stop playing: "Black Death (Driving Hybrid Choral Action)" by Alexandros Nikolaidis ]
"Ah..." Even when reduced to a torso without hands, his spine and most of his organs burned to a crisp, Gracianus still lived. His eyes caught sight of Arthur's injuries quickly healing and closing, flesh knitting together back. "Powerful regeneration. So that's your source of 'immortality on the battlefield'."
"Yes." Arthur reduced the flow of prana to Excalibur and redirected it to Avalon. It was only thanks to the healing factor of the Fairy Sheath that he survived Gracianus' last attack: one of the fangs managed to pierce his heart, but even what was normally a fatal blow was repaired in a few seconds by Avalon. It still hurt like hell, but he endured. "That's also how I survived the cold and the poison."
"I see. Kukuku-Cough!" The tyrant coughed blood. "So this is how it ends? A pity: I wanted to hunt more, to have more of this intoxicating feeling I experience when fighting and killing. This is my only regret."
"And my only regret..." Arthur said before Excalibur flashed again and Gracianus' head was separated from his neck. "Is to not have arrived and stopped you before."
The blond king planted Excalibur in the ground and looked up at the sky, releasing a sigh. Llamrei trotted near him and nuzzled his shoulder in concern. "I'm alright." He patted the mare. "It was a short but intense battle. And...it's not over yet."
[*]
When two days later he walked into Londinium, Gracianus' severed head firmly in his hand, nobody stopped him. Not the numerous soldiers that stood at the sides of the road looking wide eyed at him and not the civilians that exulted and celebrated behind them. Once he reached the palace he dismounted his steed and walked up the stairway. At the top many people in armour and magician robes were waiting for him, kneeling. One of the armoured ones spoke first. "Welcome Your Excellency. I greet the new King of Britain."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You are?"
"Praetor Gaius Corveranius, the deceased King Municeps' advisor and right hand man."
He nodded. "Good to know."
Crack!
Arthur's free fist smashed into his face, sending him fly back a good ten feet.
"Your Excellency?!" The others cried and stepped back, trembling in fright.
"You're fired." Arthur calmly said. "You're all fired. I was going to see if there was someone salvageable, but all I see are snivelling worms ready to change alliance once the wind starts blowing from the other side. Out."
"But-"
"OUT!" He tossed the severed head to the nearer person. "And take this and the unconscious idiot with you."
They ran. Arthur walked inside the palace until he found a servant who didn't instantly ran away the moment he saw him. "You. What's your name?"
"M-Marcus Y-Your Excellency." The young man stuttered as he bowed.
"Nice to know you Marcus. I'm Artus. From now on you're promoted to the rank of Praetor. You can't be worse than those idiots."
"I-uh, what?!"
"And drop the 'Your Excellency'." Arthur waved his hand. "I have no intention to rule over Britain." 'My right to do it is no more.' "Helping fixing it? Yes. But the people deserve a just and human ruler."
"T-Then who?"
"Uhm..."Arthur put an hand under his chin. "This is a good question."
Suddenly his eyes lighted up. "To which I think I have the answer."
[*]
The village of Penteri saw many things since the time it was founded by a group of hunters who, for celebrating the capture of a big boar, ate and drank so much that by the time they returned sober they decided moving in a different place wasn't worth the effort.
But an entire company of soldiers marching into the village's only tavern, the noble knight that passed there some time ago and was forced by the taverner to wash dishes in order to pay for his debts leading them, was not one of them.
The soldiers stopped at the entrance while Arthur walked to the counter and greeted the man behind. "Greeting again."
"And to you." The slight narrowing of his eyes was the only sign that the heavy muscled man wasn't exactly nonchalant about the military presence.
"Ten days ago I fought and killed the Governator Gracianus Municeps." Many people gasped. "And since I am unsuitable I am searching for a replacement. I want you to take it."
The mountain of a man raised an eyebrow. "Can I ask why me?"
Arthur shrugged. "Would you believe me if I tell you're the most competent person I could think of? Because honestly it's the complete truth."
The blond taverner seemed to ponder the offer before from the back walked out another man: smaller than the other man but likewise well-build, he had black hair and a gentle face. He put a hand on the other one's shoulder. "Go with him Big Brother. The country needs you."
"Little brother." He turned his head to look at him. "And the tavern?"
"Yuria and I will take care of it."
"Mmh...Alright." He turned to Arthur. "Lead the way."
"Great. I'm Artus." The two walked side by side towards the door. "What's your name?"
"Raoh."
[*]
...I said this is Crack right?
It's been a while. Sorry for letting the cliffhanger on so long. In my defence, my imagination is so productive I was busy with other projects. Please forgive me. Now, to answer your reviews:
Kinunatzs: Arthur doesn't have a Dragon Breath. He, however, has their potent prana and fighting instincts. Ayaka will not appear in this story again, sorry.
kojiro kakita: in normal history. Here however Gracianus is a Campione and thus an absolute (and only) despot. The principal military and administrative headquarters are in London, but Gracianus usually resides on Colchester for personal preferences (a biggest house).
Marcus Galen Sands: coming from you this is the highest praise possible. Thank you.
Baughn: I glossed over it because it wasn't relevant to the story, but you are right. Even then, I never said it would work for long: Arthur gave advices, he trusted the townspeople to learn by themselves.
Biterman: no Arthur can't gain new Authorities by defeating enemies like a Campione. However, if he becomes the target of sufficiently known stories it's possible he will gain new Authorities based on them.
Guest: Avalon and the Second Magic are both said to do the impossible. This is just my opinion, and since a clash between the two will never happen in my fic I don't think it's worth making a debate out of it.
Feng Lengshun: for all of Lancelot fans she will appear in the next chapter.
Now then...
Would you kindly review?