When the Grail finally called upon its heroic tenants, Mordred fully expected to continue the fight which had been waged ever since the dawning of magic upon the world. When her time of summoning emerged, she gleefully accepted the call - fully expecting to be faced with her new master, and a chance to finally earn her wish to prove her Father wrong.
Instead, when the haze of the summoning ritual finally cleared, she opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was a screeching horror as it leaped from its perch - deformed appendages aiming outward to tear out her throat.
To the knight's credit, her surprise lasted for only a moment, as she quickly drew Clarent from its scabbard and slew the daemon without hesitation. Dark ichor splashed against her helmet as pink flames consumed the dead beast where it collapsed.
Only then, did she realize the world around her was screaming.
The sky was red. A sickening, polluted mass of ashen red that only blackened with the screams of tortured souls in anguish. The ground was decayed marrow - an ever changing mound of depressed colors and revolting shapes that churned and shifted in a grotesque fashion the longer she stared at it. Fetid forests sprouted up from the bleeding soil, putrid and decayed, the landscape became choked thick with the fleshy vegetation.
Far off in the distance, unholy citadels reached into the heavens above like skyscrapers, germinating from lakes of blood and fire. Mordred felt her stomach churn and wither at the sight of them, and to the dreadful realization that the shrines were moving. Twitching and squirming. The foundations of the godless structures were reinforced with bodies of the living.
It was all wrong. So very, very wrong.
She felt whispers within her mind. They echoed across her subconscious with grating voices and promising murmurs. Blood dribbled out from her nose as her teeth grit she struggled to drown the voices out. They were vile, detestable sounds that only offered her glory and bloodshed for an eternity of service.
Her will would endure - she would resist their lies.
Hell. Mordred shut her eyes as she attempted to regain control of her thoughts. That's the only explanation. Lord save me, I'm in Hell. The Grail spawned her with knowledge. She knew what had befallen the Earth as she slept within the Throne of Heroes. She knew of what grave, corrupting forces now threatened the sanctity of the Grail.
The Ruinous Powers had come for her. Had come for them all.
Across the fields of Warp where she had spawned, she saw an army of Servants locked in an endless struggle. Heroic spirits, both new and old - defending their home against the daemonic forces of the depraved Gods who had dared to impose their will upon the Grail. Legions of slavering and misshapen creatures spilled forth from iridescent rifts in space and time. This realm was dying. The Grail was tearing apart at its seams, torn asunder by the will of Chaos.
Mordred grit her teeth. Her knuckles cracking as her grip tightened around Clarent's hilt. Hundreds of humanity's champions spawned in around her, shoulder to shoulder, each ready to do battle against the forces of disorder. From kings to commoners, politicians to conquerors, poets and warriors, knights and barbarians - the legends of the history books gathered together through the magic of the Holy Grail. United for the first time in creation, they were the greatest army the world had ever seen.
Chaos acted in kind.
The tears in reality opened rapidly. First dozens of them. And then in the hundreds. From each spat out daemons in the millions. Screaming with vile intentions and unholy valor, they charged the line of defenders.
The trumpets sang, the drums beat and suddenly, Mordred was only aware of her voice echoing across the battlements. A unified war cry had sounded from the heroic alliance as they advanced towards the hateful army.
Father is here. Mordred didn't question her thoughts. She knew that if she was summoned, she would not be the only Knight of the Round Table in the fray. And she knew that their King would never let her knights face the enemy alone. Father is here. We share the same battlefield.
Her legs pumped, harder and faster than she had ever pushed them before. As her body fatigued, she willed her prana into form, reinforcing her tired muscles as she became nothing but an armored blur. Faster, the Knight of Red went - she overtook Assassins in speed and even Riders in charge, until she was at the very head of the heroic army. The first to the fight, the tip of the spear.
Father will bear witness to me this day. Mordred grinned as her helm structured itself around her head. She will see and know that I am worthy. She could see the opposing army more clearly now - the hate in their eyes and the craving in their jaws. Worthy as a warrior. Worthy as a king. Clarent sparked with red lightning, her noble phantasm charging with magical energy as she roared once more within her helm.
The two armies collided.
The last Holy Grail War had begun.