1,263Lancer Alter was angry, emotional, and steepled with regrets.
Sometimes having something in one's hands made it all the more impactful when it was lost, especially when it was cherished.
That which should have been protected. That which had been a source of constant support, affirmation, and happiness had been wrenched from her grip.
And she would have her vengeance.
She knew that nothing awaited her at the end of this path, but nonetheless, the hollow emptiness nestled in the root of her heart demanded retribution and action.
The Saxons would see her exhaust herself and harm herself against Camelot's forces, their intentions all too clear to understand. Mutual defeat would be their ideal scenario, but they would be fine if either side perished while the other licked their wounds.
But so what?
Lancer Alter had already seen the end of this road before. The inevitable destruction was unavoidable…
Rather, Lancer Alter no longer saw a point. Without her Shirou, what difference would it make? He had been her sole motivation to carve a place out for themselves in this colorless world of war, death, and duty.
Then to hear of the success, the happiness that her other more fortunate counterparts possessed, finally spurred and ignited the bottomless well that was jealousy and envy. To even see it first hand as the original Arturia reunited with her Shirou while Lancer Alter knew she'd never get that chance was maddening.
For once in Lancer Arturia's life, she felt as if she'd never understood Morgan's perspective more than she did now.
The irony of the entire situation however, was lost on both siblings because the same applied to Morgan.
A rather cruel twist of fate.
Lancer Alter would forsake everything to become a black fire and curse that would eat away her enemy and ally alike until there was nothing left.
And Morgan found herself just trying to keep the kingdom together and save it from its invaders.
Oh, how Merlin lamented the sudden shift in dynamics, but Lancer Alter could care less.
Trudging through the tall grass and mounted atop her loyal darkened horse Llamrei, Lancer Alter narrowed her eyes at the silhouette of Camelot in the distance. She'd chosen to forego her supposed cooperation with the Saxons due to the suspicion Merlin had planted with his visit a fortnight ago.
Instinct was telling Lancer Alter that Merlin was being considerate of her when he gave the suggestion.
Therefore, here and now, and against her better judgment, she would see if Merlin's words would prove true.
Camelot's forces were formidable, even for her.
Lancelot's strikes were brutally accurate and heavy, while Gawain carried the glare of the sun in each action. Tristan's arrows were unseen and always hit their mark, while devout Percival's spear carried the weight of his conviction.
Then there would be brother Kay and Sir Ector…
On her own, Lancer Alter could not picture victory in the way she used to if 'that' sword had found itself in her hands.
With it, she would have never doubted victory.
Vexing as it was, Lancer Alter was deemed unfit when she sought out the spirit of the lake.
Lady Vivian had refused to give Lancer Alter Excalibur in her current mental state. Her slow degeneration into scornful wrath and the malice that lingered around her were too much to entrust Excalibur.
Nonetheless, Lancer Alter still had her lance.
Though no longer as pure as her Lancer counterparts, the spear that tethers the lines of the Reverse Side now rippled with a malevolent dark aura that tore through enemies with sheer rotational force.
One good strike would breach Camelot's walls assuming it wasn't in the day against Gawain, or at night where Morgan's vigilance was at its highest.
Standing on a distant hill overlooking Camelot, Lancer Alter had deliberately come in the evening where Gawain was unlikely to interfere.
This was a test and nothing more.
If it worked, it worked, and if it didn't, it didn't.
Taking a breath, Lancer Alter gradually began subtly flaring her magic energy in the wind. Gawain was too much of a gorilla to notice, and Lancelot and Gaheris were stationed to guard against the Saxon encroachment to the north.
In contrast, someone of Morgan's level as a magus would not fail to detect Lancer Alter's presence no matter how small.
Rather, it was because it was Lancer Alter's magic energy that Morgan would certainly detect it.
Now, whether that detection came in the form of a potent magic blast or a magic voice transmission was what Lancer Alter was waiting for. However, the real outcome differed greatly from anything Lancer Alter was expecting.
In the blink of an eye and in a burst of magic energy spreading winding tendrils of power outwards, an expressionless Morgan appeared in the flesh.
Morgan wore a crown, wielded a black scepter as a magic catalyst, and donned herself in an elegant blue and black dress.
The Witch Queen herself had truly come for a face to face meeting.
Lancer Alter's heart started pumping violently as her inner Dragon roared and seethed, causing her blood to boil and veins to pop over her skin.
Glancing behind Morgan and towards Camelot, Lancer Alter let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
There were no signs of activity on Camelot's walls. If the alarm had been rung, and the knights gathered to combat an adversary, she'd have no choice but to retreat.
Right here, right now, it was just Morgan, and Morgan alone like Merlin had said she'd do.
Can she kill her?
Morgan was no pushover, and Lancer Alter could predict with a hundred-percent surety that their clash would attract the attention of all of Camelot.
For the first time in years, the sisters stared at each other face to face with varying levels of spite and animosity.
While such emotions thundered like a storm over Lancer Alter's expression, Morgan appeared more subdued and determined.
"It has been…a long time, Arturia." Morgan said slowly, carefully skirting around the line of provocation. "You've been making quite the mess of things."
"..."
Lancer Alter silently readied her lance, gripping it tighter and tighter as Morgan spoke.
Lancer Alter continued to check for activity in Camelot.
She was worrying that she'd poke a hive of bees if she failed to kill Morgan in a single strike for that was the only way to kill and retreat within the span of a single action. The magical fluctuations and reverberations of battle would quickly alert Camelot of an attack whether Lancer Alter liked it or not, but it would be futile if Lancer Alter was already retreating.
Both sisters could practically read the mood, but Morgan of all people caved first.
"Is there no way for peace?" Morgan asked, her tone resigned.
",,,"
Again Lancer Alter was silent, but this time because Morgan was actually taking a step back to speak rather than threaten or throw her weight.
It was odd.
The Morgan that Lancer Alter knew would not have hesitated to blast a hole through Lancer Alter's stomach at any perceived opportunity. Now, she just looked lost and muddleheaded.
Did she really think words would do anything at this point? That any demure act would grant her any form of clemency?
Lancer Alter's hands balled into fists, eyes stabbing daggers through Morgan's skin.
Yet, Morgan persisted with reasoning. That Morgan!
Lancer Alter's teeth were grinding from growing agitation.
"Despite our differences and grudges, Britain and its people have nothing to do with anything. In your honor as a knight, would you even cast the protection of the innocent aside?"
"Did you?" Lancer Alter spoke for the first time, her voice choked with emotion. "I told you. I WARNED YOU!"
Morgan was right there.
If Lancer Alter just reached out her hands, she could pulverize the bitch that took the one thing she had left away from her.
It was Morgan's fault. Everything had started with her, and she tries to take a high road?
In what world would-
"I understand." Morgan cut in, lips pursing as she was uncomfortable.
"What?" The word left Lancer Alter's mouth out of sheer bewilderment rather than pressing for an answer she could care less for.
However, the answer was one that snapped something in Lancer Alter's mind.
"I understand and I am sorry."
The area fell deathly silent, the echo of Lancer Alter's growling beneath her breath the only noise.
"..."
Sorry?
Sorry?
SORRY?!
"I was foolish, petty, vindictive, cynical, and resentful." Morgan's lips quivered, her gaze downcast. "I blamed you for everything, taking what was mine, and tossing my reputation to the wayside in favor of the prophecy of the destined King."
Silence, Lancer Alter's face utterly blank as the storm of her blackened magic energy withered the grass around her.
Morgan continued without pause.
"The negativity and resentment was blinding, and I hurt you. A wound that runs so deep that you want to lash out at everything and anything. I know it well, and now because of me, you do too."
The two sisters were staring eye to eye now, Morgan being the most sincere that she'd ever been in her entire life. When she looked back now, the regrets were clear only after she'd sinned against her own kin.
"I can tell." Morgan said abruptly, her tone flat.
There was no going back anymore.
"How many times have you already imagined murdering me since the moment I stepped foot here?"
Dozens of times. Lancer Alter's eyes narrowed sharply, her lips pursed. Around Lancer Alter was an empowering darkness that took the form of a swarm of bugs, pestilence, and plagues.
Morgan knew it all too well.
"I can see it in your eyes even if you yourself cannot, Arturia." Morgan muttered. "It was the same for Vortigern. The curse that once empowered me and sought to ruin this land, now lives within you."
"Sorry?" Lancer Alter echoed, laughing hysterically before her features grew taut.
The apology was all Lancer Alter could focus on, ignoring everything else Morgan had said. It was laughable to even think that an apology would mean anything to her by this point.
"If preaching to me would have worked, then Merlin would have already succeeded." Lancer Alter sneered. "This won't end until only one of us draws breath-"
Lancer Alter's eyes widened as Morgan suddenly walked up to her without any sign of casting a defensive spell. Rather, Lancer Alter's battle instincts could read that Morgan had done nothing for her own protection.
"If my life means that much to you, then why don't you just take it?" Morgan asked, standing directly within strike range.
A single thrust or strike would be enough to connect before Morgan could even react, and yet Lancer Alter did not move a finger.
More than her intuitive battle sense, the doubt and suspicion about Morgan's ulterior motives stayed her hand.
The Witch Queen Morgan would never lightly put herself in a position of danger, and as such must have had some sort of countermeasure to derive confidence from.
!
"Here, go ahead."
Lancer Alter's thoughts ground to a halt as Morgan took one of her hands and placed it around Morgan's own neck.
"Put some strength into your grip and end it. Our physiques are different. I'm far frailer. I assure you that snapping my neck wouldn't even be a chore for you, now would it?"
Lancer Alter gnashed her teeth, convinced that Morgan was some how trying to goad her, but that thought didn't last long.
"As expected of you, all talk, no action."
So what if she was goading?
"Death would be a mercy-"
"For me, or for you?"
Lancer Alter couldn't care less if it was a ruse anymore and directly picked Morgan up by the neck. Dangling in the air, Morgan gasped while reaching her hands out over Lancer Alter's hand.
Morgan glared, numerous thoughts running through her mind.
"Once you kill me, or even raze down all of Britain, what will be left for you to do when you drown in the darkness of your own emptiness?"
"That's for me to decide."
Lancer Alter tightened her grip, slowly realizing that Morgan had truly stepped within range of her without any countermeasures.
"Ack!" Morgan kicked and thrashed, strangled breaths escaping her throat as Lancer Alter's nails dug into her jawline.
Lancer Alter brought Morgan close, whispering into her ear. "The me those words would have worked on has already died."
Face turning blue, Morgan stared into Lancer Alter's unblinking eyes and felt as if she were looking at a vivid mirror of her past.
Nothing was getting through. Nothing would change anything.
Negotiations were impossible from the beginning.
For a moment, Morgan channeled the full brunt of her magic energy throughout her body, targeting Lancer's Alters fingers around her neck with a severance spell before she found herself pausing.
If, just if-
If her death would put an end to everything including Britain, but gave her husband and daughter the chance to live a life free from duty, then this trade was worth it. Her death would eat away no small part of Britain's curse empowering Lancer Alter.
Morgan may not be able to reason with Lancer Alter, but at least this would leave room for at least one person to break through the mental wall Lancer Alter had built.
That was what Morgan's wisdom was telling her.
At least this way there was a chance.
The karma of her past actions had finally caught up to her.
As quickly as Morgan had gathered her magic energy, it willingly dissipated just as fast.
Airflow was getting cut off and Morgan's vision was growing shakier and shakier, but there was no way Lancer Alter didn't notice Morgan's actions.
Morgan was no pushover. If anyone in this realm could truly push Lancer Alter to the edge of death, it could only be Morgan, but it was evident that she was choosing not to resist.
So then why?
"Why do you not struggle?" Lancer Alter's expression finally contorted, revealing the simmering resentment and rage maintained beneath.
Was it a meaningless ruse for mercy?
A ploy, some mental attack?
No.
What Lancer Arturia found while staring into the eyes of her older sister was none of those things.
"I…hope…you," Morgan put on a bitter smile. "…Find…your…solace."
It was nothing else but a lingering spark of goodwill and an overwhelming sense of guilt at the very end.
.
.
.
The sickening sound of bone snapping echoed before Morgan's head tilted unnaturally to the side, her body going limp.
Morgan had been right.
Her body was frail. Frailer than even a farm girl's.
A cold wind blew, silence pervading the area as Lancer Alter just stared and stared without a flicker of emotion before tossing Morgan's corpse to the wayside.
Vengeance was hollow, but blood was repaid in blood.
Her oath on that fateful day was fulfilled.
/-/
Within the central castle of Camelot, a young child ran into the arms of her father, proud of her day's training and seeking the affirmation of her parents before going to sleep. However, something just didn't seem right.
Father was frowning and glancing in the direction of the moon to read the passing of the time.
The child tugged on her father's sleeve, ignorant of the growing tension as Mother had always been a punctual woman.
"Papa," the child said quietly. "When does Momma get back?"
There was no answer.
By the dawn of the next day, news of the queen's death resounded while the child stared blankly at the corpse the father cradled.
The child tried to pick up the mother's sword; the one that always rejected both the mother and the child.
But the same could not be said for the father.
With shaking hands, the child watched her father pick up the sword under the eyes of the mourning advisors who stiffened in shock at the scene.
Caliburn ended up held firmly in father's hands.
Britain's true savior had been found in this forsaken land in the tragedy of the Fair Queen's death.
A new King would rise.
Thanks for reading!
Next update: TBA
P a treon. com (slash) Parcasious
Book links:
Fatedlegacydark. ca
The Lonely Peak
New Book: Out on Amazon (Remove dash on link)
Survivor's Log Reflection: Amazon.c-om/dp/B08VDDGN7Z?