Knights Apocalyptica

“House Nitidus, one of the great duchies of our Cavern, was first established in the year 201, as the second son of King Socrete was granted both the land and rank for his exceptional accomplishments on the field of battle in the ranks of the Knights.

Headed by Lord Racemes, like all great ducal lines, Lord Racemes swore to turn his lineage into the sword hand of the Kingdom. The hand for which the King would depend for shows of force and might which would be visible to the public eye. Under the tenor of Lord Racemes, the new Ducal house cemented itself as a force of renown. This was in purposeful difference to that of Lord Racemes Great Uncle’s house, House Luculentus.

The two, therefore, were immediately put into places of contesting ideologies.

House Luculentus served as the hand in the shadows, though they did not receive the glory of the public, King Socrete rewarded them lavishly in private.

So, did King Socrete follow in the footsteps of his grandfather, King Restfos, and establish two contesting points of power to provide the crown yet another avenue of balancing the scales, should any too powerful figure arise within his Kingdom."

- Princess Manilva, Archive Of Crisimus Family Affairs: Volume 3 (283, 3rd Era)

Blood flowed on the Vega streets—Garin clocked one of the red-robed priests in the face with a curled fist; his nose broke, but the sound of the crack Erec would have expected wasn’t present. In fact, despite the chaos and fighting of the Knights and priests not that far away, there was no sound.

And the only thing to blame was a thin barrier, which gave a light glow. Impossible to see in the middle of the day without getting right next to it.

Erec slammed a hand on the barrier, then pressed against it with an open palm, trying to pop the bubble.

Within the bubble, Dame Robin danced around three men. Metal warped around her from a street pole she’d severed, using thin strands like whips, scoring against the enemies and making them bleed.

It was obvious that, for now, the Knights were restraining their force. But the Priests were pressing in, their hands filled with makeshift scraps and weapons that had just as much chance of killing as any sword. They were less trained, but these were people with full exposure to the wasteland. Not novices by any stretch, even if their job wasn’t war and battle.

And they outnumbered his allies. A rate of five-to-one. This many priests being in Vega was a shock.

But despite the restraint, there were wounds. Colin had a tear on a bicep; multiple priests were face-down in pools of blood. It was already spiraling out of control and headed nowhere good soon.

Erec had seen war with the Stag. He knew, amid such a chaotic battle, that any stray weapon could lead to injury, and the Knights had not their armor. They didn’t have the tools to limit that sort of hap-hazard fatal injury. Vigor helped prevent that, but… Well, it wasn’t Colin’s strong point; he couldn’t know what everyone else was capable of.

Not everyone was there. Olivia—Dame Morgana, and the Duke… They hadn’t been in the hotel, and he hadn’t the time to track them down.

Boldwick spiraled between the fighting, a wooden board in his hand. He smashed it into a priest and flung the poor bastard all the way into the barrier. But he didn't have time to rest. A Cardinal darted in his path, a barrel-chested man with ill-fitting burnt robes and wild hair that reminded Erec more of an animal than a man. He flung a spear of light at the Master Knight. Boldwick dropped the wooden board and focused his will into a red glyph that sparked a wall of fire between them.

The man didn't hesitate, despite the wall of flame. Instead, the Cardinal crossed his arms in front of one another and charged forward like a bull, bursting through the veil of fire. It spiraled off him like a comet as he ran on a crash course with Boldwick. He sputtered to a stop as Boldwick cranked a fist into the guy's stomach.

Any lesser man would've been tossed aside from a direct hit from a Master Knight of Boldwick's caliber, but while the Cardinal reeled, he didn't go anywhere.

"Damn, they're all crammed in that bubble," Enide said as she appeared beside Erec. The Pendragons were still a couple of blocks away, but compared to Erec rushing forward in Armor and Enide's speed, they couldn't have hoped to keep pace. "I could get in. But all the help we brought doesn't mean much with this bubble here. Think they got a guy on the outside keeping it up?"

Erec searched the surroundings. Too many buildings. If that’s what their play was, and it probably was, trying to suss out the hidden barrier-maker would be difficult and waste precious time. Each second in there, the fight was only escalating. And while the Knights were holding up without significant injury, it was risky to let it prolong without reinforcements, especially if things got desperate.

Those fucking priests.

Erec clenched a hand, his blood starting to burn as he looked at those red cloaks swarming. Their silver eyes were wild, open, and filled with violence.

They’d tossed aside the pretense of their organization and shown what they were deep down—monsters, as much as those in the wastes. Without warning or apparent reason, they’d decided to go and launch a full-on assault against the Knights. People they didn’t even know.

Though a wasteland separated them, how different were these priests from those in the Kingdom? When he looked in those eyes, there was the same silver. He’d only known one good priest his entire life, but that man hadn’t taken that look on him that they all got. Eventually, they all had those hollow silver eyes that sought to rule and push their power onto others.

Colin and Garin found one another on the battlefield—with awe, Erec watched Munchy jump from Garin's shoulder onto Colin. He crossed over the boy's shoulder, then launched himself at a priest. The little monsters went straight for the eyeballs. Blood streaked down the man's face, and Colin took full advantage of the reprieve, a purple glyph sparked in front of him. Then, he burst forward into a lightning bolt into the guy's chest.

Munchy scrambled away, and Garin blocked another blow meant for Colin's side.

But they didn't see the third man, who smashed a bat into Colin's skull and sent the noble to the ground.

Inferno. It burned in Erec; his muscles went tense. A glance at Enide to his side, and he saw her indecision. She was a split second from popping in to help, but he would be stuck out here. The Pendragons would walk up and be as powerless as him. Even now, Garin was moving to defend his fallen friend, Boldwick was too preoccupied, and Dame Juliana had five of the clergy on her. They didn't have enough people, and this fucking bubble, this thin membrane, was all that separated them from the help that could come and save the day.

It wouldn’t block his way. That barrier to Seven-Snakes hadn’t, and neither would this.

Fire roiled in him like an ocean; he knew what to look for. Beneath that fire was a silver magma; he pulled at it, siphoning it through him and letting it burn through his veins. His muscles shifted, and he yanked the axe off his back, widened his stance, and lifted the wicked weapon far above his head. This was the power he’d taken, not one he’d been given. He was sure of that. There was no longer the Goddess’ blessing in him, only an acknowledgment.

Strength was the ability to take what you wanted. Not a thing could stand in that way, a roiling storm that bent the world to its whim. And with that Strength, he would slay those who threatened his friends.

That was his chivalry.

Silver flames caught from his hand, climbing the side of the axe, and bled into the metal, doubling the weapon's size. It was the same weapon he wielded against the Knight, the one he broke the slab with. His weapon, he understood. And power radiated off it like light from the sun.

The strain of wielding it grew; it was like lifting a mountain. Even with the Armor augmenting his might, he felt the joints strain and his body arch backward as the mighty weapon threatened to bend his back before it snapped. He ignored the sensation. Ignoring the mounting pain, adrenaline ran through him, and his vision reddened. The pathway was clear. He’d open the barrier, storm the field, and slay those damned priests. All he needed was to spring forward and cleave through the only thing blocking him.

Power. Strength. Might.

He snapped forward suddenly, abs contracting, shoulders straining, back screaming. Every bit of him, from the toes pressing against the earth to his fingers gripping the handle of the shifting metal axe, each fiber of him gave way, all of it dedicated to a sudden act of violence.

His axe screamed through the air, cleaved straight through the barrier, and burst the bubble in a pop of light. It didn’t stop there; the moment the weapon hit the ground, the earth split and white fire bubbled up from a line as one of the priests fell within, screaming as the sound from the fight inside once more rejoined the outside world. Erec reveled in the sensation of power in him, in the axe in his hands. In the supreme confidence that he could handle this, he could fell all of these red-wearing bastards and teach them what it meant to face the slayer of the White Stag.

“Damn,” Enide whistled as Erec let himself take a single deep breath, his body convulsing. “You know, big fan of your problem-solving skills. Now the party can get started. Backup’s just around the corner, think I’m going to join the fun,” she winked, then vanished.

Sweat ran from his brow despite the whirring of cooling within the Armor. Enide appeared before him, kicking one of the priests into the flaming hole he’d torn into the earth. How deep, or how hot it was, outside of his head. They were fighting to kill; that was the way of this world. The Strong would rise above all and claim victory.

The silver axe vanished, returning to its regular form. That’s all he needed now. With it, he could cause enough destruction. And he was confident that should the occasion call for it, he might bring that weapon back to his hands.

Dame Robin tore through a priest—another tried to get at Colin, Garin taking a spiked lump of wood against his arms. Dame Juliana had grabbed her swords, and Boldwick had swapped to lethal intent—the battlefield turned towards its most natural course, and they would win.

Erec’s blood pumped; it was time to join. He tried to take a step to the left to dart in…

And his body failed; his legs gave out. VAL stiffened the joints and prevented him from falling onto his face.

What?

No. This wasn’t acceptable, there was more in him. He knew it. He needed to slaughter these priests for daring to attack him, taking away his mother, ruining his family, and driving him out of the Kingdom. They needed to pay the price in blood.

He surged as much fire as he could, even dropping the axe in his hand to push forward, to force his body into action. Why would he need it anyway? With these metal fists, he’d have enough of a tool to destroy. Erec let loose a scream that turned a couple of their heads, but his legs weren’t responding; they kept convulsing. No matter how much anger and rage he pushed through them.

[Take it easy, big guy. The calvary is here.]

Pendragons rushed by a moment later, joining the battle.

Things got worse, at least for the red cloaks. Enide’s pack had no association with the church, and as they’d been informed, Seven-Snakes was also in the mix. Blood spilled, but they didn’t have to worry about any serious injuries on their side. In the distance, Boldwick shoved a sword through the cardinal, pulling it free and decorating the bastard’s crimson cloak with even more red splatter. A lance of holy energy crashed into the Master Knight a moment later, ripping into his arm.

He screamed but refused to go down.

An explosion from one of the Pendragons—gunfire going off. With the bubble popped and bystanders having seen the violence, no concealing this any longer existed.

All Erec could do was watch. Safe in his Armor but unable to join. That move pushed him too far. Took too much still. Using it before a battle it was too much of a risk. Even Fury was starting to falter and wane despite all the violence he was watching.

It wasn’t a surprise that the Magi arrived after the bloodletting reached a crescendo. Completed with an Arch-Magi commanding their force—not the man in bandages, but the guy with a pompadour. He cast a glyph, and time slowed; everyone struggled to move as the air between them grew thick as syrup. A grand working of magic, something on par with what he might expect of Grandmaster Oak; the guy walked in the middle of the battlefield, running a comb through his hair, not even sweating, despite the fact he’d suddenly held back multiple high-ranking Knights.

“Well, that’s an end to this party,” he looked at the blood spilling from one of the priests. “You’re all under arrest and will be coming with me to the pyramid, ya dig?”

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