Unknownfate
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Chapter 187
🕑 Added 2025-07-25 12:10:53 +0000 UTCExcalibur Morgan felt heavy in my hand as I pointed its tip towards the witch, shock was written all over her face as my words echoed across the chamber.
My declaration was too much for the magecraft in my clothes to handle; someone like Selene was a powerful witch. She wasn’t easy to fool; her ability to break through magic wasn’t weak, and with some help from me, she saw through the veil.
She instantly realized what she had missed before; her eyes were wide in realization of who truly stood before her and what that meant.
To stare down the tip of Excalibur Morgan, wielded by me, filled with anger and hungry for judgment, I could only imagine how scary such a thing would be.
Excalibur Morgan was a truly fearsome blade, even I didn’t like it much, it was just so evil.
Being the mirror of the true Excalibur, it matched its purity —the sheer goodness of the sword of promised victory —with pure malice. As Excalibur held the promise of victory and protection, Excalibur Morgan held the promise of total annihilation.
Holding it, it drew out my darker side, the hate, the evil of my Alster Saber version. As a divine spirit, I often didn’t experience strong emotions. I cared little about the feelings of humans; I couldn’t feel that, I was different on a fundamental level.
But now… with this blade? I grew from indifferent to cold, cruel. I found pleasure in the fear I saw in Selene’s eyes.
Selene rose at last — slowly, deliberately, as if unwilling to believe what she now saw. Her lips parted, not to speak, but to exhale something between a curse and a laugh.
“…Impossible,” she whispered. “You’re—no. No, you should not be here! It's just not possible! How!? How is it you?!”
The magic of her salon shuddered. The illusion of civility began to crumble. Her human servants tensed, their blank expressions faltering into unease. One even took an unconscious step back, though he caught himself and stiffened.
Selene’s eyes flicked toward the twins, then to Mordred, then Lancelot. The pieces clicked too late. Whatever deal she had made with the Hellfire Club, whatever favor she had pulled to keep Stark or the Sorcerer Supreme out of France — none of it would save her now.
And still, she tried to save face.
She extended one pale hand, trailing shadows like silk, and said, “Do you think I fear some half-remembered shade from myth? I’ve killed gods before. I’ve bathed in their ichor. You think I will kneel to you?”
Her aura surged — no subtle charm or veiled glamour now. It was raw power, violent and ancient. The polished floor cracked beneath her heels. Her eyes glowed with crimson light.
She no longer waited for me to make a move; instead, she went on the offensive with desperation. “I’m not afraid!” She screamed as the air around her hands twisted and turned dark and thick, turning into thick dark smoke as she hauled magic across the room.
The smoke wasn't smoke. It was magic so dense it took physical form — coiling tendrils of cursed essence, each tipped with shadowy mouths and jagged claws. It wasn’t one spell, but dozens woven together, all cast at once and launched like a tidal wave toward us.
I didn’t move.
The wave of corruption rushed forward, but before it could reach the twins or Nightcrawler, Lancelot stepped in, planting himself like a wall of steel and defiance.
His sword flashed once, twice, thrice — each arc clean and decisive. While his sword wasn’t his usual blessed blade, the strength behind his swings was still enough to dispel the magic, holding firm against the onslaught. Sparks danced as spells shattered on contact.
Behind him, Maxime dropped to one knee, blood trickling from his nose as the ambient magic pressure overwhelmed his psychic focus. Manon clutched his arm and glared at Selene with frightened defiance. Nightcrawler, teeth bared, looked ready to teleport but waited, trusting Lancelot to shield them.
Mordred, on the other hand, laughed.
Even without her armor, she still had Magic Resistance B. While it didn’t make her immune to magic like a certain French Saintress, she was still able to handle this level of magic easily enough.
It wasn’t that Selene was weak; she was just not ready for what she faced here. She expected the Church, mortal humans with faith, silver, and steel. Instead, she faced legends made manifest.
Mordred channeled her mana into her hands and feet, and kicked and punched her way through the magical assault. What sneaked past her defence, did little more than ruin the clothes, leaving her unharmed.
And given Mordred’s Magic Resistance B was able to stop most of the magic, then mine, at A++, just a tiny bit off the S rank, meant I could just ignore such an attack like this. Unless it reached the level of a magical Noble Phantasm, I wouldn’t be affected by magic.
Even more so with Excalibur Morgan between Selene and me. The dark cursed blade sucked up the dark magic like a blackhole, leaving me and my clothes untouched.
“Impossible!” Selene exclaimed, “How can that be? What are you?” The shock and fear in her voice spread like poison; her servants, growing uneasy, no longer standing still like statues, now shifted around nervously.
“I told you, I am the judgement for everything you have done,” I answered, my voice not just cold, but cruel. My Fae eyes let me see right through her. See the sin she carried, and even Saber Alter, the destined king of annihilation, King of the End, even she paled in comparison.
Selene was evil enough to be a Beast of humanity, if only she had any love for it; instead, there was nothing but contempt for humanity.
“Why! Why me? Why not Morgana? Why come after me?” She hissed, defiant to the last.
“Fate, destiny? Call it whatever you want, for the end comes all the same.”
Selene snarled and threw out another spell, this one more desperate, more primal. Spikes of crystallized blood-magic shot toward me like red lightning. I raised my left hand and let them shatter against an unseen force inches from my skin.
The magic in the room was collapsing. Not because Selene lacked power, but because her will was breaking.
“You’re not a god!” she spat, voice raw now. “You’re a weapon someone forgot to bury! You shouldn’t even exist!”
Mordred was already halfway across the room, her boots tearing gouges in the marble, ducking and weaving between volleys of shadow and flame. She wasn’t even bothering to deflect anymore — just sprinting through it all like a comet of violence.
“Get her!” Selene shrieked at her servants — a dozen mortals in silken suits, armed only with fear and false loyalty.
None of them moved.
One turned. Another took a single step forward… then back.
They felt it. What she had failed to see until it was far too late.
I stepped forward at last.
“I didn’t come here to argue with you, Selene,” I said.
Excalibur Morgan rose, humming like a storm held back by breath alone. “I came to pass a sentence.”
My grip tightened around the hilt.
The black light at the edge of Excalibur Morgan surged, veins of violet lightning rippling down its length, screaming against the air. The blade trembled—not in fear, but in anticipation. It wanted to be used.
Selene backed away a step. Just one. But it was enough.
She knew.
I began to walk forward. Slowly. With purpose.
The others moved aside instinctively. Lancelot raised his blade in silent salute. Mordred grinned wide and stepped back, as if preparing to watch fireworks. The twins pressed close to Nightcrawler, who had already pulled them toward the corner of the room and disappeared with a pop of sulfur and brimstone.
Selene screamed and hurled another spell, an orb of seething necromantic fire—soul-burning, flesh-stripping, a curse of centuries.
It never reached me.
The darkness of Excalibur Morgan devoured it whole.
I stopped ten paces from her, lifted the blade high, and closed my eyes.
The chant came from somewhere deeper than memory. It came from my soul.
“A sword that severs fate—”
“Forged not in hope, but in rejection.”
“Not to protect the future…”
“But to destroy it.”
The blade pulsed in time with my voice. The shadows on the walls shrank away as if terrified.
“O lost light—”
“Return as darkness.”
“O vow unfulfilled, turn now to ash.”
“This is my oath, and my curse—!”
Selene’s servants fled. Even the mortals who had stood still as statues now turned and ran, some screaming, others silent with dread. Only Selene remained, her feet locked to the floor, her hands and mouth busy casting magic.
Every defence she had, she used, tens of thousands of lives used to fuel her desperate final gambit. She held nothing back as she tried to protect herself. Her servants fell to the ground as they tried to flee, their bodies shivering and turning into skin and bones as she drained every bit of magic she could.
Yet, it would all be pointless because I was ready.
I opened my eyes.
“EX—CALIBUR MORGAN—”
The world screamed.
A beam of darkness wider than a river, deeper than night, roared from the blade. It wasn’t light. It was oblivion—malice shaped into force, hatred turned physical. It didn’t strike Selene.
It erased her.
The entire end of the salon ceased to exist. Columns, art, marble, warded walls — gone. Vaporized. The hill behind the estate was scorched raw, gouged as if by the hand of God. What had once been Selene Gallio no longer existed.
No ash.
No bones.
No scream.
Only silence.
The darkness faded, leaving behind nothing but ruin — and the absence of something ancient. I could feel it like a missing tooth in the world. The hole she left behind.
I lowered the blade. Excalibur Morgan’s edge still glowed faintly, but even it seemed sated — for now.
“She’s… gone.” Maxime whispered.
“Reduced to nothing.” Lancelot said, grim and quiet.
Mordred whistled again, this time lower. “Damn, Father… You really didn’t like her.”
“Never before have I met a person so evil, even Vortigern was a saint compared to her,” I said, my voice still sharp, my evil personality bleeding through after unleashing the power of my darkest and most evil Noble Phantasm.
“Your Majesty… that sword?” Lancelot asked, his eyes still on the black sword in my hand.
I felt the unease in their gazes as everyone who remained in the room watched it. The power itself wasn’t shocking, well, not to Mordred and Lancelot, they knew of my Lance, of Excalibur, what troubled them was the evil the blade exuded.
Both of them saw me as a kind and holy king, and seeing a blade, a blade like Excalibur Morgan in my hand, it felt odd to them. And while Lancelot was concerned, Mordred was more curious.
Mordred stepped closer, looking at the smoldering crater that had once been part of the château. Her smirk faltered just a little. “So, Excalibur Morgan, huh? Mother’s sword? I didn’t know she had one?”
“It’s not her sword… There is a… a story behind it, but this isn’t the time to talk about such things.” I said, sending the sword back into my soul, and turning my attention back to the Church members before me.
They had fallen unconscious when Selene had first attacked. However, that might have been a good thing. They had missed the show, which also meant they didn’t have a chance to realize my power, nor the darkness of Excalibur Morgan.
Their ignorance would make future cooperation with the Church easier.
“Mr Wagner, if you could please take these brave men and women to get some help, they are badly hurt.”
Nightcrawler gave a solemn nod. “Ja. I can do that.” He clearly had many questions, but he was disciplined enough not to ask them yet.
He vanished with a bamf, reappearing moments later beside the nearest of the wounded. His hand was gentle on the woman’s shoulder as he disappeared again, the first of many silent evacuations to come.
While he was busy, the rest clearly still had questions. “Come, let's search the place, there might be secrets hidden around here,” I said, giving myself a bit of time before I would have to answer them.
“Fuck yeah! Treasure hunting!” Mordred cheered.
