Unknownfate
patreon
Chapter 159
🕑 Added 2025-06-15 15:43:38 +0000 UTCTo get to Lyon I didn’t want to play around with the Tempad, it wasn’t that easy to use, despite what someone like Deadpool might have shown.
No, instead of technology, I decided to rely on something a bit more… grounded. My own divine power.
It might not be in line with the theme of this mission, being more gun than sword. But I made the rules, and others followed them.
“Alright, try not to bite your tongue.” I said as we stood on the roof. Then, without giving them a chance to ask, I placed a hand on their backs. And I moved.
It was a light step, not at all the ground-shatter stomp it could have been. It was just a step and a push. But behind that was my boundless divine power, the might of a god. Space? Gravity? Laws of physics?
I made the rules, it was mortals that followed them.
In that single instant, the world seemed to shrink, yet the truth was that I just moved us at insane speeds. Only the fact that both Mordred and Lancelot were powerful, heroic spirits allowed them to make the trip without dying.
Not that it was a pleasant feeling, that insane acceleration and deceleration wasn’t easy to handle, a massive sonic boom followed us as we appeared near the scene of the crime.
“AHHH!” Mordred screamed and started jumping around, covering her mouth.
“Mordred,” I sighed.” Did you bite your tongue?”
Mordred whirled around, clutching her jaw. “Yes! You absolute maniac! My spleen nearly came out through my teeth!”
Lancelot, to his credit, was still upright, though his hand was braced against a wall and his face looked like he’d just finished a roller coaster designed by a mad god. “I believe… the expression is ‘gentler landing next time,’ Your Majesty.”
“I warned you,” I said, entirely without remorse. “You should have listened.”
“Warned implies time to prepare,” Mordred snapped. “That was less a warning and more like slapping someone and saying ‘look out’ after.”
I turned around from Mordred, ignoring her complaints, and instead looked towards the great burning building before us.
Sirens wailed, smoke poured into the sky, and screams echoed from the upper floors. It was chaos, the kind of raw, ugly chaos that screamed for heroes.
Yet, heroes were in short supply these days.
So instead, people would have to make do with whatever they could get.
“So Mordred, what do we do now?” I asked, wanting her to take the lead.
Mordred blinked at me, then looked up at the inferno swallowing the top floors of the building. The flames licked at shattered windows, and the screams were getting fewer — not because the people had been rescued, but because they were running out of time.
Her expression shifted. Gone was the sulking, the bravado, the social media obsession. What remained was the knight. The warrior.
She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders, already reaching for Clarent II. “We find whoever is responsible for this,” she said grimly. “And then we end them.”
“Wait,” Lancelot interrupted, “Shouldn’t we help those instead?” He pointed towards the burning building, filled with people inside.
He wasn’t wrong, it was what I would have done. But that is also what everyone would expect, any hero coming here would get busy helping, saving lives, because that is what heroes did.
Mordred however? Mordred wasn’t a hero; she was the red-blooded knight of Albion, the terror of a thousand men. She was bloody justice, she was the vengeance of those who had died, not the savior of those who still lived.
She was no hero; she was a true warrior.
“If that is what you want, Mordred, then we shall do that.” I said, giving her my support.
She froze for a moment, looking at me in shock. Clearly not expecting me to agree with her, to approve of her idea. She was used to being shot down, to being told time and time again that our job as knights should be about saving people.
So now that I just agreed with her, she was shocked, not entirely sure what to feel, what to think.
Finally, she nodded. “Alright, let's go kick some ass!”
“No!” Lancelot said, hard and firm. “These people need us, I don’t agree with Mordred's decision.”
Instantly, my hand snapped out and clamped down around his throat as I lifted Lancelot up by the throat. “Lancelot,” My voice was cold, filled with nothing but my divine authority. “Are you going against my decision?”
My question hung in the air as he gripped my wrist, more in shock than defiance. “When I summoned you all from the throne, I forgave you, I forgave everything you did, but I also said, if you knelt, I would not be so forgiving again… so I ask again. Sir Lancelot, do you betray your king?”
Lancelot’s eyes widened, the weight of memory and oath flashing behind them.
His mouth opened — no denial, no protest — just the raw silence of a knight forced to face the absolute will of his sovereign.
“I… do not,” he said at last, the words choked but clear. “I do not betray you, my king.”
I released him.
He dropped to one knee, coughing slightly, but immediately bowed his head. “I spoke out of turn. My loyalty remains with you.”
Mordred, watching the scene with open surprise, didn’t gloat. For once, she stayed quiet — perhaps realizing just how thin the line could be between defiance and rebellion. Perhaps realizing just how serious I was.
“Then rise, Sir Lancelot,” I said, stepping back. “But do not forget your place, I allow my knights to question me, not to defy me. Should you do so, then you shall face not just the full might of the Round Table, but also the light of my lance.”
He stood, slowly. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Mordred tilted her head. “So… ass-kicking time?”
I nodded. “You lead Mordred, and we shall bring justice for this.”
Mordred paused for a moment, looking long and hard at Lancelot. She had no love for him, none at all, yet maybe the mention of Rhongomyniad’s light stirred up memories for her. “So, if I want the adulterer to say, save people while just you and I kick ass, is that alright?”
I met her eyes, gauging her intent — and finding it surprisingly measured beneath the usual bravado.
“Yes,” I said. “That is acceptable.”
Lancelot didn’t flinch. He gave a short bow, precise and unshaken. “Then I will see to the civilians.”
“Good,” Mordred said, already turning toward the flicker of movement in the alley beside the burning structure. “I work better without dead weight anyway.”
He didn’t respond. He simply moved — vanishing into smoke and rubble, heading straight into danger with the silent resolve of the knight he had always been.
Mordred watched him go, jaw tense. “Still don’t like him.”
“I know,” I said. “But that’s never been required.”
She grinned, a wicked curl of her lips as the wind shifted and the scent of gunpowder joined the smoke. “Then let’s go make someone very sorry.”
And so, we moved.
While I wasn’t sure about who started the fire, it was easy enough to know how they had done it. Because the fire wasn’t normal, and if that wasn’t enough of a clue, then the fact that the area was filled with demons was more than enough to give the facts away.
The fire had started due to some demonic ritual, and now the area was filled with demons who were quickly spreading around, setting more buildings on fire, spreading death and destruction as they feasted on souls.
It was always the same.
Mortals suffered. Monsters feasted. And something dark pulled the strings behind the curtain.
The evil mastermind is always slipping away while the hero is busy saving the day, but not today. Because we weren’t the heroes here.
Beyond the roars of flames, the shouting and screaming of people, the sirens blaring, the sound of gunfire was soon added to the mix.
While most demons didn’t fear guns, their arrogance was short-lived in front of the power of Clarent II and Secace Morgan.
The street ahead split with a howl as the first wave of demons rounded the corner — chitinous, malformed things, their bodies stitched together with ritualistic cruelty, mouths filled with too many teeth and too much hunger.
They stopped when they saw us.
We did not stop.
“Forward,” I said, raising my weapon.
Mordred grinned, already surging ahead. “With pleasure.”
The cruel demons charged us, almost too eager to devour us, but all they got to eat was lead. Or, well, in this case, a mix of magic bullets and energy shots.
Clarent II thundered to life, the bark of each shot loud enough to shake windows as Mordred opened fire with gleeful fury. Demons erupted in clouds of black ichor, their bodies shattered mid-charge by searing crimson bursts. The alleyway became a corridor of carnage, each round a declaration of righteous violence.
I moved beside her, silent and precise. Secace Morgan kicked against my arm with recoil, but my Strength A allowed me to keep steady even as I fired while moving. After all, I could even fire it while standing on my bike while moving, so yeah, firing while running was nothing big.
My shots were fewer but lethal, surgically delivered blasts that tore through skulls and rib cages, vaporizing corrupted hearts in a single strike. Where Mordred was fire and chaos, I was cold and calculating.
A demon lunged from a rooftop—wings tattered but strong enough to dive—and I turned slightly, raised Secace Morgan, and fired once. The blast took its head clean off. The body crumpled midair, crashing beside Mordred, who didn’t even flinch.
“You’re getting slow, Father!” she shouted, vaulting over a twisted car hood to drive her boot into a demon’s chest. It crumpled like paper, and she followed with two more point-blank shots into its skull. “Gotta stay on-brand!”
“I’m calculating angles,” I replied, calmly vaporizing three targets in a line with a single shot. “Efficiency is also a brand.”
We moved without pause, my long coat billowing behind me as I moved, and Mordred in her red racer fit looked right at home, surrounded by flaming buildings.
One of the braver—or perhaps dumber—demons tried to flank me with a jagged, black-bladed spear. I ducked under its thrust and drove my fist into its gut. It didn’t go flying—it didn’t get the chance. The divine pulse from my strike tore the demon apart from the inside out, disintegrating it in a wave of golden light.
At one point, a larger demon burst from a storefront—nearly the size of a car, with two heads and a dozen arms, flame licking from its maw.
“Big one!” Mordred called, already charging it.
“Try not to make a crater,” I muttered, raising Secace Morgan.
But she was faster. She leapt high, firing mid-air, blasting out one of its knees before landing on its shoulder. With a feral scream, she shoved Clarent II down between its necks and pulled the trigger.
The demon's entire chest exploded.
It crashed in a heap as Mordred landed in a classic superhero landing pose, grinning savagely.
“Who’s next?!” she bellowed, eyes shining with battle joy.
A sound drew our attention above, and we both looked up to see a blue demon trying to take a woman out of the window of a burning building. She screamed and tried to fight the demon off, but was unable to do it.
Mordred raised Clarent II to shoot, but I quickly gripped the barrel of the gun and moved it aside, causing her to miss.
“Hey? What gives?”
“That’s a friendly.” I said as the demon and woman disappeared in a flash of smoke.
“Doesn’t seem very friendly to me,” Mordred muttered, still pointing Clarent II skyward, reluctant to lower it. “Since when do friendly demons kidnap screaming civilians?”
“Since they tried to help them out of a burning building.” I replied, narrowing my eyes at the trail of sulfuric mist left behind in the demon’s wake… or rather, the mutant’s wake.
(End of chapter)
