As the last rays of sunlight faded, the war came to Albion.
It did not come with a grand declaration, nor did it come with a massive fleet of ships crossing the Channel. No, the Sentinels came from the sea itself, emerging from the depths like leviathans from a forgotten age, their metallic forms dripping with seawater, their red eyes glowing in the twilight.
They came from all sides, from the North, from the West, from the South, a coordinated, multi-pronged assault designed to stretch the kingdom's defenses to their breaking point.
The coast of Albion, once a tranquil, picturesque landscape of cliffs and beaches, became a battleground.
The Enforcement Knights, standing in neat, disciplined rows along the shoreline, braced themselves for the impact. Their armor, a gleaming silver in the fading light, seemed to hum with a quiet, pent-up energy.
The first wave of Sentinels hit the beaches of Cornwall, their massive feet sinking into the sand, their weapons raised, their intentions clear.
No grand speeches were needed; they had their orders, and they knew nothing but those.
The first volley of arrows was loosed.
They were not arrows of wood and feather, but bolts of pure, concentrated mana, their tips glowing with a blinding white light.
They arced through the air, a beautiful, deadly rain of light, and found their marks.
The Sentinels, for all their advanced technology, were not prepared for this. They had analyzed the defenses of the world, they had adapted to the weapons of humanity, but they had not faced magic.
The most horrible trait of the Sentinels was their ability to adapt and to shut down most mutants using their inhibitor technology.
As for conventional weapons? Those were no real threat, as only the biggest of humanity's toys could truly threaten them.
The Sentinels had long since learned all kinds of information; they had fought against mutants, superheroes, robots, armored suits, and the military, and they knew how to deal with them.
They had come a long way since they were first activated.
Yet, despite all this, there were a few things they weren't good at dealing with.
One was the strange power of the Vatican in Rome.
That power seemed to follow none of the logic they had been programmed with; even their ability to counter the ever-strange abilities of mutants was of little help against the power of faith.
And here too, their ability to adapt found itself limited.
They had faced very little magic; most so-called magic they had faced was merely mutations, and they could deal with that using mutant inhibitors.
Meaning they had no real tactical knowledge about how to deal with the arcane.
They lacked data on how strong these arrows were; their sensors weren't calibrated toward magical energies.
Had any semi-competent magus from the Fate Universe seen these arrows, they would have either gasped in shock or pissed themselves in fear, depending on whether or not they were in the path of said arrows.
Each Enforcement Knight was made to mimic a Heroic Spirit's origin, and while they didn't quite reach the level of the Round Table Knights themselves, each could be compared to a low-ranked Servant, one without a Noble Phantasm.
A serious attack from one of those was something most modern magi could only dream of, with only the true elite being able to compare.
That was to say, the energy in each arrow was immense, yet the Sentinels, for all their advanced technology, failed to realize that.
Their internal systems registered the incoming projectiles as a standard energy attack, albeit one of an unusual wavelength. They calculated the probability of penetration, the potential for damage. They concluded, based on their limited data, that their armor would hold.
They were wrong.
The mana arrows struck, and the result was not a shower of sparks, not a superficial scorch mark, but a cascade of catastrophic failure.
The armor plating of the Sentinels, a complex alloy of adamantium and alien material designed to withstand tank shells and energy blasts, simply... dissolved. It didn't melt, it didn't shatter, it ceased to be, its atomic structure unraveled by the sheer, overwhelming force of the magic.
The arrows tore through the Sentinels, their energy burning through circuits, severing power conduits, and destabilizing their core systems. One moment, they were towering behemoths of destruction; the next, they were collapsing piles of inert metal, their red eyes flickering and dying.
The second volley followed the first, then a third, then a fourth. The beach, once a scene of impending doom, became a junkyard of twisted, smoldering metal. The sea, tainted with oil and coolant, lapped at the shore, a grim reminder of the battle that had been fought.
Images of this were broadcast into the command center in Camelot and to the members of the Illuminati, who desperately needed to keep up with the situation.
Many others also kept themselves informed of the events, and many were shocked by what they saw.
People had long since known of the might of Albion and its king, Arthuria Pendragon.
Every time she made a move, it brought no small amount of shock and awe.
But the Enforcement Knights themselves weren't well known outside of helping with general law enforcement and guarding Camelot and the castle.
Few threats could force them to act, or rather, force them to go all out.
Yet here they were, an army of what many believed to be mere magical puppets, casually and effortlessly destroying the machines that had brought the world to its knees.
-----
"Good God, that's a whole lot more impressive than I had expected," Tony Stark commented as he saw the scene.
"It isn't bad, but I fear it won't be enough," Doom added as he stood with his arms crossed before the large monitor.
And indeed, while it had been impressive to watch, the reality of the situation was that many more Sentinels were getting ready to act.
They feared not death, and so, the first wave was merely a sacrifice, the means to an end, and that end was knowledge.
The Sentinels were well aware that they lacked information about Albion's strength.
Yet with this single attack, the collective network of the Sentinels learned more than they had from all the battles they had fought so far.
Magic.
It was a new variable, a new threat. But it was not an insurmountable one. They were machines. They learned. They adapted.
And they had the data now.
-----
Inside the command center in Camelot, the initial burst of euphoria was short-lived. Agravain watched the monitor, his face a grim mask of concentration. He saw the victory, but he also saw the bigger picture.
"They're learning," he said, his voice a low, grim murmur. "The next wave won't be so easy."
Ria, standing by his side, nodded, her own expression mirroring his. "The energy readings from the Sentinels are changing. They're adapting."
Agravain's fingers tightened on the edge of the console. "As expected," he said, his tone devoid of surprise. He had not built his strategy on a single, decisive victory. He had built it on attrition, on wearing the enemy down, on buying time.
As long as he could ensure the situation didn't get out of hand too quickly, he firmly believed he could handle it.
The only real danger was one large attack of overwhelming numbers; as long as they could prevent that, they had already won in his book.
"Sir," Ria said, "I've just received information; the Illuminati would like to meet with the King."
Her words caused the mood to turn grim.
He wasn't surprised that they wanted to talk; after all, given the situation, it was only natural that they wanted to speak with the one in charge, gather more information, and possibly coordinate a response.
The problem was that the King was not here. Yet it seemed the secret was more or less already out in the open, and at this point, he saw little reason to keep things hidden.
Once the enemies realized the truth, what point was there in keeping your allies in the dark?
"Very well, invite them to meet; I shall inform them of the situation myself," Agravain said with a heavy sigh.
He had hoped to keep the secret until their King returned, but with the fighting about to start in earnest, he could no longer afford the luxury of deception.
--------
With the majority of the Sentinels focused on Albion, the Illuminati had a rare chance to catch their breath, though rather than sit back and relax, they all took the chance to rush toward Camelot.
The plan was simple: team up with Arthuria and end the threat once and for all. After all, the true danger of the Sentinels wasn't their individual power, though it was certainly not something that could be ignored.
It was their sheer numbers.
They could attack hundreds of places at once, and the Illuminati could only defend a handful; for the Sentinels, causing chaos was as easy as they wanted it to be.
Send a few Sentinels to a major city or target, and the Illuminati would be forced to defend it, allowing their main force to attack other objectives.
Everyone knew they were doing it, but that didn't mean they could stop it.
So now that there was a chance to strike down such vast numbers of Sentinels at once, they were all eager to cut down their forces.
Even more so when they had all seen the raw power the Enforcement Knights had displayed; if they had that kind of power on their side, this war would be far easier.
Of course, they also wanted a few of these Enforcement Knights for themselves, but they knew that was a pipe dream. Though that neither stopped them from dreaming nor scheming to at least study them a little.
But they all also understood that Arthuria wasn't someone to be pushed around or tested, so everyone was ready to be on their best behavior.
And as they arrived at Camelot, they were not disappointed.
The Enforcement Knights stood guard, silent and unmoving, their presence a palpable aura of power that was both intimidating and reassuring.
As they walked through the halls of the castle, they could feel the history, the weight of centuries of tradition, the echoes of knights and kings who had walked these very halls.
It was a place of power, a place of legend.
And at the heart of it all, they were led into the Royal Office, a room that was both grand and austere, a reflection of the man who now sat behind the desk.
Sir Agravain.
He stood as they entered, a gesture of respect that was both unexpected and appreciated. "Welcome to Camelot," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble.
(End of chapter)
Support me at patreon.com/unknownfate - for the opportunity to read up to 30 chapters ahead.