Sir Galahad stood with his blade raised in a defensive stance, the Sword of David gleaming with holy light. His eyes were fixed on Lancelot watching, waiting, calculating.
Lancelot moved.
He came forward with a frontal stab, Arondlight extended a direct, predictable attack. The blood-red blade shot toward Galahad's chest like a serpent striking.
Galahad prepared to counter.
Lancelot stabbed once.
Then he went back retreating, creating distance, anticipating Galahad's response.
Galahad shifted his weight, ready to launch his own attack. Lancelot was exposed, off-balance, vulnerable. One strike could end this.
Then Lancelot fell.
His body dropped to the ground not from a blow, not from weakness, but deliberately. He collapsed into the sand like a marionette with cut strings.
Galahad's eyes widened. "What's this?" The words escaped before he could stop them. "Are you going to lose that easily?"
In that single moment of confusion that tiny fraction of a second where Galahad's mind struggled to process what he was seeing Lancelot moved.
He rolled through the sand, a fluid motion that brought him to his feet in a single, continuous movement. He was behind Galahad now. In his blind spot.
Before Galahad could turn, before he could even register the danger
THWACK!
The hilt of Arondlight crashed into Galahad's jaw.
The pure knight's head snapped to the side. His vision swam. His knees buckled. He hadn't seen the attack. Hadn't felt it coming. One moment he was standing, confused the next, he was falling.
If Lancelot had used the blade instead of the hilt...
If he had recognized Galahad as an enemy rather than a brother...
The battle would have ended before it truly began.
Galahad hit the ground, stunned.
And Lancelot stood over him, Arondlight in hand, already turning to leave.
Above them, Darlington's eyes went wide.
Then he laughed.
"So that's one thing that has changed," he murmured, a grin spreading across his face. "Abandon all shame, and you shall see the highest and the deepest parts of the world."
He watched Lancelot prepare to leave to continue his desperate race toward the fourth front.
"He really put that into his actions, didn't he?" Darlington shook his head in wonder. "I haven't even seen this approach from the rest. Though it's close when you compare it to Tristan's battle style..."
He itched his hair, coiling it around his fingers as he thought.
"But still... it's different."
His eyes narrowed, analyzing.
"He could have killed Galahad. If he recognized him as an enemy, that blow would have been fatal. Which means..." He smiled. "There are still some fundamentals that haven't changed within him. Core loyalties. Deep bonds. Things the darkness couldn't destroy."
He leaned back, thoroughly entertained.
"Interesting. This should be fun." He looked at Galahad, still on the ground. "I don't think you'll end it here, will you, Galahad?"
Galahad rose.
Slowly. Painfully. His jaw throbbed from the impact, and he could taste blood in his mouth. But he rose.
Lancelot was already walking away already leaving and something in Galahad snapped.
"No more."
His voice was quiet, but it carried.
"I won't hold back again."
He grabbed the Sword of David. Raised it. Swung it.
"Cut."
The blade sliced through the air but not at Lancelot. At space itself. A vertical line opened in the fabric of reality, a wound in the world that bled light.
Galahad stepped into it.
And vanished.
Behind Lancelot, a cut appeared in the air silent, sudden, impossible. Galahad emerged from it, his blade already swinging.
Lancelot felt the attack coming not through sight, but through instinct. He spun, Arondlight coming up just in time to meet the Sword of David.
CRAAAAASH!
The blades collided. Holy light met blood-red darkness. The shockwave rippled outward, throwing sand in every direction.
They stood there, locked together, eyes meeting over crossed blades.
Above them, Darlington shouted.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"
He leaned forward so far he nearly fell from his invisible perch.
"Was that an ability?! No it can't be! If it was, he would have used it before!" His mind raced, piecing together what he had just witnessed. "I don't think it's an ability he just got. Rather... he chose not to use it before."
He replayed the moment in his mind the cut, the step, the emergence.
"An ability formed from one of the blade's primary abilities. Cut. He was able to cut space and connect it with another space. Then cut the second one." His eyes widened. "Creating a gate between two spaces."
He laughed a sound of pure, delighted shock.
"What a terrifying ability. And a terrifying application of the ability. For sure, I can say his imagination is not anywhere limited."
He began pacing, his thoughts tumbling over each other.
"Plus yes! The first time he cut, he only cut once. Which means when he entered the space, he cut again. But from inside the space, you can't really see where he's cutting." He stopped. "Does that mean there is an infinite possibility to cut from?"
He considered this.
"Then if we say there is an infinite possibility, it means he could reach anywhere on the battlefield." He shook his head. "So I'll say there is a limitation to the ability. Some constraint. Something that prevents it from being truly infinite."
He smiled, his eyes gleaming.
"I wonder what the limitations could be."
He watched the two knights below, still locked in their blade clash.
"The more this goes on, the more enticing and interesting it becomes. It's truly exhilarating."
He leaned forward again, eager to see what would happen next.
"Now let's see how this will "
He stopped.
"Uh... what's this?"
Below, something had changed.
Sir Kay, Sir Tristan, and Sir Percival had arrived.
They came from three different directions, moving with deadly purpose. In seconds, they had surrounded the two combatants laying a siege to their private battle.
Sir Kay pressed his sword against Galahad's neck. The blade rested against flesh, a millimeter from drawing blood. His eyes were cold, unforgiving.
Sir Tristan grabbed Lancelot from behind one arm around his throat, the other pinning both of his arms. His grip was iron, inescapable.
And Sir Percival stood between them, his spear extended, holding the center. His eyes still damaged, still recovering somehow saw everything.
The three of them gave off so much killing intent that both Galahad and Lancelot froze.
It was suffocating.
Lancelot's eyes went wide. "That's " He struggled against Tristan's grip, but couldn't break free. "That's suffocating."
Galahad said nothing. Just stared at the blade at his throat, at the faces of his brothers, at the intervention he had not expected.
Above, Darlington stared in disbelief.
"Well," he said slowly, "would you look at that."
A smile crept across his face.
"Now who would have predicted that something like this could happen?"
He watched the scene below the three knights holding the two combatants, the killing intent that filled the air, the shock on Galahad and Lancelot's faces.
"They stopped both of them right in their tracks. Before they could even escalate the battle." He laughed softly. "Well, what the hell would I call this now? Hmmmm."
He scratched his chin, amused.
"Unexpected. But not unwelcome."
On the fourth front, six knights stood frozen.
Sir Gaheris.
Sir Palamedes.
Sir Leodegrance.
Sir Tor.
Sir Dagonet.
Sir Ywain.
They had been fighting moments ago cutting down Romans, holding the line, doing their duty. But now they stood still as statues, their eyes fixed on the figure before them.
General Titus.
He had landed in their midst with his four cloaked soldiers, and the very air around him seemed to have changed. It was heavier. Darker. Wrong.
Every instinct in their bodies screamed the same thing.
DEATH!
DEATH!
DEATH!
Their hands trembled on their weapons. Their hearts pounded in their chests. Their minds trained by centuries of battle told them to run. To flee. To survive.
But they were knights of Camelot.
They did not run.
Titus looked at them at the six warriors who stood against him and smiled.
"Let's start, shall we?"
He rolled his shoulders, loosening muscles that had been still too long.
"Honestly, I've been feeling like I'm not the main focus of this battle." His eyes gleamed beneath his helm. "Well... now let's get started."
He raised his sword.
The four cloaked soldiers behind him did the same.
And six knights of the Round Table prepared to face death.