The castle's air was thick with magic.
Shadows swirled around me like a living cloak, twisting and curling at my command. My eyes glowed faintly violet, the color of raw, unrestrained power. I had the coffins—hundreds, maybe thousands—of Camelot's greatest heroes, their bones cold but intact, waiting for the spark that would awaken them. Waiting to serve.
I spread my arms wide, feeling the surge of energy inside me. This was the culmination of centuries of memory, power, and ambition: Sauron's drive, Homura's relentless determination, Morgana's cunning, Claire's precision, and my own magical genius combined into one unstoppable force.
"Arise," I commanded, my voice carrying the weight of the shadows themselves.
The shadows leapt, stretching their dark fingers toward each coffin. They wrapped around each skeleton like a lover's embrace, binding them to my will. I began chanting in the ancient tongue, my words resonating through the stone walls of the hidden castle.
"Ex mortuis, ex tenebris, ex voluntate mea… surgite!"
Dark energy flowed like rivers of liquid night, tendrils of violet light wrapping around bones, skeletons shivering as though waking from centuries of slumber.
And then it began.
The first skeletons jerked violently, rising from their coffins with a clatter of brittle bones. Their empty eye sockets glowed faintly, the same violet hue as my magic. They stood slowly, their armor creaking, their weapons rattling as if eager to taste battle once more.
"Excellent," I murmured, a cruel smile curving my lips. "You will serve me. Not the dead Camelot you once swore allegiance to, but the Camelot of the future—my Camelot."
Angor Rot materialized behind me, shadows clinging to him like smoke. His eyes flickered as he observed the rising army.
"They obey you," he said. His voice was low, reverberating through the chamber like distant thunder.
"Yes," I said, turning my gaze toward him. "But they are not mine alone. They are extensions of me. My will made flesh, my command eternal. They cannot die… not while I live."
The army grew with horrifying speed. Skeletons clutched swords, axes, maces, and spears. The clang of metal echoed through the halls as they lined up, hundreds forming ranks, their movements unnervingly synchronized. They had the precision of knights, the loyalty of servants, and the relentless persistence of the undead.
Each skeleton radiated ancient power—some had been champions of Camelot, veterans of battles that had shaped the kingdom. Now they were shadows of their former glory, remade to serve me.
I stepped forward, raising my staff, Skrathe-Hrün, high above my head.
The dark energy around me intensified, pulsing outward in waves of violet light. Shadows stretched along the floors and walls, engulfing the army and binding their essence to my will.
"This," I whispered, my voice filled with dark satisfaction, "is your new life. Your purpose. To march at my command, to carve my will into the stone and blood of Camelot itself. You will obey. You will conquer. You will endure."
The undead army responded in unison. A chorus of rattling bones echoed through the chamber, a sound simultaneously terrifying and mesmerizing. My purple magic flared, sending arcs of energy across the ranks, binding them tighter to my command.
I could feel it—each skeleton a conduit of power, multiplying my own magic exponentially. I could see it, like a network of dark light linking each soldier to me. Each swing of a sword, each movement in formation, would draw on my energy, and in turn, my magic would grow stronger.
"You will march when I say," I said, my eyes narrowing with intent. "Camelot will crumble. Arthur will fall. And Merlin… Merlin will regret ever underestimating me."
I lowered my hand, letting the army settle into rigid formations. The shadows around them coiled like serpents, ready to strike at my command. I turned to Morgause, who was watching with a mixture of awe and approval.
"This is only the beginning," I said. "With this force, even Merlin will hesitate. Even Arthur will be forced to respond. We will take Camelot—not as rebels, not as traitors, but as rulers."
Angor Rot knelt briefly beside me, a silent pledge of loyalty.
"Then let us prepare," I said, my mind already racing. "We will strike at dawn. Camelot will wake to a new era… my era."
And for the first time, I allowed myself a fleeting thought: the future was mine.
The undead knights clattered as one, raising their weapons in silent salute. They were ready.
I was ready.
And nothing—no Merlin, no Arthur, no destiny—would stand in my way.