The world was chaotic; the great lords of humanity all fell to the enemy's assault, and those that were strong and smart defected, betraying everyone.
A man was kneeling surrounded by blood and sinew; he was one of the last lords that tried to fight back desperately.
A broken blade was in his hands; the black blade twisted like his heart; behind him was a destroyed throne, the black stone crumbled from a huge ballistae bolt rolling on the ground along with his shattered emblem.
He stood alone as the last of his beloved warriors was cut down mercilessly by a superior enemy, the crimson blood spraying onto the man's face as he grimaced.
'Why... I tried so hard to fight back, to strengthen my army...'
Slowly he watched in dismay as the spears pierced the fallen chests of his troops.
The man felt despair that not even one might live on, free of his control and able to survive, his heart racing as he felt a sense of dread overcome him.
Every last of his most cherished and well-trained troops were like garbage facing the enemy knights.
With anger in his eyes, as if burning embers replaced his pupils, he watched their black armour, the sleek and stylish sheen, mounted upon colossal warhorses with steel covering their faces as they marched closer.
The wet sound of their hooves crushing the mud and corpses of the warriors broke his heart further as blood oozed from his abdomen.
'How could I fight against such powerful opponents?'
His face became bleak, watching on, his eyes looking towards his dead warriors, the broken and burning village nothing more than charred wood and crushed stone, and the ruins of his manor now being ripped apart by monsters.
He was frustrated as blood and ashes seeped through his fingers, dripping onto the black hilt of his broken sword.
A sense of loss finally started to bud in his heart.
'No... I can never surrender!'
Grey clouds began to cover the skies, while the bitter rain cascaded onto his body as the enemy approached from all sides.
Yet still, he tried to see a way to escape this hell.
'My tutor.'
'My senior...'
He watched the mounted knights parting as he watched a single horse approach with a loud, wet clack each time it moved forward.
The blood dripping from the man's spear was his blood; the huge gash on the Lord's stomach, still torn, as his intestines and innards slowly slipped out, was caused by this man.
The knight was a man he trusted, who taught him to fight.
The male riding a white horse, with a beautiful white mane, like a shimmering sun in this dark hell.
'Why did you betray humanity when you were our only hope?'
His silver armour made him look like a king who descended from the heavens.
As he watched the knight dismount, the wounded Lord felt his eyes blur as the rain and wind began to batter his wounded and broken body.
He thought to himself, feeling broken and worthless in his last moments.
'Tell me, goddess...'
'You swore that you would stand beside us and help us fight against those who wanted to destroy everything we held dear and loved.'
'Yet why...'
'Why is the champion you chose standing on the enemy's side, and why.... does he still have your divine blessing!?'
Tears filled his eyes as he tried to muster the courage to fight, the wet mud almost swallowing his legs in a trap, like powerful hands holding him down.
The knight in silver armour smashed down on his chest with a violent kick, sending the lord shooting backwards, spiralling out of control as his face dragged along the rough ground and broken weapons.
Now a bloody mess, the handsome face destroyed.
Sadly, there was no mercy for the broken Lord as the knight stomped on his back.
A loud crack sounded as the knight's vicious blow broke countless bones sending the Lord flying as filth buried his body.
His mouth opened as the blood and guts of his fallen soldiers and allied lords began to fill his mouth, causing him to gag.
'These men tried to support humanity's final defence...'
'We failed...'
The Lord could feel the disgustingly warm, sticky, vile blood cling to his skin and throat as he lay on the ground. Like it was mocking his stupidity for never noticing this man was a traitor despite the many obvious indications.
Boom!
Once again, a steel boot slammed into his body before the knight's heel crashed into the Lord's chest.
The brutal blow sent him floating again before his back smashed against the broken throne, the debris piercing the Lord's body as spikes and stones skewered him.
He tried to speak out, but only bubbles of blood and vomit left his lips.
The only thing he could do was watch as the brilliant white knight began to remove his helmet, as if this was some movie or advertisement.
The white knight had a handsome face, short blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes.
'I see you haven't changed... Arrogant bastard...' The Lord's dull brain thought.
He smiled at the broken Lord as if they were friends meeting for the first time, holding a sharp sword rumoured to heal the wielder's every wound without limit.
"Hello, Lancelot."
"Fancy meeting you here after so many years apart."
The man's voice was soothing and gentle but only added to the insult and disgraced the Lord felt as his body tried to claw its way from the quagmire of filth, drag his body from the stone and metal piercing his flesh.
Lancelot felt flames of regret burning inside his body, nowhere to vent as his broken sword ruined under the knight's feet and his shattered throne impaled his body.
'This is me, the pathetic excuse for a lord...'
'The last Lord of humanity... '
'I am a fool...'
'Why did I trust you like my brother!?'
His name was Lancelot.
The final defence and hope for mankind, but like Icarus, the sun melted his wax wings.
That sun's name was: "ARTHUR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
His pained cry echoed., the blood oozing from his bloody throat, countless blades and shards lodged into his innards, as the word became dark, hazy and silent.
Only the mocking smirk of Arthur remained in his eyes.
-
Suddenly the world turned black; there were no flames of death and destruction, no broken throne or bloody mass of corpses.
He was alone once again.
Lancelot only had the darkness, born to a whore and without a father; he was abandoned and could only survive because of the Lord's Program.
Now in this darkness, a strange voice began to speak.
[If given a second chance, to change everything and relive your life again...]
"There is no reason to ask this stupid question, of course!"
[What if you lost everything that was you, justice, humanity, kindness?]
"If I can stop Arthur and that bitch of a goddess, I would even give my soul my existence!"
His tired body struggled forward like chains wrapped around him. He would never surrender to this darkness; if there were a way to move forward, he would do so!
'I can feel the abyss calling me! Someone, something needs me!'
There must be a way, some hope!
Towards the raspy voice
Towards that dark abyss
Towards a new future!
When he arrived at the centre of the black light, a strange sensation of bliss and anger washed over him.
A huge tomb-like chest with thick bars and locks, but beside him was a large axe.
Lancelot didn't care, as he grabbed the axe and began to hack at the chains; he wanted a path, then he would make a path.
Nobody would stop him! Not even the goddess of light!
The moment his axe broke through the chains, a slight feminine moan sounded before a delicious and sweet aroma penetrated his nose.
He felt something caress his hair gently like he always dreamed his mother would do.
'It feels like a comb that's slowly, gently sliding through my memories and existence... soothing yet torturing me at the same time...'
Lancelot watched the memories of his past life, from when his mother died, and he was thrown away as his mother's relatives refused him at a young age.
'Selfish bastards...'
Like it waited for him to feel this way, the voice asked him to choose.
[So you would Accept?]
"I must accept!"
"I must stand tall!"
"I must not break!"
"Because..."
"I am the last Lord of humanity!"
"Nay Lancelot..."
The strange voice became soft, sultry and feminine as a dark throne appeared in his sight, a woman was seated on the throne, but he could not see her figure.
Her arms opened wide, a large bosom swaying as dark purple lights began to illuminate the abyss.
Lancelot felt his member growing, unable to stop himself from becoming aroused, bewitched by her aura.
He wanted that woman, that figure to become his.
'I want her... Who is she? I don't care. She will be mine!'
Alas, his mind became distant before he could ask even her name.
"You are my king..."
"The King of demons!"
-
"WHO ARE YOU!?" His youthful but angry voice resounded.
He desperately wanted to know who the woman was, but there was no more void; instead, he was surrounded by young-looking human students. Their ages were 18-19 at most, looking at Lancelot with strange gazes.
'What's going on!?'
Lancelot looked down at his body; no muscles, a strange black and gold uniform just like the lord academy issued to first years.
'No way...'
His eyes watched the door as a beautiful woman with a voluptuous body entered the room, her low-cut top showing her delicious cleavage as her hips swayed slowly.
Still, her eyes fixated upon Lancelot, who stood up. She gave him a flirtatious wink before she addressed the rest of the class.
"Now, my beloved students! Today is the day you all become Lords~ for the sake of humanity! Are you excited!?"
Lancelot was shocked, his heart racing as he felt his body for any strange items, needles that might contain drugs, anything to prove this was an illusion or dream.
'That voice... It was real!?'