"Do not act as if you had ten thousand years to throw away. Death stands at your elbow. Be good for something while you live and it is in your power."
― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
Brull reached out to the buried sword. The cold metal hilt burned in his hand, a frostbitten tingle that cooled his breath. It stayed firm, despite his tensed grip. His muscles trembled, spine arched with the strain.
Yup, It's stuck...
The cat-kin reset his stance and clasped the sword in a reverse grip. Lift with the heart... Easier said than done. Brull heaved, the responseless sword a mountain against his molehill of strength.
What does my heart know anyway...
Brull's tail stub curled, a small ring that marked another attempt. Nothing he did made a difference. The sword stood silent, a motionless reminder of his failure.
Father was right, I'm not meant for big things.
The cat-kin had always kept it simple, fallen in line behind his more ambitious sister. Everything he did to press beyond her shadow ended in misery. The back of her feet had led the way his entire life.
That doesn't matter!
Brull's fists clenched, tight against the sword. Small things were important too, maybe the most important. An extended hand could mean everything to someone lost in the dark. The sword shifted, a grate of steel on rock.
"I am who I am, and I'll make do!"
Obsidian splinted as Brull drew the blade upwards. Scaled with rust, the sword released a glint of light. A wave smoothed over his body with the glare, a gossamer weave that held tight to the skin.
"I did it, I..."
The sword vanished, the weight gone from his hand. Brull stumbled forward, dismayed. His eyes raked the ruins, but the weapon was nowhere to be seen.
"Congratulations!"
Viviane appeared beside him. Brull squinted at her placid face, a complaint on his lips.
"Where's my magic sword!"
***************************************************
"I am Arturus Ard'ri Pendragon... I bow only to the worthy."
Arthur's hand clasped the air, and a sword was born. It appeared from space, a rusted, sturdy blade. A scabbard appeared on his hip, caked in mud from the road.
"You Sir, are not worthy..."
Odin's face swelled with rage, a mad glint in his eye. The godly avatar raised its spear, a lance that pierced space itself.
"I will grind your ashes into my bread, mortal."
Odin arced his arm back, weapon leveled at Arthur's face.
"Look out Master!"
"Don't worry, apprentice," Arthur's sword glowed, a golden halo that swallowed the world. "No weapon, in heaven or on this great earth, can compare to mine."
Arthur shook his hand. The sword rang, a harmonious vibration that flaked off a hint of rust. The sound hammered Odin to his knees, shock etched onto his face.
"She might be old, but she's a real monster."
The sword bells continued the heavy crash that touched only the errant god. Each toll exposed more untarnished steel. A blade crafted with only runes, no space between for a hint of metal. The rust on Arthur's armor followed, a rain of ruddy sand and corroded scale.
The plate beneath gleamed a burnished gold. Etched on the front, cast in white gold, was a three-headed dragon. Each head bore an emerald crown, trimmed with flakes of diamond.
"Whoever takes this sword, free of its stone, shall be the rightful King... All hail The King Of Knights, the wielder of Excaliber!"
A woman's voice poured into the minds of all, a soft touch that shifted mountains. Excaliber erupted with pure, white light. A tower of force that shed the last of its rust.
"Sword in hand, I cannot fall, villain," Arthur approached the bowed god. "Your spear can pierce all things that are, but this blade is beyond those sensibilities!"
"We'll see about that, mortal..." Odin forced himself up, spear in line with Arthur's chest. "Nothing below Heaven can withstand the might of Gunginir!"
The one-eyed god launched his weapon forward. The spear screamed through the air, a rainbow that sought Arthur's heart.
Excaliber chimed, pure and sweet. A ripple extended to Odin's spear, a deflection that turned it off course.
"FOOL," The mad god roared. "Gunginir always finds its target!"
The rainbow lance twisted and spun, guided by invisible hands. It returned to its course, locked on the portly knight.
"Very well then!"
Arthur raised Excaliber, gripped with both hands to point at the sky. A cheerful hum floated from the blade, filled with the purpose of a sword. Air cracked and popped, a static that raised Lyra's fur into tufts.
"This Arthur is interesting," Fen squinted through Lyria's eyes. "That sword..."
Excaliber swung. A short, quick chop that met Gunginir's point. The clamor of a gong, a single horrendous note punctuated by an explosion of air.
The avatar's Gunginir, a shadow of its true self, bent like a bow. Excaliber traveled unimpeded, a smooth motion that tossed the spear aside.
Odin flinched back, a swift dodge to avoid the return of his weapon. The shaft was bent, twisted to a useless wreck. His face was a mask of shock, combined with twisted rage.
"Impossible, you should be dead, or on your knees..."
"Death is welcome when it comes," Arthur took a step forward, sword raised. "But to yield - never!"
Excaliber flashed. The King of Knights traveled the distance to Odin in a step. A final bell tolled for the foolish, mellow, and deep.
"Return and face the same fate, avatar of a useless god."
Arthur sheathed his sword. The world lost its golden hue, a sunset in the middle of the day. The knight's armor faded, returned to rusted ruin.
"Master," Lyra charged to Arthur's side. "That was amazing!"
"Very impressive... for a mortal."
"Well thanks, you two," Arthur laughed. "These old bones are still good for something then!"
"Your sword is so powerful!" Lyra peered at the rusted hilt. "Is it like Fen?"
"Don't compare me to a hunk of metal!"
"Hahahaha!" Arthur clapped Lyra on the shoulder. "Well it's similar, I suppose!"
He guided the wolf-kin toward the guild. The people around them gazed in awe at the old knight, but Arthur ignored it.
"She chose me, just like Fenrir chose you. We're together until the end!"