(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)
Adriel Pov
About a week had passed. Peter and Ace had already conquered two countries, while I monitored the topography of the planet through hacking. Reinforcements from two key locations were nullified, thanks to Peter and Ace taking out the commanders in those regions. The camp I was in was sparsely populated, mostly with survivors rather than fighters, and so far, I'd only seen one champion—Neeko. Ace had been forced to kill the corrupted champions in his area, and Peter had to do the same to prevent body snatching by AM. I was concerned for Peter's mental state after confronting one of the most vile villains in fiction, but I'd address that once he had some time to recover.
As for my own work over the past week, aside from being everyone's unofficial psychologist, that is—unfortunately, a role I fell into thanks to Kindred. Specifically, Lamb, who continued to regard me as though I were Aurelion Sol. I'd known this type of reverence would happen eventually, given my nature as a Guardian. Peter had already warned me, back in the days when we'd pass time at the Nexus, that even the gods of different universes would view him as if he were their own god, or someone on a higher level than their own creator. It was almost as if they saw Peter as "the Author," though we knew that wasn't true. It was just our unique existence, feeling somehow disconnected from any single universe, as if we existed outside it all—in what people call "Beyond Fiction." We merely traverse the endless expanse of the internet and its layers that we're able to perceive, a perspective that's distinctly different from that of the readers behind their screens in the real world.
Returning to the situation at hand, Alter Saber currently occupies Ixtal. Her forces consist of symbiotes and frost giants who arrived after the region fell. They're always on patrol, which is a bit of a hassle since I'm tasked with handling them. These Darks are much stronger than the symbiotes I've encountered before, likely because this verse has already been overtaken by Darkness, making them naturally more powerful on their home turf. That said, it's no issue for me; I've reached a level of skill where taking down any enemy patrols that come too close is effortless. They may notice the missing units, but I'm not concerned. Soon, I'll raid the Ixtal palace solo. I don't want to risk accidentally getting Neeko or Kindred killed. We've already had to kill too many champions, which is going to make fixing this verse even harder. They carry data—data that's vital to this verse. Even if it's just one character from one specific universe, that's all I need to connect with the greater Omniverse. If any champions survive, I plan to take them with me for safekeeping. And if they don't comply, well, they can't do much about it. They can't harm me, not when I'm so far beyond them in every way.
Currently, I'm stationed in a large tent, studying a holographic map of Ixtal, running through strategies in my mind. This should be easy enough, though if Mangog, Hercules, or that Spider-God get involved, things could get complicated. They're the only ones who can give me an actual fight. And as long as I don't provoke Juggernaut or repeat Gohan's mistake with Cell, I shouldn't have any trouble handling his strongest form. Honestly, Red Goblin and Juggernaut... Peter and Ace can manage them. My focus is on the others; the rest of the characters will eventually be dealt with.
"Guardian," Lamb called as she entered the tent, tilting her head, "are you still planning the attack on the enemy commander?"
"No, I already have a plan in mind," I replied briskly. "Why do you ask?"
"I... I just want to be of service to you, Guardian. Aurelion Sol has put his full faith in you three, and I can't just stand by doing nothing while you're saving a world that isn't even yours," she said, her voice growing softer, almost a mumble.
"..."
"So... I wanted to—"
"No."
"H-Huh?" she stammered. "B-But why?"
"I can't risk losing any of the champions who are still alive," I said firmly.
"B-But..."
"Lamb, I really can't risk any of you. My partners had to kill some champions because they had no choice. And by the time I raid the palace, it's likely that, somewhere else, another champion will be killed or corrupted." I sighed. "Look, I understand your reasons, and I appreciate that you want to ease our burden. But it would give me more peace of mind if you stayed out of battles between us Guardians and the Darks."
"Can't you at least restore a champion? Remove the Darkness that's corrupted them?" she asked, still hoping to persuade me.
"I tried that before, Lamb..." I looked away, haunted by the memory of Alpha.
"..." She hesitated, then steeled herself. "And how did it go?"
"I had to kill a child, Lamb. He was cleansed... and then consumed by the Darkness again, only worse." I sighed deeply. "I've already tried it."
She gasped, her posture shifting with regret. "I... I'm sorry for bringing up something so painful. I understand what it's like to—"
"No, you don't." My voice rose slightly.
"But I do—"
"This is different. I know you play the role of 'Death,' Lamb, alongside Wolf. But..." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."
"No, it's alright... I can see the weight you carry. An entire reality... all of us relying on you three as our last hope."
"Stop it."
"..."
"If you keep up this 'glorification,' you'll just irritate me. So with all due respect, Lamb, I want to be alone. Thanks for offering help, but... please, just... don't. You'll only make my job harder than it already is."
"..." She nodded. "Okay..." she whispered before quietly leaving.
"..." I sighed, murmuring to myself, "It's not just her... all three of them look at me that way, and it's getting really annoying. They want to help, but they'll only be in the way."
Memories of the Avengers came to mind, of how they'd put up a good fight whenever a Dark was involved, only to lose because of a Dark's Plot Manipulation. Each time, I was the one who had to save the day... until Astral Regulator Thanos happened.
CRACK!
Damn. I broke the table again.
I picked up the two broken parts of the table, shattered with barely any pressure. With a bit of hacking, I reassembled the pieces as if it had never been karate-chopped at all. Satisfied with the fix, I lay down on the poor excuse of a bed in the corner of my tent. But just then, Neeko barged in as if she owned the place. Clumsy as she is, she usually doesn't do this unless she's spotted an enemy patrol getting a bit too close.
"Guardian!" the Vastaya called out. "Three more symbiotes to the north—two red, one white," she specified. Looks like explaining symbiotes to her wasn't a waste of time.
"Thanks. I'll take care of them," I nodded, stretching lazily.
"Do you need compan—?" she started, but I interrupted before she could finish.
"No, you're fine. I can go alone."
"Mhm! You're strong, so I know you'll be fine." She smiled faintly. "Thanks for working so hard... It makes Neeko feel a bit useless. Neeko can't even damage the enemy."
"Hey, don't worry about it. That's my job." I walked over and patted her head. "Just stay safe. I can't risk losing any more champions," I reminded her.
"Hm, Neeko knows. Don't worry. Neeko will pass the time with Kindred in the meantime. Lamb has been very restless."
Trust me, Neeko... I know.
"Alright, you do that. Tell the others that after dinner, I'll be attacking Ixtal."
Neeko's ears perked up, and she tilted her head with a hint of confusion.
"Why do you say it like that?"
"Well, I'm going to attack the entire country, of course. How else would I say it?" I shrugged.
"You're disturbingly nonchalant about fighting an entire country by yourself," she remarked, narrowing her eyes as if trying to figure me out.
"Well, it's not my first rodeo," I confirmed.
"Just how many feats have you accomplished? The more Neeko hears, the scarier you seem." She shivered in exaggerated fear.
"To be honest, I've lost count. Anyway, I'll check on that patrol." I reached into the air, manipulating space itself to open a portal a few meters above the symbiotes.
"Okay! See you in a second!" she waved as I stepped through.
As the portal closed, I found myself free-falling towards the symbiotes. I zeroed in on the two red ones in front of the white symbiote, delivering a split kick just as I got close, hitting the tops of their heads. Before they could react, I unleashed a bio-electric explosion that instantly atomized them. The white symbiote was pushed back by the blast, but I quickly shot a tentacle toward it, wrapping around its waist and slamming it into the ground with enough force to flatten it. With another venom strike, I atomized it too.
That was disappointingly easy. I had hoped for more of a challenge, but oh well.
Spider-Sense!
A frost giant seemed to materialize out of thin air, likely hidden as backup in case the patrol was taken out. The giant let out a furious scream and swung his club down at me. But I wasn't fazed. As the club descended, I caught it effortlessly with one hand. The giant's shock was palpable—someone so small catching his weapon single-handedly? I'd be scared too if I were in his shoes.
So, I ended his misery quickly, delivering a venom blast that obliterated his upper half.
With that handled, I decided to head back for dinner with the survivors and champions before the attack on Ixtal. With a flick of my fingers, I opened another portal and stepped through, emerging into the camp where a line of people was enjoying what looked like steak with fried rice. They're lucky I've supplied them with enough food to last a lifetime.
I spotted Neeko and Kindred talking around a campfire, surrounded by logs. Skipping the line, I grabbed my dinner—no one dared object—and joined the champions for a bit of small talk before I turned an entire kingdom upside down.
Neeko heard me approaching and waved. "Oh! Guardian, just in time. Sit!" She scooted over, making space for me to sit down.
"Thanks, Neeko." I sat down beside her as she happily continued eating.
"Guardian..." Wolf spoke, his voice deep but gentle. "Where did you find this food? It's... different?"
"I got it from another reality, a place I call Cyberpunk 2077. It's from a local Chinese stall there. I'd stop by and grab something whenever I was too lazy to cook."
"You can cook?" Neeko asked with interest. "Is there anything you can't do?"
"That's a question I'd rather not answer," I chuckled awkwardly.
"Thanks..." Lamb's soft voice cut in.
"What was that, Lamb?" She had spoken too quietly to catch.
"For the food. You always provide, and there's enough for everyone," she repeated.
"It's no problem. I wouldn't want any of you starving," I said, taking a bite of my steak. "It'd weigh on my mind if something happened to any of you."
"Hey, Guardian," Neeko gently shook my arm. "Can you tell us about the other worlds you've been to?" she asked, a sparkle in her eyes.
At least she seemed cheerful; when I'd first met her, she'd been incredibly downcast. My presence here seemed to have lifted her spirits, though I'm still not sure if that's a good thing. In my experience, people who've been through hell will cling tightly to any glimmer of hope.
And if I am that hope... well, it's not the first time.
"Let's see..." I took another bite, thinking it over. "I mentioned Cyberpunk 2077, right?"
"Mhm!" Neeko nodded. "Why the 2077?"
"Because it's set in the year 2077. Imagine Piltover, but with way more technology."
"How much more?" Wolf asked.
"Well, there's a wasteland surrounding Night City, and the city itself is pretty cramped. Lots of people with mechanical parts, flying cars, holograms... and a ton of corrupt politicians. Those are always a thing," I joked.
"Is there a world where... it's peaceful?" Lamb asked.
"There is," I confirmed.
"Have you been to one?"
I wondered if Lycoris Recoil counted. It was peaceful enough for civilians, but not so much for me. If the Darks hadn't invaded that world, I would've had a peaceful experience. Following the plot would have been easy, unless I decided to alter things.
"You could say that. It was peaceful—until the Darks started messing everything up. That was a huge hassle, though I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy my time with the people there."
"Have you visited them again?" Lamb seemed unusually inquisitive today.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I can't find the specific number for that reality."
"Numbers?" She tilted her head.
"Yes. There are an infinite number of worlds, each numbered in the Nexus."
I don't know why I can't locate Lycoris Recoil again. It's as if... something's telling me to leave it in the past. Or maybe it's my own mind creating a barrier, sensing that revisiting it would endanger people. Honestly, I'm not sure.
Maybe it's because I can't let go.
I move forward.
But I don't move on.
It's always in my mind. Sometimes, a memory surfaces randomly, unbidden, bringing everything back. I don't panic like I used to, but I feel... nothing. Or maybe there's an emotion there that I don't quite understand, an emptiness that I can't fully grasp.
"So, it makes it hard to find that world again when there's an infinite number of them," I concluded, standing up.
"You're getting ready to leave?" Neeko looked worried.
"Yeah, I am. I'm all good now." I stretched.
"Please, take care. Neeko worries..." She looked down, her expression soft.
I placed a hand gently on her head. "I'll be fine, don't worry. Like I said, not my first rodeo." I turned to Kindred. "Watch over them while I take care of Ixtal."
"Yes, sir," Wolf and Lamb replied in unison.
I activated my magnetism powers, starting to hover. "Don't miss me too much." With that, I blasted into the sky, breaking the sound barrier.
Lamb turned to the others. "Alright, let's get ready to move. We don't know what'll happen when the Guardian starts his conquest," she said to Wolf and Neeko.
"Neeko believes the Guardian will succeed. So, let's prepare to relocate the base once he's done," she said confidently.
"I wonder just how powerful the Guardian truly is," Wolf mused.
"Well, he's strong enough to bend space with a single uppercut," Lamb chuckled.
"Let's hope things go well, then," he said with a huff.
...
...
...
I was a blur in the sky; if anyone heard anything, it was just the swift swish of air as I passed by. I stopped at a small area in Ixtal, where the elemental drakes usually rest. By now, those drakes have likely evolved into elemental dragons thanks to the influence of the Darks. Time to take care of their heavy hitters first.
I charged a venom blast in the palm of my hand, its energy crackling with power. The creatures roared, sensing my presence as they prepared for battle. I glanced back in the direction of the camp, dozens of miles away.
They'll be fine, even if I release an explosion rivaling a Tsar Bomba.
Without hesitation, I unleashed my attack. It went straight to the ground, targeting the center of the lake where a cavern was visible. The elemental dragons were just emerging when they were met by an explosion that obliterated the area. It lit up like a second sun, the ground trembled with such intensity the entire region felt it—yet, no shockwave spread. The damage was confined to that specific area.
I had focused the energy and controlled it so it wouldn't spread too far; I only wanted this area destroyed. With a bit of programming, I adjusted the attack's parameters so the blast radius was exactly what I wanted. A controlled, linear attack—kind of like Tien's Tri-Beam from Dragon Ball.
I sensed an army of enemies approaching, forces combined from both the Marvel and Fate universes. Looks like they've teamed up, but it's nothing I can't handle. Just another day at the office.
I'll take my sweet time getting to Ixaocan. Now, let's turn this army into EXP.
A grin crept onto my face.
How exhilarating...
...
...
...
Qiyana Pov
What was that?
I thought to myself, resting against the wall in my cell. I, once a proud ruler, have been reduced to a prisoner, a slave—someone no longer even considered human in her own homeland. How much is a prodigy like me worth when those... monsters exist? That woman... Saber and her knights... her symbiotes...
I couldn't even comprehend what I was looking at; it was as if they existed in a completely different realm. I believed we could win—that was my greatest mistake. It wasn't even a fair fight; we couldn't do anything.
They felt no pain. Our attacks meant nothing, and they laughed at us.
Ixtal, like every other region in this world, was completely obliterated and transformed into something unrecognizable. It makes me angry, furious.
They tried to recruit me, saying they saw potential in me. But I am better than that! How dare they insult me! I spat in their faces and told them to shove that offer up their—
That was a choice I came to regret later. I was tortured in ways I could never have imagined.
I... Qiyana... have been reduced to nothing but an object, stripped of all dignity.
I can't take this anymore... I've tried to die, but they won't grant me that mercy. They keep me alive for their amusement. They love torturing me—a person of royalty, who once held so much pride—now stepping on my bloodied face, shouting profanities without a hint of mercy.
Please... whoever is causing that chaos out there... please save my people... or at least free my region. My people don't deserve this...
Please... God...
Please... Guardian...
...
Guardian?
Why does that word bring me so much comfort? I've never even heard of such a person... so why... why does it suddenly feel like he might be our only salvation?
Guardian...? Are you God?
Our savior?
CRACK! BOOM!
I covered myself as my cell suddenly exploded, dust and debris scattering everywhere. Slowly, I uncovered my eyes and looked at the newly-formed hole in my cell.
And I saw... God.
"Don't worry, Qiyana. I am here now. You and your people will be safe," his voice sent chills down my spine. He was covered in blood and gore, yet his aura brought me an overwhelming sense of safety.
He's God...
I prayed for salvation, and he came...
I prayed, and he came...
Thank you... Thank you so much... Guardian...
And for the first time in what felt like ages, my tears weren't of pain, but of hope.
He slowly walked toward me, knelt down to my level, and hugged me. I gasped at his touch and fell into his embrace. "Free your people; I will handle the rest," he whispered into my ear.
"Y-Yes... sir..." I replied softly as he gently released me. With a flick of his fingers, he flung the cell bars aside and walked away.
"Thank you..." was all I managed to say before I went to complete my task of freeing the slaves held around the city. But before I did, I glanced outside my cell.
"Oh... my..."
It was a path of dead monsters and destruction, as if a hurricane had torn through.
"Such... power..." I shook my head, bringing myself back to focus. He gave me a job. I should do it!
Without further distraction, I ran toward the lower parts of the city, ready to fulfill my task.
...
...
...
Dark Artoria's POV
The atmosphere inside the great hall of Ixaocan was tense, every knight sensing the weight of an oncoming storm. The distant echoes of explosions shook the stone walls, and a low hum of unease hung thick in the air. I sat at the head of the table, eyes steady, watching as each knight took their place, wary but ready. The Guardian—a force both unknown and alone—was out there, tearing through Ixtal.
Gawain spoke first, his voice a blend of concern and resolute bravery. "We should proceed carefully, my King. He's shown strength beyond what we've faced before. It would be folly to underestimate him." He glanced around, his sincerity and lack of malice clear, trying to temper the brewing restlessness in the room.
Mordred scoffed, folding her arms and flashing her trademark smirk. "Come on, Gawain! It's one man! Are we really going to cower here in the shadows over one opponent? We're the Knights of the Round Table! A single warrior, no matter how strong, is nothing we can't handle."
Kay, leaning back with his usual air of sardonic ease, threw Mordred an almost amused look. "I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss him, Mordred. After all, I doubt the Guardian has carved a path through our forces with flowers and kind words." His voice carried that infuriating blend of dry humor and cold insight. "And if he's alone, that only means he's confident he can take us all. Perhaps a tad more caution is warranted, no?"
Tristan, standing by the edge of the table, shook his head slowly, a somber look in his eyes. "We'd be wise to heed his presence more seriously. This Guardian, this... 'savior,' as some have started calling him... he didn't come here for petty slaughter. There's tragedy in his path, a purpose. I can feel it." He paused, his hand gripping the hilt of his bow. "A single being wielding that level of power is not a challenge we should charge into blindly."
Agravain, ever pragmatic and loyal to the mission, leaned forward, his gaze cold and calculating. "He may have destroyed some of our forces, but a man alone has limits. We should exploit them. He's no god, no divine being—only flesh that bleeds, like any of us. If we coordinate a relentless assault, we'll overwhelm him before he has the chance to exploit our weaknesses."
Bedivere, who had been silent until now, finally raised his voice, gentle yet firm. "I agree with the call for caution. The destruction he's caused... it's unnatural. We cannot let pride or frustration blind us. We've all served under Artoria long enough to know that he would prefer a victory earned by patience and wisdom, not reckless bravado."
Percival nodded, his face serene yet resolute. "The Guardian's power is immense, but we're not defenseless. We know each other's strengths, and we know the terrain. We need to approach this with measured confidence, not arrogance."
Mordred scowled, a flare of impatience in her eyes. "Are we knights, or are we cowards? Look, I'll admit he's got power—but alone? This is just another battle. He may be tearing through these weak-willed guards, but we're different."
A chill silence followed, broken only by the quiet clearing of Agravain's throat. "The King is right here, Mordred. Show some respect."
Mordred's eyes flicked to me, a flash of defiance softened by her grudging respect. I took in the weight of every perspective—the wisdom of Bedivere, the caution of Gawain, the practicality of Agravain, and the fierce pride of Mordred.
"There's truth in all of your words," I said, breaking the silence. "The Guardian is unlike any opponent we've faced. He came alone, but he is more than just a man—his power is precise, calculated, like a sword honed for a single purpose. That kind of focus... it's dangerous."
I looked at each knight in turn, letting my words sink in. "Overconfidence has toppled kingdoms. So we will act with caution, with precision, and with our minds as much as our swords."
Galahad, seated quietly, finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Then let our plan be a test of justice, one that does not tempt pride. We shall assess, adapt, and conquer, for the Guardian's strength, however fierce, will falter against unified resolve."
I nodded. "Precisely. We will strike swiftly but carefully, in calculated formations, focusing on both defense and offense. And remember, each of you represents the ideals of knighthood itself. Stand as guardians, as protectors—let him see the strength that is the Round Table."
The room fell into a heavy, yet resolute silence. The Guardian was coming, and we would face him.
...
...
...
Adriel Pov
Where was that chamber again? I know it's somewhere around here...
"RAAAGHHH!" A knight's scream interrupted my thoughts. I flicked my fingers, and his armor flattened, crushing him from the inside. Blood seeped through the gaps in the metal as I walked past his lifeless corpse.
Corpses, actually. I repeated the action with every knight I encountered, obliterating the symbiotes accompanying them with venom blasts. On my way here, I'd already eliminated all the frost giants and closed their portals, cutting off their reinforcements. Now I was doing the same with the Dark Knights and symbiotes. I'd shut down five portals already, but laziness crept in, and I decided it was faster to go straight to the main portal, where the reinforcements were connected to all the others scattered around Ixtal.
"I've got you!" a knight shouted, leaping out from the shadows. I barely acknowledged him; my spider-sense didn't even bother warning me of such a trivial threat. His sword shattered the instant it touched my suit.
"W-What?!" he stammered, flabbergasted.
"Move, bitch," I muttered, giving him a light slap.
SPLAT!
Apparently, it wasn't that light—a single slap ripped his head clean off. Damn. Good thing I can manually control my strength. Without that, I'd probably have killed everyone back at camp just by flexing my aura. That'd be some serious Bleach territory.
Actually, that'd be kind of funny.
CRACK!
I twisted a symbiote's head, pulverizing him with a flick.
My senses tingled, guiding me forward. The portal had to be nearby. Ah. There it is.
The space ahead was vast, grand, and ethereal, radiating a sense of both architectural strength and mystical elegance. The structure was circular, centered around a large, intricate platform that seemed to hover above a sheer drop. Gleaming, polished surfaces reflected ambient light, giving the platform a crystalline quality.
Above, a towering cylindrical apparatus descended from the ceiling, encased in a web of glowing, translucent rings and shimmering light. These rings and beams converged toward the center, forming a pillar-like structure that seemed to channel energy downwards. The architecture was futuristic yet classical in its symmetry, with smooth, metallic surfaces adorned with delicate, angular patterns reminiscent of arcane symbols or circuitry.
The walls curved gracefully around the chamber, accentuated by symmetrical arches and dark beams that conveyed strength and balance. Large reflective panels captured subtle shifts in light, casting hues from soft blues and purples to brilliant whites, creating an iridescent glow across the chamber.
Around the perimeter, suspended platforms and narrow bridges connected different levels of the structure. Some areas seemed to float freely, hanging over deep chasms that faded into shadowy depths, adding an air of mystery and danger to the pristine, ordered environment.
The atmosphere was awe-inspiring, as if this place were both a fortress and a sanctuary, designed to contain or concentrate immense energy. It was a place where magic and technology seemed to merge, echoing with silent authority and otherworldly beauty.
At the center, two large dark portals crackled with ominous energy. I stepped into the chamber, feeling the pulse of energy radiating from the portals in front of me. Just as I was about to sever the connection, the atmosphere shifted—a heavy tension filled the air. Six figures appeared behind me, their eyes sharp, unwavering, each of them embodying a blend of chivalry, defiance, and purpose.
I glanced over each of them, taking in their stances, their readiness, and the aura each one emitted.
Gawain stood at the forefront, his armor pristine and white, polished to perfection as if untouched by the chaos surrounding us. Intricate patterns adorned his chest plate, hinting at a legacy of valor and honor. His blonde hair framed a face that was sincere, resolute, and almost disarmingly idealistic. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a tale of valor—a knight who embodied nobility in every sense of the word.
Beside him was Lancelot, a dark shadow given form. His armor was a twisted, jagged design, more a cage than protection, emanating an aura of pure malice. His faceless helmet bore a haunting cross where his eyes should be, and dark tendrils trailed from his back, adding an ethereal menace to his already terrifying silhouette. Lancelot looked like a nightmare forged from his own regrets, a fallen knight driven by rage and remorse.
Then there was Mordred, arms crossed with a confident smirk, her armor bold and fierce. Adorned in red and white, her suit was jagged and aggressive, with horn-like spikes on her helmet that gave her an almost demonic edge. The red accents on her armor seemed to pulse with rebellious energy, matching the defiant gleam in her eyes. She looked like a force of raw, unyielding power, eager to shatter anything in her way to prove herself.
Bedivere's armor, by contrast, was simple and dignified, lacking the ornate flair of the others. His pale hair was tied back in a single braid that trailed down his back, and his calm, composed face held a look of quiet resilience. There was a softness in his gaze, as if he saw me not just as an enemy but as someone to understand. Bedivere looked like a knight who fought out of a deep, personal loyalty rather than bloodlust, a gentle strength beneath his armor.
Standing a little apart was Galahad, cloaked in a deep purple that accentuated his dark, sleek armor. His silver hair fell over his face, partially concealing eyes that regarded me with a cold, analytical detachment. There was no warmth, no human sentiment in his gaze—only an unyielding conviction. Galahad looked like a knight bound by a higher, impersonal duty, a force of justice that held no sympathy or room for compromise.
Agravain was the last, a towering figure clad in black armor that radiated raw intimidation. His fur-lined blue cape added a regal touch, but his cold, calculating gaze was anything but warm. His expression was locked in a perpetual scowl, as if even the idea of compassion was beneath him. Agravain looked more like an executioner than a knight—a man of ruthless efficiency, driven by duty and disdain, with no patience for anything less than absolute resolve.
Gawain, ever the noble knight, was the first to break the silence. "So, you're the one who's brought chaos upon us." His voice was steady, polite, though there was a steely determination in his gaze. "I must admit, I'm impressed. Few would dare to challenge us alone." He inclined his head, almost respectfully. "But be warned—this is not a challenge you will easily overcome."
Lancelot's gaze was intense, haunted by shadows from his past, and his voice held an edge of bitter rage. "Impressed?" he muttered, casting a glance at Gawain before returning his focus to me. "This is no honor; it's bloodshed. Knight or no, I find only disgrace in such senseless slaughter." He gripped his weapon tightly, his knuckles white. "If blood is what you seek..." His tone grew darker, eyes narrowing with menace. "Then I will give you more than you bargained for."
Mordred scoffed, rolling her eyes with a smirk as she took a confident step forward, arms crossed. "Listen to yourselves, talking about honor and disgrace as if we're back in Camelot." She fixed her fierce gaze on me, full of unrestrained defiance. "You're just one person. I don't care how many bodies you've left behind—numbers mean nothing. It's all about who's standing at the end." She tilted her head, her expression daring me to make a move. "You want to take on the Knights of the Round Table? Then show me what you've got."
A small grin crept onto my face as I prepared myself, taking in their words and weighing my response.
"You all talk so much crap, it's laughable. I'd almost forgotten how annoying some of you were. Lancelot here has anger management issues because of betrayal—boo-hoo, cry me a river. And Mordred? For someone so small, you're flat as a board behind that armor, aren't you, sweetheart? And Gawain, trust me... this challenge? I could do it with my eyes closed. That's how easy it is."
A stunned silence followed my words, each knight processing the insult in their own way.
Gawain's steady expression faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before he composed himself again. His polite demeanor remained, though his voice had gained a noticeable edge. "Confidence is one thing, arrogance another. You may jest now, but it's your actions, not your words, that will determine how easy this will be."
Lancelot's fists tightened, the shadows in his gaze darkening into a simmering rage. His breathing grew heavier, and a low, growling sound escaped from his throat. "You mock what you can't understand," he spat, each word dripping with barely contained fury. "You want betrayal? Let me show you what betrayal feels like—up close and personal." He raised his weapon, his knuckles white with the strength of his grip, as if restraining himself from attacking outright.
Mordred's eyes narrowed, her smirk twisting into a scowl as she clenched her fists. "Flat as a board?" she echoed, her voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. "You've got a death wish, don't you, sweetheart?" She took a step forward, practically vibrating with pent-up aggression. "Keep running that mouth, and I'll make sure you regret it."
Bedivere closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head in quiet disapproval. "Must we descend to this level?" he murmured, casting a brief, apologetic glance toward his comrades as if embarrassed by the exchange. Opening his eyes, he looked back at me with a calm yet disappointed expression. "If you find humor in disrespect, then so be it. But know that honor isn't a game to be trifled with."
Galahad's expression remained cold and unaffected, as if my words were little more than noise. His gaze sharpened, calculating, but devoid of any obvious reaction. "Such hollow provocations," he said icily. "You mistake our tolerance for weakness. Foolish." He stepped back into a ready stance, as if preparing to prove his point in silence rather than words.
Agravain's scowl deepened, his eyes flashing with contempt. He looked around at the others, disgust plain on his face. "This is pointless," he sneered, waving a dismissive hand in my direction. "Let him bark. A fool's insults don't change his fate." He turned back to me, his voice dropping to a low growl. "You're wasting our time. Prepare to meet your end."
They tightened their stances, each one prepared and brimming with tension, their initial hesitations now turned to steely resolve. It was clear that whatever amusement my words had sparked was gone, replaced by an intense readiness to put an end to this confrontation.
The air grew thick with their combined determination, each knight now poised for battle.
"Hahaha...HAHAHAAH! Come on knights! Show me what ya'll are made off!" I yelled, a psychotic smile forming behind my mask.
No Pov
Mordred dashed forward in fury, lifting her blade with the intent to cleave the Guardian in two. But her eyes widened in shock as her blade was halted mid-swing, caught effortlessly between the Guardian's hands.
"What the—?! You—!" she spat, her voice filled with fury and humiliation. The blow to Mordred's pride was harder than any physical strike, her face reddening as she struggled against his grip.
The Guardian smirked. "Haha! Didn't think this would happen, huh?"
Before she could react further, the Guardian's mocking laughter echoed, and then—WHAM—a powerful spinning kick collided with her armor. The impact sent her rocketing upward, crashing into the ceiling with a deafening crunch.
For a moment, she hung suspended, dazed, the wind knocked out of her, before gravity took hold and pulled her back down. She fell heavily to the floor, pieces of debris from the ceiling scattering around her as she shook herself, still seething despite the pain.
With blinding speed, the Guardian turned his attention to Lancelot next. He grabbed Lancelot's face and threw him with such force that he was sent hurtling into a completely different room.
Gawain's eyes widened as he watched Lancelot disappear through the air, crashing into another room with shocking force. His jaw clenched, momentarily stunned by the sheer power of the Guardian's throw. "Lancelot...!" he muttered, his face taut with a mix of anger and worry. But the knight within him quickly regained his composure, his stance hardening as he prepared himself, realizing that this opponent was no ordinary threat.
Agravain summoned his dark chains to restrain the Guardian, but to his horror, the Guardian used his hacking ability to dissolve the chains instantly.
Agravain's face contorted in disbelief as his chains disintegrated, severed by an invisible force. "Impossible...!" he growled, his voice laced with frustration and shock. For a brief moment, his usual cold and composed demeanor slipped, revealing a flicker of horror. But his expression quickly shifted back to one of fury, his hands tightening into fists as he glared at the Guardian. "You think you can outwit me? You'll pay for tha—!"
Without hesitation, a string of web shot from the Guardian's hand, latching onto Agravain's face and pulling him toward the Guardian with a violent yank. Agravain was dragged forward, helpless, as the Guardian pulled his arm back to strike. Sensing danger from behind, the Guardian teleported out of the way at the last second.
Gawain, who had been preparing to attack, was forced to halt as he saw the Guardian vanish. Instead, he turned to catch Agravain, who was launched directly toward him. In that moment of weakness, the Guardian reappeared beside Gawain, his hand crackling with bio-electric energy. Gawain could do nothing but watch as the Guardian slammed the energy ball directly into his liver, the shockwave launching both him and Agravain backward, crashing them into a nearby wall.
Bedivere's face reflected a mixture of alarm and determination as he watched Gawain and Agravain collide with the wall. "This is... more than I anticipated," he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the Guardian's tactics. Bedivere's grip tightened on his weapon, his mind racing. "We'll need a new approach—he's outmaneuvering us at every turn."
Galahad, however, remained calm, his expression cold and unyielding. He observed in silence, his eyes tracking the Guardian's every move with analytical precision. "He's dismantling us with frightening ease," he noted quietly, a hint of disdain in his tone. "We've underestimated him, and it's costing us. This isn't a fight for pride... it's a fight for survival."
As Bedivere and Galahad prepared to attack, the Guardian suddenly... sat down, as if bored.
"Perhaps this is a bit unfair," the Guardian mused aloud, sounding genuinely curious. Suddenly, he clasped his hands together, as if struck by a brilliant idea. "Let me give you guys an easier time. How about I just use martial arts? I won't cancel any of your skills, I won't be as agile, and I'll refrain from using any of my powers—just my martial arts skills." He stood up as if his idea was the most generous offer he'd ever made. "Ha! Yeah, that should give you all at least a 0.0001% chance to beat me. Hehe..." he chuckled teasingly.
The knights exchanged glances, each processing the Guardian's words with their own blend of disbelief, anger, and resolve.
Gawain's brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line. "Such arrogance," he muttered, his tone a mix of anger and disappointment. Yet, beneath that frustration was a spark of resolve. "If you think restraining yourself will make this easier for us, then you underestimate our resolve. We don't need your mercy." He steadied his stance, gripping his sword tighter as his chivalric pride flared, determined to prove they could still fight with honor, no matter the games this opponent played.
Lancelot's jaw clenched, his hands flexing as he picked himself up from the rubble, still seething from the previous blow. "Martial arts alone?" he echoed, his voice a low growl. "You mock us as if we're beneath you..." His eyes narrowed with intense fury, his pride deeply wounded by the Guardian's casual dismissal. "Very well. If that's what you believe, I'll make you regret lowering yourself." Lancelot's grip on his weapon tightened, his entire being radiating a deadly promise of vengeance.
Bedivere's gaze shifted, a pained expression crossing his face as he absorbed the Guardian's words. He felt the sting of mockery, but more than that, he felt a solemn sense of duty swell within him. "If you think we require your pity to fight, then you don't understand the weight of our resolve." He exhaled slowly, steeling himself. "You've chosen to insult us further by implying this will be a 'fair fight,' but know that we'll meet you with everything we have, whether you hold back or not."
Mordred's face twisted in pure rage, her pride burning hotter than ever. "You arrogant bastard!" she spat, stepping forward, her hand tightening on her sword. "You really think you can beat us with one hand tied behind your back, huh?!" She shook off the pain from her previous defeat, fueled now by a combination of fury and determination. "Fine! I'll knock that smug grin off your face and show you why underestimating me is the worst mistake you'll ever make!" Her eyes blazed with a fierce challenge, her entire body practically vibrating with the need to prove herself.
Galahad's reaction was subdued, his expression barely shifting. He regarded the Guardian with a cold, appraising look, the faintest trace of disdain in his eyes. "So, this is how you entertain yourself... reducing this fight to some kind of game." His voice was calm, almost clinical, yet there was an undercurrent of irritation in his words. "If that's what you think, then you misunderstand what drives us." He held his stance, unwavering, his gaze unblinking. "You're giving us a 'chance'? Very well. But remember—this is not just a test of skill. It is a battle of will."
The Guardian taunted them with a smug wave of his hand, his tone dripping with pride and deadly certainty. "Then, show me what you're made of. So proud... yet you're about to be beaten so thoroughly that your dignity will shatter beneath me." He gestured toward Mordred, taunting her with a persistent smirk. "Come on, Mordred, I know you've been wanting a piece of me since earlier."
His symbiotic suit peeled back, revealing his face and upper body, leaving himself exposed to their attacks now that his suit wouldn't protect him. His appearance was as godly as his skill—his body bore the scars of previous battles, his muscles honed to perfection after countless trials. Yet, his expression betrayed his enjoyment; he was relishing this fight a bit too much.
The Guardian's taunt hung in the air, resonating with a blend of pride and deadly certainty. His confident smirk and the display of his muscular, scarred form only served to taunt the knights further. Their eyes locked on him, a mix of disdain, fury, and cautious calculation. The vast, crystalline chamber shimmered with ethereal light, casting reflections and shadows across the elegantly structured platforms and suspended bridges surrounding them. High above, the cylindrical apparatus bathed the room in refracted beams of light, pulsing in sync with the tension escalating in the chamber.
Mordred's eyes narrowed, seething at the insult. "You bastard! I'll make you eat those words!" She clenched her teeth, her hands gripping the hilt of her oversized sword. With a fierce battle cry, she lunged forward, her armor clanging as she charged at full speed, crimson lightning sparking from her blade.
In a fraction of a second, Mordred closed the distance, her blade slicing through the air in a deadly arc aimed at the Guardian's exposed chest. But with seemingly minimal effort, he sidestepped, twisting his body with a dancer's grace, avoiding her attack by mere inches. The force of her strike continued forward, the momentum sending a shockwave across the platform, cracking the crystalline floor where her blade struck.
The Guardian chuckled, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Is that all, Mordred? I thought you had more fight in you." He dodged another swing, this time catching her wrist mid-swing with a solid grip.
She grunted, trying to wrench herself free. "Get your hands off me!" Mordred roared, her other hand crackling with mana as she tried to summon a burst of energy through her Mana Burst skill.
The Guardian grinned, pulling her forward and twisting her arm behind her back in a seamless martial lock. "Not so fast," he whispered mockingly into her ear before releasing her with a shove, sending her skidding backward across the polished floor.
Mordred barely had time to steady herself before Lancelot surged forward, his black armor casting dark shadows over his form, made darker by his own seething rage. Mad Enhancement pulsed through him, lending an extra level of ferocity to his attack. With Arondight gleaming in his hand, he unleashed a flurry of attacks, each faster and more vicious than the last.
Yet the Guardian parried each strike, his hands and arms moving in perfect sync with Lancelot's blade as though anticipating every move. The resonance of metal clashing against raw strength echoed through the chamber. "You're strong, Lancelot, I'll give you that," the Guardian said, deflecting a particularly fierce thrust. "But strength without control is just... fury."
Lancelot growled, his words garbled from the effects of Mad Enhancement. He swung even harder, his attacks growing reckless. But the Guardian, calm and collected, maneuvered around each wild swing, shifting his weight to keep himself out of Lancelot's reach while taunting him with subtle movements, letting Lancelot exhaust himself.
As Lancelot's strikes became more frenzied, the Guardian saw his opening. He ducked under a wild swing, spun around, and delivered a precise elbow strike to Lancelot's side. The blow was perfectly aimed, slipping between the joints of his armor. With a grunt, Lancelot staggered back, momentarily stunned.
"Too easy," the Guardian scoffed.
Suddenly, Gawain leaped into the fray, his blade shining with a blinding radiance as the Numeral of the Saint activated, tripling his strength. "Your arrogance will be your downfall!" he declared, his voice filled with righteous anger.
Gawain's blade came down like a comet, the sheer power of his swing illuminating the chamber with holy light. The Guardian raised his arm in defense, and Gawain's blade clashed against his forearm with a thunderous impact that cracked the floor beneath them.
But to Gawain's shock, the Guardian didn't flinch. Instead, he held the blade in place, his muscles straining for just a moment before he forced the sword upward, pushing Gawain back with sheer brute force. "Nice trick with the light," the Guardian sneered, "but that won't save you."
Gawain gritted his teeth, rallying himself for another strike. However, before he could regain his footing, the Guardian closed in, delivering a rapid series of strikes with his fists and elbows that rattled Gawain's armor, each blow timed and executed with surgical precision. Gawain staggered back, his vision momentarily blurred.
Meanwhile, Bedivere, watching the brutality unfold, decided it was time to intervene. His calm gaze tracked the Guardian's movements, analyzing each subtle shift in stance, every pivot. With unyielding determination, he dashed forward, his blade flashing with controlled, precise strikes meant to exploit any opening the Guardian might leave.
But the Guardian's Combat Adaptation skill allowed him to adjust effortlessly, countering each of Bedivere's moves with calculated ease. Bedivere's strikes, though graceful and precise, were met with flawless blocks and parries. Finally, the Guardian sidestepped a downward slash, grabbed Bedivere's arm, and flipped him over his shoulder, sending him crashing onto the floor.
"You fight with honor, Bedivere," the Guardian commented, looking down at him. "But honor alone won't save you here."
Bedivere struggled to his feet, his breathing labored but his resolve unwavering. "Perhaps," he replied, "but I won't fall so easily."
Galahad, observing the fight with a steely gaze, stepped forward, his strength and resolve almost palpable. "You underestimate the strength of our bond, Guardian. Alone, you may be strong. But together, we are unbreakable."
"Unbreakable?" The Guardian sneered, mockingly tilting his head. "Then break."
Galahad charged, his movements fluid yet calculated, aiming to exploit any potential blind spots in the Guardian's defenses. The Guardian met Galahad's strikes with a series of parries, both warriors moving in perfect sync, neither giving an inch. It was a contest of skill and precision, each testing the other's reflexes to the limit.
But with his God of Martial Arts skill, the Guardian began to overwhelm Galahad, countering every strike faster than Galahad could react. Just when Galahad thought he'd found an opening, the Guardian dodged and struck with a brutal knee to his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him and sending him staggering back.
"Looks like even the 'strongest' knight can be humbled," the Guardian said, his voice laced with contempt.
Agravain watched his comrades struggle, his eyes narrowing with a mix of frustration and cold calculation. He raised his hand, summoning the spectral Enforcement Knights around him. The shadowy figures surged toward the Guardian, surrounding him from all sides. Agravain's chains snaked through the air, aiming to bind the Guardian's limbs.
But the Guardian's eyes glinted with amusement. As the chains reached him, he moved in a blur, dodging and weaving between them with inhuman agility. He caught one of the spectral knights by the neck and shattered it with a single, powerful twist. His adaptability rendered Agravain's chains nearly useless as he effortlessly maneuvered around them, mocking Agravain's attempts with each dodge and deflection.
"Pathetic," he sneered, breaking through Agravain's summoned knights with ruthless efficiency.
Agravain growled, his fists clenched as his chains retracted, coiling around his arms protectively. "You may be powerful," he admitted begrudgingly, "but every titan falls. And I will see to it that yours is swift."
The Guardian raised an eyebrow at Agravain's frustrated snarl, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, Agravain, was that supposed to be intimidating?" he taunted, his voice dripping with derision. "All this talk about me being a 'disruptor,' and yet you haven't laid a finger on me. How exactly do you plan on ending me, again?"
Agravain's jaw clenched, his frustration boiling over into rage. His normally calm, calculated composure fractured under the Guardian's taunts, revealing a core of barely restrained fury. Without a word, he lunged forward, his movements aggressive and uncharacteristically reckless, abandoning his typical stoicism.
The Guardian watched with an amused gleam in his eyes, almost pitying Agravain's blind approach. As Agravain's fist shot toward him, aiming to strike his head, the Guardian swayed back with ease, letting the punch graze by mere inches from his cheek. Agravain threw another punch, then a kick, following up with a flurry of swift jabs, each attack fueled by his intense frustration. But the Guardian danced around every move, his body weaving effortlessly to avoid each blow. To him, Agravain's strikes seemed almost in slow motion—predictable and clumsy.
"Is that all?" the Guardian mocked, sidestepping another punch and stepping into Agravain's space, his movements a blur of lethal precision. "I thought the king's loyal lapdog would have a bit more bite."
Agravain let out a growl of pure rage, lunging forward again. But this time, the Guardian was done playing. With a smirk, he shifted his weight and positioned himself into a low stance, his body coiled like a spring, ready to execute his next move. His eyes sharpened, his stance steady as he locked onto Agravain's vulnerable form.
And then, he struck.
In one fluid, lightning-fast motion, the Guardian spun on his heel, launching the first kick of the 3-Stage Hoechook. His foot connected with Agravain's jaw, snapping his head violently to the left with a resounding crack. Agravain's eyes widened in shock, the force of the blow throwing his body off balance. But before he could even attempt to recover, the Guardian spun again, his other leg coming around to deliver a second kick from the opposite side. The heel of his foot smashed into Agravain's head from the right, sending his skull jolting to the other side with brutal force.
The impact of the second kick was devastating. Agravain's vision blurred, his ears rang, and his brain rattled inside his skull from the repeated concussive force, leaving him disoriented and stunned. He staggered, instinctively trying to step back to regain his footing, but the Guardian was already a step ahead.
Seeing Agravain falter, the Guardian smirked, his body whirling around one last time in a rapid spin, gathering momentum like a coiled spring. With perfect timing and precision, he unleashed the final kick, his leg swinging around in a powerful arc that collided with the side of Agravain's head from the opposite direction.
The Guardian's foot struck with the force of a battering ram, meeting Agravain's head with a sickening crunch. The momentum of the final kick, combined with the opposing force of the previous strikes, sent a violent shockwave through Agravain's skull, amplifying the damage twofold. His body twisted in mid-air from the sheer force, his limbs going limp as he was lifted off his feet and flung across the chamber like a ragdoll.
Agravain's body smashed into the ground several feet away, skidding across the crystalline floor before coming to a stop, sprawled and motionless. The elegant chamber, with its shimmering light and grand architecture, bore witness to his utter defeat. The Guardian straightened, dusting off his hands as if he'd just swatted away a mere pest, his gaze shifting back to the remaining knights.
"Anyone else?" he taunted, his voice calm, yet dripping with arrogance.
The five remaining Knights of the Round Table stood in stunned silence, their gazes fixed on Agravain's fallen form. The Guardian hadn't even broken a sweat as he reduced their once-imposing ally to nothing more than a shattered memory. A palpable tension lingered in the grand chamber, the iridescent lights casting haunting shadows across their faces. Each knight's expression reflected the shock, anger, and newfound wariness that Agravain's swift defeat had inspired.
Gawain's fists clenched tightly at his sides, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the Guardian. Despite the Guardian's mockery and overwhelming strength, Gawain's honor compelled him forward. He was a peerless knight, his power amplified by the sacred hours of sunlight streaming in through the chamber's crystalline windows. There was no room for fear, not in his heart. But as he readied himself, he couldn't deny the pang of uncertainty gnawing at the edge of his resolve.
"Knights, remain vigilant," he said, his voice a steely whisper to his comrades.
Lancelot, his eyes blazing with a haunting mixture of regret and wrath, gripped his weapon tightly, his breaths heavy and labored. Memories of his past failures surfaced unbidden, and his frustration swelled. The Guardian's taunts about betrayal had stirred something deep within him. Without Mad Enhancement, he might have had a clearer mind, but the rage it provided was just as useful. He stepped forward, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the Guardian with lethal intent.
"This ends here, Guardian," Lancelot growled, his voice cold and resonant, filled with an almost frightening resolve.
Bedivere's gaze flickered from Agravain's body back to the Guardian, his face a mask of sadness and determination. Ever the loyal steward to Artoria, he felt the weight of duty pressing down on him. Watching one of his brethren fall so swiftly was a brutal reminder of the Guardian's relentless power. But he couldn't allow fear to cloud his mind. He steadied his breathing, gripping his weapon tighter, his compassion now hardened into resolve.
"This... this is for the honor of our king," Bedivere murmured, as if reminding himself of his duty before leaping into the fray.
Galahad's expression was cold, almost analytical as he assessed the Guardian's movements. His purity of heart left no room for emotional wavering; he was driven solely by the need to defend what was right. He observed the Guardian's every motion, his sharp mind calculating, measuring, judging. But even he had to admit—this enemy was a threat unlike any they had ever faced.
"Emotion will only hinder you," he remarked to the others, though his voice was as much a reassurance to himself as it was to them. "Focus solely on the task. This adversary demands precision."
Mordred, recovering from the shock and humiliation of her earlier defeat, clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. Her anger was volcanic, her pride wounded by the Guardian's taunts and his effortless handling of Agravain. The insult about her lack of strength burned in her chest, fueling a savage determination to prove him wrong. She let out a low growl, her voice dripping with venom.
"You think you're funny?" she spat, her body tense, coiled, and ready to strike. "I'm going to pull your guts out!."
The Guardian's lips twisted into a smirk, seeing the rage and resolve on each of their faces. With a casual wave of his hand, he beckoned them forward, as if inviting a child to test their strength. His symbiotic suit clung to him, amplifying his movements with fluid, godly precision.
"Then come on," he sneered. "Show me what the Knights of the Round Table are made of."
The Guardian stood, smirk in place, as the knights surrounded him. His stance was relaxed, almost bored, yet his eyes gleamed with the thrill of the fight. They moved in sync, each one of them driven by the honor of the Round Table. But they were not prepared for what came next.
Gawain rushed forward, sword raised, his body infused with the power of the sun that shone through the chamber's crystalline roof. He swung with all his might, his strike aimed to decapitate the Guardian in one swift, honorable blow. But the Guardian sidestepped effortlessly, his movements smooth, almost graceful.
Before Gawain could recover, the Guardian spun on his heel, his leg snapping upward in a blur. In a precise, diagonal motion, his foot slammed into Gawain's neck from one side, then, almost impossibly quickly, his other leg came down on the opposite side, forming a scissor-like motion around Gawain's throat. The force of the kick crushed his windpipe, cutting off his breath as his armor cracked under the pressure.
Gawain's eyes widened in disbelief and pain as he was lifted off the ground for a brief, brutal moment, his body limp between the Guardian's legs. Then, the Guardian released him, letting Gawain's body drop heavily to the floor, lifeless and still.
Lancelot, overcome with a mixture of rage and grief, didn't hesitate. He lunged at the Guardian, his sword flashing as he struck, aiming for the Guardian's heart. But the Guardian anticipated the attack, shifting his weight and sidestepping to the left. Lancelot's momentum carried him forward, leaving him exposed.
In one fluid motion, the Guardian drove his knee upward, smashing into Lancelot's torso with explosive force—the first Baekdu. The impact reverberated through Lancelot's armor, sending him flying backward with a force that cracked the air like thunder. But the Guardian wasn't done. Before Lancelot could hit the ground, the Guardian was there again, intercepting him mid-air and delivering a second knee strike, this time to his ribs, changing the trajectory of his flight entirely.
Lancelot crashed into a pillar at a twisted angle, his body crumpling upon impact. He attempted to rise, to clutch his weapon and continue the fight, but his body refused. He fell forward, defeated.
Bedivere, ever loyal and compassionate, stepped forward with a grim expression. He tried to maintain a defensive stance, his movements precise and calculated, hoping to counter the Guardian. But the Guardian was faster.
Before Bedivere could register what was happening, the Guardian launched an upward kick, his leg shooting toward Bedivere's chin with devastating precision—the Baeknok.
The Guardian's foot connected under Bedivere's jaw with such force that his helmet was torn from his head, his face snapping back as his feet left the ground. The blow sent him flying upward, his head whipping back as his vision blurred, his mind shattered by the impact.
Bedivere's body crashed back to the ground, his mouth bloody, his noble heart stilled. He lay motionless, his spirit extinguished.
Galahad, the pure-hearted, assessed the Guardian with cold, calculating eyes. He moved in with a controlled approach, relying on his technique and skill to land a blow, believing he could read the Guardian's movements.
But the Guardian had already read him. With a single, fluid turn, the Guardian spun on his heel, his back to Galahad for just a fraction of a second. And in that moment, he executed the Backspin High Kick, his leg arcing upward in a flawless vertical motion.
The kick connected with Galahad's head, brutal and merciless. Galahad's vision exploded into white, his body twisting with the force of the strike as he was thrown back. He hit the ground hard, his vision fading as he struggled to hold onto consciousness. But it was no use; his body succumbed, still and silent on the cold, polished floor.
Mordred was the last one standing, her fury blazing even brighter now that she was alone. She let out a roar, charging at the Guardian with reckless abandon. Her sword swung in a wide arc, aiming to cleave him in two, her pride and rage driving her forward.
The Guardian smirked, his body shifting as he focused all his energy into his leg. He waited until she was close, her guard down from the wild swing, and then he unleashed his final move—the Recoilless Kick.
With unmatched precision, his foot shot forward, the kick infused with every ounce of power he possessed, focusing all his energy into a single, devastating strike. The force of the blow split the air, creating a shockwave that cracked the ground beneath them and sent ripples through the chamber. The very space around them seemed to bend, distorting under the power of the kick.
Mordred didn't even have time to scream. The kick hit her square in the torso, her armor shattering upon impact, as she was launched backward with a speed that defied logic. Her body crashed into the far wall, embedding itself within the stone, cracks spider-webbing outward from the impact. She slumped forward, her spirit extinguished, her pride shattered.
"Hehe... too easy," the Guardian said, his voice dripping with disdain. With a wave of his hand, he destroyed the two dark portals within the chamber. His symbiotic suit wrapped itself around him once again, forming whole. He looked around, sensing the remaining knights at the top of the castle.
"Well, let's pay Waifu Saber a visit," he shrugged, starting his way upstairs with a casual, almost dismissive air.
To Be Continued...