(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)
A Few Minutes later...
Dark Artoria's POV
I stood alone in the dimly lit hall, my grip tightening around Excalibur's hilt as I listened to the sounds echoing through the castle walls. My knights—my loyal, steadfast knights of the Round Table—were being torn apart, their screams piercing the heavy silence like knives. Each agonized cry, each desperate gasp, resonated deep within me, unraveling the strength I tried so hard to muster.
"Hehe... too easy."
The Guardian's voice, dripping with casual contempt, lingered in my mind, as though he were standing just behind me, breathing down my neck. I gritted her teeth, forcing myself to stand firm, though every instinct screamed to run to my knights, to protect them. But I knew—I felt—that the Guardian was moving closer, climbing steadily toward me.
I tried to block out the horrific sounds—the clash of steel fading into pained gasps, the final cries of those who had once sworn fealty to me. Images of my fallen knights flashed before me, each face a painful reminder of my duty... and my failure to protect them. Gawain, Lancelot, Bedivere... each one falling, their noble lives snuffed out like fleeting sparks in a storm.
I steadied her breath, forcing back the dread that threatened to consume me. I was King Arthur, the wielder of Excalibur, but here, faced with this relentless being, I felt a shudder of doubt.
"Stay strong," I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible, as if uttering it aloud might make her fears too real.
The heavy footsteps grew louder, echoing through the corridors, each one drawing him nearer, every sound a taunt. I raised Excalibur, preparing herself for the inevitable, the weight of my responsibility crushing yet unwavering.
I was all that remained.
No Pov
Then she heard it—someone walking toward her. She lifted her gaze, and her eyes narrowed with anger. The Guardian held her youngest knight's head as if it were a basketball, mocking her, doing anything he could to enrage her.
"Sorry," he said casually. "Had to take out some obstacles before meeting you." He paused for a second. "My Queen... Oops, I forgot you have some sort of gender crisis. Or are you over that already? Since you're a Dark and all?"
He tilted his head, his expression shifting into a smug smirk. "Pretty curious when you decided to leave your own story and start ruining others. I wonder what made you crack."
Dark Artoria's grip tightened around the hilt of her blade, her expression darkening as she glared at the Guardian. The sight of her youngest knight's severed head in his hand, dangling like some trivial prize, ignited a storm of wrath within her, but she forced herself to stay composed. Barely.
"How amusing," she replied, voice as cold and sharp as steel, "That you would mock the honor and duty of a knight when you are nothing more than a stray dog barking at shadows beyond your comprehension."
She took a step forward, her gaze never leaving his, her eyes blazing with fury and contempt. "You, who prides himself on being some self-appointed Guardian, yet leave ruin and death in your wake, twisting stories and severing lives, one after the other. You may claim to protect, but you are nothing more than a blight—an outsider grasping at threads you can barely understand."
Her gaze dropped momentarily to the head of her fallen knight, and a flicker of sorrow flashed across her face, quickly extinguished by her hatred. "Do you think you're clever, taunting me with the life of one who followed me with honor? Do you believe this will shake me? No..." She smirked, a bitter, twisted smile. "All you have done is remind me of the pathetic limits of your understanding. You know nothing of me, of what I have become... or why."
She took another step, her armored form emanating an aura of darkness that seemed to warp the air around her, a tangible manifestation of the abyss she'd descended into. "My crack, as you call it, was the inevitable realization that this... hollow, contrived world you and your so-called Guardians protect was never worth my loyalty. I chose the Darkness, and it chose me because, unlike you, I have the courage to see things as they truly are."
Her smile faded, replaced by a piercing glare that could cut through mountains. "So tell me, Guardian, with all your supposed insight, what made you crack? What twisted you into the meddling wretch who revels in playing God over lives you don't care to understand? Or are you just as deluded as the worlds you claim to protect?"
The Guardian scratched the back of his neck. "Sweetie, I think there's been a misunderstanding here," he said as he slowly walked toward her, stopping directly in front of her. "I don't consider myself a god. In fact, I despise being called that. And to be very clear, the only ones doing any twisting here are your kind."
He looked directly into Artoria's eyes, his tone sharpening. "Do you think seeing a Dark kill men, women, and children gives the Darks any credibility? Are you justifying their search-and-destroy approach in stories that people from the real world read and find inspiration in? Sure, some stories are twisted, but to each their own."
He lowered his guard slightly, studying her with a measured gaze. "I may have misjudged you. But as you can see, the Darks have made a very poor impression on me. Very few of them have even been capable of holding a proper conversation... Locking me up for 900 decillion years tends to build resentment, especially when Death kills you over and over again."
He held his position, unmoving, his demeanor shifting to something serious and genuine as he dropped his earlier mocking tone.
Dark Artoria's gaze bore into him, the edges of her fury tempered by something closer to curiosity. His words were unexpected, the mockery stripped away to reveal something almost... genuine. It was strange—this Guardian, with all his brutal history against her kind, speaking as if there were more to his crusade than blind destruction.
"So, you speak of understanding and misjudgment," she replied slowly, her voice low, still simmering with bitterness but now laced with a hint of intrigue. "Interesting coming from someone who has waged a war against us with such single-minded fervor. But maybe I should not be surprised. You're merely human, after all—granted your... resilience." Her tone was cold, but something unreadable flickered in her eyes.
She let the silence settle between them for a moment, taking him in, noting the shift in his demeanor and the intensity behind his gaze. His seriousness, his weariness, even a hint of something like frustration. "Perhaps you truly believe yourself different from the Darks," she murmured, almost to herself. "Yet you speak of 'stories people get inspired by' as if that somehow makes them sacred. As if these fragile narratives hold any true value in the face of reality's cruelty."
She took a slow step forward, almost challenging him with her presence. "You say we destroy worlds, but you fail to understand—these worlds were hollow to begin with, lifeless puppets that obeyed their Authors' whims. Fiction or reality, Guardian, the suffering I've seen, the betrayal I endured... it was real. It left scars no author or storyteller could erase. Do you understand that? My suffering was not a plot device to entertain. It was a prison, and I was condemned to live through it again and again."
Her words were laced with venom, but there was a pain beneath the fury, something raw and old, almost vulnerable. "So, forgive me if I have no sympathy for the sanctity of stories. Your precious real-world readers will go on with their lives. But me? I live with the weight of betrayal, of shattered ideals, every single day. And the Darkness—it offered me a chance to escape that... an existence beyond the puppet strings."
She met his gaze, the intensity in her expression now mirroring his. "So tell me, Guardian, after all you've seen, all you've suffered—what is it you fight for? Is it truly to protect these 'inspirational' stories? Or is it because, in all this darkness, you're just as lost as the rest of us, clinging to some sense of purpose to justify your own scars?"
She would see him genuinely thinking at what she just said, a few seconds passed and he looked around and grabbed two chairs, "Sit down."
Dark Artoria watched him with narrowed eyes, suspicion flickering in her gaze as he set down the chairs. For a moment, she hesitated, as if the idea of sitting with him, of treating this as a conversation rather than a confrontation, was somehow more disarming than the insults or taunts they had traded before.
But then, with a guarded composure, she took the seat opposite him, her posture tense, her expression unreadable. She kept her sword within reach, her eyes never leaving him, as if expecting a trick or a sudden attack.
"Alright," she murmured, settling into the chair but keeping her back straight, her hands resting lightly on her knees. "You wanted me to sit. So talk. Enlighten me, Guardian. After everything, after all you've seen... what is it that keeps you clinging to this purpose? What is it that drives you to tear through Darks like they're nothing but shadows? Because from where I stand, you and I... we're not so different."
Her voice was quieter now, almost contemplative, as if she, too, was weighing her own words. Her gaze softened for a moment, searching his expression, looking for whatever answer lay hidden in those eyes.
"Convince me," she added, her tone edged with both challenge and curiosity, "that there's something worth fighting for in all of this."
His expression was emotionless, as if his earlier psychopathic behavior had merely been an intimidation tactic, his jokes a form of distraction meant to enrage his opponents. None of that remained now; it was as if he had discarded his mask to have a genuine conversation with someone he loathed. Or, at least, with someone whose kind he despised—yet he chose to listen, for once.
"I'm sure you know what it feels like to be taken away from your family, right?" He paused for a moment, waiting for a single reply from her before continuing.
Dark Artoria's gaze flickered, the hardness in her eyes shifting briefly, a shadow of something deeper crossing her face. She held herself steady, but he could see the tension in her jaw, the slight tightening of her hands. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was low, restrained, tinged with something close to bitterness.
"Yes," she replied, the single word carrying the weight of loss, betrayal, and years of regret.
She looked away for a moment, as if to compose herself, before bringing her gaze back to him, her expression once more a careful mask. But the flicker of vulnerability was there, lingering beneath the surface, revealing just enough to suggest that, despite her hatred and anger, she understood.
She saw him sigh audibly, and his symbiotic suit receded, revealing his face. He looked tired—very, very tired. "Before any of this started, I was someone from the real world. Just a normal 20-year-old going through college, hoping to graduate and create video games. But who would've thought I'd be dragged into the internet, become a fictional character, and be chosen as the only Guardian to ever exist because of a war between Darks and Guardians during World War II?"
He paused, his eyes distant. "I'll admit, I was naive—delusional, even. I treated everything like a game because that's how it all seemed at first. Until I met my first Dark. I'll never forget the day I killed children with my bare hands because Vulture had turned them into illusions. And that cycle kept repeating... again... and again... and again. Did you know killing used to make me vomit? I would have anxiety attacks after ripping apart a Dark soldier's head by accident, because I had no choice. At first, it felt so... unnatural... but then it became easy. Too easy."
He looked down, clenching his fists. "I thought I was doing it all for the greater good, saving stories by returning them to their original state—how I remembered them from the real world. But then I realized my own partner, Kara, was turning me into a killing machine. My memories were altered, and I was forced to keep following that path. Eventually, I escaped her grasp... but I was lost. You were right about that, Artoria. I was lost... not once, but maybe four times."
He took a deep breath, his voice softer. "But I started thinking... why should I judge everyone by the actions of one? I admire characters like Superman, the man of hope, of tomorrow. I admired the character I based my abilities on—Spider-Man—for his determination, his courage... his sense of responsibility. At first, I did everything because I wanted to go home to my family. That's still my goal, but it's in the back of my mind now. After 900 decillion years in that prison the Darks left me in, I decided to take on the burden of responsibility."
He looked into the distance, his expression somber. "The responsibility to keep these stories alive. Imagination can be ugly... but it can also be beautiful. Stories aren't just for entertainment—they convey a message. Whether the reader chooses to learn from it is up to them. It's their choice if they want to see a character's journey... to watch them grow and admire what they become. Sometimes, a character becomes an identity, a symbol, a purpose. I chose to move forward, to protect these stories no matter how ugly, because it's important to live. It's important to learn, to imagine, to feel."
His eyes softened as he looked back at her. "Your story was one that intrigued me. Of course, trying to keep up with so many alternate stories from the Fate universe is hard, but I tried my best. You are amazing in those stories. And even as a Dark, you continue to surprise me. I thought you would just be a beautiful woman whose story had ruined her, but I misunderstood you, Artoria. For once in my life, a Dark hasn't threatened my family and friends, but instead... has a conversation with me. One that, so far, hasn't ended with us at each other's throats. For that, I respect you."
He paused, waiting for her reply.
Artoria sat in silence, her gaze fixed on him as he spoke, as if searching his face for any sign of insincerity, any glimmer of deception. But all she found was a man, stripped of the bravado, the intimidation, and the cruelty he had wielded moments before. Just a man who had carried more weight than any soul should bear, whose fatigue ran deeper than physical exhaustion. For a moment, she didn't see an enemy before her, but a kindred spirit, someone who understood the burden of impossible choices, of sacrifices made in the name of ideals.
When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, stripped of its usual edge. "It seems we share more than I expected," she said, her tone measured but laced with something that almost sounded like regret. "I was a king, once—a figure meant to embody hope and strength, to be a symbol for others to rally behind. I sacrificed my happiness, my humanity, even my sense of self, all in the name of protecting a kingdom that was always slipping through my fingers. And in the end, I was betrayed by the very people I gave everything to."
She paused, as if the words she was about to say weighed heavily on her. "I became a Dark because... I had nothing left. My world was lost, corrupted beyond recognition, and I was no longer the king they remembered. I thought—perhaps, as a Dark, I would find purpose again, a reason to keep fighting. But even here, in this twisted form, I've been little more than a weapon, a pawn wielded by powers far beyond me." Her jaw tightened, and a flicker of her old fury returned, directed not at him, but at the forces that had manipulated her.
"You say you respect me," she continued, her gaze hardening. "But respect alone does not erase the scars I carry, nor the weight of what I've done as a Dark. We are both prisoners of our own ideals, chained to the paths we've chosen—or the ones chosen for us. Yet you still fight. You still carry hope, even after everything that's been taken from you. I don't understand it. I don't understand how you can still believe in anything after so much has been stripped away."
She looked down for a moment, as if ashamed of her own bitterness. "Perhaps... I've simply forgotten how." Her voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. "But I still remember what it felt like—to fight for something good, to believe in something greater than myself. I may be a Dark, tainted and corrupted, but some part of me... some small, distant part of me remembers."
She lifted her gaze, and for the first time, there was a glimmer of something in her eyes that was neither hatred nor resentment. "I don't know if I can ever be redeemed, Guardian. But if you truly mean what you say, then show me. Show me what it means to keep fighting, to keep believing, even when everything falls apart."
It was a tentative truce, a fragile understanding born from shared pain and the faintest spark of hope—hope that perhaps, even in the depths of darkness, some light could still remain.
The Guardian listened to her words with a depth of understanding that reached far beyond empathy; it was a resonance, a recognition of shared suffering. For a moment, he closed his eyes, as if searching within himself for the right words, something true that could reach past her pain and into that glimmer she had let him see.
When he spoke, his voice was steady, quiet, and stripped of all bravado. "Artoria," he began, using her name with the respect of someone acknowledging a soul rather than an enemy. "I know what it feels like to be a symbol, to carry the weight of others' hopes on your shoulders, only to watch everything you sacrificed yourself for turn to dust. To give everything... and still feel like it was never enough."
He paused, glancing at the darkness around them as if it were a physical manifestation of the wounds they both carried. "The truth is, I didn't keep fighting because I still had hope. There was a time when all I had was anger and numbness, a sense of duty I clung to because... what else was there? I had lost myself in the battles, the endless cycle of death and blood. My life became a weapon's life—a blunt force striking at enemies, losing myself to the hatred I thought I was erasing."
He looked back at her, his eyes raw with the honesty of his next words. "But I kept fighting because, somewhere along the way, I realized that hope isn't about having a reason to believe, or a guarantee that things will get better. Hope is... a choice. It's choosing, every day, to keep going, to protect what you care about—even if it's only a memory. Even if you've forgotten what it feels like to be whole. Even when the world calls you nothing more than a weapon, a thing, or a Dark."
He leaned forward, looking directly into her eyes, as if to will his conviction into the depths of her soul. "I don't know if redemption is a path you or I will ever walk, Artoria. I can't erase your scars any more than you can erase mine. But I can show you—just as I'm learning myself—that carrying hope isn't about being untainted or pure. It's about choosing to believe in something, even when there's no reason left to believe."
The Guardian extended a hand, not as a gesture of peace but as one of recognition. "You may be a Dark, but that glimmer you just showed me—that willingness to remember the good—is a choice. And if you let it, that choice can be the beginning of something new, something that no force—Dark or otherwise—can take from you. So if you want to understand what it means to keep fighting, to keep believing..." He took a breath, grounding himself in the moment.
"Then walk with me. I'll show you what it means to be more than a weapon, more than a symbol, more than what the world has taken from us. Together, maybe we can both remember what it means to be whole."
His gaze softened, the weight of his words lingering in the silence between them. "Because in the end, Artoria... " he paused, as if letting go of a belief he once had, once again opening his mind for a possibility that maybe this time it would work, "I refuse to believe that even a Dark is beyond hope."
Artoria's expression faltered, her fierce, unyielding gaze dimming as the Guardian's words struck deeper than she wanted to admit. For a long moment, she simply looked at him, her own anger and bitterness shifting, retreating, leaving something vulnerable and raw beneath the surface. The weight of his words, so honest and bare, reached places in her heart that she had long walled off, places that ached with memories she thought she'd buried.
She looked away, clenching her fists tightly in her lap as if bracing herself against the storm of emotions his speech had stirred within her. "You... you speak as though you know what it means to be beyond hope. But you still have it, don't you?" She shook her head slightly, bitterness creeping back into her voice but softened now, tempered with something akin to regret. "I used to believe in that too, in hope and honor, in the light of ideals worth fighting for. But do you know what happened to that hope?" Her gaze returned to him, fierce but laced with a sorrow that had never fully healed. "It was crushed under the weight of betrayal, of endless sacrifice that led only to ruin."
Her voice grew quieter, as if admitting something she'd hidden even from herself. "You can't understand what it means to be a Dark—to have your very essence twisted, warped by the despair and hatred that broke you. It's not simply a choice I made... it's what I became. A part of me was left behind, and this—this emptiness, this darkness—is what remains."
Yet despite her words, she couldn't shake the feeling his sincerity stirred within her. That fractured part of her soul, the part that had once fought for a better world, that had loved her kingdom and her people with everything she was, stirred beneath the layers of bitterness and resentment. She felt it again now—a faint ember, buried beneath the ashes of her despair, fighting to ignite despite the crushing weight of all she had lost.
Artoria clenched her jaw, struggling to suppress that flicker of light that threatened to rekindle within her. "Even if there was something left worth fighting for... I am not the one to protect it. I am not a savior. I am what the world made me—a weapon of vengeance, a shadow of what I once was. I can't walk the path you're offering, Guardian. I can't just—turn my back on what I've become."
Her voice wavered, and for the first time, she seemed uncertain, caught between the darkness she had embraced and the light he dared her to believe in. "But... I will admit, there's something in what you said... something that reminds me of who I once was. Of who I tried to be. You say hope is a choice, but for me, it feels like a distant memory, a dream I can barely remember."
She looked at his outstretched hand, hesitation flickering in her eyes, a silent war raging within her. "If I take your hand, Guardian... if I let you show me this path... then I'm trusting you with a part of myself that I thought was gone forever. And I don't know if I can bear to see it shattered again."
But as her words hung in the air, she realized she wanted to believe, if only for a fleeting moment, that there was something beyond her pain, her bitterness. That perhaps she wasn't as far beyond redemption as she had believed. Slowly, as though fighting against her very nature, she extended her hand toward his.
Her voice was barely a whisper, almost as if she feared her own words. "Show me, then. Show me that hope is more than just a memory."
The Guardian had a genuine smile, "Then... Artoria Pendragon... will you allow me to lead you to a new opportunity, to a new path?" his irises turned neon white for a second, "I promise to not let you down, and for you to once again restore life in those beautiful eyes," he was completely honest and sincere, "You aren't beyond salvation, I know it. Just, allow me to help you..." his voice was almost a whisper.
Artoria looked at him in silence, her expression hardened, yet beneath it, there was a faint tremor, a crack in the unyielding facade she wore. She searched his face, trying to see if this was yet another manipulation, another ploy to twist her resolve. But in his eyes, she saw something else—something that felt painfully genuine.
She looked away, her jaw clenched, her voice barely above a whisper. "You offer a path as though salvation is something I can simply choose. Do you truly believe that a heart as dark as mine, one that has seen and done so much... could ever walk in the light again?"
A brief silence lingered between them before she raised her gaze, her eyes searching his face with the faintest flicker of vulnerability. "But... if there is even the smallest chance," she continued, her voice steadier now, "that I can be more than what I have become, that I can escape this darkness... then perhaps, Guardian... perhaps I am willing to try."
Her hand tightened around her sword, a sign that even this admission was a battle within herself. "But know this—if you betray this trust, if you prove to be like all the others who spoke of hope only to destroy it, I will show no mercy."
The finality of her words hung between them, but the door to something different—something fragile and precious—had been cracked open.
He stretched out his hand to hold hers in the gentlest way possible. "I would never break your trust like that... let me free you from the Darkness..." His expression softened into one of genuine care. "Please..."
Artoria looked down at his hand as it closed gently around hers, feeling warmth she hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. The Darkness within her recoiled, an instinct to pull away, to shield herself from what was unfamiliar, what felt painfully close to hope. Her fingers trembled slightly, caught between withdrawing and remaining within his grasp.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, as if trying to remember the person she once was—the knight who had dreamed of a kingdom built on justice and peace, who had once believed in ideals greater than herself. Slowly, reluctantly, she allowed herself to grip his hand back, her resolve wavering but real.
"I... have wandered in shadows for so long," she murmured, her voice softer, tinged with a fragile vulnerability. "If there's even a fragment of the knight I used to be left within me... then perhaps... perhaps I am ready to let her see the light once more."
Her gaze lifted to meet his, a mixture of uncertainty and determination reflecting in her eyes. "But understand, Guardian... if I take this path, I will not do it halfway. I will reclaim every piece of myself, no matter how painful. And I will hold you to your word, every step of the way."
For the first time, her expression softened, a faint glimmer of trust, fragile and tentative, flickering beneath the surface. "Guide me... and I will follow. But be warned—this will not be an easy path, for either of us."
The Guardian tilts his head, shrugging. "Nothing is ever easy. That's just life," he says, giving her a warm smile. "Welcome to the family, Artoria. You're a Guardian now." He chuckles shyly. "I didn't expect this to happen at all, to be honest. I should've known you would be... special." He sighs audibly but continues to smile.
Artoria looked at him, her gaze steady, yet softened in a way it hadn't been in centuries. For a moment, the weight of her past seemed to lift, replaced by something almost unfamiliar—a quiet hope.
"Special," she repeated, as though tasting the word, trying to remember what it felt like to be seen as anything other than a weapon or a Dark. Her fingers, once tense, relaxed slightly in his gentle hold.
"Family..." she murmured, a bittersweet smile playing at the corners of her lips. "That word feels foreign to me now, but... perhaps, just perhaps, it's something I can learn to believe in again."
Her eyes found his, fierce yet vulnerable, the old Artoria warring with the Dark inside her. "I don't promise perfection. This path—this change—may test me in ways I can't yet imagine," she said, her voice firm. "But I will try. For you, and... perhaps, for the part of me that still remembers what it is to protect."
His symbiote once again covered his face. "Alright, let's go then. Ixtal has been liberated." He took the lead, with Artoria following close behind. "Before we continue, I want to apologize for killing all of your knights... though I'm fairly certain they weren't the same ones from your home dimension. But... I'm sorry... for acting like an asshole, too. It's a tactic I use to piss people off," he added, his voice soft and genuine.
Artoria walked in silence for a few moments, absorbing his words. Her gaze remained steady, but a faint flicker of something softened in her expression, as if the layers of anger and resentment had begun to peel away.
"Apology accepted... Guardian," she replied, her voice calm, yet laced with an unmistakable strength. "Though the path we tread is fraught with blood and darkness, I sense you may truly believe in the possibility of redemption. Perhaps that belief... is something I can come to trust."
She glanced forward, her gaze resolute. "But understand this: I will hold you to your word. I have walked through too many shadows to allow myself to be deceived again. If this path leads me into light... then let it be so. But if you stray..." Her eyes narrowed slightly, a glint of the warrior still fiercely intact. "I will remind you of what it means to stand for honor."
With a final nod, she straightened. "Lead on, Guardian. I will fight alongside you... for now."
He chuckled. "That's like the third time you've said that. Trust me, the message has been heard and saved deep in my brain." He seemed unfazed, showing no signs of deception.
Artoria narrowed her gaze, studying him for a moment, searching for any cracks in his composure. Finally, she allowed a faint smile, the slightest trace of acceptance.
"Good," she replied, her voice steady but carrying a note of guarded hope. "Just remember, Guardian, trust is something that is built, not given. You may think you've won some part of me over, but this... partnership will be tested."
She paused, glancing into the distance as if contemplating a future path yet unseen. "I don't expect this journey to be easy, nor do I expect to find peace overnight. But if you're sincere about redemption, about change... then perhaps there's something here worth fighting for."
He continued walking as she followed close behind. "It'll be worth it. Heck, I'm sure you'll end up teaching me a few things, too. But that's what friends are for—to pull each other up and point out our screw-ups so we don't lose our way." He glanced at the broken gate he had torn open. "The base I was at isn't too far from here," he added, unfazed as he looked over the destruction he'd left on the other side of the door.
The entirety of Ixtaocan was in chaos; Dark symbiotes, knights, and frost giants lay strewn across the city, lifeless. All this destruction was his doing, yet he hadn't even broken a sweat after single-handedly defeating an entire army. Despite the devastation, he seemed almost unaffected, his demeanor calm and genuine. He walked with a relaxed smile, leading Artoria toward his camp in the forests of Ixtal, focused on his mission to help her.
Artoria followed, her gaze lingering on the remnants of the battle he had left behind, eyes tracing over the fallen figures of her twisted knights, the monstrous symbiotes, and frost giants that had once stood as formidable obstacles. In another time, another life, she might have felt something—rage, sorrow, perhaps even guilt. But now, all she felt was a peculiar sense of resolution, a quiet acceptance of what this path demanded.
"To think that I would walk alongside someone who left such ruin in his wake," she murmured, her voice neither reproachful nor admiring, simply... observant. "Perhaps we are more alike than I wanted to believe. I, too, once left paths of devastation in pursuit of a purpose that felt beyond me. Perhaps, this time, that purpose will be something I can understand... something I can truly hold."
She paused, glancing at his back as they moved through the shattered landscape. "Guardian," she said quietly, her voice steady, "I am no stranger to hardship or the weight of sacrifice. So if I am to walk this path with you... understand that I do so fully aware of what it might cost. I only ask that you remember that I am not fragile. Whatever happens—whatever we face—I am prepared."
"I know, Artoria. I'm aware. Don't worry about it—all I ask is for you to do your best. I'm sure you'll do well. Just let yourself flourish."
Artoria glanced at him, her expression softening ever so slightly as she absorbed his words. After a moment, she spoke, her voice steady yet carrying a hint of vulnerability beneath her resolve.
"I will... try. For so long, I've only known one path—one purpose. It's... strange, this idea of flourishing." She looked away, her gaze drifting to the devastation around them. "But if there's truly a chance for something beyond the darkness, a purpose that isn't tainted by blood and loss..."
She met his gaze again, the faintest glimmer of determination in her eyes. "I won't betray this trust you've placed in me."
"Nor will I betray yours. I promise."
Artoria looked at him, her gaze softened, a glimmer of resolve in her eyes. "Then let us both hold to that promise. I will not take this path lightly, nor will I falter. Whatever trials await us, I will face them... alongside you."
The Guardian smiled and kept walking.
This isn't so bad... he thought. He genuinely believed that Artoria would be different from Alpha. Even in her Dark state, she still held such resolve. He had gambled on this choice, never expecting he'd give another Dark a chance. But something was telling him that this time, it might actually work.
And he hoped to God it did, because this time he truly wanted to try—with Artoria. No matter how hard it got.
Who would've thought? That even the darkest of souls could long for salvation.
To Be Continued...