"Can't a queen indulge in a bit of sightseeing nowadays?" Morgana spoke through the girl, the body's original owner and a true member of the coven, using her as nothing more than a temporary vessel, a mere puppet to her will.
This girl had once been a low-ranking witch within the coven, too insignificant to even possess a grimoire.
But with little effort and false promises, Morgana Le Fay had ensnared her, turning her into nothing more than a vessel for her will.
A swirling mass of greenish-black energy coiled around the girl's body, a sinister aura that sent shivers through the gathered witches.
Terror gripped them, not only had Morgana infiltrated their sacred space unnoticed, but she had done so by seizing control of one of their own.
"Dammit, Morgana, why are you here!" Agatha's voice crackled with magical energy, her presence flaring with fury.
Sigh
Morgana merely sighed, inspecting her nails with a bored expression, as if the confrontation was nothing more than a tedious formality.
"Oh fine, I'll skip the usual banter and get to the point." Morgana lightly said, frowning at how her new vessel used to chew her nails before looking back at the furious Agatha.
"I think it's about time that me and that little Black Knight, Ricky Luciano, had a talk-"
BOOM
Agatha's eyes burned with a vivid purple glow, the magic seething from her palms, volatile and deadly, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
"Ah, so the rumors are true, he really has ensnared your heart-"
"Watch your next words carefully, Morgana."
Instead of raising her voice in anger, Agatha lowered it, her tone edged with quiet menace, an unspoken warning that if Morgana uttered another word about him, there wouldn't be any more left to say.
"Why are you in my coven?" Agatha's words were laced with quiet fury, each syllable razor-sharp.
The other witches and warlocks shivered, recoiling from the overwhelming killing intent radiating from her.
"Nothing much, but since we have time to kill, why not indulge in a little story time?" Morgana said with a lazy smile, carelessly leaning back in her chair as if the swirling grimoires around her posed no threat at all.
Despite her calm demeanor and the otherworldly nobility that radiated from this rightful queen, a simmering anger lurked beneath the surface, poisoning every word with venom and, strangely enough, the cause of her ire was none other than Agatha.
This anger didn't stem from hate or jealousy, but rather from pure, unbridled annoyance, an irritation so intense it had shattered any schemes that might have unfolded, all thanks to this woman's unwitting interventions.
"So gather around kids, it all started when that unworthy peasant was able to completely tune me out-"
1 year ago,
"HOW DARE HE BAR ME FROM HIS MIND?!" Morgana bellowed, her voice echoing through the halls of her undead castle as she stormed forward, her necrotic butler, Jenkins, trailing obediently behind.
"ARGH!" Morgana roared in fury, swiping her hand through the air and sending his head flying clean off, her foot stamping against the ground with a force that shook the chamber.
"Your Majesty, I do not mean to intrude upon your inner conflict, but our spies within Agatha's coven have informed me of a connection between the Black Knight and Agatha," Jenkins explained, his body calmly strolling over to his severed head and with a practiced motion, he brushed off the dust before placing it neatly back onto his shoulders.
Within the magical world, to those privy to its most ancient truths, one of the most well-known tales is that of the fall of Camelot.
It is said that Britain's mightiest kingdom was torn asunder by countless foreign invaders, which is true, but history conceals the true account.
Camelot did not disappear; it was not razed to the ground and forgotten as the chronicles claim and instead, it was transported.
In a final, desperate act, King Arthur sacrificed his life to move the entire kingdom of Camelot to the otherworld, and with it, he brought Morgana.
Yet, though the war may have ceased within the borders of Britain, it is said to have raged on within the confines of Avalon.
However, due to Morgana's constant attempts to stir conflict and unrest, Merlin cursed her to remain bound within the castle walls, encased in unbreakable spells.
Should she ever attempt to leave, it is said that death would be her only companion.
Her only means of influencing the outside world while trapped in her confinement was through her astral form or possession.
In these ethereal states, Morgana could reach beyond the castle walls, manipulating minds and weaving subtle webs of influence, though always at the cost of her own energy and tethered existence.
"They're ensnared, correct?" Morgana's head snapped toward her butler, her eyes flashing with a fierce green as determination seeped into them.
"Not yet sire, but soon they will." Jenkins dutifully said, bowing in a full ninety degrees to satiate his master's ego.
"Good, good." Morgana assessed the situation as salvageable, pacing for a moment before heading in a distinct direction.
"Notify me when they've been ensnared. We must make preparations."
Within her confines, Morgana's preference for possession over astral projection was a matter of necessity and desire.
As a mere astral form, she could only observe the world, unable to engage, interact, or shape it.
It was a passive existence, and one Morgana found intolerable.
To truly bend the world to her will, she needed to inhabit it, to touch it, to twist the minds and bodies of those who would serve her but possession, the preferred form, however, was far from simple.
Being trapped in another dimension, Morgana could not simply force herself into a body.
The barriers between her and the physical world were too strong, too carefully woven and instead, she had to work in a far more subtle, insidious way.
She lured her targets with promises of power, whispers of forbidden strength that tempted them into reaching out to her.
These promises, sweet and alluring, planted seeds, tiny fragments of her essence, within them.
As the targets gave in to her influence, the seeds took root and each time they used the power she offered, the seeds burrowed deeper into their bodies, like roots weaving through flesh and bone, slowly claiming them.
The more they relied on her power, the more the seeds grew, intertwining with their very essence.
Over time, these roots would reach a point where they could no longer be ignored, where Morgana could finally take full control of the vessel she had cultivated.
It all served a purpose, a grand design that had driven Morgana's every move, and the reason she had been relentlessly chasing the Black Knight for so long.
The only thing capable of breaking an unbreakable spell was a weapon that could cut through anything.
Coincidentally, the only weapon that could shatter her spell and release her into the world was the Ebony, wielded by the Black Knight.
For centuries, Morgana had been trying to free herself, each attempt thwarted, each failure pushing her further into frustration.
But with every defeat, her resolve only grew stronger.
However, a new challenge arose when she finally ensnared the first witch from the depths of Agatha's coven.
When Morgana took possession of these women, her immediate goal was clear: she would seduce Ricky and assert her control through direct, intimate connections.
"Excuse me?" Morgana asked innocently, her voice sweet as she emerged in the vessel of a cute witch, walking toward Ricky while he swung his sword.
"F*ck off." Ricky, deep in the zone, didn't even register her presence, so focused on his training that he barely noticed her and simply tried to swat away any flies with his vulgar words.
Morgana, however, wasn't bothered at all and instead, she smiled to herself, her eyes gleaming as they locked onto the Ebony blade in his hands.
"Could you help me?" Morgana asked, biting her lip as she lowered her chest, subtly accentuating the witch's cleavage, her gaze fixed on him with a determined intensity.
Ricky, however, scoffed in annoyance and turned away, irritated by the interruption to his training session.
But as soon as he saw the woman before him, a woman who fit his usual taste, his attitude shifted instantly, and a sleazy smile crept onto his face.
Leaning on the blade, Alexander slicked his hair back and flung his tiny arms up in frustration, shouting furiously at him though it only registered to Morgana as squeaks.
Yet, Ricky remained unfazed, tuning out the angry outburst as he focused on his own thoughts.
"How you doing?" Ricky chuckled, his gaze fixated on her cleavage but as he soaked in the moment, his ear twitched, and he turned his attention to the side.
"Can't you just-"
"I get it but-"
"Dammit Alexander, fine." Ricky, being berated by his stubborn mentor Alexander The Great, relented to the demand to refine his skills before turning back to Morgana.
"Hey, baby, how about you let me finish up my training, and then you'll have me all to yourself?" Ricky stretched his sleazy smile wider, unabashed in his gaze and Morgana, however, thought to herself that this was almost too easy.
"Don't keep me waiting too long~" Morgana purred, licking her lips as if already savoring the sweetness of freedom, watching him nod his head and then turn back to his training with a renewed determination.
However, Morgana had been too reckless, accumulating enough power and assuming it would be sufficient.
What she failed to account for, though, was Agatha.
Who at the time, was still grappling with her own feelings for Ricky and had unknowingly been watching him through an orb to try and understand what it was that arched within her heart.
However, this subtle stalking made her bear witness to this entire scene and before Morgana could act, a portal appeared behind her with a hand outstretched through it.
"Alright, baby, where did we leave off, huh?" Ricky, finally finished with his training, turned back to the scene and scanned the surroundings.
"Hey where did you go?"
If you recall from earlier chapters, it was mentioned that three witches mysteriously disappeared after attempting to hit on Ricky.
Well, every one of those witches had been possessed by Morgana.
"Wait what are you-" Morgana, through her possessed form, suddenly realized the situation as she turned around, only to meet Agatha's hollowed-out eyes, coldly staring back at her.
SNAP
Within a split second, Agatha snapped the vessel's neck with the flick of her finger, completely unaware that it was even Morgana possessing this witch.
Then, as if the spell cast on Agatha had finally broken, she suddenly realized the weight of what she had done as she looked down at the witch, the full extent of her actions dawning on her.
It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, and what's worse, she had almost expected something like this to happen.
Agatha knew Ricky's sleazy ways; how he slept around, how he shamelessly flaunted his debauchery, and she'd convinced herself that she didn't care.
After all, having him bound to her through their children's matron should have been enough.
But despite his other lovers, despite his lecherous behavior, something about another woman from her own coven being with Ricky deeply unsettled her, it irked her in a way she couldn't quite shake.
If it had to be described, it was a sense of control.
Agatha couldn't control most things in their tangled relationship, but she could at least control one thing: no woman in her coven would dare step out of line.
Though none of the witches would ever dare cross her, it was an unknowing vow.
"Yes, that's the reason why I'm acting like this," Agatha muttered to herself, her voice low and almost soothing as she tried to convince her own mind.
"This coven is mine, and I don't want my things being tainted by Ricky." Agatha continued to dig, her movements mechanical, as the limp, lifeless body of the witch lay next to her, the weight of her words not quite matching the dark, obsessive intent simmering beneath.
Agatha didn't even need to dig the ground, she could have used magic, but the physical act of it helped her push her mind away from the gnawing truth that she was lying to herself.
It gave her a temporary sense of control, a way to distract from the deep turmoil within.
Yet, it was through this very, unknowingly self-imposed vow that a series of events unfolded, with Agatha inadvertently thwarting Morgana's plans time and time again.
What started as a single buried witch turned into two, and then three.
Agatha dug a pit, her hands coated in dirt, and sealed Morgana's possessions within it, ensuring they were buried deep and out of reach.
With each witch she buried, she unknowingly dug her way towards the realization that she wasn't doing this out of control, but in reality, towards her own jealousy that would later be converted into love.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT-.....THAT B*TCH!" Morgana roared, her fingers gripping her hair in frustration.
Agatha hadn't just trapped her possessions, she'd tortured them before dismantling them and burying them, each act a deliberate insult to Morgana's carefully laid plans.
"No, calm down, Morgana, you are the rightful queen, you must keep your composure and go slow."
So she did. Morgana followed through with the steps, ensnaring another witch, but instead of interacting directly with Ricky, she devised another plan.
She intended to gather enough power within this vessel to forge a connection, one that would solidify her control.
However, things didn't go as she expected as it sent her spiraling into nightmares, into that nightmare.
Even in the future, Morgana would still feel dread when recalling that memory, that void, and the emptiness that consumed her mind which was the reason she was forced to her last option.
"A direct confrontation," Morgana shrugged, now reduced to her last resort in real time, looking at the embarrassed Agatha.
However, the witches and warlocks had started to admire Agatha, mistakenly believing she was able to deduce Morgana's possessions and sever them with ease.
"If I can't enter his mind, then a conversation will suffice. And if you refuse, well, I'll detonate this vessel," Morgana revealed, her voice laced with cold determination, forcing their hand and making everyone in the vicinity flinch with unease.
Agatha gritted her teeth, the magic around her crackling with intensity, reaching its zenith.
Yet, as her own words echoed in her mind, the energy faltered, wavering like a flame caught in the wind.
The path Morgana had chosen to reach Ricky was nothing short of dramatic, but there were reasons for her calculated approach, two, in particular.
First, Ricky had grown too formidable for conventional interference as although he wasn't invincible, he had ascended to a level where Morgana could no longer impose her influence upon him as she once might have without risking her own life.
Second, Morgana had been carefully observing Ricky, scrutinizing his demeanor and the way he carried himself.
But what she found from these observations was startling compared to her inherent perceptions of the Black Knight.
At first, she dismissed it as coincidence, but over time, she could no longer deny the truth: the blood of Percival does indeed run through Ricky's veins as the resemblance was unmistakable, yet they were polar opposites in every other way.
The reason long-lived individuals, who had endured centuries, found themselves so profoundly unsettled upon encountering the current Black Knight was rooted in the legacy of the title itself.
Over generations, they had become accustomed, almost desensitized, to the unwavering righteousness and justice that every Black Knight seemed to embody.
It was as though these traits were woven into the very fabric of their recognition of this mantle, an unbreakable thread of virtue passed down through time.
That's why Ricky was such a revelation, a shock to their core whenever a long lived being who had encountered the Black Knight, encountered him.
He defied everything the Black Knight was supposed to represent.
His presence challenged the sanctity of that legacy, upending centuries of expectation.
For those who had come to view the Black Knight as an eternal symbol of integrity, Ricky was an anomaly.
But it was from that anomaly that Morgana actually realized this would be the best way to reach him, this confrontation, this direct interaction, and it was exactly where she had come to now.
"He's busy-"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Morgana clicked her tongue, a laugh escaping her as she reveled in the foolishness before her.
"Do you think I've merely taken hold of this body? No, I know for a fact that the Black Knight has had some downtime recently, with nothing pressing on his plate. And that is exactly why I'm here." Morgana revealed, having occupied this vessel far longer than anyone here had once thought.
"From what I've heard, he doesn't seem busy at all-"
BAM
Ricky stumbled into the room, skidding across the floor and tumbling forward before catching himself.
Having fallen off Chastefold since he wasn't all that inept at riding the spear at such speeds without falling off once or twice.
"F*cking hell~" Ricky mumbled, rubbing his ass as the Ebony blade scoffed at his side.
"That's what you get for using such an inferior weapon-ON GUARD!" The Ebony blade remarked, almost pouting, before its senses picked up a faint energy signature.
Ricky's eyes immediately locked onto the hilt of the sword, his grip tightening as the Ebony blade's tone reminded him of Dracula.
A strange, buried instinct surged within him, his eyes darkening, pupils overtaken by shadows.
Before registering the scene around him as he froze in place as his gaze landed on the scene before him, the air around him grew thick with tension.
"Oh sh*t, is this an intervention-" Ricky, having been in this situation way too many times than he should have, first asked since absolutely hated these.
"Hello, Black Knight," Morgana hummed, her voice dripping with sweetness, the tone so smooth it made the Ebony blade hum in response, vibrating with an intensity that matched the underlying threat.
"Uh, hello, random witch," Ricky said, his tone casual, unaware that the seemingly insignificant magic she emanated was, in fact, Morgana's presence, something he'd never encountered before.
The only form Ricky recognized was the one from his dreams, the image that had haunted him during a particular period of his life.
But the only reason it lingered in his mind was the frustrating mystery of not being able to look under her skirt.
'No, Ricky, that is Morgana. I can recognize that trace anywhere,' the Ebony Blade spoke sternly within his mind, but Ricky only scrunched his brows, his confusion deepening.
"Then why isn't she smoking hot like the sexy chick in my dreams? Is this some sort of weird puppet magic-"
"Possession, you see, I am trapped in Otherworld and the only means of entering the physical world is through possessing a body." Morgana gestured, chuckling sweetly at the indirect complement as Ricky tapped the blade on his shoulder.
"Bummer." Ricky mused, casting his eyes off to the side only to see Agatha glaring at him as he immediately started whistling, averting his gaze to the other side of the room.
"So, let me guess, you're here to drag me into some stupid conflict you've been fighting forever, right?" Ricky laughed, casually pulling a chair over and sitting in front of her, as Morgana's eyebrow twitched in irritation.
"If you are so careless as to describe it that way, then yes, I am," Morgana replied, leaning back with an air of regal authority, her form radiating power that would normally intimidate anyone else.
But to Ricky, who saw himself as a sovereign in his own right, a queen's authority held little sway.
"But before we begin this exchange of words, I would kindly inform you that this vessel is more of a bomb than a mere possession," Morgana said, the corner of her lips curling into a sly smile and Ricky, unfazed, crossed his arms, eyes narrowing as he studied her.
"And I know it's rash to just waltz in here unannounced, but it's been so troublesome trying to get ahold of you," Morgana said with a lighthearted tone, her words dripping with arrogance. Ricky, momentarily taken aback, raised an eyebrow.
It had been a while since anyone had underestimated him so blatantly, but he didn't complain.
"Well, I'm a busy man," Ricky sighed, his voice casual as he slowly began to wrap Morgana in layers upon layers of psychic barriers.
Each layer stacked on top of the last, creating a dense cocoon around her.
He didn't rush, giving her the floor to speak, but his focus was already on stalling, buying time to assess and counter whatever her next move since the coven was of vital importance to the future of the Luciano family.
"But may I first congratulate you, for not only slaying with Dracula but receiving the Ebony Blade blessing." Morgana politely informed him, showing her appreciation as Ricky side-eyed the blade.
This had been true since although anyone from his bloodline could wield the blade, only a few had actually received its blessing.
In fact, Ricky hadn't really noticed it since this part of his system never changed, but he had received two new titles and two revised ones.
Black Knight: The Ebony Blade, which has only ever recognized one Black Knight before you, now acknowledges you and all that you represent through your binding agreement.
-Effect: Without any skills or powers, a slither of consciousness will always remain within the Berserk state.
Mutant Jesus: Through his selfish actions, the user has unknowingly disrupted the course of fate and civil rights for Mutants, setting a dangerous precedent for a marginalized group that was not meant to gain such rights until decades later.
-Effect: All Mutants will now always have a minimum of 20 favorability and will never reach lower
Deadbeat→Responsible Scumbag: You might be trash, fathering bastards throughout different women with a scummy proficiency, but at least you look after your own.
Prodigal Son→Prodigal Kingpin: Your rise to power has solidified your reputation, drawing immense attention and even greater expectations.
–Effect: Underlings and rival mobsters will expect you to maintain their standards of success and dominance. Failure to meet these expectations will bring harsh judgment, undermining your authority and placing you at the mercy of their criticism.
The other three titles came through Ricky's usual escapades, but the Black Knight title was different, it wasn't something he just received, it was something he earned.
From the beginning, despite their differences, Ricky had chosen to honor the agreement to sever the bond.
Behind the scenes, he had quietly asked the coven to look into a way to break the connection, and Agatha had actively been searching for a solution.
For the Ebony Blade, a weapon that had been tricked and used for centuries, trust wasn't easily given.
The Blade had seen betrayal after betrayal as it had been passed through many hands, often taken by force, or thrust into the hands of those it knew wouldn't value its true power.
With every act of misguided promises and directed hatred towards it, the Blade's capacity for trust shrank, and the bond between weapon and wielder became more fractured as the generations continued.
It had long since stopped seeing itself as an instrument of war and more as a pawn, used by Percival's bloodline, all of them finding their own ways to ridicule its power that derived from their own inherent bloodlust.
It was this deep-seated wariness that delayed Ricky's recognition.
But over time, as he not only made the promise but also demonstrated his unwavering commitment to it, the Ebony Blade began to lower its defenses.
It was then that the walls around it started to crack, and the hostility that had once defined their relationship began to fade, allowing Ricky to finally earn its acknowledgement.
"Well, we came to terms-"
"What terms?" Morgana asked, her curiosity barely concealed. She caught herself, quickly reining in her eagerness, but the glimmer of interest in her eyes betrayed her.
"Nunya."
"Nunya?"
"Nun-ya business," Ricky chuckled, earning a few snickers from the crowd of onlookers as Morgana's expression darkened, her frown deepening as she glared at him, clearly unamused by the joke.
Morgana held tightly to her queenly poise, her posture regal, her demeanor imperious, and held back the clear annoyance for being scorned by those she considered lowly.
She sought to project an air of superiority, as though she were untouched by the petty matters before her.
And yet, her eyes betrayed her, a flicker of uncontainable malice sparked at the mere thought of being spoken down to and gazed around with clear hatred.
'Still the same as ever,' The Ebony Blade murmured, its voice heavy with disdain as it observed the sorceress, the woman who had been thwarted time and time again by its wielders across the centuries.
Too proud, too stubborn to evolve.
It was ironic for the blade to have such thoughts, but even this mere sword had developed its own character throughout the centuries.
But Morgana refused to confront the possibility that the fault might lie within her, that her failures were not the result of external forces but the outcome of her own unwillingness to adapt or acknowledge her flaws.
Instead, she clung to her pride of the ruler she never truly was, unable, or unwilling, to change.
'She hasn't changed-'
"Let us get down to the matter-"
Suddenly, both the Blade and Morgana began speaking to him at once, their voices clashing in his mind.
Morgana's words came sharp and direct, while the Blade's tone was more measured, yet filled with a centuries-old weight.
Ricky was suddenly swept up in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, the torrent of words disorienting him as they all demanded his attention at once.
"Stop, stop, stop, stop." Ricky waved his hands immediately, halting the outflow of words in there tracks.
"I have no idea what either of you are saying, but when a magical talking sword is rambling in my head and a goth chick possessing a witch's body is yapping right in front of me, it's pretty much impossible to keep up." Ricky held up his hand, laughing at the sheer absurdity of his own words as both of them fell silent, momentarily pursuing their respective lips.
'Honestly, I should feel offended at your word choice, but considering your extensive and crude vocabulary, I'm actually honored you referred to me that way.' The Ebony Blade was more surprised at itself for admitting this, but after enduring countless creative insults from Ricky, it found a strange sense of pride in rising above the usual descriptions.
"Goth? What is a Goth?" Morgana inquired, her tone sharp with curiosity, the term foreign to her.
Ricky, caught off guard, pressed his lips together, searching his mind for a creative explanation that might satisfy her antiquated understanding.
"Well," Ricky began, drawing out the word as he tapped into his extensive and colorful vocabulary,
"It's basically like a chick who's got some serious daddy issues. They can't quite get over that hurdle, so they cover it up with dark and scary stuff. But deep down? They're as soft as butter and just need someone to churn it-"
"RICKY!" Agatha gave a sharp reprimand, blushing and cutting him off before he could finish.
Morgana froze, caught off guard by the assumption that struck right on the nose as she opened her mouth as if to respond but promptly shut it, momentarily at a loss for words.
"And, you know, if we really start getting into it, I've been thinking about sh*t like this a lot lately, mainly because, well, I'm a piece of sh*t who has daughters." Ricky gestured animatedly, fully diving into the conversation while everyone else remained too stunned to interrupt.
"So, I'm thinking the best way to handle this is, I don't know, guiding them? Like, if I support them but stay firm enough to steer them away from sh*tstains like me, then maybe I can avoid those kinds of problems-"
BOOM
"HOW DARE YOU WASTE MY TIME WITH YOUR FALSE PRESUMPTIONS!" Morgana seethed, her fury radiating as she felt utterly belittled while Ricky, however, simply held up his hands, unfazed.
"Woah, I didn't mean to strike any nerves-"
"YOU?! Strike my nerves?" Morgana scoffed, quickly reeling herself in as she realized she had lost control of her temper and laughing at the mere thought, she straightened her posture.
"No nerves were struck, I am merely informing you of your failure to properly describe me." Morgana stood up, pointing at Ricky as he frowned and side-eyed the blade.
'Is she-'
'Yes.' the Ebony Blade interrupted, anticipating Ricky's question and answering before he could even ask, prompting him to nod.
Taking a deep breath, Morgana steadied herself, her gaze locking onto Ricky with a newfound resolve.
"Young Black Knight, I have come here today to make a proposal." Morgana raised her gaze, her regal presence filling the room as she stepped into the realm of negotiations.
As she spoke, Shadow Broker, almost instinctively, unbuckled his briefcase and retrieved a sheet of paper, readying himself for what was to come.
"Well, if you came here cause of that knight crap, about me serving you or whatever, then you can forget it." Ricky leaned back with a sigh, preferring to have these negotiations over a candlelit dinner with desert being Morgana herself.
"But I wouldn't be against you trying to change my mind over, well, I don't know, maybe a candle-lit dinner
"Ricky." Agatha's eyes were cold at this point, prompting out a laugh from Ricky as if it was a joke.
"No, young Black Knight, I am here to propose a partnership." Morgana rested a hand on her hip, smirking as Ricky tilted his head, curious yet cautious though his eyes were still staring at her cleavage.
"Like the sexual kind-"
Slap
Slap
"What is wrong with you!" Agatha started playfully hitting Ricky, who laughed, dodging each attempt at his face with ease as the moments stretched on.
"Oh come on, it was a joke-"
"Urgh!" Agatha grunted, marching into the crowd as Ricky sighed, waving his hand dismissively while glancing back at Morgana.
"She'll be alright, just got a lot on her plate," Ricky said, easily seeing through Agatha's angry facade.
Knowing that this situation, combined with the coven's integration into Staten Island and the responsibility of raising two kids, was a lot for Agatha to handle.
The constant pressure to maintain order, control, and respect, while simultaneously raising her children, who she wanted to shield from this life, was slowly wearing her down.
Every decision, every misstep, felt like it could tip everything over, and there were days when it felt like she was losing herself in the process.
Ricky could see it in the way her shoulders slumped, the tense jaw, the fire in her eyes slowly dimming.
Ricky was doing his best to lighten the load, but he knew there was only so much he could take off her shoulders.
"Anyways, I already know what you're about to do, you're going to hit me with your pitch on why I should partner with you, right? So go ahead, hit me with it," Ricky said, already anticipating Morgana's next move after seeing her show up.
It was clear that Morgana had her own agenda, wanting to use Ricky for her own gain, but Ricky knew that if he was going to entertain this, he'd have to find a way to turn the tables and use her to his advantage as well.
"Have you ever heard of the fairy tale about the sword and the stone?" Morgana asked, her eyes narrowing as Ricky shrugged, clearly uninterested.
"Yeah, of course." Ricky said dismissively, the tale being so ingrained in western culture that most knew of the myth even if they didn't have any interest in it.
"Well, it is true, which I'm sure doesn't surprise you, considering I stand before you," Morgana said, gesturing to herself with a slight smirk playing on her lips.
"Yeah, I kinda put two and two together." Ricky bobbed his head, crossing his arms and letting out another small sigh.
"There is a different side of the story-"
"Of course there is, why wouldn't there be?" Ricky laughed, rubbing his mouth as an ironic smile spread across his face as his tone was laced with sarcasm.
"Everything here has to have f*cking layers, like some sort of onion. It can't ever be like a carrot, where you just cut to the point." Ricky lamented, his annoyance clear as he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by how everything seemed to need extra depth when all he wanted was the straight-up truth.
'A carrot?' The Ebony Blade asked, unable to really understand as Ricky frowned, turning to the blade.
"What? It was a spur of the moment thing but it kind of makes sense, right?" Ricky pondered out loud, turning towards the surrounding witches and warlocks who shrugged their shoulders at it since it honestly didn't matter.
"May I continue?" Morgana asked, her tone measured as she waited for Ricky to stop speaking. Ricky waved his hand dismissively, signaling for her to go on.
"Yeah, knock yourself out."
Ahem
"To first understand-"
Morgana Narration:
I was not born in the age of Camelot, in the age of heroes, but rather, at the end of a pivotal moment of this world.
I was born from the island known as Avalon, one of the islands birthed by the sinking of the mythical land of Atlantis.
I was not born in the age of Camelot, in the age of heroes, but rather, at the end of a pivotal moment of this world. I was born from the island known as Avalon, one of the islands birthed by the sinking of the mythical land of Atlantis.
As the custom went, Morgan was taken to be trained at the House of Virgins to serve as Avalon's sea-princess, within the great sun temple of the Crystal City on the volcanic island of Ruta. The women were given in marriage to men of the sacred clan for magical purposes, forbidding Morgan the love she sought.
A young priest, Myraddin, was warned of the upcoming and long foretold catastrophe that would occur.
The ancient priest of the sun entrusted Myraddin with his secret scrolls, and with his daughter Igraine.
Myraddin and Igraine rushed to the House of Virgins where they took Morgan, and flew on a merchant ship from Tingail, as the remaining islands of Atlantis were drowned by great tidal waves caused by the eruption of the volcano.
They ended up on the Isle of Britain, where Myraddin changed his name to Merlin and established his druid worship in Stonehenge. He arranged for Igraine to marry Gorlois, Duke of Tintagel, who adopted Morgan. Gorlois was killed by Uther Pendragon, who took Igraine as his queen.
She gave birth to a son, Arthur Pendragon.
But at that moment in time, I did not hate my brother nor despise him.
But once I reached that age, I knew that I couldn't do it.
Merlin, for all his wisdom and power, was blind to what was right in front of him and he would never love me, not truly, because he was obsessed with Arthur and the legacy he was meant to create.
Arthur was the one who held his heart, the one Merlin saw as his greatest achievement, his purpose.
He always babbled on about how he was this child of prophecy, meant to become the greatest king that humanity had never known.
However, this obsession with the prophecy grew darker with each and every year that passed, until it started spiraling out of control.
Merlin's obsession with Arthur's legacy, with the destiny he believed the boy was meant to fulfill, consumed him in ways that became not just unhealthy but dangerous.
It wasn't just about guiding Arthur or protecting him anymore, it became about making sure everything, every detail, every moment, aligned with the prophecy, as if the fate of the world rested solely on Arthur's shoulders.
But the change didn't occur with just Merlin.
Arthur, too, was swept away by this relentless tide forced upon him not only by Merlin, not only by his round table, but by his own people.
As the years passed, his righteousness grew more rigid, the burden on his shoulders increased, his convictions hardened by the weight of his crown and the expectations placed upon him.
The idea of prophecy became a gilded cage around them both, and neither of them saw how suffocating it was becoming for Camelot, especially for me.
As Arthur rose to power and took the throne of Camelot, the entire kingdom was pulled into this frenzy of belief that the once and future king was the key to Britain's salvation.
And that's where everything started to unravel.
When Arthur decided to convert Britain to Christianity, I felt that pull, that force I couldn't ignore.
This wasn't just about religion, it wasn't about beliefs, it was about erasing the very essence of the land, the ancient ways that had existed long before Christianity ever touched these shores.
Merlin had become so blinded by Aruther sense of destiny, his obsession with fulfilling the prophecy, that he couldn't see the damage he was causing to the very land that had nurtured us in place of our fallen home.
Britain was a place of magic, of ancient beliefs, and turning away from that to embrace a foreign religion felt like a betrayal.
I couldn't stand by and watch as my homeland, my people, forced to abandon their old ways, abandoned the rich tapestry of beliefs that had existed for centuries.
I had to oppose it.
And so, when I protested the conversion to Christianity, I found myself standing against my half-brother, the man I had once cared for, the man who had become the king of Camelot.
But I was ridiculed, shunned, and altogether pushed to the extremes by Merlin, who saw me as another hurdle in his way.
However I was not noble in my pursuits, I shall admit it, but a ruler cannot be completely and wholeheartedly just.
These people, these unreliable people who only looked up to my half-brother to fix every single one of their problems, were unknowingly killing him.
They clung to him, to his every word, like he was some kind of savior, a perfect figure whose mere existence would heal all the wounds of a broken kingdom.
They placed their hopes and dreams in his hands, demanded solutions from him, but they failed to see the weight they were pressing down on his shoulders.
Arthur, the shining beacon of Camelot, was not invincible as he was just a man, burdened with the expectations of a kingdom that demanded too much from him.
The more they adored him, the more they relied on him, the more they drained the life out of him.
But the worst part, the truly heartbreaking part, was that Arthur, my half-brother, the once hopeful king, wanted to live up to those impossible expectations.
He wanted to carry the weight of every single soul in Camelot, to bear their hopes, their dreams, their endless demands.
He sacrificed himself time and time again, pouring himself into the very thing that was slowly consuming him.
He tried so hard to be the man everyone needed him to be, the symbol of perfection, of strength, of unwavering honor.
He became a martyr in his own right, but no one, not even Arthur, could withstand that much pressure.
Camelot would only fall into ruin, and I saw it coming.
The signs were too clear, the cracks too wide but it wasn't the kingdom's fault, nor was it the people's.
It was the burden of an ideal, an unattainable fantasy that was choking the life out of the one person who was supposed to uphold it all, it was this foul prophecy.
So, I did what I knew was right. I joined forces with Mordred, Arthur's nephew, and his bastard son, to overthrow Camelot.
I aligned myself with those who understood the futility of the dream Arthur was trying to chase.
I will also admit that I coveted the power of the queen, my rightful position, since I had all the bearings to become a good ruler, not perfect, but good.
I had the strength, the will, and the knowledge to lead, to command, and to build something lasting.
Yet they saw me as vile for it.
They saw me as a villain for wanting what was mine by birthright, simply because they couldn't understand the difference between ambition and tyranny.
But what ruler is supposed to be kind?
What ruler is supposed to be beloved?
A queen must be firm, unyielding, and above all, ruthlessly strategic.
Kindness is a luxury for those who don't hold the weight of a kingdom on their shoulders.
If I had been kind, I would have let Arthur continue on in his miserable state.
I would have allowed him to bleed himself dry for their sake, for Camelot's sake, all the while condemning himself to a life of pain and sacrifice.
But alas, I failed, because of your ancestor, Sir Percival and with that failure, I had to watch my own brother face armies of beings I couldn't even fathom at the time.
It destroyed him, literally.
But what's most ironic, what truly stings, is that when he transported Camelot, he transported my entire army along with me in it, just as I was once again trying to take over the kingdom.
But I didn't waver, I counted my pursuits, enduring each failure, and I was thwarted time and again in my efforts to bring ruin to Camelot.
And so, I was imprisoned, trapped within the walls of Castle Le Fey with nothing to comfort except my own defeat, my own cage.
End of narration:
Even after Morgana finished speaking, Ricky's skill, Whisper of Falsehoods, picked up on a buried sentence hidden within her words.
It didn't work all the time, but every now and then, the skill would unearth a line buried beneath layers of truth, carrying with it an emotion that lingered, too.
'An otherworldly power lies with its ruler, at the nexus of Otherworld, at the nexus of Camelot.'
"Honestly, I should've expected it," Ricky thought, knowing that if he were in Morgana's shoes, he'd probably do the same thing.
But the difference was, he was on the other side of the table now, the 'good side' as Lucky would call it.
The side where you had no reason to take a step forward unless it benefited you and that's why the other side of the table would always need convincing.
"So, what's the deal?" Ricky got straight down to the point, watching with an amused expression as Morgana wiped away her fake tears.
"If we succeed, not only will you receive a kings reward for my ascension to my rightful throne, but also the ebony artifacts-"
"Errrrrrr, wrong." Ricky made a buzzer sound, mimicking the sound of a game show, catching Morgana off guard after seeing through her lie.
"Well, it is true that I do not possess all of them, but I do possess the Ebony Chalice." Morgana raised her gaze, her eyes locking with Ricky's, who clearly had no idea about the other ebony artifacts. She couldn't help but smirk at his blank expression.
"Wait, there's more than just the Ebony Blade?" Ricky asked, glancing at the blade, which remained silent as he could almost feel its sigh echoing in his mind.
'They are my siblings, but they are mere trash, except for the occasional time my sibling Shield proves useful,' The Ebony Blade muttered with a slight distaste as Ricky frowned, feeling like he should've been told that earlier.
The Starstone, an ancient and otherworldly material, was primarily used to forge the legendary Ebony Blade, a weapon of unparalleled power and dark allure.
Once the blade was completed, the remnants of the Starstone were repurposed into other significant artifacts, each imbued with a fragment of its mystical essence.
Over the centuries, some of these items were melted down, reshaped, and reforged, their by-products giving rise to what would come to be known as the Ebony Artifacts.
Among these were the Ebony Shield, the Ebony Chalice, and the Ebony Crown.
'What does the chalice one do-'
'It lets you see all the possibilities of one task, but it usually cripples the drinker's mind, since the toxic nature of it overloads the brain,' the Ebony Blade informed Ricky, speaking as if it were a trivial matter.
'But the problem was that-....how you say, my sibling didn't come out quite, right?' The Ebony Blade spoke, unable to find the exact words to associate with his sibling.
'Is it like retarded or something?' Ricky chuckled in real time, looking at the blade who let out a deeper sigh.
'To gaze into the spectrum, one had to be immersed in it. And since magic always demands a price, Merlin never understood its true nature until it had already taken shape.' The Ebony Blade explained, knowing that second to him, the chalice was actually the second most powerful of the four, it's just that the ego from the spectrum made it the worst.
'That's hilarious.' Ricky thought, wondering what the others were like, but his expression was misinterpreted by Morgana.
"So, do we have a deal?" Morgana extended her hand, her expression calm as if she already knew the outcome, while Ricky slowly stood, eyeing her hand with a measured glance.
Sigh
"Listen, you're hot and everything, but I already got enough baby mama drama on my plate, and I don't need any more right now," Ricky said, shrugging and waving his hand dismissively before he stopped himself.
"Alright, fine, I do want more, but I'm just busy at the moment. Maybe later." Ricky rejected Morgana's offer without really rejecting it, knowing that he shouldn't have more but literally couldn't help himself.
"W-Wha-"
"Listen, with the Luciano family, my fledgling business, and my own family, I got a lot of stuff I'm dealing with." Ricky cut her off, his plate already full as he tried to figure out how to properly digest everything.
This wasn't a light matter but a serious issue Ricky was dealing with.
Ricky already had so much on his plate that it was beginning to affect his training, something Alexander was quick to criticize him for.
Training, which usually offered limitless growth, had hit a wall and Ricky felt trapped, unable to push past the limits that now seemed to define him.
Understanding martial prowess came naturally to most, and for Ricky, it had been relatively easy, at least until the time came for him to create his own unique form.
Following an established path was one thing, but forging his own?
That was a challenge he hadn't anticipated, something that was causing him to constantly tumble down towards the bottom at each and every climb.
This was the next step in their training before Ricky could truly flourish, but even Alexander found himself stumped by his disciple's wide array of skills that lacked a distinct identity.
Ricky was proficient, even skilled, at following established methods, but when it came to forging his own path, he struggled.
The concept of creating his own trail left him feeling uncertain and unmoored, unable to fully grasp what his form should embody.
With his growing arsenal of abilities and weapons, Ricky found himself overwhelmed, a powerhouse without direction.
He was undeniably strong, but his strength lacked focus or refinement.
It was raw, untamed, like a massive rock used to smash obstacles rather than a blade honed to precise and devastating efficiency.
At this crossroad, Ricky realized that power alone wouldn't carry him forward; he needed clarity, purpose, and, most of all, a way to transform his potential into something truly formidable.
But he didn't know what it was he wanted for himself, which was the hardest part of making something for yourself.
"But the chalice-"
"Listen, I was just told by his sibling that he's retarded, and I especially don't need any of that on my plate." Ricky laughed, waving off the powerful magical artifact since he could literally put three out of mid-air, right this very second and this exact nonchalance caused Morgana to flinch.
Her gaze trailed down to the blade, now sheathed, aware of its subtle affliction as she knew its power, but she also understood that it would cripple Ricky.
In her mind, she never imagined the blade would sway him against something that would surely kill him, but what she hadn't realized was that the Ebony Blade didn't harbor the same animosity for Ricky as it had for its other wielders.
That realization struck her in that moment, taking her by surprise and derailed any sort of process she thought she might have had.
"Y-You get along with the Ebony Blade?" Morgana was almost at a loss for words, looking upon Ricky as if he was some rare mythical creature himself.
"Uh, I guess." Ricky spoke, realizing he'd forgotten that they weren't always at each other's throats anymore.
When The Ebony Blade wasn't trying to drive him into an unrelenting murder spree, it was actually pretty chill.
The Ebony Blade wasn't unruly or attention-seeking and rather, preferred the peaceful life of seniority.
As long as Ricky placed it in a garden or near a radio, it literally never complained.
'I do not mean to intrude but can you hurry up, my radio show is about to start.' The Ebony Blade spoke to Ricky, knowing that it was almost time for Amos 'n' Andy.
Amos 'n' Andy was a groundbreaking radio show that aired from 1928 to 1960.
Created by Freeman Gosden and Charles Correll and had the series follow the comedic adventures of two African American characters, Amos Jones and Andrew H. Brown, voiced by the white creators.
The show was immensely popular, particularly in the 1930s and 1940s, and had a cultural impact, though it also became controversial for its reliance on racial stereotypes but that was in the later years.
However, that was just the warm-up, as the Ebony Blade had a peculiar fondness for listening to Amos 'n' Andy before tuning into the hit radio show Flash Gordon that followed.
'I can understand missing Amos 'n' Andy but I shall not, I cannot not, EVER, miss an episode of Flash Gordon, you must make haste!' The Ebony blade almost roared in Ricky's mind since the next episode, titled 'Epic 13', would finally be broadcasted after constant writing delays.
"Anyways, see ya." Ricky shrugged her off, walking away as Morgana went to chase after him.
DINK
"What?" Morgana asked, not fully aware of Ricky's mutant ability but more focused on his sword. She had forgotten about the barrier he wielded, one that didn't rely on magical energy which made it impossible for her to detect without being cognisant of it.
Even then, the only reason she couldn't sense it was because she was too caught up in her own hubris. If she had truly made an effort, she would've realized it.
Ricky's stalling had allowed him to become more comfortable with the psychic layers surrounding her as Agatha walked back over.
It took some time, but through subtle hints, Agatha finally grasped what she needed to do while pretending to grow annoyed and then quietly set about, fetching materials to trap Morgana.
"Do you think that this will stop my power-"
"Uh, yeah?" Ricky turned back, aware that this vessel needed to be on the level of Dracula, but even then, his mind had grown stronger.
This wasn't enough to breach his barrier, something Morgana's vessel clearly wasn't capable of.
"You dare-"
"Oh cut the sh*t Morgana, you need me." Ricky let out a cynical laugh, spreading his arms with a sleazy smile since she had no ground to stand on.
"You need all of this and then this." Ricky gestured to himself, really taking the chance to rub it in her face before gesturing to the Ebony blade.
"The first rule of negotiations is to know who holds the cards and you ain't got'em sweety, you're bluffing." Ricky cackled, backing away as she angrily gazed at the departing figure of this miscreant.
"But you're not an idiot. You could've easily started some shit in the coven, but you didn't, because you must've realized I'm not like my white knight ancestors. I don't care for stupid sh*t like justice." Ricky paused at the doorway, knowing she wouldn't dare burn the bridge she was trying so hard to build.
"After talking to you, I know that you don't want to make me your enemy. Two, you need me to help you. Three, there are things you're hiding that I'd probably want, which is why you're not saying anything. And four, you're smart enough to realize that making me an ally is easier than an enemy, so you won't deny it, because I'm literally your only option until someone else takes up the mantle, aka, my kids, BOOM!" Ricky completely and utterly shocked Morgana, leaving her stunned, because in all accounts, he was right and flaunted this deduction since it was sort of his first.
Morgana stared at him, utterly stunned, as she watched him celebrate gaining the upper hand on her, all while he air-thrusted in the air.
For all her years of scheming and manipulation, no other Black Knight had ever engaged her so directly or even expressed interest in her quest for this long.
They either dismissed her outright or pursued acts of righteousness that would benefit others.
But this was different, this was unprecedented, and here stood the unmistakable, a Black Knight not driven by blind justice but with an unsettling selfish awareness and for the first time, Morgana felt truly outmaneuvered in such a unique way.
It was alarming.
What threw her even more was how Ricky had, until this moment, come across as little more than a bumbling fool, comically unfit for the weight of the role he now bore.
And yet, his words struck her with precision as he actually understood the gravity of the situation far better than she had anticipated.
This wasn't about power or personal gain for him; it was about something much more intricate, and that left her at a rare loss for words.
It was about himself and no one else.
"How long do you need?" Ricky asked, glancing over at Agatha, who had finished setting up her Wiccan circle.
"I won't be able to tweak the vessel internally, but I can reinforce the tainted body with witch spells that will prevent any chances of an explosion. So, thirty minutes," Agatha said, notifying him of the complexity of Morgana's magic but knowing she could do this much, prompting Ricky to nod in understanding before turning to Morgana.
"Listen Morgana, it's been fun but I'm kinda busy doing other stuff." Ricky winked at her, waving goodbye to Morgana before completely turning around.
"But after, you can't be a bomb. Please, enjoy yourself in New York. The coven will host you," Ricky said, giving his permission for her to venture out within his territory as long as she doesn't blow sh*t up.
The witches and warlocks all looked at Morgana, who gnawed at her lip at how this was turning out.
Everything wasn't going to plan, as it always seemed to go with this man. What's worse, the one foothold she had with the Black Knight was crumbling.
She could cultivate another vessel, true, but that process would take far too long, and Morgana didn't want to start over.
Yet, her power wasn't enough to overpower Agatha's with this current conduit, leaving her feeling cornered.
'Fine, I have my ways.' Morgana reluctantly accepted the spells binding her vessel, preventing it from becoming some kind of magical bomb and simply deciding to go about this another way.
Watching Ricky leave the building, a mix of frustration and determination building within her.
"What is so important that it must carry on from our conversation?!" Morgana yelled at his back, her frustration bubbling over and Ricky paused at the doorway, turning back with a casual smile that only seemed to fuel her anger further.
Although Ricky had claimed he was going to join the army and enlist in the officer program in preparation for the upcoming war, there were two vital requirements.
The first was a recommendation, which he would receive from the president of the United States himself.
The second was, at a minimum, a high school education paired with a degree to go along with it.
"I gotta get ready to graduate."
"I, Morgana Le Fey, went out of my way to personally sit down with you, and you're turning me down for some education?" Morgana's voice dripped with disbelief and frustration as she confronted Ricky, her eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and confusion.
"Yeah, kind of." Ricky thought about it for a moment, shrugging as he shook his head going to leave once more only for Agatha to turn her gaze to him.
"Are you just going to leave?" Agatha asked, baffled at his sudden readiness to take off as Ricky sighed, ducking his head and turning around.
"Well yeah-"
"What are we supposed to do with her, she's Morgana Le Fey?" Agatha, along with the rest of her coven, turned towards Ricky who didn't see the big deal.
"There right Black Knight, I stand at the pinnacle of witchcraft, the epitome of-"
Snap
Ricky snapped his fingers, almost muting her within the barrier as she flinched at the act while he turned back towards Agatha.
"But she isn't that powerful-"
"But she infiltrated my coven, broke the rules, and has repeatedly shown she won't stop until she gets what she wants," Agatha said, her voice trembling slightly with frustration as she tried to explain the situation to Ricky.
Although Morgana aimed to build a bridge with Ricky and join forces to achieve her goals, that ambition didn't extend to the others, especially not to New York, and certainly not to her coven.
"Alright, fine, fine." Ricky held up his hands, showing his surrender before walking up to Morgana.
"Listen, don't hurt the coven or any of my people or-"
"Ricky, seriously, that's it?" Agatha interrupted him, hearing his half-assed order and frowning.
"This really isn't my area and you always tell me how you'll handle coven business, I really don't know what you want me to do," Ricky said honestly, knowing how upset she got whenever he inserted himself in coven matters.
"I-" Agatha opened her mouth but found the fault in her own words, trying to figure out what she wanted before lowering her gaze.
"Please, Ricky, for me?" Agatha looked up, revealing that softer side of herself that only surfaced around him.
To the witches and warlocks, she was the tough, hardened woman who tortured those who crossed them, but with Ricky, she let down her guard.
Sigh
"Alright, give me a second."
10 minutes later,
Having left, it was hard to say no to that level of sincerity from Agatha and Ricky decided to go all out, which is why Asteiron was walking with him.
"Asterion here will make her swear on the River Styx, but he wants to be shown around the coven since you guys never let him in." Ricky tapped Asterion's mighty shoulders, fixing the problem but keeping a cautious eye on the excited minotaur as he looked around.
"Such a fascinating culture!" Asterion couldn't help but explain, uncaring about Morgana Le Fey who immediately became on guard once her eyes graced the minotaur.
"I accept the terms, the coven will graciously welcome Asterion for this favor." Agatha nodded her head, seeing no problem in showing Asteiron around the inner workings of the coven they kept hidden from foreigners.
Agatha eventually finished the sealing, with an on-guard Morgana staring daggers at Asterion, who, unfazed, started talking to Ricky to pass the time.
"No, no-"
"But Murphy's-"
"Asterion, I love ya man, but if you say Murphy's has the best pizza, then I'm gonna lose it." Ricky scoffed, his expression souring as he looked away in utter shame, unable to even glance at Asterion.
"It's Italiano's and it's not even a debate," Ricky shrugged, fully confident in the truth, as if it were one of the commandments of the Bible, if he had any say in it.
"I've finished," Agatha wiped the sweat from her forehead since only she could inscribe such advanced runes onto this powerful witch's vessel.
To put it in perspective, it was like carving complex, intricate sentences of literature into stone with nothing but a dull butter knife.
"Now, do you swear on the river styx-"
"Wait buddy, she's really crafty so you go to really make it clear that she can't just sabotage stuff in my territories, do it like with Elias." Ricky realized, turning towards Asterion and mentioning as the minotaur nodded.
"Very well, then I shall make it full proof."
30 minutes later,
"And if you agree to all of that, swear upon the River Styx," Asterion smiled warmly, his words flowing with such precision that no blade could match their sharpness, the only possible rival being the Ebony Blade itself.
Even that formidable weapon, usually so confident in its cutting remarks, was left momentarily stunned by the sheer depth of Asterion's tirade.
In his eagerness to finally explore the inner workings of the coven, Asterion had gone completely overboard with the promise, his words overwhelming not only the bystanders but also Morgana, who stood frozen with fury, her body quaking in place.
Although the conduit would bear the brunt of the consequences, Asterion had worded his oath in such a meticulous way that the repercussions would leave Morgana incapacitated for decades if she even considered breaking it.
The only escape would be a precise act of self-destruction, carried out in a specific location and at a specific time, details all meticulously outlined by Asterion himself.
"Do you think this is over?" Morgana's voice was low, her eyes slowly lifting to meet Ricky's gaze, locking with his as she stared at him.
Ricky, unflinching, raised his gaze to meet hers, a silent challenge passing between them.
"Honestly, yeah." Ricky had a smug smile, knowing that not even he could find some stupid way out of Asterion's wording but he didn't need to, he was on this side of the table.
"I, Morgana Le Fey, will most definitely get what I have always desired, and for that reason, I swear." Morgana's eyes were deadly, yet firm, as she surprisingly agreed to his terms and despite her distaste, Ricky was right, she couldn't throw away this opportunity.
For the first time, there was a chance to use the Black Knight to her advantage rather than simply failing to kill him and claiming the Ebony Blade.
But that didn't mean Ricky would get his way, she would make sure of that.
"This isn't over!" Morgana called out to him, watching him finally walk out the door as he released the mental barriers around her.
"Uh-huh," Ricky appeased her, uncaring as she yelled behind him while Asterion, grinning from ear to ear, looked over at Agatha, who sighed but couldn't help smiling too and beckoned him to the side.
'I will claim my place atop Camelot's throne, whatever it takes, no matter the cost.'