His words stumbled as the dust settled.
Mordred remained unscathed, Clarent in one hand, its red light soaking up the blast's energy effortlessly. The earth below him was unburned, and the city stood intact despite the devastation. Mordred's voice echoed, both calm and taunting. "Is that all? Was that your grand strategy?"
Nathan's visor flickered, his systems scanning frantically for any sign of damage. Nothing. Not to Mordred, not to the city. "Impossible..." he muttered, his voice shaking. "That blast should've... it should've destroyed everything!"
Mordred tilted his head, his tone dripping with amusement. "Destroyed everything? Please. You might as well have thrown a pebble at me. My father's lance was a threat. This? It's just a light show."
Nathan stumbled back a step, his confidence cracking. "No... no one can withstand that! Not even—"
Mordred interrupted with a laugh, taking a slow step forward. "No one? You're looking at someone who can. Your so-called ultimate weapon is nothing to me, Black Knight. All that fancy tech, and you're still nothing but a pretender."
Desperation fueled Nathan's next move as he activated the lance's secondary systems, charging another blast. "I'll prove you wrong!" he shouted, firing again. The air roared as another beam shot toward Mordred, its intensity even greater than the first.
This time, Mordred didn't even raise his blade. He let the energy slam into him directly, the glow enveloping him in a blinding flash. When the light faded, he stood exactly as he had before, completely unscathed.
Nathan's grip on the lance faltered, his breathing ragged. "This... this isn't possible," he stammered. "You're not human..."
Mordred grinned beneath his helm, lowering Clarent to his side. "Now you're catching on. I'm not like you, Black Knight. I'm a knight of Camelot, a true heir to its power. You? You're just a man in a suit."
Nathan's heart pounded in his chest as he took another step back, the realization sinking in. His most powerful weapon—one capable of leveling entire cities—had done nothing. Mordred wasn't just toying with him. He was untouchable.
Mordred advanced, his voice cold and commanding. "Are you done yet, or do you have more tricks to embarrass yourself with? I could use a good laugh before I end this."
Nathan's hands trembled as he raised the lance again, though his confidence was crumbling. "Stay back!" he shouted, his voice betraying the fear creeping into his heart.
Mordred laughed, a deep, mocking sound that echoed through the square. "Or what? You'll scratch my armor? Face it, Black Knight—your story ends here."
Nathan stumbled backward, his energy lance crackling weakly as his armor's systems struggled to compensate for the fight. His most powerful attacks had failed, utterly ineffective against Mordred. Sweat dripped down his face inside the suit, his breathing ragged as fear gripped him.
Mordred, by contrast, stood tall, Clarent resting casually on his shoulder. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Black Knight," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "What's the matter? Realizing that your so-called legacy doesn't mean much when faced with real power?"
Nathan forced himself to stand firm, gripping his lance tighter. "This... isn't over," he growled, though his voice betrayed his growing doubt.
Mordred let out a sharp laugh, stepping forward with deliberate slowness. "Oh, it's very over. But since you got to show off your 'ultimate move,' I think it's only fair I return the favor."
Mordred removed his helm, dismissing it with magic. His golden hair in a loose ponytail revealed, his bright green eyes, burning with fury.
Nathan's HUD flickered with wild readings, and he instinctively stepped back. "What are you doing?" he demanded, though the fear in his voice was unmistakable.
Mordred raised Clarent with both hands, the blade glowing brighter, its light bathing the square in crimson. He began to chant, his voice clear and filled with the authority of a knight who had stood at Camelot's height:
"My hatred shall burn bright!"
"Behold the rebellion forged in blood!"
"Clarent—Blood Arthur!"
The air itself seemed to freeze for a moment, as if holding its breath, before erupting in an explosion of energy. The ground cracked beneath Mordred's feet as Clarent's glow intensified, the blade now a towering beacon of red light. The sheer force of it tore at the surrounding square, sending stone and debris flying.
Nathan stumbled, his visor flashing critical warnings as his suit's systems struggled to keep up. "No... no, this isn't possible!" he muttered, his voice filled with panic.
Mordred's eyes locked onto Nathan, his expression cold and unrelenting. "This is the strength of Camelot, Black Knight. This is what a true heir to the Round Table wields. Now face it!"
With a deafening roar, Mordred swung Clarent downward, unleashing a colossal wave of crimson energy. The blast roared across the square like a tidal wave, consuming everything in its path. Nathan had no time to react as the energy slammed into him, his armor's shields disintegrating instantly under the onslaught.
One moment, the dark night was lit up by an explosion of red light, roaring sounds filled the cool air, and then, nothing. Instantly calm and silence once more descended on the square.
The horse Nathan had flown in on had passed out, the huge amount of magic in the air had caused it to faint from fright.
As for Nathan himself, the famous Black Knight who had once been a thorn in the side of SHIELD and the UK government, nothing remained of him.
His armor, which could easily withstand bullets and great force, had completely disintegrated under the intense heat and power of an A+ ranked Noble Phantasm.
And as for the body inside? That had naturally fared no better, and Nathan Garrett was no more, his legacy had ended. He had faced a Servant in battle, and since he had no magic, he was unable to even harm Mordred.
As the battle came to an end. One by one, the knights of the Round Table emerged from the shadows, stepping onto the rooftops that encircled the battlefield. Having been drawn out by the sounds of battle.
They had arrived in time to see Mordred completely dominate his opponent.
The first to speak was Sir Gawain, his voice calm but edged with gravity. "So, this was the man who dared call himself the Black Knight? A descendant of someone who killed Mordred yet couldn't withstand a single strike."
Lancelot stepped forward, his sharp gaze fixed on the charred remains of the square where Nathan had made his last stand. "Not a trace left of him."
"Not quite." Agravain stepped forward, holding in his hand a sparking lance, half broken and showing off parts of its inside, broken technology visible inside, giving off electrical sparks.
Mordred turned, a look of surprise on his face. "Huh, hadn't thought anything would survive that, I sense no magic from it."
Agravain held the broken lance aloft, inspecting it with a critical eye. "Indeed, it seems to draw its power from modern technology, and it survived because he dropped it, so it wasn't hit by the full force of the blast."
Sir Tristan, perched silently on a nearby ledge, spoke softly, his tone thoughtful. "Technology instead of magic? A weapon without a soul, a tragic sight indeed."
Lancelot stepped closer to Agravain, his sharp gaze fixed on the sparking lance. "This... thing was no match for Clarent. Yet it's still remarkable in its design. They're adapting, even if it's futile against the power of a Servant."
Bedivere, standing at the edge of the square, crossed his arms and frowned. "Yet they clearly do not know of this fact, which might embolden them, like this man, others might think to challenge us."
Mordred smirked, tapping Clarent against her armored shoulder as she eyed the broken lance in Agravain's hands. "Let them try. If they're as pathetic as this one, it'll be over before they even know what hit them."
Sir Gawain stepped forward, his expression calm but grave. "Your victory was decisive, Mordred, but Bedivere has a point. If they don't understand the gap between us, they'll come again, each time more determined, perhaps more dangerous."
Agravain studied the exposed circuits and sparking wires of the lance with cold precision. "And they'll bring weapons like this. While it means little to us due to lacking mystics, it could bring harm to innocents."
Bedivere uncrossed his arms, his tone steady but tinged with concern. "Indeed, while we might not be worried about an attack, all those people outside gathered to catch a glimpse of the king, they would suffer."
Tristan, still perched on the nearby ledge, let out a heavy sigh, his voice low and mournful. "A crowd filled with hope and curiosity, turned into victims of misplaced ambition. A tragedy waiting to happen."
Lancelot's expression hardened as he glanced at the broken lance in Agravain's hands. "And that ambition isn't fading. If anything, this man's failure will serve as inspiration for others to try. They'll convince themselves they can succeed where he fell short."
Mordred scoffed, shifting Clarent to rest against her shoulder. "Let them. If they come at Camelot, they'll find out just how wrong they are. It's not my fault if fools get themselves killed for nothing."
Gawain's gaze fixed on Mordred, his tone calm but firm. "And what of the innocents who might be caught in the crossfire? Mordred, we are not just warriors. We are knights. It is our duty to protect, not just to destroy."
Mordred turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. "You think I don't know that? I fight to protect Camelot, Gawain. But if someone's stupid enough to attack, they're the ones to blame for what happens."
Agravain lowered the lance slightly, his voice cold and calculating. "Still, it would be wise to consider the consequences of another attack. Not for us, but for the people who look to Camelot as a symbol of hope. If we fail to shield them, our strength means nothing."
Bedivere nodded, his expression serious. "Camelot stands not just for power, but for justice and wisdom. If we lose sight of that, we become no better than those who seek to destroy it."
Sir Ector, standing by and seeing as feelings started to get heated, finally stepped forward. "Now, now, let's trust in the king; we shall report what happened here and trust in their decision."
Mordred's grip on Clarent tightened as she turned back to Sir Ector, her voice sharp. "The king gave me this task, Ector. They ordered me to deal with the Black Knight, and that's exactly what I did. If anyone has a problem with it, take it up with them."
Ector held up a calming hand, his tone measured. "I am not questioning the king's command, Mordred. But how we handle what comes next is just as important as how you handled this battle. The world beyond these walls doesn't understand the king's will as we do."
Gawain nodded, his expression thoughtful. "The king entrusted you with this fight, and you fulfilled their order perfectly. But the fallout will be ours to manage. The outside world doesn't see the wisdom behind the king's decisions."
Agravain glanced at the remains of the broken lance, his voice cold and calculating. "All that said, Sir Ector is correct, the King needs to be informed about the situation, it is likely that the unleashed Noble Phantasm was detected by outsiders."
Tristan let out a quiet sigh, his voice soft and tinged with melancholy as he spoke from his perch. "An unleashed Noble Phantasm, visible for miles... It's not just likely it was detected, it's certain. The outside world will already be crafting their own stories about what happened here."
Lancelot stepped closer to Agravain, his expression grim. "And those stories will spread quickly. A weapon of such magnitude, unleashed within Camelot's walls... Even if they misunderstand, they will see it as a sign of our strength—and perhaps of our willingness to use it."
Bedivere's voice remained calm but carried a heavy weight. "We must ensure that the king's intent is clear. This was not a display of dominance, but an act of protection. The Black Knight sought to desecrate Camelot, and Mordred acted as she was commanded."
Mordred glanced at Bedivere as he used female pronouns to describe him, yet given the seriousness of the discussion, he decided to forgive it just this once. "Alright, I'm off to sleep, you guys do whatever."
The knights watched as Mordred turned and strode away, Clarent resting on his shoulder, the weight of the discussion apparently not enough to deter his usual casual defiance.
Agravain's gaze lingered on Mordred's retreating figure for a moment before he turned back to the others, his tone cold and precise. "I must inform the king, I need some of you to repair this place."
Tristan let out a soft sigh from his perch, his voice tinged with weariness. "I'll stay and assist with the repairs. It would be a shame to leave the square in this state—especially with so many eyes already watching us."
Gawain nodded, stepping forward to survey the damage. "I'll help as well. If the outside world is already spinning its tales, it's better they don't see Camelot left in ruins. This place is as much a symbol as the king themselves."
Lancelot crossed his arms, his expression firm. "The square must be restored quickly. It's not just for the sake of appearances—it's for the people within these walls. Camelot must always stand strong, even in the smallest details."
Bedivere glanced at the group, his voice calm but resolute. "I'll ensure the efforts are organized. We'll make this place whole again, just as it was before."
Agravain gave a curt nod, satisfied with their responses. "Good. Make it quick and thorough. I'll deliver the report to the king immediately. They must know exactly what transpired here tonight."
(end of chapter)
Alright, a fight, and an easy one. Mordred is pretty strong, maybe too strong?
In my head, and therefor in this story, Servents can't be harmed by anything without a soul, without mystics, without magic. tech, just won't cut it.
that isn't to say that tech isn't able to work, but it needs more, a nuclearbomb will work, that level of harm they can't survive, but they very much have a passive immunity to normal attacks.
guns, rockets, all that means little to them. instead, it would be better to simply hit them, as a fist, no matter how weak, does have a soul.
so some fights might be easy, while others won't be so. and yeah, this will be powerful early game, but later, even someone like Stark will have to build suits for fighting them.
anyway, that was just me explaining what happened, Nathan had no magic in his lance, just pure tech, and that means it really was nothing more then a lightshow to Mordred, and to Camelot itself, given it was built my the holy lance.
Tech is out! Magic is in!
Evil 0 Mordred 1