The Pendragon #2
The event was taking place in an enormous field, everyone who attended split into three main groups: Group A was based at castle ruins; Group B was based in a grove to the southeast of the castle; and Group C was based at an outcropping of boulders with a hidden natural well in the center to the southwest. Together, the three groups formed a perfect triangle.
No doubt that would be relevant later. Community battles like this always had a finale with some great big flashy moment of might or magic.
The last one he'd participated in had required everyone to plug into a giant laser cannon to give it enough power to blast an alien mothership to smithereens.
Power was greatest in threes. No part of this was coincidence.
As friends were faintly, but clearly, highlighted in crowds like this, it was easy to find the pair, already in the heat of battle against the horde of various monsters coming in from the sky and surrounding woods, the first wave of an army of terror serving their multi-headed dragon overlord.
Any other day, as an ordinary person again, Lancelot would have loved this.
"There," Gwen said.
Lancelot followed where she indicated, looking over the pair they'd been seeking. "They're not him. Mark them off."
"How can you be so sure?" Gwen asked, her tone one of pure curiosity, not a trace of doubt.
"A feeling. It's strange how varied it's been.
I looked like me and had essentially my own name.
Merlin looked exactly the same but had a different name.
Dred used an avatar that looked nothing like them and had a different name.
Morgan was herself through and through. You and Gawain looked yourselves, but you kept a variation of your name, while Gawain's current legal name is wildly different.
If I had to guess, I would say Arthur will be more like Dred: neither the appearance nor the name will resemble his. "
"Noted. The next one is this way; looks like we'll have to do quite a bit of fighting to reach them."
"Can we still exit the game if we wanted?"
After a moment of testing, Gwen gave a nod before falling into step a short distance behind him, leaving it to Lancelot to muscle through the throngs of allies and enemies, occasionally using her magic to strengthen his defense or call up vines to slow down an advance.
He marked off the next two just as quickly, wishing he could say what made him so confident but unable to define it. He just knew.
A new, different deafening roar filled the air, followed by another, and then another. Enormous winged monsters came down from the clouds, still crackling with rainbow lightning, hints of the waiting beast visible in holes and shadows.
These monsters must be mini-bosses, or possibly not even that, but something leading up to that. These events were meant to be enormous and ridiculous, after all.
"Lancelot! I can't leave the game anymore!" Guinevere said.
He drew his sword as the monster assigned to their group approached.
It had at least a dozen leathery, black and red wings, each one with a hook at the end.
A crown of horns jutted from its head, and in place of fingers it had long, oversized talons that glowed at the tips.
It was twice the size of an average person, wearing only a long, flowy black tunic, the front of it embroidered with a many-headed dragon.
A quick scan of his bestiary only resulted in a whole bunch of question marks, which was typical. Dismissing it, he called up his shield as well. "Where's our next candidate?"
"Far south end of the crowd, on the fringes. Seems to be directing a bunch of people."
"That sounds promising. Stay close and be careful."
"Of course."
Lancelot joined the fray as the angel/demon/whatever drew close enough for the fight to officially begin.
Protective magic washed over him, barriers against physical and magical harm, the kinds of spells that a new player shouldn't have yet, unless that player was friends with an enthusiastic hacker who made certain they had all the perk packages he could think up.
The monster—demon? He was pretty sure it was meant to be some sort of demon—threw out a wave of scarlet light.
Lancelot lifted his sword and cast out his will, bringing the rain into a solid sheet that disrupted the flow of it, saving countless players, leaving only a smattering with injuries easily recovered from.
He cut down a handful of minor assailants, using the ever-deepening puddles of water to his advantage, dismissing his armor as the deluge brought his scales to the fore.
Onward they went, fighting through the horde and holding back the worst of the demon's attack, giving space for the other players to attack it properly, working through the crowd until—
"That's him," Lancelot said immediately.
Gwen's brows rose, staring at the woman he pointed to. "Really?"
Lancelot smiled faintly. "Imagine if Morgan and Merlin had a child."
"Oh, my god," Gwen said. "You're right. Of course that's his avatar. That absolutely adorable sap. Sending flare now."
She lifted her ye olde flare gun and fired, and for a moment the space right above them was filled with brilliant green light.
He got a burst of acknowledgements but kept his focus on the fight, battering his way through foes that seemed to grow and grow, and a demon that suddenly seemed to be focused on him more than anyone else.
"You won't be killing me today," he snarled, throwing out his arms, casting a spell of repulsion that drove everyone around him away, following that with a burst of aggro to force the demon to focus on him to the exclusion of all else.
After that, with everyone out of his way, the fight was easy. This wasn't like his first fight, or the one with Maleagant's sisters. This was a monster, pure and simple, and its only purpose was to slow him down.
Easy.
It was still pouring down rain, which gave him an advantage no one else could beat, not when it wasn't Galehaut and Lancelot couldn't risk killing him.
The demon dropped into a steep dive. Lancelot held his ground, and at the last moment threw his shield and torrents of water, sending the demon tumbling off course to slam into a nearby wall that was all that remained of the castle curtain.
Before it could pick itself up, he ran for it and thrust his sword right through its left eye all the way to the brain.
Yanking his sword out again, he flicked the blood off it and turned to face his next challenge—and froze as he realized that none of his friends were around. Not even Guinevere.
Fuck. He was stupid. The demon hadn't been slowing him. It had been distracting him.
"Fish boy!"
Relief washed over him at the sound of Dred's voice, and he turned and watched as they came racing across the field toward him. "You're still here, thank fuck."
"What happened? I was fighting off one of those demon things and then everyone was gone."
Everyone everyone, even the other players. Maleagant had completely isolated them.
"Shadows," Dred said. "Took them all one by one, then all the players. I think our swords are helping us."
Wouldn't be the first time. They couldn't protect against the full weight of Maleagant's shadow magic, but something like this? Yeah. If he was going soft and subtle, it wouldn't stand against the great swords.
"Help! Someone help me!"
A woman came tumbling-running-stumbling from behind the rocks, chased by a figure that looked like the classic idea of a ghost but entirely purple-black. Dred threw out a hand, fire shooting forward to consume the shadow as Lancelot grabbed the woman and pulled her between them.
"Arthur," he said quietly.
The woman frowned. "What? Who's Arthur? My name is Henry."
"Of course it is," Dred said. "Give it to him."
Lancelot pulled Excalibur from his storage, as they'd decided he was the best to carry it, and handed it to her. "Take that. You're going to need it very shortly."
"I hope," Dred said. "Please be less stubborn than Gwen about waking up."
"Is this part of the ga—"
Her words were drowned out by the deafening, echoing roar of the many headed dragon as the clouds were seared away into nothing and it descended from on high. It's scales were dark gray with a metallic rainbow sheen. "Fuck."
"Water and flame," Dred said.
Lancelot didn't bother to voice agreement, simply stripped off his clothes, held Arondight tight, and let the water have him.
Scales, elongated fingers ending in claws, kelp-strewn hair—his usual form, a child of the waters who had first been born of the earth. What many people had mistaken for a mermaid, though he was nothing like them, far deadlier and nastier.
This time, though, he kept pushing, screaming as bones snapped and muscle tore, blood spilling as his body reshaped and remolded—and grew.
In what felt like a mere moment and an eternity, he rose up transformed, a great serpent of fangs and spines and venom.
Nearby, causing the rain to hiss and steam, was an enormous black gryphon with wings of fire, its enormous claws raking up the earth.
Powers of last resort, as they were draining and dangerous, but what choice did they have?
Dred launched into the sky with a roar of their own, though it was drowned out by the overwhelming noise of the dragon.
This could only be Kinborough, the final sister.
Ethelfleda was the deadliest, Amphelise the cruelest, and Kinborough…
Kinborough was the most reckless, willing to do anything and everything asked of her.
Like succumb to a spell that turned her into a terrifying dragon of impossible size and might, tearing the sky apart with lightning and thunder.
The lightning, free of the clouds that had shielded it while the rest of the battle carried on to thin the herd, didn't just break and burn everything it touched—it destroyed it completely, leaving only ash.
In the sky, Dred dodged and spun. On the ground, Lancelot countered with water and dexterity, taking every chance to rip at any head stupid enough to dip in just close enough.
But it was a losing battle. There were too many heads, and all of them too large, for even an enormous fire gryphon and a great serpent of the depths to take.
The point wasn't to win, though. The point was to buy time, to give Arthur a chance to escape, or for one of the others to break free long enough to get Arthur themselves.
He screamed in agony as he misjudged a movement and red lightning tore through him, leaving a long wound curving from his side to his stomach. Thankfully, the lightning also cauterized the wound, and Lancelot went right back to the fight.
Injured now, he was slow, and it wasn't long before he was struck again. And again.
A cry of pain filled the air, and then Dred landed heavily next to him, twitching but otherwise not moving.
This was it then. Hopefully Caliburn and Arondight would go to new wielders, keep the triad of great swords intact. It wasn't the only triad that would break with their deaths, but it was by far one of the most powerful.
The dragon landed with world shaking force, and if not for the storm it would cast shadows greater than the tallest buildings. Lancelot lifted himself up as best he could, because he would be damned if he met his death lying down.
Two of the heads came flying, mouths open—
—and reared back screaming as the air was filled with blinding, golden light.
As some of his pain faded, Lancelot managed to rear up properly, coiling around himself and lifting his head to look around, heart racing with hope.
Nearby, Dred picked themself up, wings snapping out, the left one no longer broken as Lancelot was sure it had been.
As the gold light faded, it coalesced into a brilliant, gold-scaled dragon as large as Lancelot and Dred.
The silver serpent. The black gryphon. The gold dragon.
Roaring, the dragon shot out more beams of searing golden light, like rays of the sun harnessed to his will.
Kinborough screamed as the radiance shredded her before she vanished with a rush of magic and a cracking boom, leaving the three of them alone in a barren, war-torn field.
Light spilled from the dragon like water poured from a cup, and Lancelot fell into it gladly, letting the magic overtake him, shrinking back down and into himself, this time free of the agonizing pain.
As the light faded again, it revealed the three of them, back in their clothes and armor, black and gold and silver.
This time, though, Arthur looked like himself, swarthy skin and springy gold curls, sharp, close-shaved beard, and a smirk that had made more than one person want to punch him. "Took you long enough."