There was, in those early days, and even now, a fear.

We lost what we had before, and the youth only had our stories. Years hidden in the dark, and all I can tell them is that one day, we belonged on the surface. I feel sad for them. They’ll never know what we had, never know what was stolen from them.

Some of them think we deserved it, that this ‘Goddess’ which had brought the fire saved us for ourselves?

Life was fine before so many died. And now we have to hide in these dark caves.

Fuck those red-robes.

Don’t forget, ignore their lies. Fuck them and fuck their Goddess. Look to your history books to see what they took from you.

-Ellen Page, Reminders From Before (3rd Era, 24)

The caverns were usually a place of comfort. After all, Bedwyr had grown up in the confines of this place and spent most of his youth training to be diligent enough and use his gift to protect it. But now, they were ruined. His worst fears manifested.

They made quick progress on their way down, led by a man of his Order of the Crimson Lotus that Bedwyr was unfamiliar with. He led them with a strict fist and lorded over them with the authority invested in him on the surface. An authority that began to fall away the deeper they went, and with every attempt to understand what their mission was. Every time they saw an enemy, the Knight Lieutenant pulled back, insisting they had to go deeper.

It was in the sixth layer down that Bedwyr began to suspect something was wrong with the man issuing them commands. They were so deep behind enemy lines that they were now stuck—a contingent of ten that had seen little combat despite many opportunities.

Which led to the inevitable.

“What are we doing here? I’m not going further until you explain,” Bedwyr had said, with the backing of two other senior knights.

“Then don’t.” The man had replied.

Then, the other shoe dropped, and the Knight Lieutenant and several others of their Order turned against them, breaking out in a violent and awful fight as they attempted to silence those in their group. They did it like a switch was flipped; weapons stabbing through their allies and erupting in a sudden, violent sweep of death.

Four of his fellows died in the hands of a handful—the most powerful among them, and it triggered something in Bedwyr.

He felt it then. That very same power that had come to him, first lifting boulder-like weights, and then again in his talks and fights with his brother, the mantle. Against so many knights, he held out the best he could, weaving glyphs, his spear, and prayers to fight back against and prevent his death as they closed in on the rest. Blood spilled from him and his allies as they took wounds and bled.

The pain and fear—with the way things were going, even he’d die, and these traitors would have their way.

Unacceptable. Bedwyr declared, the thought resonating with his true self. This wouldn’t be allowed, not under his might. For such corruption to betray the people entrusted with them, he felt rocks gather on his armor, his spear hardening to a metal unseen in this world. It made it easier to pierce through one of the traitors, disappearing into his heart with a pop.

Bedwyr looked on with a callousness. For part of him, he’d never seen such wanton death at his hand. But the more ancient half of him understood. They had been begging for this in their awfulness—a deserved fate for what they’d done.

He would serve as a tool of justice here.

The end, though, after he finished dispatching the Knights, wasn’t pretty. None of those who'd turned on him survived, but the wounds they'd left killed the rest of the group in their sudden betrayal. Bedwyr stared at the corpses, his mind steeled over thanks to relying on the other him. They ended up dead, leaving him alone, stranded in the sixth cavern. Fine, Bedwyr thought, his mind steeled over, the spear in his hand a familiar friend, the mantle still heavy on him. This was a war.

It would not let him go into it alone. He had so many memories of wars like this and ideas of what his power could do and the difference he could make. Once, Gwen told him a story about a man who held the world up on his shoulders, but back then, he’d thought she’d dramatized it. But he had the world's power on his shoulders and the responsibility to wield it for the people he loved. And now, he was down here, alone, surrounded by so many enemies.

No one was coming to save him. But equally, no one was coming to save the traitors either. His spear glowed wickedly in the dark, a smile coming on as he felt the weight of his role.

They were trapped down here with him, not the other way around. As long as he remembered that he could go forward with a spear at his side. He formed a dull brownish glyph and gathered rocks on his armor, reinforcing it for additional defense.

If what he encountered was too much for an Initiate, it didn’t matter. He’d changed. Now, with his mantle, with these memories, he felt the ancient power backing him. It would be at his call if he stayed true to his duty. To use to punish those who destroyed his home.

With a grimace as he stared over the landscape, memories overlaying each other, losing him in the chaos of many wars before and the war for now, he began to go throughout the cavern, killing any traitor who came across his path. Feeling his own power surge, his notifications kept popping up repeatedly, his body being transformed and molded by the mantle it wore, letting him draw more of it out in a feedback loop that strained his soul. He ignored it anyway. There was a job to be done, and Bedwyr never shied away from hard work, not in this life or the many that had come before.

— - ☢ - — - ☼ - — - ☢ - —

Erec progressed down the next couple of layers and embraced its raw brutality. The density of the enemies increased to the point that, although they had a highly skilled and efficient squad, they were still attracting attention as they descended. And attention, in this case, often resulted in quick and bloody battles. Boldwick didn't let them engage fairly if they had to, often opting for Colin and Sir Abel to hit any enemy ahead at a distance by weaving their most intense magics, and decimating the enemies before they even knew they existed.

Sadly, Erec lost track of how many people he'd seen eviscerated with a spark of purple or an arcane blade from a distance.

Colin, for his part, stood and took it, outputting barrage after barrage of lightning bolts that would shatter through buildings and crisp up knights who dared betray them. It was terrifying to behold, especially as Sir Abel started to give him some pointers as they killed more, teaching him more efficiently how to wage war against their enemies in the middle of the battlefield, which had the direct result of even more death and destruction at the hands of both mages. Dame Morgana played support, but had less straightforward destructive magic at her disposal. Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on novelꜰire.net

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How much mana does he have? Erec wondered, looking at the large bursts of energy that came forward. After a while, his friend stopped talking, lost to the battle and lost to the feeling of magic numbing his mind as he relied on his glyphs to keep going, one after another.

So, Erec did the same and lost himself in the fights, letting his fire burn higher as they continued and very loosely holding on to the thread that prevented him from losing it all.

He didn’t have to think much. Boldwick was in charge, which made it ideal for him to perform his function as a living weapon beside Sir Matt.

Though Boldwick didn't like to play fair, that wasn't to say that their magic users could eliminate every single threat that came their way. A few still resulted in pure melee brawls, and this was where he excelled. With Sir Matt, the two of them formed a tide of destruction; they were like a lawnmower among men, chopping them down back to back, literally. Matt liked to go for the legs first.

“Ruin the foundation, and a man crumbles,” the man had mentioned once, soaked in blood like Erec as they walked to the next battle.

Feeling such might next to him, it only drew Erec further into the depths of his fury. His mind had long gone to the heat of the battle, seared away in his brain as they progressed down the layers, killing. The vision the Stag had shown him so long ago of him walking through a field of bodies turned out not to be too unfounded. Their group left a pile of bodies at every turn, laying their bloodied path with that of the traitors.

At least this path lined with corpses was not a path he’d left alone.

Still, more people than he’d thought. As they progressed lower, the variety increased; the betrayer knights and military who had so dominated the surface began to become a minority amongst another enemy entirely. The men who wore chains began to make up most of what they saw. So many of them down here, an army unto itself, from what Erec reckoned. They came from the woodwork to then die at his blade. How glorious of them.

They put up more of a fight than the military, as if they'd spent their entire lives training for this, preparing for battle like knights did. He found them particularly annoying to deal with, the way they tried to bind him down and get to him. His armor proved a nice counter, and his ability to predict their movements, thanks to VAL and the Q.A.P. edged out any advantage they had.

Still, some of them could manage to toss around hundreds of chains, combined with their predisposition for prayers and a weird strength that had come to the holy magic, made them troublesome.

Not troublesome enough for him and his allies to cut through, but enough that if they spotted a large crowd of them, Boldwick would redirect his forces.

But still, against such a strike force, and at Boldwick's directives and ability to avoid the larger battles where they might have struggled, they kept making their way deeper, until they eventually reached a very familiar cavern to Erec, that snapped him out of the fugue of smoke and fire that had became his mind over the last couple of hours.

They were in his cavern. The seventh cavern, the interior of this place had been wrecked like none other. At the start of this conflict, it was as if the priests had taken their men and knights and waged a destructive war against the buildings. His people were slaughtered, many of them lying dead on the ground in piles. His manor was wrecked, the front of it caved in by some blast of magic or prayer. An insult personal to him, meant to get through his skin, to dig through his armor, and hit the person beneath.

It worked.

His fire burned brighter as he looked at his new home. All of the suffering brought to it—they’d cleared this place of their soldiers after doing their job. Perhaps they’d wanted him to see it.

Boldwick wandered loosely through it, and Erec simply watched.

“This is wrong. You have my condolences. We shall make them pay.” Colin offered at his side.

Erec ignored this too. It felt like a fiery inferno in his chest; his eyes burned too, and the water from the corners boiled away to steam as he let the feelings run through him. The realities of war were this. And he knew now more than most others that war didn’t change. He’d seen countless of them through his many lives. People who had nothing to do with it were targeted and forced to suffer. There was no safe place to be in a war, and their simple association with him had made them targets in a conflict they had nothing to do with besides living in this kingdom.

Anger was hot, flush, and inferno-like, welling in him like he'd never felt. He felt as if his hands could snap through all the caverns above and wreck them in a single swing. If only there were a giant in front of him to destroy and chop to shreds—hate welled. Anger sparked. Dismay and pride burned.

Would that he had the one responsible in front of him. The Cardinal and his priests—so that Erec could set his hands on their throats and twist until their eyes bulged and the spine snapped underneath his gauntlets.

But they’d left this hell they’d brought to life.

I will find you.

The silver fires flickered in him. They were soothing, their memories offering to take him away and reinforce his mind by the Knight. It was easy then to take it, and so he did, feeling his mantle settle on his soul, feeling his capacity and ties to increase even further. To be a Knight of the Round Table was to know suffering and embrace the world’s realities. And then still boldly stride forward and defend the people that mattered to you. The pain he felt now, he knew, was fuel. And he let it be, stoking the silver flame higher. A ball formed in his hand and spread up his axe as he stared around.

"It takes a monster to do this," Boldwick said after having had his look. He set a hand on Erec’s shoulder. "What we see here is awful, but I doubt they got all your people. I'm willing to bet that among some of the refugees who have come up to the top floors, some of yours have made it. In fact, I know so. So don't think it's a complete slaughter. But don't let this memory fade. They did this to you. Their vile hatred is the reason why they must be purged from this kingdom. This cannot be allowed to stand any longer."

"Thou dost speak true," Erec responded, letting the pain sit in his chest. Boldwick was right, but he was also wrong. The result of this happening, the result of the priests being allowed to give away and cause this sort of destruction and harm to these people, wasn't purely at their fault. The King had facilitated as well. His rulership and his guidance had all culminated in their current situation. Had he acted sooner, with more prejudice, perhaps this could have been prevented.

But then Erec realized it could never be prevented. A battle like this was inevitable—that was a reality of war. Suffering was always going to occur in some form or another. At least this way, hopefully, once everything was said and done, they could be rid of the priests entirely. And once more, their Kingdom would be ushered into a new world of peace.

Not as long as she stands. A part of him reinforced.

Yes, not as long as she stood. That false goddess, the one who challenged his might and had brought about this all. Even if they killed all the priests, she’d live on. Her people would find a way to thrive, hidden in the depths of that wasteland.

Erec ground his teeth together, the Fury of the silver inferno inside of him only growing. It expelled outward in a pulse, wrapping around his armor. Flickering as it took his entire form, he didn't worry about spending at all right now. He felt that this was different. The justification and anger fueling him right now made his mantle easier to grasp than it ever had. Connecting him to a part of himself more firmly.

It wasn't just a challenge. It was a slight against his honor, his people, and his obligations as a person of nobility and power. She had spat in his face. And that, more than anything, made his mantle a reality, pulled into this world through their connection. This was not something that Sir Erec could abide by at any time. It was not a situation that he could live with. And so they would pay for their transgressions against him and his people. That much was certain, even if he had to chase her to hell itself to tear her in half with his axe.

Just as he felt his mantle settle in a way it hadn't before, something happened. The entire Seventh Cavern began to shake. The Knights around him stumbled. Erec's feet remained grounded as he felt something upon him. An eye. Her eye. The transgressor who had dared to do this felt her heavenly presence grace him. A demi-divinity that made the Earth itself quiver beneath her fiery might.

She stared at him in his Seventh Cavern. He felt from her a spilling outward of hate that he matched with his own; he let her feel him flooding back with a silvery inferno of hate that screamed at her. If she wanted to fight, then let her try because he felt the exact same.

If she wanted him dead, and he wanted her dead, then let her come. Let them fight this out the way these things were meant to be. “Coward,” Erec said, his voice cutting through the hate, and he knew, reaching her ears. “Fight me.”

He felt her hatred only intensify. And then, in the middle of the cavern, near the top, a rift appeared. Its edges burning with a copper fire.

"Shit," Boldwick said. "Get your weapons ready," he ordered.

Erec didn’t need to be told that. His weapon was already ready, blazing with a silver inferno as he stared up at the Rift she’d caused. Let her come and send whatever she can. It would not be enough.