3.8 - Camlann
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
View: https://youtu.be/qP8c3vG88Rg
[Of Betrayal]
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta?
What were you expecting, truly?
A glorious battle?
Blades and heroes?
There is no shortage of those, but there is no shortage of crying children as well.
—
Blood and fire.
It was a recurring thing in your life, no matter how much you wished it wasn't. Screams, shouts, cries and wails. That was familiar as well, but there were other sounds, newer sounds. Bodies writhed in mud, wet thick splashes sounding through the air as they tried to crawl, as they stumbled, as they stabbed and killed each other. The clash of steel on steel, the agonized howls of pain as blades found their mark, the dying cries of horses.
You stood upon a mountain of bodies… you were the only one standing there. Your heart pounded, your breath quickened.
The battlefield was bathed in red, a bloody sunset casting light over the landscape. It revealed a wide battlefield, filled with mud, blood, and corpses. Men writhed within it, some standing, others fighting on their knees, others not moving at all or doing little more than groaning. They were knights, once, men at arms and other such things. But their colors were ruined, caked in mud and blood and worse things as they wrestled with each other. There was no formation, no reason to this place, a far cry from anything you had ever heard of knights battling knights. This was mud, blood, and barbarity.
Men ripped off helmets, plunging daggers into necks. Others were forced down into the mud and drowned, arms and legs flailing, desperate to grab onto one last second, one moment of life. A whinny drew your gaze, a man being dragged off a horse, daggers plunging into his body as he fell, his horse writhing and screaming as the same blades turned onto it in a mad fury. Arrows flew through the air, their feathers whistling as they plunged into the battlefield with seeming abandon.
And all the while, in the distance, a castle burned. Smoke rises from it high into the heavens, making this place more akin to a hell, then a battlefield. You stood amidst the chaos, on a mound of still bodies, piled so high that you were perched above it all. Torn and bloody banners flattered in the wind about the 'hill', held in place by the weight of bodies more than the firm grips of hands. You recognized none of them, crosses, crowns, horses and shields. The symbology meant something once, you were sure, but now it was as much a tombstone for the dead as anything else.
"Find the king!"
A shout carries, louder than the rest, and you cast your gaze past the hill, a man stood there, heading a group of knights. Blood covered him, as it did his blonde hair, so light it was almost white. His gaze turned to the hill, then… he looked past you like you weren't even there. Waving a bloody stump of an arm, he lead the men off, and you watched, transfix-
"Mo…ther."
A quieter voice, almost so quiet that you couldn't make it out over the shouts and screams grabs your attention.
You turn your head, looking for the speaker. It was a woman, and growing weaker with every word.
"Where... are you... mother?"
… There. Laying on the top of the hill was a woman, she was… she was…
Berserker?
Your servant laid there on her back in a pool of her own blood. A lance was stuck through her chest, pierced straight through the armor and pinning her to the ground. Her armored gauntlets clutched at it, but were not attempting to remove it, at least, not anymore. Her glassy, unfocused eyes looked up to the sky, tears running down from them and turning red as they mixed with the blood that covered her.
You rush over, leaping over the bodies until you come to a crouch next to her.
"Ar…thur." She whispers, her gauntlets shaking as she grips the lance. "Where… are you… Arthur?"
You almost asked if she was alright. Almost. You didn't know how you could help. You didn't know what to do. You couldn't save her, you couldn't heal people. You force yourself to breathe, to ignore the screams and the fire. It is difficult, damned difficult. But you force yourself. "What is your name?" you ask, trying to get her attention.
Green eyes drift towards you.
Ghhk.
That was the sound that escaped your throat as a sword stabbed out and pierced. It was held in her gauntlet, blood running down it. She stared at you, tears running down her face.
"I… am… Mordred."
Was the last thing you heard as your head rolled off your shoulders.
—
Your hand shoots to your neck… and you find your head still attached. You were back in your bedroom, the light was off, unusual as you had left it on as you fell asleep. But it was now firmly night, with moonlight pouring in through the window to illuminate you and a now groaning Ayako. The woman wiggling in the bed for a moment before rolling over, and tucking herself in further, having apparently taken nearly all of the blankets during the night.
Letting out a slow breath, you force yourself to calm.
… Then you hear a heavy breathing that belongs to neither you nor Ayako. Turning your head slowly past your girlfriend, you see a figure standing by the edge of the bed. Berserker stands there, blood dripping from the hole in her chest onto the floor. Her sword is held in both of her hands, raised above the bed and moments awaiting from plunging down into Ayako.
Her eyes are manic, wide and bloodshot, and tears stream down them with abandon.
Then she plunges the blade down.
You-
—
Please note.
A bad end for Ayako is not a bad end for Shirou. Her death does not cause a vote redo.
[] [Use a Command Seal] (Two Remain)
[] [Call out her name]
[] [Tackle her]
[] [Use your magic]
[] [Write-in]
] [Of Mapo Tofu]