(A/N: I know I've been putting this off for far too long, but my family and I are driving to Illinois for a family trip. It's my turn to take a break from driving, so I decided I needed to do some writing.
You can join my discord at.
Https://discord.gg/vDrfkXnDe2
It's brand spankin new, so I only have like 6 people in it, but I'm going to make a Juggernaut channel where you can interact with me and ask questions about the story (as well as keep me accountable for actually posting chapters for it.)
I'd love to see you over there!)
=== Jeanne ===
The road to Avalon had once been paved with white stone and golden banners, a symbol of the great kingdom that had stood at the height of its glory. Now, that path was marred with deep gashes, cracked earth, and the scent of scorched blood. The sky above was a pale grey canvas, the clouds unmoving, as if mourning.
Jeanne was the first to crest the hill.
Her boots slowed as the full ruin came into view. Her breath caught, no matter how much war she had seen, how many battlefields she had walked, nothing could have prepared her for this.
The once-proud citadel of Camelot, the stronghold of kings and legends, stood broken and gutted in the valley below. The outer walls were shattered in places, crumbled from some force they couldn't comprehend. Whole towers had collapsed into rubble. Spires that once pierced the sky like lances now lay half-buried in dust and ash. The city surrounding the castle was even worse.
What had once been a thriving city, a place where children played in the sun, where merchants shouted beneath colorful tents, where the air had once held the aroma of fresh bread and lilacs, was now a graveyard.
Bodies were strewn across the cobbled streets like discarded dolls. Some were armored knights, burnt or broken. Others were civilians, too charred to recognize. Blackened bones stuck out from collapsed homes. The dried blood formed rivulets between the stones, as if the city had wept from every pore before dying.
Even the trees that once lined the great avenue had been reduced to splintered trunks. A great tree in the center of the square had been split clean in two, its enormous roots torn from the earth. Smoke still curled from the wreckage, days-old embers crackling faintly in the wind like the final whispers of a lost age.
The group slowly came up behind her. Silence fell over them.
Not even Luvia had a quip to offer. Mordred Alter, still wrapped in bandages, looked away. Artoria Alter clenched her fists.
Jeanne stepped forward, her banner trailing low behind her. She could feel the sorrow in the stones, as if Avalon itself was crying out. She sank to one knee and brushed her fingers across the red-soaked earth.
The wind stirred around them, carrying the faint echo of screams long since silenced.
Jeanne saw Artoria Alter stand at the edge of a crater, where once the castle's gate had been. Now it was a yawning pit of scorched earth. Her eyes were hard.
"It wasnt this bad before we left. He must have returned."
Jeanne remained silent, standing slowly. Her knuckles were white around her banner. She could feel the old pain returning, burning cities, innocents butchered, fire licking at sacred halls. Her heart felt leaden in her chest.
Inside the castle, the devastation was even worse. Hallways were caved in. Great murals were slashed and torn. Statues had been decapitated. Blood stained the tapestries, and in the throne room, what remained of it, a single long gash ran across the golden floor where a blade had been dragged through the stone.
Here, there had been a final stand. Knights in silver armor lay in defensive positions, their swords broken, their shields rent in half. There were no survivors. Only the ghosts of a last, desperate hope.
Then, a slow, deliberate clap echoed through the stone chamber.
Jeanne's heart seized in her chest. The others froze behind her.
At the far end of the broken hall, past crumbled columns and bodies long since bled dry, a figure sat sprawled across the remnants of the great throne. His form was casual, almost lazy, as if this desolation was a home he'd grown far too comfortable in. One leg was thrown over the armrest. His monstrous, obsidian arm dangled to the side, claws lightly scraping the gold-inlaid stone. The throne, once meant for kings, creaked beneath the weight of something far more sinister.
Godrick Alter.
He was a twisted reflection of the man Jeanne loved, only worse, more evolved into something dark and unnatural. His platinum mane was windswept, framing a face far too handsome for the cruelty behind his molten golden eyes, glowing faintly like twin suns ready to burn the world.
When he smiled, it was sharp, fanged, and without an ounce of warmth.
"Well," he said, voice deep, laced with amusement. "Took you long enough."
He lifted his monstrous hand and gestured with exaggerated grandeur. "Welcome… to my kingdom."
He rose slowly from the throne.
He moved like a predator. Every step down the dais echoed with the click of his boots against the bloodstained marble.
"You have a choice," he said, voice resonating throughout the chamber. "Kneel. All of you. Bow before me, and I will allow you to live long enough to see the Alter." He chuckled. "I want him to see what's left of the people he tried so hard to protect."
His eyes swept across the group. The masters were tense, hands glowing faintly with the charge of a spell. Artoria was already gripping Excalibur. The Mordreds growled low, while Heracles and Cu readied themselves. And Jeanne was staring directly into his eyes, her banner trembling in her hand, not from fear, but from fury.
"Or," Godrick Alter said, pausing, letting the moment linger like the edge of a blade, "you can die here. Scream your last words into the stone. Save me the trouble of waiting."
He opened his arms wide, as if to embrace them.
"I am beyond you. Beyond all of you. Don't you understand that yet? Avalon fell because I willed it. The gods turned their faces not in disgust… but in fear. I've killed more men than the scholars can count. I conquered my kingdom. And soon…" his grin widened, "…I'll kill the last tether that keeps me from becoming whole."
Jeanne stepped forward.
"No," she said.
The word cut through the tension like a blade.
Godrick Alter tilted his head.
"You don't recognize what I've become. That's fine." His voice was cold now. "You will, right before I burn your soul to ash."
Artoria Alter stepped up beside Jeanne. "We're not afraid of you."
Godrick Alter gave a soft chuckle. "Then you haven't been paying attention."
Lightning cracked through the open sky above. The wind howled through the broken hall. The ruined throne stood tall behind him, as if bearing silent witness to the birth of a nightmare.
And Godrick Alter raised his monstrous right hand.
"Last chance. Kneel…"
His voice dropped, dark and thunderous.
"…or perish."
The air grew taut as Jeanne stepped forward, her banner raised high.
Her voice, clear as a cathedral bell, rang out.
"We have no intention of kneeling to you, Godrick. You are not a king, you're a monster."
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then Godrick Alter smiled, wide and vicious.
"Good. I prefer it this way."
With a sudden twist of his torso, he rammed his monstrous obsidian fist into the cracked marble floor. A deep, guttural sound, like thunder being ripped apart, roared through the ruined throne room.
His energy in his right arm detonated.
A pulse of pure destructive force exploded outward, amethyst lightning arcing violently across the floor like wildfire. The stone shattered. Walls cracked. The ripple of power was so intense it knocked several of the group off their feet.
Jeanne braced with her banner, digging it into the floor as the wave slammed against her. Her hair whipped around her like flames. Her boots skidded against the stone, but she stood her ground.
Then she charged.
Screaming a battle cry that tore from the bottom of her soul, she surged forward through the dust cloud, lance poised, eyes blazing as she drew her sword.
Flame exploded out from her as she was enveloped in her white armor.
Godrick Alter met her with a snarl and caught her strike with his blackened arm, claws ringing off divine steel. She launched blow after blow, each one like a thunderclap, pushing him back a step at a time.
But then, he grinned.
With a savage twist, he backhanded her, sending her flying across the throne room like a comet. She crashed through a broken column, crumpling against the far wall, coughing blood.
"MOVE!" shouted Cu Chulainn, already in motion. His spear blazed with runes as he leapt into the fray, followed by Heracles, roaring with primal fury.
From the flanks, both Artorias and Mordreds attacked him, blades glowing.
Igraine circled behind, waiting for an opening, content to let the others do the heavy lifting.
Heracles struck first, a wild, ground-shattering blow that would've caved in a mountain.
Godrick met it with his bare human hand. The impact shook the ruined hall, and Heracles was launched back, crashing into a wall and taking most of it down with him.
"Pathetic," Godrick Alter spat.
Cu Chulainn struck next, piercing forward with inhuman speed, Gáe Bolg aiming for the heart. But Godrick twisted mid-step, narrowly avoiding the cursed tip. His obsidian claws raked down Cu's side, blood spraying like red mist.
From behind, Artoria Alter and Mordred struck in tandem, Excalibur Morgan and Clarent blazing with corrupted light.
Their blades struck his back.
Godrick staggered for a heartbeat, then roared. A blast of golden flame erupted from his body, knocking both women away like broken dolls. They hit the stairs leading to the throne, dazed and groaning.
But before he turned to keep fighting them, Jeanne slammed into him again.
Her armor cracked, her face bloodied, but her will, unyielding. She fought like the fury of heaven itself. Her banner and sword burning with light, each strike hammering down with divine retribution.
"You'll never win," she growled.
Godrick laughed in her face, and caught the next blow mid-swing.
"I already have."
He closelined her into the ground with such force the stone cratered beneath them. Her body twitched, but still, she rose.
Around them, the group stood back to their feet.
Rubble burned with lingering magic. Smoke coiled upward through broken rafters, lit by the distant flames of a kingdom gone silent.
Amethyst lightning arced from Alter's body, licking the cracks in the floor beneath him. His bare, obsidian right arm steamed with molten heat, claws twitching in anticipation. His eyes gleamed like twin stars burning with contempt.
"Still want to go?" he asked, voice thick with amusement. "Good. Let's see it, then."
He raised his left hand.
"Show me the strength of legends!"
The ground shattered under his feet as he launched forward.
Artoria was first.
She met him mid-charge, blade flashing like starlight. Excalibur screamed as it crashed against his right arm, but he caught it mid-swing, muscles bulging. With a twist of his wrist, he flung her aside, sending her bouncing across the stone floor like a ragdoll.
Mordred roared, charging from the right. "CLARENT BLOOD ARTHUR!"
Her blade erupted in a crimson flash as she brought it down. Godrick ducked beneath it and slammed his elbow into her gut, lifting her off her feet. She coughed blood and flew backwards, but even before she landed, Jeanne came flying in, armor white-hot, her flaming sword screaming downward in a blaze of divine flame.
He raised his hand, and countered her blade with another one.
A flaming greatsword, familiar in shape to Siegfried's Balmung, manifested in his right hand in a swirl of red lightning. Their blades clashed in a tidal wave of fire and sparks, sending a shockwave that split the ground between them.
Jeanne's knees buckled under the pressure, and she gritted her teeth, pushing back with all her might, divine fire clashing with stolen might.
Then, from the left, Heracles descended like a meteor.
The demigod slammed both fists down toward Godrick's spine, only for the Juggernaut to twist, plant his heel, and meet the attack head-on with his own left fist.
CRACK.
Stone ruptured. And Godrick fell to one knee.
Cu Chulainn's spear came next, lightning-fast, jagged with curses.
"GÁE BOLG!"
The air screamed as the spear lunged for Godrick's heart, but with impossible reflexes, he jerked his left hand up and caught the spear an inch from his heart.
Igraine came next, sword in hand, the cursed black sword howling with hungry voices. She screamed, launching into a sinister stab.
"I like the fire in you," he said before burying Gáe Bolg into her stomach and then headbutting, shattering her nose and dropping her to her knees.
Artoria and Mordred Alter flanked from either side, swords glimmering with divine energy. Twin strikes arced in from both flanks
"EXCALIBUR!"
"CLARENT BLOOD ARTHUR!!"
Godrick Alter swept everything he was dealing with to the side, throwing Jeanne, Heracles, and Igraine from him.
Balmung vanished, and in its place, Arondight, Lancelot's blade, shimmered in his hands.
He caught both blades in a deadly clash of steel on steel, the force rippling through the hall like an earthquake. He shoved both women back, spun once, and released a burst of violet magic from the sword, a stolen Anti-Army Noble Phantasm, one that burned with eldritch force.
The blast flattened the frontline.
Jeanne was flung through a column, her sword clattering to the ground. Mordred crashed next to her, blood on her lips. Cu dragged himself from the rubble only to collapse again. Heracles staggered upright, barely.
And still, Godrick stood, heaving just a small bit.
"You brought legends," he said. "And I broke them."
He raised his right arm again, and several blades floated into the air around him, each one glowing with deadly light.
Kanshou and Bakuya.
Caladbolg.
Gram.
Durandal.
He hurled them, all at once.
A storm of Noble Phantasms rained down on the group. Igraine swung her sword madly to deflect them. Artoria dove in front of Mordred. Jeanne pulled her banner up just in time to block three of them, but was hurled backward, smoke rising from her armor.
Everything screamed.
Stone shattered. Magic cracked. Blood spattered across the walls of a once-holy hall now blackened by war.
But against all odds Artoria rose.
Broken. Battered. Bleeding.
She limped forward, armor cracked, but her eyes still burned.
"You're no king." she said. "You're just a bully."
Godrick Alter tilted his head.
And for the first time… he frowned.
The air trembled.
Jeanne stood next, shoulder bleeding, flames flickering low. Then Mordred. Then Heracles. One by one, they pulled themselves to their feet, wounded, yes, but unwilling to fall.
Godrick stood tall at the foot of the throne, amethyst lightning licking his shoulders, surrounded by a graveyard of legends.
Across the stone floor, Godrick Alter watched them all with cold apathy.
The amusement was gone now. The joy of testing strength had faded.
"You've all… bored me."
His voice echoed through the shattered remnants of Avalon's once-great hall. He looked across them, at legends and demi-gods, paladins and tyrants, and he saw only ants.
"This was fun. For a time. But I think I've indulged your resistance long enough."
His right hand slowly raised, fingers curling around a golden light that pulsed into existence like the beating heart of the sun.
Vasavi Shakt, the spear of Karna, a divine weapon of cataclysmic origin, surged into being, its gilded form radiating a golden corona that shimmered with the power of the gods. Heat rolled off the spear in oppressive waves, and the very stone around Godrick Alter's feet began to melt, forming glowing rivulets that slid through the cracks like molten blood.
The air grew heavy. Reality bent.
"Let this world remember you," Godrick Alter said. "As smears."
He walked forward with deliberate slow steps, each one hissing against the melting stone, until he stood just before Jeanne. She could barely raise her sword, her arms screaming in pain.
He lowered the spear, its burning tip mere inches from her face.
"I hate you the most," he murmured. "So you'll be the first."
Jeanne didn't flinch. Even as her legs shook, she met his gaze. Her voice trembled, but not from fear.
"I will never kneel to you."
His grin was slight. "Then die."
BOOM.
===
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