===Godrick===
The instant Lancelot’s war horn echoed across the valley, Godrick started forward.
His halberd rested easily in his right hand as he began with a long stride, but every step grew longer and faster until he was sprinting across the battlefield.
The earth trembled beneath his armored boots, each impact driving into the soil with enough force to leave shallow craters behind him.
Ahead, the enemy shield wall locked together as thousands of men braced themselves for the collision, lowering their spears and planting their feet in preparation for the giant charging toward them.
Godrick slammed shoulder-first into the shield wall, and the formation collapsed instantly.
Shields splintered, men were thrown from their feet, and the tightly packed ranks folded inward as though they had been struck by a charging bull.
Bodies tumbled over one another while the soldiers behind them had no time to react before the seven-foot tall knight tore straight through the first ranks.
As he burst through the shattered line, his right hand slid to the very end of the halberd’s shaft.
With one tremendous swing he carved a crimson path through the packed infantry, the axe blade shearing through steel breastplates, shields, and flesh alike.
Men simply ceased to exist where the halberd passed, while others were hurled backward into their comrades by the sheer force of the blow.
The screams of the dying were drowned beneath the thunder of clashing armies as Camelot’s lines finally crashed into the enemy from behind him.
Godrick’s body twisted as the halberd flowed from one strike into the next, every movement carrying enough force to cleave through several soldiers at once.
Spears darted toward the gaps in his armor while swords hacked desperately at his limbs, yet he moved with surprising speed for someone of his size, causing nearly every attack to glance harmlessly away before their owners were cut down in return.
The lush green valley disappeared beneath rivers of blood as shattered shields, broken weapons, and mangled bodies piled around him.
The smell of fresh iron mixed with the churned earth, sweat, and the unmistakable stench of terrified men losing control of themselves in the chaos.
Then something struck him from the side.
Godrick barely had time to register the impact before an enormous weight crashed into him, sending both warriors tumbling across the blood-soaked ground.
They rolled through corpses and discarded weapons until Godrick planted one gauntleted hand against the attacker’s breastplate and shoved with enough force to launch him several yards away.
Anthrax hit the earth hard before rolling smoothly back onto his feet.
Godrick rose just as quickly.
The soldiers nearest them instinctively scattered, forming a widening circle around the two titans.
None of them wished to witness the duel out of curiosity.
They simply wanted to survive whatever happened next.
It wouldn’t matter.
Both men exploded forward at the same instant.
Hammer met halberd with a deafening crack that echoed across the battlefield like thunder.
The collision unleashed a violent shockwave that flattened everyone unfortunate enough to stand nearby, hurling men through the air and snapping bones before they ever touched the ground.
Without hesitation, Godrick reversed his grip and drove the butt of his halberd toward Anthrax’s chest.
The massive general intercepted the strike with the black shield strapped to his left arm, absorbing the blow before immediately sweeping his enormous warhammer toward Godrick’s legs.
Godrick hopped backward just beyond its reach.
As the hammer passed harmlessly beneath him, he brought the head of his halberd crashing downward onto Anthrax’s raised shield.
The impact rang across the valley like another peal of thunder, forcing the larger man down onto one knee as the shield buckled beneath the weight.
Godrick stepped in without wasting the opening.
The spike atop his halberd drove forward and buried itself deep into Anthrax’s exposed abdomen.
The great warrior grunted, blood spilling from between clenched teeth, yet somehow he still managed to raise his warhammer overhead.
It came crashing down toward Godrick’s helmet.
Seeing the strike at the last possible instant, Godrick twisted violently and shoved Anthrax sideways using the halberd still embedded within him.
The hammer clipped the side of his helmet instead of landing cleanly, causing the steel to ring loudly around his head as his vision blurred for only a moment.
He ripped the halberd free in a spray of blood.
Before Anthrax could recover, their weapons met once more.
This time there was no contest.
Godrick’s overwhelming strength smashed the shaft of his halberd into Anthrax’s hammer with enough force to knock the weapon backward into its owner’s face.
The heavy wooden haft immediately reversed direction, slamming into Anthrax’s stomach and forcing every ounce of air from his lungs as he doubled over.
Godrick planted one foot, pivoted through his hips, and spun with all the momentum his massive frame could generate.
The hammer head of his halberd whipped upward, and struck Anthrax squarely across the face with a sickening crunch.
The enormous general was lifted completely off the ground before crashing back into the earth several yards away, leaving a shallow crater where he landed.
Blood streamed freely from his shattered nose and split lips as he slowly climbed back to his feet.
He wiped his mouth with the back of one gauntlet before glaring across the battlefield at the silent knight waiting for him.
“Bastard,” Anthrax muttered before spitting a mouthful of blood into the dirt.
===
Elsewhere on the Battlefield
Lancelot carved his way through the enemy ranks like a silver whirlwind, every swing of Arondight claiming another life.
Soldiers broke from before him, yet they continued pressing forward in desperate waves until one unexpected blade finally intercepted his own.
A woman stood before him, clad in sleek black armor that seemed almost liquid beneath the afternoon sun.
A long, narrow sword rested in her right hand while a wicked dagger gleamed in her left.
Lancelot’s sword slid from her dagger before sweeping through another cluster of nearby soldiers, cutting men apart almost absentmindedly as he shifted his full attention toward his newest opponent.
Noel struck first, her thin blade darting toward his throat with astonishing speed.
Lancelot slipped aside and brought Arondight crashing downward onto her weapon, intending to snap it in half.
Instead, the blade merely bent beneath the force before springing back into shape.
“Interesting…”
He leaned backward just in time for her dagger to whistle past his neck, close enough that he felt the breeze against his skin.
The duel became a blur.
Steel flashed again and again as Noel danced around him with impossible speed, her lighter frame allowing her to weave effortlessly between his heavier strikes.
Lancelot answered with precise footwork of his own, avoiding every thrust while methodically cutting down soldiers who wandered too close to their duel.
Then she vanished.
“Behind!” His instincts screamed.
Without even looking, Lancelot twisted his body and slashed backward.
His sword intercepted hers in a shower of sparks, but the dagger found its mark instead, slipping neatly between the plates protecting his ribs.
Extraordinary pain exploded through his side.
It felt as though his strength itself was draining from the wound, bleeding away with every heartbeat. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“…Interesting,” Lancelot murmured calmly, pressing one hand against the injury as though it were nothing more than a nuisance.
Inside, however, his alarm bells were ringing.
He forced himself to remain composed.
If she believed the wound had crippled him, she would become overconfident.
He cut another charging soldier cleanly in half before resetting his stance, Arondight held close with its point aimed directly toward Noel.
Then he lunged.
She slipped gracefully beneath the thrust and slashed across his thigh with the enchanted dagger.
Exactly as he expected.
Instead of retreating, Lancelot drove his knee upward.
The armored joint smashed squarely into Noel’s face, snapping her head backward before she crashed heavily onto the blood-soaked ground.
He followed instantly.
One boot came down across her chest, pinning her in place while Arondight settled against her throat just hard enough to draw a thin crimson line.
“Tell me,” he said quietly as battle raged all around them, “why shouldn’t I kill you where you lie?”
Noel struggled for breath beneath his weight while one hand desperately searched for the dagger lying just beyond her fingertips.
When she finally looked into his eyes, she found no hesitation there.
Only death.
“Because…” she gasped, “…Anthrax and I want out.”
Lancelot’s expression shifted ever so slightly.
“Out?”
“We’ve served the Warlord for too long… We’ve done too many things we’ll never forgive ourselves for. We want this to end.”
“All of you?”
She shook her head.
“No… only Anthrax and me.”
For the briefest of moments, Lancelot considered her words.
That single hesitation was all it took.
A furious roar erupted behind him as Anthrax barreled through the battlefield, slamming into the Knight of the Round Table and hurling him completely off the woman.
===
Godrick advanced through the chaos, every few steps another soldier rushed him, hoping to buy their general enough time to recover, but none of them lasted more than a heartbeat.
His halberd carved wide crimson arcs through the battlefield, splitting shields, armor, and flesh with equal ease before sending broken bodies crashing into the men behind them.
The soldiers quickly learned that charging him one at a time accomplished nothing, yet fear and loyalty drove them forward all the same.
Several yards away, Anthrax forced himself back onto one knee before slowly rising to his feet.
Blood streamed freely from the shattered faceplate of his helmet, dripping onto the trampled grass as he surveyed the battlefield around him.
Everywhere he looked there was slaughter.
Men screamed as steel met flesh, horses crashed into collapsing formations, and the dead lay piled so high in places that they formed walls of their own.
A dull ache settled deep within his chest that had nothing to do with the beating Godrick had given him.
He was tired.
Not the weariness of battle, but the exhaustion of a man who had spent decades fighting wars that never seemed to end.
He was old enough now that, had fate been kinder, he should have been watching his own children raise families of their own instead of spilling blood on yet another battlefield.
Noel’s pregnancy had been the first true joy either of them had known in years, filling them both with equal measures of excitement and fear.
His eyes searched desperately through the chaos until he found her, and time seemed to slow.
He watched Lancelot drive a knee into Noel’s face before forcing her to the ground beneath a heavy armored boot, his sword poised against her throat.
Something inside Anthrax snapped.
Every lingering thought of strategy, every trace of restraint, vanished beneath a wave of blinding rage.
His gaze shifted toward the knight walking inexorably toward him.
As long as that giant stood between him and Noel, he would never reach her.
With a roar that seemed to shake the battlefield itself, Anthrax charged.
Their weapons met once again with a deafening crash that sent sparks showering in every direction.
This time Anthrax committed everything to the strike, throwing his full weight and every ounce of his monstrous strength behind the swing.
Even so, he immediately felt himself losing the contest as Godrick’s superior power began forcing the hammer backward.
So he changed tactics.
Rather than continue the struggle, Anthrax suddenly twisted both weapons violently aside.
The unexpected movement pulled Godrick’s halberd away from his body just enough for the larger warrior to duck low, abandon his own balance, and throw himself forward.
His massive arms wrapped around Godrick’s waist, and before the young knight could react, Anthrax planted his feet and exploded upward.
The two titans soared high above the battlefield, twisting through the air as Anthrax shifted his grip from Godrick’s waist to the heavy royal blue and gold cape draped across his shoulders.
Using the momentum of the leap, he spun once more before hurling Godrick back toward the earth with every ounce of strength he possessed.
Godrick struck the ground like a falling star.
The earth shattered outward for hundreds of feet as rock burst into the air and massive cracks tore through the battlefield, swallowing both friend and foe alike.
Scores of soldiers disappeared into the collapsing ground while others were thrown violently from their feet by the tremendous shockwave.
The instant Anthrax landed, he sprinted toward Noel and Lancelot, who still stood over her.
With a roar born entirely of desperation, Anthrax crashed into the Knight of the Round Table, driving him across the battlefield before slamming him into the earth.
The ground fractured beneath them as the enormous warrior straddled Lancelot’s chest and began raining down blow after blow with both fists.
Lancelot crossed his forearms to shield his face, but every punch drove his defenses closer to collapse.
Stone cracked beneath them while each impact echoed like a blacksmith’s hammer striking an anvil.
Anthrax gave him no opportunity to recover.
Then he vanished.
A tremendous force seized him from behind before he was hauled off Lancelot and hurled through the air.
Godrick’s armored fist slammed into Anthrax’s chest with enough force to shatter the thick breastplate protecting him.
The larger man was launched skyward, and a heartbeat later, Godrick leapt after him.
The young knight descended like a falling boulder, crashing down atop Anthrax and driving him violently back into the earth.
“GAH-!” The man’s cry was cut short.
He slammed his fist into Anthrax’s face, once, twice, three times.
The fourth punch finally cracked the battered faceplate apart, and blood began pouring through the widening fractures.
Only then did Godrick release him.
Anthrax collapsed onto his back, barely conscious.
For the first time since the battle began, the soldiers surrounding them hesitated.
Seeing their strongest general defeated shattered what remained of their resolve, and that single moment of uncertainty proved fatal.
Camelot’s warriors surged forward with renewed fury, cutting through the faltering ranks without mercy.
Few among the enemy were honorable soldiers.
Most were brigands, murderers, slavers, and outlaws who had flocked to the Warlord’s banner to escape the justice that awaited them elsewhere.
“Slaughter them all!” Lancelot roared, his voice carrying above the chaos.
He turned back toward Noel.
She still lay where she had fallen, one arm protectively wrapped around her stomach while she struggled to breathe.
To her astonishment, Lancelot extended his free hand.
She stared at it uncertainly before finally accepting it.
He pulled her carefully to her feet.
“You are my prisoners now,” he said calmly, though Arondight never lowered.
“Give me one reason to think you intend to fight again, and this ends here.”
Noel nodded silently, and without another word, she crossed the short distance separating her from Anthrax and knelt beside him.
Carefully removing his ruined helmet, she revealed the terrible wound running down the left side of his face before gently cradling his head against her lap.
Godrick had just retrieved his halberd when Lancelot’s command echoed across the battlefield, ordering every last enemy soldier put to the sword.
Without hesitation, he threw himself back into the slaughter, his massive weapon sweeping in great arcs that carved through their enemy with terrifying ease.
Bodies crashed to the blood-soaked earth around him, and for a few fleeting moments it seemed as though Camelot’s victory was inevitable.
Then something changed.
A strange ripple passed through the battlefield, subtle enough that only someone with senses as sharp as Godrick’s would have noticed it.
It spread like an invisible wave across the valley before the corpses surrounding him began to twitch.
Fingers curled into fists.
Heads rolled back unnaturally.
Men whose bodies had been cleaved apart only moments before clawed at the earth with bloodied hands, dragging themselves forward while others staggered upright on broken legs, empty eyes glowing with unnatural life as they turned upon the soldiers who had slain them.
“Necromancy!” Lancelot roared, his voice carrying over the chaos as he split the skull of one of the newly risen corpses.
“Sound the retreat! Regroup immediately! We’re spread too thin!”
General Aldtor wasted no time in raising a war horn to his lips and sounding the order.
The deep blast rolled across the battlefield, and the soldiers of Camelot reluctantly began falling back in disciplined formations, hacking apart the dead as they retreated.
Godrick, however, ignored the horn.
continuing to cut his way through the endless tide, his halberd rising and falling as corpses and living soldiers alike were torn apart before him.
But no matter how many he destroyed, the dead simply continued to rise.
Every fallen soldier became another weapon for the enemy, and every passing moment shifted the battle further out of Camelot’s favor.
There could only be one explanation.
Somewhere beyond the fighting, the source of the necromancy still lived.
Launching himself high into the air with a single mighty leap, Godrick soared above the battlefield and searched the enemy’s rear ranks.
He quickly dismissed Anthrax, whose overwhelming strength had always been his defining trait, and Noel, whose speed and deadly precision marked her as the Warlord’s assassin.
That left only Grizrig, the necromancer whose runes and forbidden magic had plagued Camelot for years, and the mysterious fourth General whom Godrick had yet to encounter.
From his vantage point he spotted Marquess Grasso’s enormous figure near the rear of the army.
Standing beside him was the gaunt old man whose skeletal frame and weathered robes could belong to no one else.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Godrick twisted his body in midair and drew his halberd back before hurling it with every ounce of strength he possessed.
The colossal weapon screamed through the sky like a bolt of divine judgment, spinning so violently that the air itself seemed to howl around it.
Whether the figure beside Grasso truly was Grizrig or merely another officer mattered little.
By the day’s end, every servant of the Warlord was meant to die.
As the halberd tore across the battlefield, a brief flash of light caught Godrick’s eye.
A heartbeat later, the sharp ring of steel striking steel echoed through the valley, though from his position he couldn’t tell what had happened.
Far below, an arrow fired with astonishing precision slammed into the shaft of his halberd.
The missile lacked the strength to stop such an enormous weapon, but it did not need to.
The slight deflection was enough.
Instead of driving cleanly through Grizrig’s chest, the halberd smashed into his right shoulder with catastrophic force.
His entire arm, along with a gruesome portion of his shoulder and upper chest, was ripped from his body in a spray of blood.
The old necromancer was hurled to the ground, his agonized screams carrying across the battlefield as crimson drenched the grass beneath him.
Clutching the mangled ruin of his shoulder, Grizrig somehow forced himself back onto his feet.
Blood streamed from his lips, mixing with saliva as he staggered away from the battle, each step weaker than the last while he fled toward the distant tree line.
Waiting there was another mounted figure, a lean archer with bow still in hand, the elusive fourth General, Monty, whose impossible shot had saved the necromancer’s life.
“What are you doing?!” Marquess Grasso shrieked, forcing his horse in front of the fleeing necromancer.
Before Grizrig could answer, skeletal hands burst from the ground around the Marquess.
A knot of undead seized him, dragging the enormous noble from his saddle before his horse bolted in terror.
He crashed heavily onto his back, flailing helplessly as the corpses released him just as suddenly as they had grabbed him.
Grizrig barely slowed.
He simply turned his pale, sunken face toward the struggling noble and pointed a trembling, blood-soaked finger in his direction.
“You will live,” he rasped, each word wet with blood.
“But that… will be a fate far worse than death.”
Without another glance, the necromancer disappeared toward the forest, supported by Monty as the two vanished beneath the trees.
Left alone in the churned mud, Marquess Grasso writhed furiously, too heavy to roll onto his stomach and push himself upright.
He kicked uselessly at the air, his face red with humiliation as the battle raged around him.
“Bastard!” he screamed after the retreating necromancer, though neither Grizrig nor Monty looked back.