=== Godrick ===
It took Godrick another full day of riding to reach the coastal town of Tyddewi.
The journey was quiet, giving him far too much time to think as the rhythmic pounding of his horse’s hooves carried him steadily west.
The town itself was of little strategic importance, a modest settlement nestled against the sea with a small stone keep overlooking its harbor.
In times of peace, a handful of soldiers would have been stationed there to watch the coastline and keep order among the fishermen and merchants, but the kingdom was at war now.
Every able-bodied soldier had long since been called away to the front, leaving the keep little more than a guard house occupied by whoever happened to claim it.
As Godrick rode beneath the open gates, conversations died almost instantly.
Merchants abandoned their stalls, mothers hurried their children indoors, and laborers stepped aside with lowered heads as the towering knight passed through the narrow streets on his towering horse.
He stopped roughly halfway through the town and slowly dismounted.
His horse snorted softly as he removed both his weapons, first lifting the massive halberd into one hand before securing the greatsword Caliburn at his waist.
Once everything was in place, he reached up and downed the entirety of his water skin before he gave the animal a gentle slap on its hindquarters.
The horse hesitated for only a moment before turning and galloping back the way they had come, carrying itself toward Camelot without needing further instruction.
Godrick watched his faithful steed disappear for a brief moment before turning toward the keep.
As he began walking, the crowd parted before him like water around a ship.
Some people fled outright, disappearing into their homes and bolting their doors, while others unexpectedly fell to their knees.
“Please, Sir Knight,” an elderly man pleaded, his voice shaking.
“Whatever quarrel you’ve brought here… don’t destroy our homes.”
“We’ve done nothing,” a young mother cried as she shielded her children behind her.
“Please… leave the town out of it.”
Godrick said nothing as he simply continued walking.
They assumed he had come to fight, and they were right.
The evening sun had already begun its slow descent toward the horizon, bathing the town in warm shades of gold and amber.
Long shadows stretched across the cobbled streets, while the salty scent of the ocean drifted inland upon a cool sea breeze.
It was beautiful in a way that almost seemed unfair.
A peaceful little town basking beneath a perfect sunset, blissfully unaware that two monsters were about to decide its fate.
Rather than entering through the front of the keep, Godrick rounded the outer wall, choosing the quieter path that overlooked the sea.
Before long, a faint scraping sound reached his ears.
Scrape… Scrape… Scrape…
He followed the rhythmic sound until he rounded the final corner.
And there she was.
Seated comfortably upon a simple wooden stool beside a weathered stone overlooking the cliffs, a woman calmly drew a whetstone down the length of a crimson-and-silver sword.
Godrick recognized the blade immediately.
His sister’s sword.
Or rather…
The sword that she had stolen, Clarent.
The woman wore black plate armor whose polished surface reflected the dying sunlight, though she had removed her helmet and set it beside her feet.
Long white hair framed an older but beautiful face marked by countless faded scars earned over a lifetime of battle.
Three braids rested within that hair, one thick braid trailing down the center of her back while two smaller ones fell over either shoulder, gently swaying whenever the ocean breeze swept across the cliffs.
She never looked fully toward him.
Not at first.
Her eyes shifted only slightly in his direction before she calmly resumed sharpening the blade.
Scrape… Scrape… Scrape…
“I’m surprised you’re still alive,” she said evenly, never breaking the rhythm of her work.
“I suppose your sister was telling the truth after all. You really do have a habit of crawling back from death’s door.”
Another slow pass of the whetstone.
“But as I told you before…” she continued, “…that won’t be enough today.”
Godrick remained perfectly still.
His grip tightened around the shaft of his halberd, yet he made no move to attack.
The woman finally turned her head to face him fully.
The resemblance to his mother struck him like a hammer.
Though older, sterner, and worn by decades of hardship, she possessed the same emerald eyes, the same elegant features, and the same regal bearing as both Artoria and Morgan.
The resemblance was so complete that, for a brief instant, it felt as though he were looking at both sisters at once.
She smiled faintly.
“Hello, Godrick.”
There was no hatred in her voice, as if she were actually pleased to see him.
“It’s nice to finally meet you face to face.”
Godrick slowly reached up and removed his helmet, unable to hide the disbelief on his face.
“Igraine Pendragon,” she confirmed.
“Wife of Uther… and mother of Artoria and Morgan.”
For several long moments, neither of them spoke.
Godrick simply stared.
Every story he had ever heard claimed Igraine had died decades ago.
Yet here she sat, sharpening Clarent as though this were any ordinary evening.
She noticed the question forming in his expression before he could even ask it.
“It’s a ritual,” she explained quietly, running the whetstone along Clarent’s edge one final time.
“The blade has no need of sharpening. It hasn’t dulled in centuries. Still… I sharpen it before every battle.”
She breathed deeply, closing her eyes as the cool ocean breeze brushed against her face.
“It calms my mind.”
The scraping finally stopped.
She rested the whetstone upon her lap before gazing toward the endless sea, where the sun was beginning to disappear beneath the horizon.
“We may be enemies,” she said softly, “perhaps the greatest either of us will ever know… but I’d like to sit here a little while longer.”
She patted the broad stone beside her.
“I’d like you to join me.”
Godrick remained standing for several seconds before finally walking over and lowering himself onto the weathered rock.
Together they faced the sea in complete silence, watching waves crash against the cliffs below while seabirds circled overhead.
At length, Igraine spoke again without taking her eyes from the horizon.
“Enjoy it while you can.”
Her voice was almost gentle.
“This will be the last sunset you’ll ever see.”
There was no arrogance behind the statement, only certainty, as if she knew what would happen.
Godrick found that he wasn’t afraid.
If this truly was to be his final evening, then there were certainly worse ways to greet death than watching the sun disappear beyond the western sea.
He planted his halberd upright beside him, the heavy weapon sinking several inches into the earth, then slowly drew Caliburn from its scabbard.
The newly forged blade shimmered in the orange light of the setting sun, its golden veins reflecting across the polished steel as though the weapon itself carried a piece of the dying daylight within it.
Only then did the silence between them finally come to an end.
“I have hated you for as long as I can remember.”
The deep, gravelly voice rolled across the quiet shoreline, causing Igraine’s hand to freeze against the whetstone.
Her head slowly turned toward Godrick, disbelief written plainly across her scarred features as she stared at the knight she had believed to be forever mute.
Before she could speak, he met her gaze without the slightest hint of emotion, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint, humorless smile.
“And today,” he continued evenly, “I finally get to wipe your filthy soul from the face of the earth.”
Rather than immediately reaching for his weapon, Godrick calmly leaned over and plucked the whetstone from her hand.
He rested Caliburn across his knees and slowly drew the stone along the gleaming blade.
Steel rasped against the stone with a soothing rhythm, the sound carrying softly over the crashing waves before them.
He had never understood why soldiers sharpened blades that scarcely needed sharpening, but after only a few strokes he found himself appreciating the ritual.
There was something calming about it, something that steadied the mind before blood was spilled.
Igraine simply watched him with cold, hateful eyes.
After another slow pass of the whetstone, Godrick let out a quiet chuckle before standing to his full height.
He tossed the stone carelessly into the grass beside him.
“That’s enough pretending,” he said as he slid his helmet back over his head, hiding his face behind it’s polished steel.
“I’m going to kill you now.”
Without another word, Igraine rose as well.
She carried Clarent loosely at her side while walking back toward the guardhouse, retrieving her own helmet before placing it over her white hair.
When she turned back to face him, the last traces of quiet serenity had vanished from her posture, replaced by the confidence of a woman who had conquered kingdoms and butchered thousands.
“You know,” she said almost conversationally, lowering Clarent into a ready stance, “after I’m finished with you, I’m going to kill Artoria… and then your sister.”
Godrick regarded her through the eye slits of his helm as though she had merely commented on the weather.
“Where is she? Where is my sister?”
For a brief moment, surprise crossed Igraine’s face.
Then, to his astonishment, she answered without deception.
“Din Eidyn.”
Godrick gave a single nod.
He stepped forward, placing both hands upon Caliburn’s hilt before raising the greatsword beside his shoulder, its point angled toward the evening sky.
The moment stretched between them, silent save for the distant cries of gulls and the endless rhythm of the sea.
Then both warriors moved.
Godrick’s opening strike crashed downward with enough force to split stone, but Igraine met it with Clarent in a burst of sparks.
Steel screamed as the blades collided.
Using the momentum, he battered her sword aside before reversing his grip and whipping Caliburn back toward her neck in a murderous horizontal cut.
Igraine danced backward just beyond its reach, her boots skimming across the grass before instantly stepping back inside his guard to deflect the next swing.
Godrick altered his angle, dropping the massive blade low in an attempt to sever both her legs.
She reacted without hesitation, springing cleanly over the sweeping strike.
Before her feet even touched the ground, he pivoted on his heel and unleashed another devastating overhead blow.
The earth exploded where Caliburn struck, shattering stone and sending fragments in every direction, but Igraine had already rolled clear, rising gracefully several yards away.
With a sharp pull, Godrick ripped the embedded sword free from the broken ground and allowed the weapon to hang lazily from one hand as though it weighed nothing at all.
“I assume Anthrax and Noel are dead,” Igraine said with an amused sneer.
“An acceptable loss. Replacing competent generals takes time, but after I kill you and Artoria, rebuilding my armies will be simple. The rest of this country will fall soon enough.”
A quiet laugh escaped Godrick.
“Anthrax and Noel are alive.”
She frowned at that.
“They chose to side with Camelot.”
For the first time since their meeting, Igraine’s composure cracked.
It lasted only an instant, but Godrick saw it clearly.
“That’s what happens when you rule through fear,” he continued.
“Loyalty built on terror always collapses. You’re only half the woman your daughters are.”
Whether the words struck home or merely enraged her, he never knew.
Igraine exploded forward.
Clarent flashed toward his head with blinding speed, forcing Godrick to retreat a single step before immediately driving back into range.
Caliburn descended in a crushing vertical strike intended to cleave her in two, but Clarent intercepted it once again.
Rather than contesting his overwhelming strength, Igraine twisted gracefully around his blade, slipping past his right shoulder like flowing water.
Before he could recover, Clarent carved a deep line across his exposed side.
Warm blood poured beneath his armor as the first wound of the battle was opened.
He simply turned and continued attacking, forcing her backward beneath an endless barrage of brutal, two-handed swings.
Clarent flashed again and again, meeting Caliburn in showers of sparks while every impact echoed across the quiet coastline.
Godrick possessed monstrous strength, each strike capable of smashing stone beneath their feet, while Igraine answered with flawless technique, redirecting his power with the precision of a master swordswoman.
It became a contest between overwhelming force and absolute skill.
After several furious exchanges, both combatants separated once more, circling across the shattered ground while never allowing the other from their sight.
Godrick expected the familiar tingling warmth to spread through his body as his unnatural healing closed the wound along his ribs, but nothing happened.
The blood continued dripping onto the grass.
A satisfied laugh drifted from behind Igraine’s visor.
“You like it?”
She raised Clarent slightly, allowing the fading sunlight to gleam across its crimson edge.
“I carved the same anti-regeneration rune into Clarent that I placed upon my own sword years ago. It won’t last forever, but I only need it long enough to kill you.”
Godrick’s grip tightened around Caliburn until the leather wrapping groaned beneath his gauntlets.
Igraine chose that exact moment to attack.
Launching herself into the air, she brought Clarent crashing down with every ounce of her strength.
Godrick answered instantly, raising Caliburn overhead.
The two legendary blades collided with an explosive shower of sparks, the impact sending a violent shockwave across the courtyard as both warriors strained for dominance.
Despite his overwhelming physical power, Godrick was stunned to find that Igraine could actually hold him.
She wasn’t his equal in strength, not even close, but every movement she made was perfect, each subtle adjustment stealing away the advantage his raw power should have given him.
Recognizing that he would not overpower her through the bind alone, Godrick abruptly shifted tactics.
Releasing the pressure on his sword for only a heartbeat, he lashed out with his left leg and drove a crushing kick into the outside of Igraine’s knee.
Her balance broke instantly, and she crashed down onto one knee before him, Clarent dipping just enough to expose the opening Godrick had been waiting for.
Taking advantage of that opening, Godrick immediately pressed his advantage, forcing Caliburn downward with all the strength his enhanced body could muster.
The greatsword bore down against Clarent, the force behind it enough to make the ground beneath Igraine’s feet crack as he attempted to overwhelm her through sheer power.
For a brief moment, it seemed as though the weight behind his strike would finally force her to yield.
But Igraine had never relied on strength alone.
Instead of resisting, she allowed Clarent to loosen in her grasp, dropping the blade slightly to her right.
The sudden lack of resistance caused Caliburn to slide past its intended path, pulling Godrick’s momentum with it and forcing his massive frame to stumble slightly to his left.
It was only a fraction of a second, but against a warrior like Igraine, that was more than enough.
With a smooth twist of her wrist, Igraine slipped Clarent free from the bind and stepped past him, dragging the crimson blade across his exposed right side as he moved forward.
The strike tore through his armor and carved deeply into his flesh, sending a burst of pain through his body.
Rather than slowing down, Godrick used the pain as fuel, pivoting violently to his left and bringing Caliburn around in a sweeping counterattack.
The massive blade struck Clarent with enough force to send a shockwave through the air, and Igraine was launched backward nearly ten feet from the impact.
Despite the power behind the strike, she twisted in the air and landed smoothly, her boots sliding only slightly against the ground before she regained her footing.
“You continue to surprise me,” Igraine said, her voice calm as she raised Clarent again.
“I did not think this battle would last nearly as long as it has. You’ve certainly endured longer than Artoria would have.”
Godrick remained silent, watching her carefully.
“When she discovers who I truly am, I intended to use that moment of hesitation to kill her,” Igraine continued, almost casually explaining the plan she had carried for years.
“The shock would be enough. Artoria has always been strong, but her heart has always been her weakness. She will struggle to understand the truth standing before her.”
A faint smile formed beneath her helmet.
“Perhaps I would have even allowed her time to grieve. To question everything she believed about me. To watch her struggle with the fact that the woman she once loved was the same person who destroyed everything around her.”
Her grip tightened around Clarent.
“But it changes nothing now. Like you, she will die.”
Godrick simply lifted Caliburn into position.
Igraine mirrored him.
The moment of silence ended, and the two warriors collided once more.
Godrick pushed forward, forcing his strength into every movement.
Slowly, he began overpowering her guard, driving Caliburn downward until their blades separated completely.
Before Igraine could recover, Godrick stepped forward and drove his armored knee into her chest.
Igraine was sent flying backward, her body cutting through the air before crashing into a nearby tree with enough force to shatter the trunk.
Wood splintered around her as she disappeared into the broken remains.
She rolled through the debris and rose back to her feet in a single motion, immediately launching herself toward him.
Clarent flashed forward in a precise thrust aimed directly at his chest, but Godrick was prepared.
He shifted to the side, allowing the blade to pass him, and brought Caliburn down with every ounce of strength he possessed.
Her grip tightened around her sword as the two blades locked together, her arms straining beneath the immense pressure but refusing to yield.
The sight angered Godrick.
After everything she had done, after everything she had taken from him and his family, she still stood before him refusing to fall.
His anger took control for a brief moment.
He abandoned the sword bind and drove his shoulder forward, slamming into her with enough force to send her crashing into the earth.
Before she could fully recover, Godrick raised his foot and brought it down with all his might.
She rolled away just before his strike connected, and the ground beneath him exploded from the force.
Stone shattered outward, sending massive chunks of rock and debris into the air as cracks spread across the area.
Using his immense strength, he swung Caliburn in a powerful horizontal arc, the force of the movement creating a violent wave that pushed the airborne debris in the direction of his strike.
Igraine attempted to move, but she was too slow.
A boulder nearly the size of her own body slammed into her, striking her with enough force to send her crashing back onto the ground.
Godrick rushed forward, determined to end the fight before she could recover.
His right hand remained locked around Caliburn’s hilt while his left hand gripped the ricasso of the blade, using the dull section near the base to guide the massive sword like a spear.
With all his weight behind the attack, he drove Caliburn downward, aiming to impale her against the earth.
But Igraine moved at the last possible moment.
She rolled away from the strike, and as she did, her blade scraped upward along Caliburn’s length, catching Godrick’s exposed hand as he held the weapon.
Four of his fingers fell away at the first knuckle, severed cleanly by the razor edge of Clarent.
His hand instinctively recoiled, blood pouring from the ruined limb, but the injury did not stop him.
His remaining fingers tightened around Caliburn’s grip, and with sheer force he ripped the sword free from the ground.
His attacks became more aggressive, each strike carrying enough power to shatter her defenses, but Igraine continued to meet him.
She knocked Caliburn aside with one movement only to counter with another, forcing him to constantly defend himself.
Slowly, a realization began to settle over him.
If this continued like this, he would lose.
Clarent shot forward in a thrust aimed directly at his chest, and instead of dodging, Godrick opened his damaged left hand and placed his palm directly in the path of the blade.
Letting her impale his hand was a gamble, but Godrick had already accepted that this battle would not be won without sacrifice.
The moment Clarent pierced through his open palm, he tightened his grip around the blade and forced it to one side, using Igraine’s own momentum against her.
With his right hand, he brought Caliburn crashing downward with all the strength he could muster, expecting the weight and power behind the great sword to finally end the battle.
But Igraine had fought too many battles to fall for such a simple maneuver.
Instead of trying to pull her sword free, she twisted Clarent within his ruined hand and simply cut through the side of his palm.
The blade tore through flesh, bone, and armor, leaving only a portion of his hand still attached near his forefinger as the rest hung uselessly from his palm.
The pain was immense, but before Godrick could react, Igraine shifted her body to the left, narrowly avoiding the descending strike of Caliburn before bringing Clarent around in a brutal counterattack.
The red and silver blade carved into his exposed right shoulder and side, tearing through his armor and sending another wave of pain through his body.
“Damn it!” Godrick hissed through clenched teeth as he looked down at his ruined hand.
Everything had happened in the span of a heartbeat, yet the damage was beginning to catch up with him.
For the first time in years, he felt something he had almost forgotten existed, exhaustion.
His body had always healed faster than any wound could threaten him, but Igraine’s blade had changed the rules of the battle.
Every strike she landed mattered.
Every cut brought him closer to failure.
More importantly, he could feel his anger beginning to rise.
That was exactly what she wanted.
Godrick knew it.
He had seen it in her fighting style.
Igraine was not merely trying to overpower him, she was waiting for him to lose control.
She knew that his strength was terrifying, but his rage would make him predictable.
The moment he allowed hatred to guide his actions instead of his judgment, she would have the opening she needed.
Dragging Caliburn from the ground, Godrick swung the massive blade in a wide backhanded strike, but Igraine effortlessly stepped away from the attack.
Before he could recover, she moved back into range and drove Clarent deep into his left shoulder, the force of the impact sending him crashing backward into one of the massive chunks of stone that had been thrown from the earth during their battle.
The blade punched through his flesh and pinned him against the rock, the jagged stone biting into his back as the sword buried itself deeper.
Igraine attempted to pull Clarent free, but Godrick refused to let her have the advantage.
Even with his mangled hand barely functioning, he reached up and wrapped what remained of his fingers around the blade.
Rather than pulling it away, he dragged it deeper into himself, forcing her closer as he used his own body as a weapon.
With a roar, Godrick swung Caliburn toward her, forcing Igraine to release Clarent and retreat before the great sword could cleave through her.
The moment she stepped back, Godrick drove the tip of Caliburn into the earth and reached down with his remaining hand, ripping Clarent from his own shoulder before tossing the blade aside.
He pulled Caliburn free from the ground and charged.
Igraine attempted to evade him, but Godrick’s increased size and strength gave him just enough reach to catch her.
His ruined left hand closed around her long white braid as she tried to move past him, stopping her escape.
However, he had miscalculated.
His body was faster and stronger than before, but the massive great sword in his hands required more room to swing it properly.
Instead of using the blade, Godrick brought the golden pommel of Caliburn down directly into her face.
The force drove her backward, and beneath the ruined helmet he could hear the sickening cracks of bones breaking.
Her nose, cheek, and jaw had all taken the brunt of the strike, leaving blood pouring down her face.
Yet even then, she did not panic.
With one hand, Igraine reached for a hidden knife and, without hesitation, cut through her own braid.
The severed hair fell from Godrick’s grasp, allowing her to roll away and recover.
She snatched Clarent from the ground as she moved, rising to take his left hand at the wrist before darting back in towards his helmet.
He turned just in time to avoid death, but not enough to avoid the blade entirely.
Clarent carved through his helmet and tore across the left side of his face, splitting metal and flesh alike.
He staggered backward, his left stump rising instinctively to the wound as blood ran down his cheek.
Igraine looked at him for a moment before a twisted smile formed beneath her broken helmet.
“Now, if you let me cut your right cheek, you’ll have a permanent smile,” she laughed, raising her arms slightly as if she were admiring a masterpiece.
Godrick said nothing.
He simply stood there, breathing heavily beneath his damaged helmet.
For the first time in the battle, he felt something close to fear.
Not fear of death, but fear of failure.
His body felt heavy.
His movements were slower.
The blood loss was finally beginning to take its toll, and unlike every battle before this one, his healing could not keep up.
Igraine’s runes had turned his own greatest advantage against him.
Every wound remained, every injury mattered, and if the fight continued much longer, she would simply bleed him dry.
He looked down at his ruined left wrist, watching blood drip steadily onto the ground.
It hurt, but not as much as he expected.
“You know,” Igraine said, taking a slow step forward, “I don’t think I’ve had this much fun since I strapped you to that stone and whipped you when you were what? Three? Maybe four years old?”
Her voice was filled with amusement, deliberately trying to pull him back into that place of hatred.
He looked at her ruined helmet, her broken armor, and the blood dripping down her sword.
Slowly, Godrick tightened his grip around Caliburn and raised the sword toward the sky.
The air itself seemed to grow heavier as golden light began gathering around the blade.
The runes carved into Caliburn’s surface ignited one by one, glowing brighter until the entire weapon seemed to contain a piece of the sun itself.
With a voice that shook the heavens, Godrick called forth the sword’s power.
“Caliburn!”
A pillar of golden light erupted from the blade, twisting upward into the heavens and creating a massive vortex of energy that tore through the clouds above them.
The ground trembled beneath their feet as the force of the weapon awakened, the very air screaming from the pressure.
Igraine stared upward in shock, and for the first time in the battle, she looked uncertain.
Then she moved.
She understood what was coming, and in that single moment, she abandoned all arrogance and threw herself into motion.
But she was too late.
Godrick brought Caliburn down.
The earth beneath them shattered as the force of the attack ripped across the battlefield. The source of this chapter is g.com.
Trees vanished instantly, streams evaporated into clouds of steam, and massive chunks of stone were launched into the sky like fragments of dust.
The mountains behind where Igraine had stood were torn apart, their peaks reduced to molten stone that slowly poured down their sides like rivers of fire.
For several moments, there was nothing but silence.
Godrick stood among the destruction, Caliburn lowered at his side as the golden glow slowly faded.
But something was wrong.
A flicker of crimson light emerged through the dust to his left, and slowly, Godrick turned.
Through the smoke and ash, Igraine stepped forward.
Her armor was damaged, her body battered, but she was still standing.
In her hands, Clarent burned with a blood-red aura, crimson lightning crawling along its length as power unlike anything he had felt before gathered around the blade.
“Clarent Blood Arthur!”
The world turned red as a torrent of unimaginable power erupted from the sword, surging forward like a wave of destruction.
Godrick barely had time to react before the crimson beam struck him directly in the chest.
Pain unlike anything he had ever known exploded through his body as the force tore into him, swallowing him completely in a storm of blood-red light.
===
Godrick’s vision returned in fragments.
At first there was only pain, an all-consuming agony that seemed to radiate from every inch of his body.
Then came sound, the distant crackle of burning trees and the settling groan of shattered earth.
Finally, his senses sharpened enough for him to realize he could barely breathe.
A massive slab of stone was crushing him beneath its weight.
For a brief moment he simply lay there, trying to gather enough strength to move before he pushed upward with his remaining arm and ruined left stump.
Before the stone could be thrown aside, a familiar laugh reached his ears.
Igraine stepped onto the boulder above him, looking down with the expression of a starving hyena cornering wounded prey.
Her helmet was gone, blasted away by Caliburn’s power, revealing a face caked in blood, ash, and dirt.
One of her eyes had been destroyed, the empty socket streaked with dried blood, while the remaining one burned with madness.
Blood ran freely across her broken features, mixing with the feral grin stretching across her face until she looked less like a queen and more like some ancient monster dragged from a nightmare.
With a roar, Godrick hurled the stone away.
The slab shot through the air as if it weighed nothing, forcing Igraine to leap from it awkwardly before crashing onto the shattered ground in front of him.
Godrick climbed to his feet, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through his body, and instinctively searched for Caliburn.
His heart sank when he failed to find it among the dust and rubble.
Instead, his eyes landed upon the splintered remains of his halberd lying only a few paces away.
Igraine never intended to give him a moment.
Still laughing, she rushed him with Clarent held high, her single eye fixed upon him with delight.
Godrick barely reached the halberd before she was upon him, wrenching it from the ground and raising it into a desperate guard.
Clarent descended in a crimson arc, slicing cleanly through the weapon as though it were little more than dry timber.
The enchanted blade continued toward his chest, but Godrick twisted aside at the last possible instant.
As the strike passed, he slammed the jagged end of his left stump into Igraine’s face with enough force to send her stumbling backward, blood spraying from her shattered nose once again.
Seizing the opening, he hurled the remaining half of his halberd like a spear.
It spun end over end before burying itself deep in Igraine’s abdomen.
For just a moment, victory seemed possible.
She glanced down at the broken haft protruding from her stomach with little more than mild annoyance before gripping it with one hand, wrenching it free in a spray of blood, and casually tossing it aside into the rubble.
Then she smiled again.
Godrick’s eyes finally found Caliburn lying half-buried beneath some shattered stone.
Relief flooded through him as he lunged toward it, wrapping his hand around the hilt.
Yet before he could even rise, Igraine was already there.
With no time to bring the greatsword to bear, he instinctively raised what remained of his left arm to shield himself.
Clarent carved through the ruined limb without the slightest resistance.
The blade sheared through flesh, bone, and armor before continuing into his shoulder, biting so deeply that it nearly split him apart.
Godrick crashed backward onto the broken earth as Igraine ripped the sword free in a crimson spray.
Before he could recover, she thrust Clarent forward again, driving it straight through his unarmored chest and deep into the boulder behind him, pinning him in place.
She leaned in close, her ruined face hovering only inches from his own, her remaining eye gleaming with manic satisfaction as she watched him struggle.
Godrick’s right hand immediately clamped around Clarent’s blade despite its razor edge, his gauntlet screeching against it’s enchanted steel as blood poured between his fingers.
He pulled with everything he had left, trying to wrench the weapon from his own body, but Igraine merely tightened her grip on the hilt and held it there, savoring every second of his suffering.
They remained like that for what felt like an eternity, neither moving, neither speaking.
She could feel his strength fading.
He could see her enjoying it.
Finally, Igraine released the hilt altogether, leaving Clarent buried through his chest as she stepped away, throwing back her head in triumphant laughter that echoed across the ruined landscape.
Godrick grasped the sword with both what remained of his left arm and his right hand, straining to pull it free, but his strength failed him.
His vision began to blur, and his breathing became shallow.
For the first time in years… He felt helpless.
His thoughts drifted to Artoria.
He had come here for one purpose.
If Igraine survived, Artoria would eventually stand before her own mother, and Godrick knew exactly what would happen.
She would hesitate.
Just for a heartbeat.
Just long enough for Igraine to kill her.
“No…” he whispered, the word barely escaping his bloodied lips.
His fingers tightened around the blade buried in his chest.
“No.”
Hatred surged through him, not the blind rage Igraine wanted, but something purer.
Every scar across his body, every lash, every humiliation, every scream he had endured beneath her hand came rushing back.
He remembered being a frightened child chained to a stone.
He remembered promising himself that one day he would become worthy of standing beside Artoria as one of her Knights.
He would not fail her.
Not again.
Still smiling, Igraine walked back toward him at an almost leisurely pace.
When she reached him, she grabbed his ruined helmet and ripped it off before grabbing a fistful of his hair with her left hand and forced his head upward so he had no choice but to meet her gaze.
Her right hand settled around Clarent’s hilt once more.
“I’ll make sure Artoria suffers before she dies,” she whispered, blood dripping from her broken smile.
“And I’ll make certain she knows it was your failure that condemned her.”
She began pulling Clarent free.
The instant Godrick felt the blade slide loose from the stone behind him, he acted.
Every gem embedded within his armor flashed at once as he released every remaining ounce of stored kinetic energy.
The explosion erupted from his body like a thunderclap.
The blast hurled Igraine backward, tearing Clarent from his chest and sending both woman and sword tumbling through the air.
Dust, shattered stone, and broken earth exploded outward, swallowing the battlefield beneath a dense gray cloud.
Igraine rolled across the ground before quickly regaining her footing, but when she looked up, Godrick was gone.
A heartbeat later, he burst from the dust like a wrathful spirit.
With a roar that shook the ruined valley, he threw himself at her, his arms wrapping around Igraine’s body in a crushing bear hug, locking her against his chest with enough force to crack the plates of her armor.
As he did, Clarent plunged into his chest once more.
Blood poured from his wounds, soaking both of them, yet his arms only tightened as he held her against him with the strength of a dying giant.
He no longer cared about the pain, no longer cared about surviving.
There was only one thing left that mattered.
Her death.
The ornate black breastplate she wore began to cave inward beneath the unimaginable pressure.
The steel buckled first, folding into itself before the matching backplate collapsed as well, the enchanted armor groaning in protest as it was crushed between Godrick’s arms.
Igraine’s crazed smile finally disappeared, replaced by a look of genuine panic as she struggled to draw another breath.
She hammered one free fist against him, clawed at his ruined armor, and even tried to force Clarent deeper into his chest, but nothing slowed the relentless pressure.
Godrick squeezed harder.
The sound that followed was sickening.
Her ribs snapped one after another, collapsing inward with wet, splintering cracks before the force reached her spine.
For one terrible instant her body arched violently, and then a deafening CRACK split the air as her backbone finally gave way.
Only then did Godrick release her.
Igraine’s broken body crumpled to the ground in an unnatural heap, her shattered armor twisted around her like a crushed coffin, while Godrick remained standing over her, blood pouring from his own wounds as he stared down at the woman who had made his childhood a living nightmare.
Leaving Clarent buried in his chest to slow some of the relentless bleeding, Godrick turned away from Igraine’s broken body and walked toward where Caliburn had fallen.
Every step was labored, his legs threatened to give out beneath him, and blood dripped steadily from the countless wounds that covered his body, yet he never faltered.
At last he reached the greatsword, and wrapped his gauntleted hand around its hilt, slowly lifting it from the shattered earth.
The runes etched into its blade had long since dimmed, but it still carried the dignity of a king’s weapon, waiting for its final task to be completed.
He limped back toward the fallen Warlord, stopping over her broken body.
The once-feared conqueror struggled feebly against a body that no longer obeyed her.
Blood bubbled at the corner of her mouth as she tried to crawl, only for her ruined spine to leave her helpless in the rubble.
When she saw Godrick standing above her with Caliburn raised high, the madness in her remaining eye finally gave way to fear.
“No…” she gasped, her voice little more than a broken whisper.
Godrick looked down at the woman who had turned countless lives into nightmares.
“You will haunt me no more.”
Caliburn fell in a single, flawless arc, the enchanted blade passed cleanly through her neck.
Godrick stood in silence for several long moments before bending down with a groan of pain.
He took hold of her short white hair and lifted the severed head from the ground.
Looking toward the sea beyond the cliffs, he drew back his arm and hurled it with every ounce of strength he still possessed.
The head disappeared into the distance, soaring out over the crashing waves before vanishing from sight, taking with it the truth of who the Warlord truly was.
It was over.
The Warlord was dead.
He looked down one final time at the headless corpse lying broken beneath the evening sky, allowing himself a single quiet breath before turning away.
His body was beginning to fail him now.
Each step became slower than the last as he searched for a place to rest, eventually finding a large boulder overlooking the cliffs.
Leaning Caliburn beside him, he lowered himself against the warm stone with a weary sigh, careful not to disturb Clarent, which still remained lodged through his chest, the blade being the only thing keeping him from bleeding out even faster.
Before him, the endless ocean stretched toward the horizon, its waves crashing rhythmically against the cliffs below.
The setting sun painted the water in brilliant shades of orange and pink, while the salty breeze carried away the smoke of battle.
Godrick closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the fading sunlight wash over his face.
For the first time in his life… He felt true peace.
Now there was nothing left to fear.
His thoughts drifted to happier days, and for a fleeting moment he was no longer sitting upon a blood-soaked battlefield.
Instead, he was once again atop the grassy hill overlooking Camelot.
Mordred sat beside him as she always had, idly kicking her feet while complaining about some exhausting lesson or another.
He could almost feel the cool wind rolling over the hills and hear her endless grumbling as though she had never left.
He turned toward the familiar voice beside him.
Instead of his sister, he found only the Warlord’s lifeless body lying where it had fallen.
“I’m gonna be okay, Godrick.” Mordred’s voice reached him again, soft and reassuring.
He blinked slowly.
Whether it had truly been her or only the fading thoughts of a dying man, he neither knew nor cared.
A faint smile crossed his scarred face.
He looked back toward the sky, watching the sun slowly descend beneath the horizon, and somewhere deep inside, he understood that he would never see another dawn.
The realization brought him no fear.
If anything, it brought relief.
He had done what he had set out to do.
He had saved his mother.
And, if fate was kind, he had saved his sister too.