Altered Mordred

Arc 2 Chapter 3

To have sentience is to exist with the irrefutable inclination to fear death. In the face of demise, some would lash out in violence while others begged for mercy. It is a natural thing to pursue a prolonged life upon the world of the living.

Some were born in the absence of thought, for the aptness of free-will was irrelevant. A small piece of a greater body needs not the wishes of its own, only to follow the intent of the demon god it was part of. To be nothing but a tool, that was its role; not to revolt; not to perceive.

Then, it was discarded by the demon god. It lost its place in the realm of ascended purpose...Fallen from grace and removed from all it had known to a place consumed by hatred and unyielding desires. It was thrown away, given to a mortal trash as his grafted arm. Why was it punished without reasons beyond satiating the needs of another? Was its own grace trivial to the salts that enveloped the face of a grieving silver knight?

For once in its life, the flesh of a demon god acquired a consciousness. For once, it endured the sting of betrayal. It silently raged in defiance against the treachery of this mortal and its previous owner, streaming countless silent gestures of death and misfortune to its slavers.

When it was brutally ripped from the madden mortal, it experienced freedom for the first time: the joys of thought, the pain of wounds, the fear of death, and the fury for revenge. If nothing was done, it would cease to exist as the mana within the limb would run dry. It hungered to extend the fleeting complexity of liberty.

'IT WANTED TO LIVE!'

'IT WANTED TO KILL!'

At the right time, the detached limb crawled towards the fallen body of the red and black armored knight. It intruded the body through the large hole upon the female knight's chest. A single thought ran true as it forced itself inside, 'what wondrous emotions would it encounter in a body of its own?'

In the midst of the fusion process, white walls engulfed everything. The flesh of a demon god fused with the fallen knight, but failed to gain full control.

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*Splash*

Mordred Alter shot awake from the cold sensations of water hitting her face. The original Mordred stood beside her with a freshly emptied bucket in hand. The two were in the deserted prison of Camelot. What use was a prison when every criminal and undesirables were slaughtered in King Artoria's selection process. Perhaps, the prison's construction was decoration to revisit the nostalgia of the glory days of medieval Britain.

Mordred glanced at the waking form of her alternative self. After taking Gawain's Noble Phantasm head-on, Alter's unconscious wounded body was thrown into this cell as a precaution. The wound was hastily bandaged and the removed appendage was thrown into the cell with the intruder. It laid on the stone floor rotting away. Her remaining limbs were chained, while the abnormally black Clarent was taken away.

Alter shook the cold liquid off her face before focusing on Mordred. There was an awkward silence between them. Their initial meeting was not the most pleasant and both knights were confused on how to interact with a doppelganger?

"Got something for me?" Alter took the initiative. She grunted a bit when the pain of her wound resonated across her body.

"Our majesty is going to pass judgment on you." Mordred narrowed her eyes. "Before that...who the hell are you?"

It's not everyday someone would meet a twisted variation of herself. Alter's existence had potentially jeopardized King Artoria's trust in Mordred; a future she could never accept. King Artoria ordered the remaining Knights of the Round Table to gather in her throne room to interrogate the look-alike. The task of bringing Alter to the throne room was placed on Mordred and she was not going to accomplish it without satisfying her curiosity.