Fate-in time

39

Colchester, Essex.

Peasants stood rooted in place unable to feel any form of protection despite the hastily made high walls of wood and brick created from torn buildings and vending shops. Against a regular enemy siege, such walls would have had been enough to at least give them a sense of safety, but the current situation was different.
Colchester's walls were generally centered around the central fortifications built from when the Romans had extended their reaches towards the Isles, meaning that they extended no further. The habitable farmland and living spaces of the majority of peasants were outside Colchester's protective walls, leading to the creation of whatever defensive formation were available to the common masses.
Due to the numerous skirmishes and battles that were currently fought throughout the land, most Saxon settlers that had taken up residence in the area were more akin to a militia. Even the women who generally tended to the home and children knew how to fight if they were forced to. As such, even in the midst of war, it would take far more than an enemy siege to cause such fear to creep in the populace's eyes for they had experience.
Instead, it was a product of superstition.
Mothers and fathers had always warned of the monsters that lurked in the dark and in the shadows, killing and devouring the unaware.
Little demons that had once plagued the mind, never fading, simply buried beneath the concepts of irrationality and logic.
They weren't real. They weren't supposed to be.
And yet what was approaching Colchester, were the monsters one would see while staring out from an abyss.
The hounds that plagued the fields.
The boars that gouged and stabbed.
They were numerous, spreading out across the area in an ordered fashion that made it all the more terrifying as they neared Colchester's walls.
In their ranks was one that stood out the most. A giant of a monster nearly fourteen-feet tall and hideous, the puss filled warts that covered its pallid and wrinkled face kept shadowed beneath various animal skins used for clothing. Bear skin was worn to form a mantle, fox skin wrapped as a loincloth, and sheep skin to act as shoes, its disorderly appearance only made it appear more savage to the warriors readying themselves by the make-shift wall.
It was called Gogmagog, a muscular giant of a monster that was said to be descended from the blood of Demons. On its waist, was a piece of a broken slate, carved with shattered magical runes.
Peering across at the distant settlement of Colchester, it grinned, revealing a pair of rotting yellowish teeth that were stained black from the build up of decaying flesh.
It was never smart for a Phantasmal Beast, but luck had ended up being its greatest fortune to have had allowed it to acquire one of the four pieces of the Ashton seal and escape from the Reverse Side of the World.
Initially, all it had wanted to do was eat the flesh of humans once again and live an unhindered life of brutality and entertainment, yet the words of the other three who had crossed over with him had made sense.
Even if it currently had its freedom and had the ability to call upon others from the Reverse Side of the World, it didn't mean that its preferred life-style would be guaranteed. So long as the Reverse Side of the World remained separate from the Earth, there would never be a sure certainty. As such, after persuasion from the other three, it found itself tasked with destroying the anchor to the Reverse Side of the World that existed within Colchester; one of the oldest known human settlements even in the modern era.
It lumbered forward, its weight alone creating deep depressions into the ground, causing tremors that served to frighten the humans before it more.
It felt pleased sensing their horror, for its very being was derived from the thoughts of humans. The more fear, dread, and panic they felt, the greater the state of its existence would become.
Unhesitatingly, he called the words that would begin the siege on Colchester.
"Attack!"
They flocked together in a wave, the vanguard of hounds running amidst the swaying of the tall grass. Jarred who had once stood as a sentry guard atop Colchester's walls had immediately ran for the Guard Captain for instruction. Unfortunately, the Guard Captain had no idea what to do either and could only call for the instruction of a superior. In this case, no superior was better at leading then the man who himself had led in the original capture of Colchester before he proclaimed himself a King.
Norvel Wild Son, the current Saxon ruler of Colchester, and the man who currently stood in a daze. Originally, when he had been called by the Guard Captain, he had assumed that it was only another minor resistance from the locals in the surrounding areas, but what awaited him was a nightmare beyond his imagination.
"W-What is this?" He stuttered out, expression paling.
Numerous legends existed within the lands, most of which had stemmed from the mouths of the common peasants and farmers. Norvel himself had once originated from such a family before he gained his military position and commanding power after the take over of Colchester.
His mother had once spoken to him of the ferocious wild dogs that existed within the dark, bodies blackened and furs tinged in a pale mist, lying in wait upon barren country roads.
He had never believed them, nor the other stories his mother had told him, but now they appeared in front of him as his enemies.
The shivers that traveled down his body were masked behind the several layers of clothes he wore. He knew better than anyone that if he showed his fear, the tentative balance maintaining the composure of his men would shatter.
Yet what was he supposed to do?
Already, the towns folk outside the castle walls were screaming to be let in, but the men who were in charge of the wall gates were too petrified to comply.
The people he ruled over were screaming for salvation, but all he could do was watch silently, his hands balling into fists for he too was terrified.
In his moment of indecision, the first casualties occurred within the fringes of the makeshift walls the common masses had erected.
The screams that echoed out, deafening to his ears.
The room shook, trails of dust falling from the roof of the underground prison Shirou, Arturia, and Lancelot were kept within. The only light came from a barred window roughly one by two feet squared, and even then, the dimness of the place made the atmosphere somewhat gloomy.
Shirou sat by one corner his eyes closed as he concentrated on the dull ebbing of the stone Agatha had given him. Its vibrancy itself was hard to ignore, but fortunately its radiance was masked behind the leather armours worn over his chest lest the guards outside grew suspicious.
Then again, with the uncertainty flashing within their eyes, he was certain that they were more concerned about what was going on outside.
It wasn't until he felt a nudge at his side that he opened his eyes and shifted his attention away from the stone Agatha had given him.
"Is this alright?" Arturia whispered, body moving to sit beside him, leaving Lancelot to stare across at them from the room.
Lancelot wasn't really bothered that Arturia was more comfortable with Shirou, as Arturia hadn't exactly spent much time with him yet. At this point, they were still simply acquaintances and not at the level of the original First Knight of the Round Table.
Seeing this, Shirou decided that he would have to do something about it eventually, but not at the moment as Arturia currently had his attention.
"It doesn't matter if its alright or not," he shrugged his shoulders, somewhat conflicted as he answered Arturia's question.
He understood that by remaining in confinement that it was guaranteed that Norvel would lose several men, or worse, several hundred or thousands, but in the end, Norvel was still going to be an enemy Arturia would have to face. As such, no matter how much he wanted to save the people outside, he couldn't when he saw the innocence on Arturia's face.
There was light in her eyes, the kind born from leading a hard yet cheerful life. He didn't want to dirty it by forcing her to personally experience more blood shed. The more of Norvel's men were killed, the less enemies Arturia herself would have to order the death of due to her role as the King who drew forth the Sword from the Stone.
"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Arturia asked, brows furrowed as she contemplated the issue. "We came here to save them didn't we, even if they were enemies."
He already knew that. In fact, it was he who had to help convince Arturia before she remembered from Sir Ector's teachings that the Saxon's were only trying to lead their own lives as well. They were simply adversaries born through the situation of the Medieval Era. This itself was the reason why he was conflicted with what to do, because the Saxons were people deserving of being saved too.
When Arturia pressed him for an answer again, in his contemplation, he inadvertently spoke out what he had been thinking.
"Because I have you to think about," he said, the sincerity in his tone forcibly shutting Arturia's mouth.
She wasn't ignorant, nor foolish; she couldn't possibly be as she was destined to become a King and lead her people towards a brighter future. In which case, it wasn't difficult for her to understand the meaning in the words she had heard, and that was why she had nothing that she could say. Instead, she could only shift her gaze away and attempt to force down the heat rising up to her face.
It was only recently that Shirou had said to her how he felt for her, and to be honest, she wasn't exactly used to the feeling of another doing everything with her in mind. Yet, when she thought about it, that was what Shirou had always done. In her childhood, he had helped teach her the things she should, and shouldn't do, always being there to protect her either through his words or actions, and it was impossible for her not to feel anything as a result.
She fell silent, her knees coming to rest against her chest as she enveloped them with her arms and waited.
Not noticing her actions, Shirou's attention shifted towards the commotion that was occurring outside the prison cell's gates.
The guards who weren't certain of what was going on outside were suddenly shoved away as a stern man grabbed at the keys hung at one side of a far wall. This man was Gale Tate, the only one currently in Colchester that remembered that Shirou and the others actually existed.
"You," Gale Tate called sternly into the cell, the aura around him composed and dignified. "Do you remember me?" he asked.
Staring at Gale, confusion appeared in Arturia's eyes for she was too young to remember the battle that had occurred that day on the River Glein. She herself had only appeared in the battle, half-way through atop Efret's back, making it even more difficult for her to recall due to her desire of finding Sir Ector, Kay, and Shirou at the time.
Shirou however did recall who Gale was. The young commander who had single-handedly led the Saxon campaign in the area near Bristol, his only catastrophic lose due to Shirou's interference.
However, Shirou remained silent, causing Gale to frown.
"It doesn't matter if you know me or not, what does is that I remember you," Gale spoke as he opened the prison gates and tossed out the swords that had been confiscated by the previous guards. "You knew that those monsters were coming, didn't you," Gale stated.
Shirou only nodded his head.
"Then you must know how to deal with them?" Gale inquired, brows slanting as he entered a focused state.
"More or less," Shirou admitted. "You just have to attack them enough times or deal enough damage to put them down before they can offer any resistance."
This was the known tactic used by many of the heroes of old spoken of in the modern times. However, different from the future, even the common people in the past had physically stronger bodies and were more magically capable. As such, it made it possible for Heroes to eventually emerge one by one from even average humans.
Gale shook his head. "That's not what I mean, and you know it. Up against those monsters, we are worth little more than cattle in their eyes. We may be able to fight if there were just a few of them, but there are far too many."
Indeed. Both he and Arturia still remembered just how many Phantasmal Species had gathered near the location of Lady Vivian and the lake. If such numbers were to be used as a basis, then it was no wonder that he could see a feeling of helplessness buried deep within Gale's resolute gaze.
"I don't know who you are, or have any reason to give you to lend us your assistance in this time of peril, but I ask this of you as a fellow human, will you help us?"
The way Gale was staring at them was as if he was staring at the last hope shining in a murky water, his every action done in an earnest plea.
Arturia was the first to struggle over the situation, her eyes glancing back and forth between him and Gale before finally settling on himself, a lost expression on her face that quickly faded.
"I will help you," she spoke out righteously, Lancelot staring at her as a result.
He had been raised by the Lady of the Lake in isolation, making him more likely to think situations out before acting in a manner that was reflective of common sense. Of course, he understood that the reason that they had come in the first place was to save the settlement of Colchester, but to actively save the Saxons was another matter entirely. It spoke of the compassion Arturia had within her, and a trace of admiration soon shone in Lancelot's eyes.
Shirou released a breath of relief. To be truthful, it wasn't Arturia or Lancelot who was having the most trouble holding themselves back, but himself. It was never wrong to save others, and it was an ideal he had always lived by.
He was nearly reaching his breaking point by the time Arturia had spoken up. Now that his King had spoken, then what was there left to hold back her Knight from supporting her?
He stood up, the action drawing all eyes to him, yet it didn't matter.
There were people that he needed to save.
The sound of splintering wood and the clutter of steel echoed out into the air, the acrid smell of blood and rust permeating within the wind. It was the first thing he noted, the pungency of it striking across his face as the screams soon filtered into his ears. Hollowed, and despaired, there was no life to be heard in them. Only the panic born from desperation driving people to clamber over each other in vain, hastening their deaths as they inadvertently trampled each other.
He heard a distinct snap behind him, and when he turned around to verify the noise, it was only to see Gale gripping his sword so tightly that the leather gloves he was wearing had torn at the knuckles.
It couldn't be helped though. The sight before them was too difficult to stomach let alone for Gale who was watching his fellow countrymen die.
A pack of hounds were attacking in the distance, the quadrupedal monsters black in colour and ethereal. They bit, and tore through the hastily made barricades set up by the townsfolk that acted as a wall in seconds. Some didn't even have to go to the extent of biting, merely charging through it, their bodies leaving glaring holes for the other phantasmal species further behind to enter from.
From where Norvel was watching, it was if his soul had left him long ago, the blankness on his face no longer able to remain hidden from his men. His final straw had been when a dismembered arm sailed through the air and landed by his feet, the limb twitching with its fingers still grasping at a torn piece of clothing.
His mind broke down then and there when he had pictured his own outcome.
He fell on his knees, his breathing as ragged and laboured as the men standing beside him, looking to him for instruction.
"Open the gates!" the peasants below continued to call.
"You can't just let us all die!"
"My son works as a warrior, let my family in!"
Shameful as it was, he and his men ignored the calls of the people, and instead cowered away towards the Keep located further behind Colchester's walls. None chose to arm the battlements or prepare any weapons of any sort atop the bastion. The only thoughts in their minds were to flee, yet even then, it turned out to be impossible.
In Norvel's hesitation, one of his weaker willed men had left the current room that they were in and inadvertently sealed it when the entrance door swung loose and its lock latched in place.
All that they could do was watch and wait as the monsters drew nearer.
Gogmagog, the leader, was a monster stemming from Anglican and Celtic mythology, its tale spread out amongst even the Saxon people.
Gogmagog, the fearsome giant of Albion, the name of ancient Britain.
It was also a name and phantasmal beast that Shirou knew through chance after encountering the spear of Corineus in his past life.
Corineus was a Hero and the founder of Cornwall.
He who slew the giant of South West England through wrestling.
By looking through the experiences of Corineus through the history stored within his spear, he was able to get an accurate estimation of Gogmagog's strength, yet he couldn't take it for granted. The longer a Phantasmal species lived, the more detached it became from the world, meaning that it grew stronger. As such, Corineus's experience may end up differing from his own.
Looking at Gogmagog in the distance, the first thing he noticed wasn't Gogmagog's ugly appearance, but the broken piece of a slate hung at Gogmagog's waist.
The Ashton magic crest over his chest throbbed in excitement, the feeling from within him prompting him forward in urgency as magical power filled him.
His presence in the past had changed things, of that he understood it long ago from the moment he had felt Arturia's warmth within his arms.
But that was precisely why he had to make sure the changes he had wrought wouldn't negatively affect her.
Ashton or not, he was partly to blame for the current crisis of the era, therefore, it was up to him to be held responsible.
If that meant taking up a duty he had no recollection of accepting, then so be it.
A hand moved towards the Magic crest on his chest by instinct, an arc of magical light extending to his palms that took the form of a magic seal.
The pact of blood, the Ashton Crest.
He discovered its function ever since he had begun tinkering with it as of late, and he unhesitatingly utilized it, a bang sounding off in his mind.
In a world hidden by dense shadow and fog, Agatha glanced up from amidst the abyss, a grin playing on her lips as she extended out an arm. A torrent of red magical energy swelled around her, a torch in the dark.
A Divine Light, stemming from a Phantasmal Beast of the Millennium Rank.
"By my authority as she who watches from the boundary, I accept this contract and will take up the sworn oaths of the past once more," Agatha's hair flickered into a shade of silver, the energy around her erupting violently, revealing the lingering chains that still bound her. "You of Ashton blood, take upon my power and show the world the true legion of monsters. The Beasts of the Blood Pacts!"
Magical energy exploded forth from around Shirou, the Ashton Magic Crest shifting from the armour and directly over Shirou's chest, grafting within him. Power the likes of which he had never had true access to was suddenly granted upon him along with the oaths that came with it.
He stepped forward, not only as Arturia's First Knight, but as the newest head of the Ashton Family Line.
They who maintained the order of the world by safeguarding it from the Phantasmal Species that sought to do it harm.
"Efret."
The call wasn't loud, nor was it commanding. Instead, it was an absolute that seemed to twist the fabrics of reality.
The air distorted, tendrils of Arclight searing the ground and forcing Arturia and the others back as they watched on in muted silence.
From the distortion in the air first appeared a beak, slim and fiery red in colour, its presence alone dramatically increased the temperature.
Pinioned wings came next, unfurled and stretched, streaks of fire running down their lengths before the talons emerged, finding purchase upon the ground in which they melted into.
Efret, the longest companion of the Ashton house emerged. Its watcher and protector.
Fueled by the sheer magical power exuding from Shirou, Efret's size had immediately returned to its normal form; the bird of prey whose wing span surpassed twenty meters, and whose gaze could reduce towns to ashes. It cawed into the air, releasing an overbearing aura that drew the attention of all Phantasmal Species in the area towards it.
Gogmagog was no exception, its body stiffening until it came to a halt.
For it knew this aura, even in the lands of the Reverse Side of the World, there were none who couldn't recognize the presence of a Millennium Rank.
Yet, that wasn't what startled it the most.
Instead, it was the pair of murderous bronze coloured eyes and the flashing of the Ashton Magic Crest in the distance.
The Family Line of Beast Slayers.
Thanks for Reading!
This was definitely a smaller update and something I wished I had more time to work on before releasing, but some family things happened this weekend making it difficult to write properly on top of general part-time work.
P a treon. com (slash) Parcasious