The Holy Man of The Church Creek

58

The King was the face of the country, and thus was the ruling sovereign granted by the Divine Right of Kings.
A

rturia had once believed that the only way to save everyone was to shoulder all hardship on her own. The people's faith, her determination, her ideals, all of it had to be placed with the same burden carried over her back, bidding all to follow in her endeavors as none could compare to the weight of her responsibility. Hence, a King must stand alone.
It didn't matter if her own subjects could not relate to her, so long as she safeguarded their safety and secured the prosperity of their future, nothing else mattered. 'For the people.' It was this single motivation that caused her to forsake the normal life she could have had in order to fight for peace in her country. She succeeded in holding back the invaders, but not without consequence to her reputation. For every successful battle, for every brilliant display of wit and wisdom, she isolated herself further from her subjects. A being that was too perfect would draw not only admiration, but suspicion, doubt, and alienation. Could someone so perfect be considered a human?
A King without emotion.
A King unable to be swayed by political greed or ambition, steadfast in her duties and obligations.
None of this was normal. Arturia had been the ideal King chosen by Caliburn, the sword in the stone, but it didn't mean that her views on Kingship were necessarily correct. No man is an island nor a lone rock. When that island or rock eventually overfloods or shatters into pieces, there'd be nothing left. The fall of Camelot following the tragedy of Camlann was a direct example of this.
The King died, and any worthy successor lost to the flames of rebellion. The Saxon invasions continued, and so came a close to the era of King Arthur, or so it was foretold.
Off to the isles beyond the reaches of man lay a paradise of green trees, grass, and orchids known as Avalon, the ever-distant utopia. It was said that King Arthur never died, and instead was brought to Avalon to tend to his wounds.
One day, the promised King would return and bring about peace and prosperity.
"…That which heals all wounds and grudges."
A voice whispered at the behest of the wind, carrying throughout the ravaged streets and neighborhoods of Britain where thousands of people stood in a daze. They'd just seen their cities burn, their buildings and iconic landmarks toppled to the ground and crushed into pieces as waves of demonic entities and wyverns began their assault. There was no rest, no reprieve to find shelter of any sort. The people left out in the open were easy pickings far any stray magic attacks or bullets fired into the air from the nation's military.
No longer.
"Our glorious homeland!"
The bang of metal striking against the ground echoed with a shout filled with vigour. The illusory walls of a castle unable to be found in the physical history of Britain once again took shape and form. It was not a castle born from the aspirations of man seeking refuge, but a castle representing the dreams and hopes belonging to the era of Kings.
"Manifest yourself."
The reverberations of a hammer striking an anvil travelled out as if in declaration. Ivory walls appeared, festooned with the billowing tapestry of the red dragon prophesized by the Wizard Merlin. A symbol to ward off invaders representing the clash of the white and red dragons. Man the ramparts, ready the bows, raise the banners, and proclaim the kingdom's name!
"Lord Camelot!"
A castle appeared in the chaos, it's gates opened wide and manned by Enforcer Knights commanded by the legendary round. They stood in line upon the top of the walls overlooking the land. At the center of the formation, one figure stood prominently wreathed in a blue mantle and wearing a gilded crown of gold. Speckles of light shimmered in the air, hanging like fireflies in a still night and converging upon a single sword whose name resounded to all that laid eyes upon it.
Excalibur.
Hail King Arthur. Long Live the King.
The King had returned.
Arturia stared at her hands, then at the people of Britain who were staring at the emergence of her castle in awe and some in understanding. This was her country, her people; the power employed to her by fighting upon her home ground granted her increased stat parameters.
She balled her hands into fists and looked ahead. "All Knights, protect the Homeland!"
A single order was given. A single prerogative granted to save as many lives as possible.
"By your orders," the Knights of Camelot saluted before charging out of Camelot's walls while directing people in.
Arturia let out a breath she did not know that she'd been holding. Since the moment she'd arrived in the parallel world Shirou had explained he'd been transported to after the conclusion of the Fifth Holy Grail War, she'd done nothing more than watch. She watched as Shirou trapped the Trihexa's main body in his Reality Marble, then continued to watch as mankind's heroes took up arms to combat the remaining foes. Archer and Rin went to Japan along with the King of Conquerors, while the strongest heroes of Greece took up arms and joined together. The pharaohs of Egypt were provoked into action, and the warrior lady of the celts imbued death to her adversary.
Like Arturia had said. All she'd done was watch, as she was waiting for her moment to make a difference in this battle. She couldn't act on impulse as she knew her role was of vital importance.
Off in the distant east horizon, powerful waves of magical energy and divinity created vast auroras in the sky. Of the bodies of the Trihexa left in the world, one of the strongest of them was fighting over the lands of India. Even from where she stood, she could feel the ground quaking from the reverberations of a roar. The Gods of India that had stood strong on their own were waging a war whose outcome was uncertain. Out of all Pantheons, they had not participated in the creation of the alliance of Gods, but there was a reason for this. India's Gods were strong. Nothing else need be said. Ever since the supposed death of the One God, the powers of the Indian Hinduistic Gods grew. The question now, was if that power would be enough to stop a foe that even the One God himself had difficulty subduing?
Arturia did not worry even as cataclysmic explosions occurred within the Indian skies. After all, three heroes of renown were quickly making their way to battle, traversing through the heavens in white comets guided by God's light.
India too had its heroes. The legends of the Mahabharata.
Arturia inclined her head in a nod.
So far so good. Things were panning out smoothly based on the initial rough plan devised by the One God and Shirou that she and Rin provided input for. All that was left was to wait for her signal, and to that regard, she had to make her preparations.
"Lancelot, take the honours from here," she said, calling out to the stalwart figure of a Knight in riveted steel white armour and billowing mantle. "I must go."
"Understood," Lancelot said curtly, his short-trimmed hair giving him an authoritative demeanor. "Gawain, to the left flank, Tristan provide cover! Bedivere, Gareth, with me! Agravain, command the troops! Mordred, just do you and charge!" He relayed instructions in succession before setting off without another word.
Arturia relished in the feeling of comradery in the air. It had been so long since she'd last fought alongside her fellow knights that the impulse to charge forward nearly got the best of her. However, she stopped the urge and simply waited in place for a moment. In her left hand was an incomplete sword entrusted to her by Shirou who said that her presence would allow the sword to be complete. It was the shattered fragments of Excalibur now molded together and only missing a single piece.
In Arturia's right hand was her version of Excalibur shining with golden brilliance. The two swords she held on each arm resonated in calling. Flame-like auras of holy nature erupted from the blades of both weapons.
They were the swords of promised victory knowing no defeat. One even being the anchor point of a light that shines at the world's end. The strongest illusion, A Last Phantasm.
The swords called for completion, and the masters accepted the request.
From behind Arturia, she could feel a spatial distortion taking root as a magic circle manifested. A moment later, and two individuals that were part of the Vali team stepped out in unison. They'd left Vali and the others who were fighting the Evil Dragons in order to reach this point. The two were Arthur Pendragon, and Le Fay Pendragon, both of which were descendant of the original King Arthur of the current world. They both possessed blond hair and a disposition that resembled a portion of Arturia's bearings.
No words were spoken for they need not be said. For Arthur and Ley Fay Pendragon who had seen numerous dead heroes rising from the ashes to defend the world, one look was all that it took for them to understand just who Arturia was. History portrayed King Arthur to be a man, and perhaps this was the case in the original world, but Arturia was King Arthur from a parallel dimension. This fact was overlooked, as Arthur and Le Fay had never met or seen their world's King Arthur. Regardless, the sense of kinship the two felt was real.
Le Fay Pendragon buckled under Arturia's presence and hid behind her brother. Out of the two, Le Fay bore the closest resemblance to the Witch Morgan that had brought about the end of King Arthur's rule.
Nervousness permeated in the air, but neither Arturia or Arthur paid this much attention. Instead, they focused on the calling of their swords. The incomplete Excalibur in Arturia's left hand sought out Excalibur Ruler in Arthur's grip.
"You are my descendants?" Arturia did not turn around to address the two behind her. The words she'd said felt foreign even to her. Technically, Arthur and Ley Fay were descendants of House Pendragon, but from Arturia's known history, she'd never had any children.
"Y-Yes," Le Fay called out with a stammer. Arthur simply inclined his head with a regal bow.
"Are you truly the promised King?" Arthur inquired, a glint of light forming over his spectacled face while he placed a hand over the hilt of his sword.
"You wish to fight me?" Arturia finally turned around, her teal coloured eyes locking on with Arthur's. The pressure from the stare alone caused beads of sweat to form over Arthur's brow.
Arthur was standing in the presence of the King of Knights. He knew even before a fight would begin that he'd lose. The difference in the two's swordsmanship was on a different level. Looking eye to eye, Arthur suddenly grinned and lowered his guard. "If it were any other time, I'd request a duel, but honour binds my sword to protect the homeland. Is it not the same for you?"
Arturia eased her stance, letting out a breath before waiting intently to see what Arthur had in mind. In a single motion, he unsheathed Excalibur Ruler and held it out for Arturia hilt first. "I can inwardly boast about being the world's best Holy Sword user, but I won't be blinded by ignorance. In my hands I could slay hundreds of opponents with this sword, but in yours, you may be able to put a stop to all this conflict."
Wisdom shone in Arthur's eyes. He was not a simple man, but he was an honest one who followed what he thought was right. If that meant joining Vali's group of runaway Devils and miscreants then so be it. He'd done so, and carried no regrets.
Standing in front of Arturia, Arthur felt small, yet it didn't matter. He straightened his back, broadened his shoulders, and stood firm knowing he was making a decision he wouldn't regret. "This may come off as presumptuous, but if this all concludes peacefully, I'd like to request a duel from your vaunted self. No Holy Swords, no Demonic Sword, merely a duel of skill from a predecessor to a descendant."
Arturia gingerly took up Excalibur Ruler, watching as the fragment merged with its other pieces to form a completed sword. "Granted," Arturia said as a pillar of magical energy exuded from both of the Excaliburs in her hands.
"Let it be a fine duel."
A moment later, and Arturia felt her body shift into grains of light as spatial movement brought her to the location of the final battle.
A voice echoed in her mind.
"By the power of this Command Seal, Come, Saber!"
Sword and Sheath would unite once again and bring down any foe. The only variable now was to see how much more energy the world could endure before shattering.
In the distant lands of India, war raged with the Hinduistic Gods at the helm. The Trihexa's sudden emergence came as a surprise for everyone, and India was no different. Indra, the top God of the Pantheon called for an emergency convene, but the order came too late as the Trihexa descended upon India.
India maintained itself as the homeland of one of the strongest religions even in the modern era. Although the Gods had not predicted the current attack, they didn't stand there and do nothing. The monothetic Gods with no domains in war or violence were ushered into retreat under the protection of Ganesh, the remover of obstacles.
The other Gods of the Dharmic Cycle pertaining to the Avatars and reincarnations of Gods engaged the enemy to no avail. The spawned creatures from the Trihexa's body were too numerous and too spread out to properly deal with. It was impossible to protect India's vast population. The Indian Gods had chosen to focus their attention on the body of the Trihexa on a rampage near Delhi. If they were able to defeat it, then they could proceed to saving the rest of the population.
Collateral damage was mounting, yet the Indian Gods were holding their ground. They wielded weapons of creation and destruction, but the Trihexa was the bringer of the end times. The Beast of Apocalypse. Properties of destruction and creation meant nothing to it, as its chaotic nature interrupted the law of the world.
Still, the Indian Gods held on, spinning chakram in hand.
In a battle between deities, what was important was not only faith, but Authority. A God of darkness would swallow the power of a God of the Sun. Water counters fire, paper beats rock, it's all based on affinity. In which case, in a situation of fire vs fire, the one with the larger flame wins.
Now picture the Trihexa as a black hole and try to determine what counters that?
"Regroup!" Indra gave the order, the Gods following one by one. Their plan to swiftly defeat one of the Trihexa's bodies was flawed from the start. If there was no way to counter the Trihexa with Authority, then all that was left was to use they who were the catalysts of miracles.
Heroes.
In all legend, it was never truly a God that would slay a threat to Gods. It was the champions imbued with the blessing of the Gods and the potential of humanity. Hence, the Indian Avatars of the Dharmic Cycle. The problem was, those heroes had long since died, yet hope still existed.
Indra and the other Indian Gods looked up above to where the One God was sitting upon the throne of the Heavens and raising ancient warriors and heroes back from the grave. If this was the case, then surely…
Indra's eyes narrowed as he sensed a familiar presence. Vishnu the Preserver found himself similarly stricken, none more so than Surya.
"Behold the immortal blade that vanquished the Rakshasa King!"
At the outer most edge of India's border, light began to shine. Weak at first, it grew in intensity before forming a spiraling ring resembling the chakram in Vishnu's hand powered not only by divinity, but the crystalized legend of man.
"Feast upon my enemies!" A slayer of the demonic.
Brahmastra, a weapon able to destroy creation and vanquish all beings.
The weapon was thrown, incinerating all in its path and wiping out the demonic spawn plaguing India's borders before returning to an outstretched hand of a figure not seen in centuries.
Rama, Seventh Avatar of Vishnu and Great King of Kosala. His red hair billowed in the wind, white armour and flowing tasset tinged with the energy of a demigod. He stood alone overtop a distant hill overlooking a region of India.
"Rama, my Avatar," Vishnu seemed stunned. No more than that, every existing Indian God grew quiet upon seeing a sight that they'd never thought possible.
Rama took in a breath, his lungs expanding, arms falling to his side as he let out a mighty bellow in calling. "KARNA! ARJUNA!"
The most prominent heroes of the Indian Epic, the Mahabharata.
Two comets guided by resplendent light shot over Rama and up high into the air. One was tinted in the fires of the sun, and the other was shrouded in the glow of the azure blue of the skies.
Karna, son of Surya, and Arjuna, son of Indra.
"O' Surya, behold. There is no more weakness on the battlefield," A voice, calm, gentle, and resolute echoed out from Karna's lips. His entire body was wreathed in flame, lily-like petals forming over his back as the tip of his spear was held aloft and pointed towards the heavens.
Surya felt his body grow cold. He was the Indian God of the Sun, and he could feel the intent within Karna's words. "No. Not again." It was the same as that day long ago. "Karna!"
Arjuna watched on as a miniature sun formed over Karna's back, glowing with a ferocity that would incinerate all. They were rivals, eternal enemies, but in this instance, they moved together, each knowing each other best through hundreds of battles. This time, he would win this final challenge and not strike from the back.
A fair duel.
"Karna," Arjuna balled his hands into fists and stared at the sub-body of the Trihexa. The winner would be the one to defeat the adversary before them.
Karna took one moment to see the face of the father he'd disappointed time and time again, but this time surely. "O' father of mine, forgive me. This is the first and possibly the last strike I will ever make."
A spear that could only strike once, but that which possessed the power to smite even the Gods themselves.
Karna's spear leveled itself on the body of the Trihexa, its Anti-Divine properties reaching a maximum.
"Know the mercy of the King of Gods!" The energy of the sun behind Karna began to funnel, converging on the tip of his spear. "With this single strike, I shall inflict extinction."
The petals over Karna's back bloomed, the eye of the sun opening and boring down upon the adversary as the golden armour on his person faded away. "Be reduced to cinders, Vasavi Shakti!"
A spear of mortality made of lightning. Every single existence is equally meaningless before its might.
The Trihexa's sub-body sensed the danger and immediately tried to move, but the Indian Gods and Arjuna himself would not allow it.
"Expanding sacred domain. Domain secured. Divine punishment enforcement limits... All approved." A sphere of shining blue light appeared hovering over Arjuna's palm, his eyes narrowing. This was Karna's final strike, and in turn, Arjuna would put his all into vanquishing the foe before him in respect. There would be no avoiding that spear.
"By the wrath of Shiva, here ends thy life." Arjuna flicked his wrist and sent the ball of light careening towards the Trihexa's planned escape route. "Pashupata."
The light of judgment descended, stretching outwards from the flicked sphere carrying anti-divine properties. The higher the divinity, the higher the probability of death.
The two greatest Noble Phantasms of the rival heroes of Mahabharata were released at once.
There was no escape.
It was inevitable.
The battles throughout the world raged on. Every hero, every angel, demon, devil, human, or member of a pantheon was fighting for time. They were all banking on the potential of a single Holy Man who'd trapped the main body of the Trihexa in a separate world.
The more time they gave, the likelier the chance at victory. Likewise, if the sub-bodies of the Trihexa were defeated, it would most certainly weaken the main host. Every summoned Heroic Spirit understood this point as it was briefed by the One God, but it wasn't just the Heroic Spirits who were fighting for a purpose.
One such woman was making her way to a specific location with a task that was equally as important as defeating the Trihexa. Her name was Griselda Quarta, the nun that had once been in charge of a little church by a creak. She was also the step-mother and teacher of Xenovia Quarta, making Griselda a master of the sword. She was wearing her distinct nun-habit and was carrying a sword kept in a worn sheath.
The forces of the church were generally focused in the Vatican, the city in which the Pope resides and where the majority of ancient texts and writings were contained. It was the central hub of the One God's faith, and as such was normally heavily guarded. In light of the disasters occurring throughout the world, not even the Vatican's forces could remain idle.
Dulio Gesualdo, one of the Vatican's strongest exorcists led the forces out to defend the people of Italy and the faith, fighting side by side with the Angels and Fallen Angels. He'd been reincarnated as an Angel by the Archangel Michael.
The Vatican was left largely empty, a holy barrier erected overtop to prevent any enemies from intruding and destroying its foundations. The pope was occupied in prayer, kneeling at the center of the Vatican with a clergy of holy men and women offering up their faith energy to maintain God's system above. A scant few exorcists were left to defend the pope and his followers, but no enemy could draw near.
God's awareness was everywhere, and he'd give a warning to his Angels and Fallen Angels should the Vatican come under threat. Moreover, the Winged-Sentinels Shirou had recovered from the Holy Sword Trials were station in a cross formation throughout the Vatican.
In any case, Griselda Quarta stepped foot into the Vatican for the first time in a number of years. It was a gut feeling that led her here, along with a promise she'd once made to a dear friend whom she'd parted with long ago. Just like Dulio, Griselda had reincarnated as an Angel. The wings on her back and the increase to her pool of magical energy were enough proof of her recent changes, but she digressed. Apart from wanting to check up on Xenovia and her mission of seduci- recruiting a new valued prospect of the church, Griselda's mind was presently occupied.
She had a good feeling that today was not going to be a good day. Of course, she knew this when the world suddenly went to hell, but this was a different matter. The One God and the other members of the pantheons could deal with the safety of the world. She had a more personal issue to attend to.
She trudged on, expression souring. God offered much protection to the Vatican, but Griselda couldn't help but feel that there were some things that God could miss in his mercy. For instance, the Vatican's barriers did not warn against the entry of registered priests and nuns.
The ominous feeling Griselda felt only grew stronger as she neared her destination.
The Sistine Chapel of the Apostolic Palace.
The painted murals of the heavens found on the ceiling of the holy site provided good faith and karma to all those that bore witness to its grandeur. It's also said that those who've visited the building would reach a place closest to God in a spiritual sense. Griselda would be the first to say that such speculation was true. Those that entered this holy place would be blessed and receive the protection of Christ all mighty.
Upon entering the chapel, Griselda did the sign of the cross and walked down the long inner chamber decorated with vaunted paintings of renown, bequeathing glory to God most high.
There was a bench situated near the prayer alter of the room. There sat the figure of a friend she'd not seen in many years but had always been in contact with.
Griselda spoke not a word as she approached. Instead, she inclined her head and sat on an opposite row from the man across from her. She bowed her head and gave a small prayer to virgin marry and the father above.
Finally, as the silence stretched, she tilted her head up and spoke. "I knew you'd be here, old friend," she said reservedly, watching as the man across from her showed no outward signs of registering her voice. "The darkness has consumed you, Ayakoji."
Here the man's shoulders began to twitch. His hands which were held in front of him and clasped in prayer trembled. "Griselda," he said hoarsely. "If I knew it was going to come to this, I should have fought harder."
Griselda shook her head, her lips pursing. "You shouldn't have sought out power in the first place. That Darkness we found on that day should have been left untouched. Instead, you thought yourself able to control it."
"And we lived through that first encounter because of it," Ayakoji was panting for breath. "Leave Griselda. I don't know how long I can keep my sanity. The blessings of the Sistine Chapel can only help so much."
Griselda shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't do that. If you lose control of the evil within you inside the Vatican, it could pose too big of a problem for those fighting for the sake of our world. You know this as well as I do, Ayakoji. Why else would you have come here knowing that this was the first place I'd come to find you."
Ayakoji grimaced, but managed a wry smile. "We made a promise, didn't we? If I ever lost control, you said that you'd be the one to put a stop to me."
"And I have come," Griselda balled her hands into fists.
"Then what are you waiting for? Hurry while I still have some semblance of sanity." Ayakoji turned to Griselda, leaving himself entirely open.
"…" Griselda did not respond. Killing a friend was never easy.
"Griselda, hurry. This evil is far more tainted than anything of this world. It's cursed, and its power is enough to overwhelm me and push me to do things I'd never do. The only reason I have sanity at this point is because the evil's power weakened after a majority of it went into the Trihexa."
Griselda remained silent before finally speaking. "God would never abandon his flock. His mercy overrules all. The fact that you're speaking to me right now means that there's still a chance of saving you. Didn't you say you wouldn't ever die until you've fondled these breasts?"
"…Don't motivate me," Ayakoji gritted his teeth. "I'm serious Griselda, I can't hold it back for much longer."
"And I'm serious too," Griselda stood up, her Angelic wings spreading out, holy energy exuding off of her in waves. "Treat yourself as you would treat others. Help those in need of helping. It's almost as if you've forgotten what sort of religion you belong to, old friend."
Silence.
"Yeah, I suppose I have. This won't be easy, Griselda, and if you fail, don't forgot our promise. The war outside against the Trihexa would be meaningless if the evil inside me isn't put down."
"I won't let it come to that."
Ayakoji did not know where Griselda got such confidence from, but he welcomed it over the hollow ebbing in his mind. "I pray it won't."
The sound of two swords unsheathing from their sheaths echoed within the inner chambers of the chapel.
Let the end begin.
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Summary of book:
Death. Grief. Ruin. Nothing was left unchanged after an unexplained tragedy led to the loss of millions across the world in key locations. Cities were reduced to wastelands of steel and concrete, and many were forced into migration. When events leading to the prior tragedy occur once more, Kevin Black was going to have to learn that sometimes mysteries were better left unsolved. Trapped with his friends in the world of a ruined city filled with monsters, the journey out would be far more perilous than the journey in.