"My king," Galahad greeted me as I stepped out of the portal with Bedivere and Lucan, moments before the portal closed.
"Good job, you three," I said as I looked at the three of them. None of them looked hurt, though I could see from their eyes that it hadn't been easy.
Nightmare was, after all, someone who was skilled at seeing the darkness in people's hearts, the hidden pains, opening their wounds, and dragging their fears into the open.
Facing him, even if not hard on the body, would be hard on the mind and soul.
Yet they stood tall, their backs straight, their gazes unwavering.
"We are honored to serve, my King," Ector said, his shield held high, a silent, resolute guardian.
"Indeed," Kay added, a wry smile on his face. "Though I have to say, I've had more pleasant vacations."
"Vacation?" Galahad asked, a look of confusion on his face. "Kay, we were fighting for our lives."
"Details, details," Kay said, waving a dismissive hand. "The point is, we won. And now, it's your turn to finish the job."
I couldn't help but smile at their antics, but before I could respond, the ground shook, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth.
I turned my attention to the portal leading to Satannish's realm, a swirling vortex of fire and rage. The fight was still raging, a clash of titans that was shaking the very foundations of the dimension.
The clash between Gawain and Satannish was a thing of beauty, a symphony of destruction and fury. Gawain, bathed in the golden light of the sun, a beacon of hope in the darkness, met Satannish's every attack with a ferocity that was born of a deep, abiding loyalty.
Satannish, a towering giant of pure rage, a being of immense power and cruelty, a lord of a dimension who was enjoying the fight of his life, met Gawain's every attack with a power that was born of a deep, abiding anger.
Mordred and Lionel, for their part, were doing their best to support Gawain, their attacks a relentless barrage of steel and magic, a constant thorn in Satannish's side.
But it was clear that they were outmatched. Satannish was a lord of a dimension, a being of immense power, and even with Gawain's help, they were struggling to hold their own.
"I have to intervene," I said, a grim determination on my face.
"Be careful, my King," Galahad said, a look of concern in his eyes. "Satannish is a being of pure rage. He is not like Mephisto. He will not be swayed by words, nor will he be intimidated by power. He will fight to the very end."
"I know," I said, a look of resolve on my face. "But I also know that he has a weakness. He is a slave to his own nature. He is a being of rage, and he craves a good fight. And I will give him one."
I would have preferred to avoid fighting him, but at the very least, I wouldn't be able to avoid clashing with him once or twice.
Words just wouldn't work on him.
"Bedivere, Lucan, let's finish this," I told my two trusted knights. They had already seen what I had done to Mephisto, so they had no illusions about the nature of the fight. This would not be a duel of honor, but a battle of concepts, a war of ideas, a clash of wills.
They nodded, their faces grim, their hands tight on the hilts of their swords.
I stepped through the portal, the heat and rage of Satannish's realm washing over me. The air was thick with the stench of brimstone and raw fury, the very ground beneath my feet a blackened, obsidian rock, cracked and scorched.
The fight was still raging, a clash of titans that was shaking the very foundations of the dimension.
Satannish, a towering giant of pure rage, a being of immense power and cruelty, a lord of a dimension who was enjoying the fight of his life, was locked in a duel with Gawain, Mordred, and Lionel.
And he was winning.
Not in a way that mattered, not in a way that would lead to their defeat, but in a way that was slowly, but surely, wearing them down.
He was toying with them, a cat playing with its prey, savoring the thrill of the fight, the joy of the struggle.
"Satannish!" I yelled, forcing him to turn his attention onto me.
He could feel the power that radiated from me, the power of a goddess, the power of a being who could wound him, who could defeat him.
He might have been enjoying the fight with the knights, but a bigger challenge was always more appealing.
"Ah, the Queen herself has arrived," Satannish said, a wide, cruel smile on his face. "I was wondering when you would show up. I have to say, no matter how much I am looking forward to fighting you, I would still have preferred to finish this fight first," he admitted, something no other Hell Lord would.
Given that he was being as reasonable as he could, I would respond in kind. "As a King, I can't stand by while my Knights fight on my behalf. The battle is mine," I declared.
"Fine by me, but the others have to go, this is my realm, I can't let too many outsiders inside," he stated plainly. As much as he wanted to fight me, he wasn't a fool. He knew that with all of us here, he would be at a disadvantage.
He wanted to fight a goddess, not an army.
"Fine," I said, "Mordred, Lionel, Gawain, go back."
"But..." Mordred started to protest, a look of disappointment on her face.
"That is an order," I said, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
"As you command, my King," Gawain said, a look of relief on his face.
"You're no fun," Mordred grumbled, but she did as she was told, following Gawain and Lionel back through the portal.
I could feel their relief, their gratitude, their unwavering loyalty. It was a comforting feeling, a reminder that I was not alone in this fight.
"And the last two?" he asked, his eyes bearing down on Bedivere and Lucan, who remained by my side.
"They are my guard, even as their king, I can't dismiss them," I said with a shrug.
Satannish looked at me, then at my two knights, then back at me. He could see the determination in their eyes, the loyalty in their hearts. He knew that they would not leave, no matter what he said.
"Fine," he grumbled, "But if they get in the way, I will crush them."
"They won't," I said, my voice a calm, steady note in the chaos, "Now, let's dance."
With that, I lunged, the light from Rhongomyniad pushing back against the encroaching darkness, a beacon of hope in the sea of rage.
Satannish met my charge with a roar, a sound that shook the very foundations of his domain. He was no longer toying with me. The fight had truly begun.
Our collision was a cataclysm. The lance of light, a tower of divine might, crashed against Satannish's clawed hand, a limb that embodied the fury of a damned dimension. The resulting explosion of energy was not of light or sound, but of pure, concept-level violence. The very fabric of the realm buckled around us.
While Mordred was sent sliding back, and Gawain, too, had to take a few steps back, I was able to match the force of his strikes. He was no more able to push me back than I was able to push him back.
I wasn't as physically strong as him, not even close, but Torrent of Light not only gave me the anti-evil and anti-chaotic properties, but also a physical boost. It was, after all, a superior form of Mana Burst, and if there was one thing I, Arthuria Pendragon, was confident in, it was Mana Burst.
But that was just the base, and on top of that, I was also using my Divinity. As a Goddess, my very existence was a divine one, and Satannish, as a demon, was naturally weaker to me than he would be to a mortal.
Add on top of that my stats as a Servant, the stats of a top-tier Servant, my stats as a Ruler, which boosted my resistance to not just magic, but all attacks, all added together to make me a formidable fighter.
So even if he was a Dimensional Lord, even if he was physically stronger, I was still able to keep up with him.
But just keeping up wasn't a win.
And more importantly, like with Mephisto and Nightmare, winning wasn't my goal.
Not truly.
Satannish's rage was a palpable force, a tidal wave of fury that washed over me, seeking to corrupt, to destroy, to consume. I met it with a calm, steady resolve, the light of my lance a beacon of hope in the darkness.
We clashed again and again, a whirlwind of destruction that tore through the very fabric of the realm, the landscape around us a chaotic mess of shattered rock and boiling lava.
Hours passed by as we fought back and forth, and with each passing exchange, Satannish's joy increased. He was having the fight of his life, and he was savoring every moment of it.
"You are a worthy opponent, King of Knights," Satannish roared, a look of pure, unadulterated glee on his face. "I have not had a fight like this in eons. You are a true warrior, a being of immense power and courage. A worthy opponent." He repeated, clearly very happy.
Yet, the higher the peak of his joy, the greater the fall once the fight ended in a way that didn't please him.
Victory or defeat, he didn't care either way; he would fight joyfully for centuries, millennia, even millions of years, without growing bored. Such was his very nature as a being of rage and violence.
But I didn't have that long to fight him, which meant I had to end the fight in a way that left him unfulfilled. Only then could I guide him towards Mephisto.
Since he dared bring the many Hell Lords together against Earth, it was only fair that I brought them all against him.
Without warning, I kicked off the ground and jumped backward, using my speed to arrive next to Bedivere and Lucan, and then, another light bloomed from me. "Avalon," I whispered as the light and peace of Utopia surrounded us. Not the full deployment, no. That would be overkill, but the lesser version, enough to create a safe space, to stop Satannish's rage from reaching us.
"What is this? Cowardice!" Satannish roared, a look of confusion, then anger, on his face. He couldn't understand why I would stop the fight, why I would deny him the joy of the struggle.
"You have fought well, Satannish," I said, my voice a calm, steady note in the chaos. "But this fight is over."
"Over?" he asked, a look of disbelief on his face. "It has just begun! We were just getting to the good part!"
"No," I said, shaking my head. "It is over." My words were simple, impossible to confuse, yet they ignited his rage. Not the rage he used for fighting, but the rage of a spoiled child denied a toy.
"Do you take me for a fool, King of Knights?" he roared, a wave of pure, unadulterated rage washing over the shimmering barrier of Avalon, a tidal wave of fury that sought to shatter it, to break it, to destroy it.
The shield held, the light of Utopia a bastion of peace in the storm.
"I take you for what you are, Satannish. A being of rage. A being of fury. A being who lives for the fight. But I am a king, a ruler, I have much I must do, and fighting you is not among them," I said with a shake of my head. "If you want a fight, go trouble your own kind."
His response was a roar that shook the heavens and earth, his fists, having grown as massive as mountains, came crashing down onto Avalon's protection.
The small area shielded by it seemed insignificant compared to him, but the barrier didn't even shake.
Against the concept that was Avalon, no force could shatter it. Not even a Hell Lord.
He could only grow angrier.
"You think a shield can protect you forever?" he roared, a look of pure, unadulterated rage on his face. "I will break it! I will shatter it! I will tear it down, piece by piece, and then I will tear you down, piece by piece!"
"You can try," I said, a small, sad smile on my face. "But you will fail. And while you try, while you waste your rage on this impenetrable defense, your rivals are feasting on Mephisto's domain. Every second you waste here, they grow stronger."
My words were a poison, a seed of doubt planted in the fertile ground of his rage. He was a being of pure fury, but he was also a being of ambition. He was a lord of a dimension, and he was not about to let his rivals gain an advantage over him.
He paused, his massive fists still poised to strike, a look of confusion, then dawning comprehension, on his face. He could feel it, the shifting of the cosmic balance, the flow of power from Mephisto's wounded realm to the other dimensions. He could feel the other lords, D'Spayre, and even some of the lesser demons, drawn to the scent of a fallen king, the promise of easy spoils.
"Mephisto..." he growled, the name a curse on his lips.
"He is wounded. He is vulnerable. He is a prize waiting to be claimed," I said, my voice a calm, steady note in the chaos. "And you are here, wasting your time on a fight that you cannot win, a fight that will only leave you weaker while your rivals grow stronger."
Satannish looked at me, then at the shimmering barrier of Avalon, then back at me. He was a being of rage, but he was not a fool. He knew that I was right. He knew that he could not break through Avalon's defenses, not anytime soon. And he knew that every second he wasted here was a second that his rivals were getting stronger.
He was faced with a choice. A choice between endlessly raging against a shield he could never break, and fighting his rivals while feasting and growing stronger.
And for a being like Satannish, the choice was clear.
"Fine," he growled, a look of pure, unadulterated anger on his face. "You win this round, King of Knights. But mark my words, I will be back. And next time, I will not be so easily deterred."
(End of chapter)
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