Lancelot sprinted across the battlefield.
His feet pounded against the blood-soaked sand, each step driving him forward with desperate urgency. Arondlight gleamed in his hand that blood-red blade that marked his transformation, his rebirth. The warning from Darlington echoed in his mind.
You will soon lose your fellow knight again.
He couldn't let that happen. Wouldn't let that happen. Not again. Not ever again.
His eyes were locked on the fourth front the distant section of battlefield where General Titus had landed with his four cloaked soldiers. He could see the chaos from here, the destruction already beginning.
He pushed harder. Faster.
Then
SWOOSH!
A blade appeared in front of him.
It came from nowhere a blur of motion, a wave of displaced air that slammed into his chest and stopped him cold. Lancelot stumbled back, his eyes widening as the Sword of David materialized before him.
Sir Galahad.
The pure knight stood in his path, his expression unreadable. The Sword of David was raised, its point aimed directly at Lancelot's heart.
Above them, Darlington's eyes went wide.
"Huh?" The sound escaped him before he could stop it. "What's this? What's going on?"
He leaned forward, his mind racing.
He attacked him. But aren't they on the same team?
He studied the scene below Galahad's rigid stance, Lancelot's confused expression, the tension crackling between them.
Is this some form of bad blood between them? If so, why now? They shouldn't really be showing this now it will have a negative effect on their battle.
But even as he thought it, a darker calculation formed in his mind.
But... this is also an opportunity for me, isn't it?
He smiled slowly.
Though now my table is filled with unexpected pawns on the board. Unpredictable. Dangerous. Perfect.
He looked at Lancelot at the blood-red blade, at the transformed knight, at the power radiating from him.
Now I'll know the strength of two of my pawns. It's obvious that Lancelot has increased in strength but I can't really access his power level. Not yet.
His eyes shifted to Galahad.
So, Galahad... you will serve as the meter stick. The measure by which I gauge my new weapon.
Show me what Lancelot has become.
Below, Galahad held his sword tight, his knuckles white on the hilt.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
Lancelot stared at him, confusion flickering across his features.
"Huh?" He shook his head, trying to process. "Why are you stopping me? I'm going to save ...."
"Save?" Galahad's voice was sharp, cutting. "Save who?"
Lancelot opened his mouth to respond, but Galahad pressed on.
"Cut your bullshit. Stop what? Stop who?" His eyes burned with intensity. "I trust in the strength of my comrades. I trust in the strength of my king. This battle is nothing short of victory for us."
Lancelot's jaw tightened. "Why are you blocking me?"
Galahad stepped closer, the tip of his blade reaching toward Lancelot not touching, but close. Threatening. Testing.
"Because," Galahad said quietly, "you're not Lancelot."
The words hung in the air like a verdict.
"I know Lancelot." Galahad's voice was calm now, analytical. "Yes, you look like him. So utterly bizarre you even sound like him. But there are changes in body movement that cannot be faked."
He circled slowly, his eyes never leaving Lancelot's form.
"Every human has specific movements that they have attained throughout their lifetime. Habits. Rhythms. Patterns. It's hard almost impossible to get rid of these habits and movements."
He stopped, facing Lancelot directly.
"But yours are different."
Lancelot said nothing. Just watched him with those changed eyes.
"Don't be confused." Galahad's voice softened, just slightly. "I'm simply saying... you are Lancelot. But you aren't Lancelot."
He tilted his head, studying the man before him.
"You're the same, but fundamentally, you have changed. A case where the smallest movements of a person change can only be due to a change in ideal. Or emotional death." His voice dropped. "An inner death."
Lancelot's grip on Arondlight tightened.
"By killing one's self."
The silence between them was heavy.
"So I want to understand it for myself, Lancelot." Galahad raised his sword slightly. "What's going on?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
"It won't take less than a minute before we proceed with this war. But a man if he must win a war must know his army inside and out." His eyes were fierce. "If he does not know this, no matter the strength of his soldiers or the perfection of his formation, he will lose."
He pointed the Sword of David directly at Lancelot's heart.
"You, Lancelot, are this factor. The unknown. The variable that cannot be calculated." His voice hardened. "And if I confirm that you remain unknown in this battle..."
The blade gleamed.
"...I will kill you."
Lancelot raised Arondlight.
The blood-red blade caught the grey light, its color pulsing with each beat of his transformed heart. He pointed it at Galahad not aggressively, but firmly. A statement. A challenge.
"Make way," he said quietly. "Now."
Galahad's eyes narrowed.
Arondlight faced the Sword of David.
Two legendary blades. Two transformed knights. Two wills about to collide.
in the space between confrontation and combat, between the man Lancelot had been and the knight Galahad needed to understand.
Above them, Darlington watched with hungry eyes.
Yes, he thought. Show me. Both of you. Show me what you're made of.
The battlefield waited.
The war waited.
And two swords were destined for this clash