Sir Dagonet's head rolled across the sand.
It tumbled slowly, almost gently, coming to rest against a small rock. The face was still frozen in that final smile peaceful, almost content as if death had been a release rather than an end.
Tears began to pour from Sir Leodegrance's eyes.
He could not stop them. Did not want to stop them. They flowed freely down his weathered cheeks, dripping onto the blood-soaked sand, mixing with the blood of his fallen comrade.
"DAGONET!" His voice tore from his throat, raw and broken. "DAGONET!"
He crawled.
Like an animal. Like something that had forgotten it was ever human. His stumps where his hands had been pressed against the ground, pushing, dragging his body across the sand. He moved toward the head, toward the smile, toward the loss that threatened to swallow him whole.
He reached it.
His arm his ruined, handless arm wrapped around the head, pulling it close, cradling it against his chest. He pressed his forehead against Dagonet's cold cheek and wept.
The sounds that came from him were not words. They were grief. Pure, absolute, unbearable grief.
Above them, Darlington watched.
His mouth was open. His eyes were wide. But no sound came from him. No analysis. No calculation. No words.
He could not utter a single word.
It was a feeling of familiarity. A feeling that he was still Darlington still the boy who had lost everything, still the witness who had been forced to watch his world end.
And, of course, a shared feeling.
Grief.
Hate.
At that moment, Darlington felt a resonance of emotion between himself and the weeping knight below. The same pain. The same anger. The same desperate, clawing need for something to change.
His mind forced him to replay the incident.
The park.
The frozen people.
The pops.
Hyacinth's headless body. Kito's last, almost-smile. The white void. The golden mask. The cold, clinical voice that had taken everything from him.
An equivalent exchange.
More anger brewed in his heart like wine left too long in the cask dark, potent, fermenting into something that could destroy.
And in that moment, a hatred for a chess piece was born.
General Titus.
Darlington's eyes burned as he looked at the Roman commander below.
I will see you fall, he thought. I will see you broken. I will see you destroyed.
Leodegrance could not hold the head forever.
His stumps were too short. His strength was too weak. His body broken, bleeding, dying could not sustain the embrace.
He bit his tongue.
Hard.
Blood poured from his mouth hot, copper, real. The pain focused him. Grounded him. Reminded him that he was still alive.
He turned to face General Titus.
And for the first time for the first time his eyes held something other than grief.
Hatred.
Pure. Absolute. Consuming.
Killing intent erupted from him not refined, not controlled, but real. It was like a great sea wave, flooding everywhere, crashing against Titus's calm exterior.
The general blinked.
Then he smiled.
"So." He tilted his head, studying Leodegrance with new interest. "You are a growth type. You were able to instinctively use killing intent. Though you needed to be pushed to this level in order to use it."
He nodded slowly, almost approvingly.
"It's good." His smile faded. "But also a shame."
He raised his sword.
"Now you die." His voice was flat, emotionless. "I'm a bit disappointed. You wasted your opportunity to run away. Or can't you see it?"
He gestured at Dagonet's head, still cradled in Leodegrance's arm.
"Your comrade died to buy you time. In his eyes, you are a valuable asset for your side. Though you will not win this war, at least you could have survived."
He shook his head.
"But instead, you grieve for the fallen." His voice hardened. "This is why your kingdom will fall today."
Leodegrance's jaw tightened.
Blood still dripped from his bitten tongue, from his ruined arms, from the wounds that covered his body. But his voicewhen it came was strong.
"Do you know what we are?"
His eyes burned.
"We are the sun."
Titus's eyebrow rose slightly.
"The sun shines brightly." Leodegrance's voice grew stronger with each word. "It envelops the entire sky. The sky is known by the sun. And because of the sun, there is light."
He took a ragged breath.
"Light is good. But the sun can also burn."
He looked directly into Titus's eyes.
"You call yourself General Titus, is that right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I swear this on the blood of all my comrades that I have lost today. I swear it on the bodies of even the knights that marched with us to battle."
His voice rose to a shout.
"WE, THE SUN, WILL SHINE UPON THE ROMAN SKY! "
The words echoed across the battlefield.
"AND WE WILL BURN ROME! "
General Titus closed his eyes.
For a moment, he simply stood there motionless, silent, unreadable. His sword was still raised. His stance was still ready. But something in his expression had shifted.
Then his eyes opened.
And he began to swing.
The blade descended aimed at Leodegrance's neck, aimed at ending the old knight's defiance once and for all.
SHIIIIING!
A cut appeared in the sky.
A slice clean, precise, absolute. It hung in the air like a seam in the fabric of reality itself, glowing with the pale light of the Sword of David.
Sir Galahad's work.
The cut widened. It opened like a mouth, like a door, like a wound in the world. A hole formed in the sky, its edges shimmering with impossible light.
And from that hole, they fell.
Sir Galahad first, his sword still raised, his eyes already scanning the battlefield below.
Sir Lancelot Arondlight gleaming blood-red in his hand, his expression unreadable.
Sir Tristan his movements fluid, already assessing general titus
Sir Percival his eyes still damaged, but seeing.
Sir Kay his face hard, his weapon ready.
All of them fell from the cut in the sky, landing in a loose formation around the broken battlefield.
They had arrived.
Backup had come.
Sir Leodegrance looked up at them at the knights who had answered, at the hope that had descended from the sky and laughed.
"Finally."
The word was barely a whisper.
"Finally, shit will go down."
His body, which had been held together by nothing but will and hatred, gave.
He collapsed onto the sand, Dagonet's head still cradled against his chest, his eyes closing, his consciousness fading.
He passed out from tiredness.
But his smile remained.
General Titus lowered his sword.
He looked at the new arrivals at the five knights who had just joined the battlefield, at the power they represented and his smile returned.
"Well," he said quietly. "It seems the entertainment is not over after all."