Steel and Mana

The Kahn's words echoed across the stone chamber, reverberating as the rest of the people present stood up, forming a circle around the room. As for Pion and the rest, their hands were already on the handle of their weapons, right until the point Lancelot slowly raised an arm, signaling that they should stay put... for now. Even then, Pion reached down and lifted his helmet, putting it on just like the others around him.

"Very well," Lancelot exhaled slowly, looking over his shoulder, "Pion... give space."

The towering soldier stood still before finally, reluctantly stepping back to retreat, but remained close enough to jump in if needed. While doing so, Lancelot reached for his sword and pulled free the monster-bone sword, his gaze locking onto the Kahn's figure, not leaving it at all as he prepared himself. It was unlike when he faced his grandfather... or anything else he felt before. This time, there was something else in the air, something that made him feel electrified.

The blood tattoos under his clothes began to function without question, reacting to his will as he knew he would need everything under his sleeve for this fight, quite literally. The energy pulsed through him as the bone sword came alive with a snap, and deep-blue electricity sparked from its edge, flicking out in thin, snapping arcs, making loud, buzzing sounds.

The moment it happened, the Kahn's eyes narrowed a little while multiple of his warriors and generals began hissing and murmuring. They did not expect it to be like that, and as they smelled the air thickening with the scent of ozone, they questioned whether Lancelot was a 'shaman' or not. Especially now, when every movement he made was accompanied by a faint buzz, his blade vibrating and throwing sparks off with every jolt of his arms.

Tula-Kahn Rhanak did not flinch. Instead, he stepped down from his dais slowly, the Gauntlets of War flexing around his fingers, coming to life. The left side of his hands suddenly erupted in flames, while the right shimmered in blue as ice flakes fell from it with every step until he stood opposite Lancelot.

"Begin," he growled, his mouth stuck in a permanent, savage grin.

Lancelot didn’t hesitate. He moved like a drawn bolt shot from a crossbow, dashing forward with speed that all of his body could muster. The electric sword cracked against the Kahn’s gauntlet, but for the first time since Avalon began using them, it rebounded. Sparks flew everywhere, both electric and flames, but the artifact didn’t so much as scuff. Still, the jolt sent forth forced the Kahn to adjust, shifting his stance as Lancelot followed up with a second strike, this time aimed low. Yet, it was parried with the same ease.

Their movements looked blurry for most eyes as the two collided again and again, bone against the relic of gods, Lancelot's electricity leaping in crackling waves into the air, sometimes scorching the furs on the ground and the tiles on the ceiling. He was light on his feet, never remaining still, keeping mobile, stepping around the Kahn’s raw, forward power. Just by the first exchange, Lancelot realized that strength-wise, he couldn't match the Kahn... but his speed was superior to the emperor before him. However, knowing and capitalizing on it were two different things, and his blade missed the Kahn's flesh more than once or twice.

On the other hand... it was only a half-miss. The electricity surrounding Lancelot's blade was still jumping over, creating arcs of light even when he missed, which caused Rhanak's arm to twitch involuntarily as the sword's numbing pulses reached muscle and disrupted his movements.

And yet, it wasn’t enough... And Lancelot knew because he saw how the Kahn smiled at him.

"Good," he said between their clashing of fist and blade. Then, a formation popped into life faster than Lancelot could react to it.

The chamber warmed and cooled at once as a temperature war erupted within stone walls. Lancelot’s instincts screamed, feeling hot and cold at the same time, and he pivoted immediately... but it was already too late, happening right after Rhanak struck him.

The first blow came in a wide arc, the fire gauntlet carving through the air with a trail of embers behind it. Seeing the incoming strike, Lancelot tried, and although he ducked, the second followed in a hook, the ice trailing behind it like the frozen breath of monsters in the winter. He barely managed to pull his sword in the way of the Kahn's attack, causing him to slide backward, unable to regain his momentum.

It was then that the real assault began.

Rhanak came forward, a battering ram of wild, chaotic fury. His strikes weren’t predictable, yet they were precise, aimed to disarm Lancelot, to debilitate him first and foremost. His arm became a hammer of flame that struck Lancelot’s blade, then another slam from the one shrouded in ice. A second passed, and Lancelot's electricity faltered. He tried and twisted to counter with his own strength, his tattoos flaring even brighter as he poured more of the monster's blood into the weapon, but it was not enough.

The Gauntlets... they were not of this world. It was so that the next blow landed. And it landed hard. A fire-covered fist smashed into his ribs, and Lancelot felt something give way in a painful snap. He staggered, his breath stolen, and as he tried to recover, the ice-fist came for his sword. With a single upward strike, Rhanak brought the frozen gauntlet down like a blacksmith's hammer against the side of the weapon lying on his anvil.

Lancelot could feel the unimaginable coldness, the weakening of the bone, and then it shattered. The monster-bone sword splintered into three pieces, arcing away across the chamber, spinning in the air, and embedding themselves into the walls of opposite sides.

The moment it happened, Lancelot fell to a knee, one arm instinctively wrapping around his side as he gasped through clenched teeth. With his other hand, he couldn't help but clutch his chest, feeling that breathing was painful, knowing he had broken a rib, maybe two.

It was then that it happened.

Pion moved first while the rest followed. Without words or battle cries, the Avalonian soldiers surged forward as one unit. The chamber erupted in shouts at once, but none of them mattered. The skull-faced warriors, their weapons drawn and crackling with energy, went after the Kahn without thinking. Two bone spears, a greatsword, a twin-bladed glaive, and a curved cleaver all moved in tandem.

And with a prideful laugh, the Kahn met them all.

His arms blurred once again. One flaming gauntlet smashed into a spear, breaking it in half just the same way, and the follow-up swing sent its wielder flying. Another came at him from behind, aiming for his neck. The Kahn turned without looking, already sensing the change in the air as the weapon pushed it apart, deflecting the blow with a twist of an ice-clad arm. Then, maintaining his momentum, he stomped forward, hammering into the third warrior, caving part of his pauldron inward.

But something was wrong... his Gauntlets weren’t burning as brightly as they should have. The Kahn felt it first as the wielder of the Holy Relic, as the chosen Son of Toobu. The fire in his strikes wasn’t biting as deep, and the ice was forming much slower. Unnoticeable for the others, but not for him.

Focusing, he could feel it coming from all of the Avalonians, from their red eyes... A pulse, a ripple, barely visible, originating from their helmets. Magic. Created to disable... but his Gauntlets carried the magic of the Gods. It couldn’t cancel a God’s gift... but it still dulled it.

That was new.

Still, Rhanak was a Kahn. The Kahn of Khulman. And for every ounce of power that was dulled, he met it with raw strength. Without hesitating, he caught another weapon mid-swing and then snapped the haft with a loud crunch, and then drove a burning palm into the soldier’s chest and sent him sprawling.

But then—

“Enough!” Lancelot’s voice rang out, hoarse but commanding, already standing, holding back a painful cough. He walked forward without his sword, discarding the broken hilt while raising a hand. The Avalonians froze at once, looking at him. “Back down.”

The Kahn watched as the soldiers slowly lowered their weapons, and even those he had hurt straightened as they obeyed. Watching, Rhanak stood across from Lancelot, breathing a bit faster, but his grin was the same as before. Smoke curled from one gauntlet, and frost dripped from the other before he shook his arms, and the magic slowly began dying down and disappearing. Around them, the chamber was scarred, the floor cracked, and furs burned, and it no longer looked like a throne room but a pigsty.

"That felt good..." The Kahn exhaled, turning his back to the Avalonians and looking at Lancelot, who, in turn, met his eyes. It was hard not to grimace as his side ached like hell.... and his sword was gone. But he stood tall, holding back another cough.

“Well?” he asked quietly.

“Mhm,” he nodded. “You and your soldiers are worthy. Now we can talk.”

...

....

......

The sun was up early, and the Camelot hovered above the grassy plains, Kustov constantly scanning the land, on the lookout for disturbances. It wasn't the only one, though, as the Shadow, Thunder, and the Valiant were doing the same, ready to battle anything that might try to sneak up on the people they were protecting: their Sovereign and his children. Down below the airship, beneath its shadow, two figures were lost in the tall grass.

Leyla crouched low, her fingers digging through the earth, looking for clues, trying to get a feel for it. There was such a dense feeling of magic here that it was like walking into a flowerbed and getting assaulted by dozens of scents at once. But it seemed that it was only her and her brother who actually felt like it. Not even Merlin had any similar experience. Following her instinct, she turned over cracked bits of bone, fragments of rusted metal from a belt, and what looked like a snapped spearhead. Sadly, it wasn't anything serious. It was not the first time she found something like this that had turned out to remain from centuries before, when expeditions came to these lands, and not another big clue like the journal.

Yet, it didn't matter. It was still the greatest type of fun she had had in a long time.

"Arthur! Look at this! I think it used to be some kind of clasp or brooch!" She raised the rusted, metal thing that was falling apart between her fingers.

Her brother, a few paces behind her, glanced over with a faint smile. As twins, he felt the same way and did the exact same thing. He held a small, leather-bound notebook and was already sketching the terrain, noting the spots Leyla dug at, marking out old places where probably battles took place or where expeditions of some ambitious Ishillian Emperor had failed miserably. There were more human bones under the surface than they expected...

"That could be a buckle," he said absently, eyes returning to the grass. "Or part of a breastplate. Whatever it was, by the corrosion, I would put it at least three to four centuries old. If not older."

"Useless junk, then." Yuri's distorted voice came from close by as the pair was not alone. Of course, they wouldn't be.

Towering above them, standing watch, was the Princess, and about fifty meters away was the hulking, blue form of the Leviathan. The two war machines flanked the area, each protecting one of the twins personally.

"Still, Mom Yuri, this is amazing! This is exactly what I wanted to do, you know?" she said, sitting cross-legged in the dirt. "When we were kids, I always said I wanted to go on some ancient expedition like the ones in those adventure books Dad and Merlin wrote! And now look at us!"

"Ah!" Yuri laughed, "So when you two were escaping your cribs as babies... it was your idea?!"

"Err..." Leyla flinched as an ancient secret suddenly revealed itself.

Arthur was about to defend her sister, but something was suddenly gnawing at the edge of his senses. At first, he thought it was just the wind, but it wasn’t that. There was something else... a pressure. A frequency... Magic. He snapped his gaze northward. Beyond the grassy plains, the forest was moving in the wind as if beckoning to him.

"Arthur?" Leyla noticed the change in him and tilted her head at once. "Hey. You okay?"

"No..." Arthur squinted at the tree line. "Something's... off. I can feel it."

"Arthur felt something! Get ready!" Yuri shouted at once, and the mechs, no matter where they were, began moving as the Camelot also turned, its broadside cannons facing the treeline at once.

"Arthur?" Leyla asked, ignoring the sudden cacophony around them as she followed his gaze, but her expression remained puzzled. She... couldn't feel it. Why? But she knew he wouldn't be able to answer that question, so she asked something else instead, "What do you mean?"

He didn’t answer that either at first. Instead, he closed his eyes, blocking out the wind and the rustle of the grass. He focused not on his ears but on his thoughts, stretching them like threads, trying to follow the hum that buzzed at the edge of his awareness.

Then, in an instant, it came like a bright flash.

"The child... returned to us!"

The voice was not loud, and it was not exactly human. The moment he heard it, Arthur staggered, clutching at his temple, his eyes reopening.

"Arthur?" Leyla was at his side in an instant, her hand grabbing his arm. "What happened? What is it? Arthur!"

He looked at her, his eyes wide, but his voice remained calm, to his surprise.

"Something just spoke to me. From the forest."

"What?" she froze, gulping.

"We need to leave... now. Whatever it was... it knows I am here. That we are here!"