24. A Hole in the World

The otherworldly roar on Morgan’s lips began to alter the space around him. The ground shuddered. The walls shook, debris falling from the ceiling. Magic of unthinkable darkness swelled and crackled. Sparks of violet cascaded through the air, shifting into a black deeper than a starless night.

One of the Jenkins brothers ran down the corridor to protect the witches as the barriers began to shatter under the increasingly brutal assault. The dregs leapt high, and his brothers cried out as they watched the creatures rip him to shreds before their eyes.

Gwen turned from the battle, braving another glance at what remained of her long-lost companions—at Aaron and Morgan. Morgan’s scream raised in pitch, a sustained wail of heartbreak and fury without end. Gwen’s eyes grew wide, her face turning white as the world came unraveled.

The space beside her screeched, a streak of black and violet wrenching open with a gust. She shielded her face as another tear swelled from the far end of the hall, past the oncoming dregs. The room filled with distortions as tear after tear ripped open, the fabric of reality coming undone. Gwen’s heart hammered in her chest as she turned back, gazing into the massive fracture. Tears filled her reddened eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.

From the battlefield on which they stood, through the menacing wail of the rift, time had been pressed together like the pages in a book—and another battle unfolded beyond.

Soldiers in polished, silver armor cried out as they fought across a green and rocky plateau. A crest of red and gold flashed on finery in the light of the setting sun. Swords clashed as an opposing army began to fall back across the hillscape.

A soldier ran into view, chasing down their enemies in a rage. Suddenly, they froze, turning toward the cry of the rift. They stepped forward, raising their hands to remove their helmet. Lifting the silver armor from his head, the man’s dark blue eyes grew wide in disbelief. His dark hair rustled in the wind as he reached out, stumbling forward.

Gwen nearly choked on her own heart, the tears spilling over as she cried out, “LANCELOT!”

“Guinevere?” The knight moved faster. His breaths became short and hurried in his chest. He broke into a run. “GWEN!” He reached for his belt, racing across the field as he pulled a horn to his lips, sounding it into the ebb of the battle behind.

A dreg broke free of the chaos, rushing at Gwen. She raised her hands as she turned, when a swift glint of silver flashed ahead, and the dreg’s body fell to her feet. She peeked through her arms and gasped as she was pulled into a tight embrace against hard metal. The man stared down at her, his eyes covering every inch of her face as he held her close, taking short, excited breaths.

“Am I... dreaming?” she stammered, gazing up into the face she had all but given up hope of seeing in this life again.

Lancelot huffed a breath of joyous incredulity. “I have no idea, my darling. Whether reality or sweet reverie, I’ll take it. I worried so when the battle broke out and I couldn’t find you.”

“Lancelot!” She threw her arms around his high shoulders. “I’m so sorry! I never meant to leave you! I... there’s so much to tell, but...”

“Gwen,” he choked, “Arthur, he’s...” Lancelot cast a pained look behind him into the rift. “He’s gone, Gwen.”

“I know, my love.” She placed a hand to his cheek with a sad smile. “I know. We’re not fairing much better here.” She looked over her shoulder to her struggling allies.

The man’s eyes darted around the space, growing wider with every movement. “Where in the deepest hells are we, Guinevere?”

“You’re not far off, darling. Morgan’s spell, the reason he left us before we rode, this is where it has led. I’ll tell you everything when we have a moment to breathe, but we’re trapped. The enemy is tearing us apart.”

Lancelot nodded. “Let us remedy that, shall we?” he said, charging forward to aid the witches.

Their forces were falling further back into the dead-end room. Daphne whirled around, taking off another dreg’s head before it could tear into one of the Hawthorne witches. Theresa was surrounded in the far corner, cracking her whip to push her enemies back when she was tackled from the side, sending her to the ground. As the dreg raised its hands, a lance sailed from a nearby rift, impaling it straight through its temple.

Two bodies emerged from the distortion. They lowered their helmets, and a man with shoulder-length, blond hair and amber eyes ripped the spear free of the fallen dreg. The other, a tangle of dark curls framing green eyes, swatted his blade low, removing the dreg’s head. He reached out, offering Theresa his hand with a kind smile. “My lady?”

“Theresa.” She took it hesitantly, and the man lifted her to her feet. “Thank you.”

“Sir Gawain.” He bowed. “At your service.”

“Hardly the time for pleasantries, Wain,” the other man grunted, beheading another dreg, “We’re surely being punished for our failure. The gods have deemed us unfit and sent us into the pits, it would seem.”

“Forgive Percival his lack of chivalry, Lady Theresa,” Gawain scoffed at his comrade, “You’re not finding us at our best this day.”

A commotion came from the rift at the end of the hall, and every dreg in the room turned, racing toward the sound, leaving the witches forgotten behind them. Shane crouched down, cleaning his wrist blades on the tattered shirt of a fallen dreg. “What in the damned circles is that?”

Lancelot stared to the end of the hall. “That... would be the Camelot infantry. They can handle that rabble.”

“They have to behead them,” Daphne panted, “They won’t stand a chance otherwise.”

Lancelot ran to the end of the hall, yelling over the commotion and echoing through the space as the infantry clashed with their enemies. “TAKE OFF THEIR HEADS, SOLDIERS! WE FIGHT THE LIVING DEAD!”

“Lancelot…” Gwen shook, glancing around to their reinforcements. “Gawain, Percival...”

The two men met her eyes from across the room, faces filling with shock and relief. “Lady Guinevere!” Percival ran toward her, arms wide with Gawain in tow.

“How-” Gawain gasped, pulling away from her, “What- is this place?”

“We are roughly ten kilometers out of Etna City,” Theresa said, “One of the last remaining civilizations in the world. The year is 203 Ultra Interitus. Nearly seventeen hundred years stand between here…” She turned to the nearest rift. “And there. As for how-”

The room went silent suddenly, and the rifts surrounding them began to groan.

“Gwen!” Lancelot held out his hand. “We must go! These doors- they’re closing!”

“I…” Gwen looked up to where Morgan sat, then around to her friends and allies, before meeting Lancelot’s confused stare. “I can’t, Lancelot. Our kingdom—our world—it’s gone.”

“Gone?” Percival gasped, “What do you mean?”

“Without Arthur and Morgan, the kingdom collapses. In just years there will be nothing left!” she cried over the shifting sounds of the rifts, “This is where everything we fought for has led! I can’t leave! Not yet!”

Lancelot searched her eyes before turning to his fellow knights. “Percival, Gawain. It’s been an honor to serve alongside you. Get back through the doorways. Tell the others what transpired here.”

Percival arched his brow, sharing a look with Gawain, and shook his head. “You’re mad if you think we’re letting you have the wildest adventure of your life without us, du Lac.”

“Besides,” Gawain huffed, “We’ll not leave those in need. No matter the circumstances. At the very least we might uphold some of our honor this day.”

The rifts groaned louder, twisting in the spaces where they hung. One by one, they started to close with a screech.

“You’re sure? There may not be another chance to go back.” Gwen cast her eyes between the three of them, and each knight nodded in resolution.

“Wait! The others!” Lancelot turned back to the hall, ready to call out to the soldiers again, when a clap like a thunderbolt split the air, and the final rift snapped shut. “Damn it all.”

“Only those brave enough to face the unknown went charging in, Lancelot,” Gawain said, “They’re in it to the end, the same as us.”

Lancelot nodded with a heavy sigh, reaching out for Gwen.

Daphne moved forward slowly, staring upwards. “Morgan?”

“Lord Morgan?” Percival whipped around at the name. “He’s here?”

Gwen bobbed her head sadly, grasping Lancelot’s arm. “Yes, he’s-” She stopped short at the look of horror spreading across Daphne’s face, following her eyes to the scaffolding.

Above them, Morgan’s shaking arm was outstretched. He whispered, barely audible enough for them to understand, “Where are you?” His fingertips trailed down Aaron’s still cheek. “I’ll find you. I-” His hand shook violently in front of him. Small cracks were forming along his fingers. He sagged backward to the edge of the platform as crevasses of violet spread beneath the sleeve of his jacket, creeping up his neck. “I’ll find you...”

He slipped, drifting over the edge of the scaffolding, the glittering cracks spreading across his face. Lancelot darted forward. “My lord!”

Morgan’s fingertips vanished in shining particles, trailing through the air with his descent. His body was coming apart, spent from the actions of his despair.

“MORGAN!”Daphne screamed.

Lancelot reached out moments before he hit the ground. Morgan fell into the knight’s arms—and his body shattered into glittering, violet dust.

The remainder of their forces stepped back into the night, swords still ringing through the air as the battle went on in the far corners of the sprawling lot outside. Fallen dregs littered the barren space, some from their efforts, and many more from those who came from beyond the rifts. Spirits were broken entirely, and as they walked, so very many things went unspoken.

Aaron’s hollowed body was cradled in Lancelot’s arms. Gwen rested her head on the knight’s shoulder, Percival and Gawain trailing behind. Shane held Daphne up at his side, their eyes red, hearts in tatters. Frey clutched their chest, breathing heavily as they did their best not to let the dark emotions of their company in. Glimmer hadn’t been seen since the rifts had opened.

The infantry had managed to dispatch most of the remaining dregs, allowing what remained of their number to get out of the building safely. They had lost at least a dozen of their friends and allies.

Including Aaron and Morgan.

Theresa held tight to her coven mate Hestia, a large, striking woman with dark skin. “Where is he?” she hissed, stepping away from the woman, “Where is that vile piece of shit, Abernathy?”

“Why did he want Aaron?” Daphne rasped, “What does he need his... his soul for?”

Her eyes lingered on the body. Morgan had opened doors through time itself, trying to find Arthur she assumed, recalling her friend’s final words. She couldn’t bring herself to complete the thought that surfaced; a hope that perhaps they had found each other again.

“His soul?” Percival spat, “This... craven sod took our king’s soul?”

Theresa rounded on them. “I haven’t the faintest idea what he hopes to achieve. A soul in itself is a powerful essence. Enough for Abernathy to bastardize into his idea of magic. According to legend-” She glanced around at the knights and Gwen. “Arthur’s is a soul born of magic directly from the Well. If that’s true...”

“There’s no telling what he could do with it.” Daphne’s eyes stayed on Aaron.

Shane helped her to sit, placing a gentle kiss to the side of her head. He held Morgan’s revolver in his hand, staring at it darkly. “He called Aaron ‘A king unworthy of his power-’” The knights’ faces reddened. “That sounds like someone with a grudge.”

“It doesn’t matter, McMillan,” Theresa snapped, “He will pay regardless of his motive.”

Shane gawked at her indignantly. “It would’ve mattered to Morgan! To Aaron!”

“Well, they’re both-”

“SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU!” Daphne scathed from the ground. She hung her head. “Morgan is gone. Aaron is gone. We failed. Everything that Morgan went through... everything he did to get back to Arthur... to Aaron. Can you two just stop? Can’t you-”

A mechanical hum shook the ground beneath their feet, filling the air with the sound of machinery.

“Oh, what the fuck now?” Shane yelled.

Lancelot placed Aaron against the outer wall of the building, standing ahead of his limp form to shield him.

“Steel yourselves!” Theresa called, moving to the head of the group.

Witches reached for their potions, slugging them down and tossing the vials aside. The glow of spectral weapons reappeared. The knights unsheathed their blades, and Gwen laced an arrow into her bow. They all prepared to fight on in spite of their grief.

The humming grew louder, ringing in their ears. Across the cement expanse they had fought their way in from, the pavement split open beneath a layer of sand, revealing a hatch in its center. With a psychotic cackle, a gargantuan shadow rose from the earth.

“I had truly hoped to test the fruits of my labor on sad, little Morgan!” Abernathy’s voice called out, distorted and wicked, “But he went and shredded himself! Pathetic!” His laugh echoed around them.

“You loathsome coward!” Theresa roared, her whip cracking against the concrete. “By the order of the Occult Council, I sentence you to DEATH!”

Abernathy laughed again over the whirr of moving machinery. “I would truly like to see that, Madam Hawthorne.” He drew closer in whatever mechanized beast he was controlling. The shadow grew larger as heavy steps shook the ground, and a bright blue light glowed to life at its core. “By all means... kill me-” Runes shined to life in the metal, spreading from top to bottom of the figure as it approached, illuminating a horrific sight in a blue glow. “If you can!”

Several of their battered army took frightened steps backward as the monstrosity came into view, realizing that Abernathy wasn’t merely controlling some machine. Blood covered what remained of his torso. Large, cybernetic limbs had been fused in place of his own. Giant metal tendrils rose from his back like the gleaming legs of a massive spider. And embedded in his chest, shined a swirling blue light behind a sphere of glass.

“That’s-” Gwen gasped, “That’s Doctor Shockley! That’s Aaron’s FUCKING THERAPIST!”

Abernathy laughed wildly. “Ah yes, poor, sweet Officer Jones. Wherever have you left him? I was hoping to reanimate him just to see which of you were willing to commit regicide!”

They all whirled around to the spot where Lancelot had left Aaron’s body with expressions of shock and outrage.

It was gone.

“You disgusting freak!” Daphne spat, “You defile his soul by using it to power this hideous thing you’ve turned yourself into and then his body as well? GIVE HIM BACK!”

At her words, their band of witches and knights shook with fury, all of them turning back to Abernathy with murder in their eyes. Before he had a chance to retort, Gwen roared, launching an arrow directly into his chest that exploded in a burst of electricity, running across his flesh and down his metal appendages.

The attack hardly seemed to faze him.

“Go on! Throw all the magic and infused weaponry you like at me! You won’t- ARGH!” He screamed as a spear pierced his shoulder. Lancelot and the other knights rushed him in a flurry of iron on steel.

“The Knights of the Round Table!” Abernathy cooed menacingly, “What an interesting turn of events! Tell me, was it worth losing the only one among you that might have been able to leave a scratch?”

Jets flared from his massive legs, and he flew forward, his arm clinking and clanking to form a long blade, lunging at Percival. The knight dodged at the last second as Abernathy’s attack sundered the ground, sending chunks of cement flying. The witches began pelting him, releasing a hail of blasts in their various hues. Daphne, Shane, Theresa and Frey all rushed to join the others as they danced around the doctor’s arsenal. The soldiers at the far end of the battlefield that had been dealing with the dregs began charging from the rear. They had Abernathy surrounded.

He swung his steel fist outward, narrowly missing Gwen and Lancelot, and Theresa seized him with the end of her whip. While she held him, Percival shot forward, running up his wide, metal leg to grab hold of the lance embedded in his shoulder. He gave it a sharp twist and Abernathy screamed in pain before Percival ripped it from his flesh, propelling himself backward with a hard kick to the man’s face.

The soldiers from behind were closing in. Abernathy roared in frustration. He pulled angrily at the arm Theresa was holding, sending her flying across the battlefield into one of the shipping containers with a hard clang as Daphne cried out after her.

Abernathy turned as his left arm unfolded from itself, glowing from within like a blazing forge. He took aim at the oncoming infantry, releasing a ball of energy that burned like a small star, vaporizing those at the center of the blast instantly. The others, along with shipping containers and several unslain dregs, went soaring in all directions.

As the dust settled, a glowing crater remained where the cannon had struck. Several of the soldiers that had managed to come out unscathed charged at his exposed back. The metal tendrils there came to life, lashing outward and drilling into the ground. As those still on their feet danced and dodged around the assault, Abernathy whipped around, the core in his chest pulsing brightly. “ENOUGH!” A shockwave burst from the core, sending all of them hurtling through the air.

Gwen crashed backward into Lancelot and the two of them collided with another container. Abernathy turned on them, mechanical legs creaking with his approach. “Oh, Guinevere-” He raised his cannon, glowing with its charge. “How dull you’ve become. I think I much prefer the kingdom wrecking whore the stories tell of in place of the pining, selfless waste you really are.”

Lancelot struggled to stand. He grasped his sword, placing himself between Abernathy and Gwen. Abernathy chuckled. “How touching. At least she got to see you one... last... time, Lancelot.”

He aimed directly into their faces. Across the lot, the others fought to get to their feet. Daphne screamed out. Shane roared. Percival and Gawain raced toward Abernathy as the hum of the cannon grew louder.

“But I’m afraid your happily ever after... ENDS... HERE!”