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The blade of Merodach lodged itself into Artoria's neck, cleaving through both armour and flesh, but falling short of being a killing stroke. Though pleased by the grievous wound inflicted upon his King, he was well aware that the battle was not yet over, even in his manic state. The wooden...

Even she raised her sword, its blade wreathed in obsidian flame, Merlin's grin was a permanent fixture on his face. Something had changed in him; where he would once have been afraid of the Sword of Promised Victory being turned against him, he was now excited by its promised destruction. He...

Ah, there she was. A glimpse of King Arthur beneath Vortigern's vile veneer. For as much as she resembled the Usurper, perhaps she was still Artoria at her core. Though she had never displayed such hostility to the incubus in her lifetime, such vitriol was not unheard of when directed to her...