Mordred stood still, his mind racing, his body frozen in place. He could not understand what Sir Gareth was doing to him. The knight stood far away bloody, broken, a dagger wound still weeping from his forehead yet Mordred could not move. Could not attack. Could not think without feeling as if death was about to descend from every direction.
He closed his eyes.
"Okay." His voice was quiet, strained. "Okay. I need to relax."
He took a breath.
"But this I can't." His brow furrowed. "It's as if I'm anticipating an attack from every section. I'm too hyperactive."
He covered his face with one of his hands pressing his palm against his eyes, his forehead, his temple. The gesture was almost human. Almost vulnerable.
"Okay." He lowered his hand. "Let me confirm what this is."
He blitzed toward Sir Gareth.
This time, he did not pull his punches. His black blade sang as it cut through the air fast, precise, absolute. He aimed for the neck. For the head. For the end.
SHLIK!
The blade passed through Gareth's neck clean, smooth, final. The head separated from the body, tumbling through the air, spinning end over end.
And as it spun, Mordred saw it.
A smile.
On Sir Gareth's face.
The head hit the ground thud and rolled to a stop, still smiling, still staring at Mordred with those red, burning eyes.
Mordred felt a great sense of unease.
"What the fuck?"
The words escaped him before he could stop them raw, unfiltered, genuine. He stared at the smiling head, at the body that still stood, at the impossibility of what he was seeing.
His voice rose.
"You bastard!" He pointed his blade at the corpse. "What do you mean by that? Are you trying to taunt me or something?"
His jaw tightened.
"I won't let that work anymore." His voice hardened. "I am not like that." He straightened. "I am above that."
He smiled.
A sense of relief warm, soothing, final spread through his chest.
"Ha." He exhaled. "Finally. I've taken him down."
He turned away from the corpse.
He walked toward Sir Tor and Sir Lamorak, who were bound together on the ground. Their bodies were limp, their eyes closed, their breath shallow. They had been unconscious for hours since Mordred had taken them hostage, since he had dragged them across the battlefield.
He reached down to check their bonds.
And again he saw it.
The same smile.
On Tor's face. On Lamorak's face. The same smile that had been on Gareth's severed head the same expression, the same curve of the lips, the same light in the eyes.
Mordred's blood froze.
Then a voice.
From his back.
"Is that really all it was?" The voice was calm, steady, alive. "As if your attack... did not exist."
Mordred turned immediately.
His body spun, his blade raised, his eyes searching for the source of the voice.
And he discovered.
Gareth was no longer far away from him. He was not standing where his corpse had been, not lying where his head had fallen.
He was close.
Very close.
Skin to skin.
Their bodies were almost joined chest to chest, hip to hip, the warmth of Gareth's breath washing over Mordred's face. The knight's hands were raised, his fingers spread, his palms open.
He grabbed Mordred's face.
His fingers pressed against Mordred's cheeks, his temples, his jaw. The grip was iron unbreakable and Gareth slammed Mordred's head into the ground.
CRACK!
The impact shook Mordred's skull. His vision swam. His ears rang. His body trained for centuries, honed by countless battles could not react. Could not move.
He lay there, stunned.
So this is it, he thought, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. For this hit... I can see it clearly.
He blinked.
It's real.
The ground beneath him was hard. The pain in his head was sharp. The weight of Gareth's hands was heavy on his face.
It doesn't matter anymore.
His thoughts grew clearer.
You have made direct contact with me. As long as you have made direct contact with me...
He smiled.
...your fate is sealed.
Your death will be quick.
To Mordred, the calculation was simple.
He believed that no one could survive an attack from such close range. Once he had confirmed through touch, through contact, through the reality of the moment that what was in front of him was real, he could act.
His body moved.
His hand drove the black blade forward into Gareth's chest, into his heart, into the core of his being. The sword sank deep, piercing flesh, shattering bone, ending the life that should have ended long ago.
He smiled.
"Finally "
He blinked.
And he could not see the target again.
Gareth was gone.
The weight on his face was gone. The warmth of the knight's breath was gone. The contact the real, tangible contact was gone.
Mordred lay on the ground, his blade still raised, his eyes wide, his mind scrambling.
What
He could not finish the thought.
.
Mordred stared at the empty space above him.
And the grey sky watched.