Chapter 13: A Reckoning in the Court

Chapter 13: A Reckoning in the Court

The silence in the tomb was heavy with the ghosts of shed power. Borin stood amidst the rubble he’d created, his broad chest heaving, his axe dripping a black ichor that sizzled and evaporated on the ancient stone. Elara, her pistol still held at a low ready, swept her gaze from the pacified crystal to the inert husks of the shadow sentinels, and finally to Chase.

He was the greatest anomaly in the room. The frantic, chaotic energy that had always shimmered around him like heat haze was gone. In its place was a profound stillness, an unnerving composure that was more intimidating than any of his previous outbursts. The haunted look in his eyes had been replaced by a weary, deep-set calm, the look of a man who had stared into the abyss and found it staring back with his own face.

"Ambrose… what did you do?" Elara asked again, her voice tight with professional disbelief. She needed a tactical assessment, a report, but the answer felt far beyond the scope of any mission debrief.

He looked at his scarred hand, then back at her, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "I accepted the terms."

Before she could demand a clearer explanation, Kael, looking pale but resolute, held up his data-slate. "Commander, the external seal on the door just disengaged. And I've finished the analysis on the control sigils from the… husks." He gestured to the fallen sentinels. "The energy signature is a perfect match for the command-level encryption used by the Knight-Commanders' security forces. It was Kay. He sealed us in and sent his new toys to clean up."

The truth landed with the finality of a coffin lid. They hadn't just stumbled upon a secret; they'd been sent to die for it.

"He knows we survived," Chase said, his new, level voice cutting through the tension. "The control sigils would have reported their own destruction. He knows we're coming."

The ascent back to New Camelot was a blur of grim purpose. The city's sterile beauty seemed menacing now, the gleaming spires like teeth in a predator's jaw. As they neared the Lexmordant headquarters, their fears were confirmed. A city-wide amber alert pulsed from holographic emitters, citing a "containment breach" in the lower levels. The public comm-channels were flooded with static. The Lexmordant spire was a fortress under siege from within.

"He's locked down the main lifts," Elara reported, her fingers flying across her wrist-comm. "He's broadcasting on the Knight-Commanders' private channel, declaring Mordred a traitor and assuming emergency command of the city."

"It's a coup," Kael breathed.

"He's not just cutting off the head," Chase observed, looking up at the spire. "He's trying to replace it."

They bypassed the locked-down public transport, taking a series of maintenance shafts and forgotten service corridors, moving with a silent urgency. Borin peeled open armored doors like they were made of tin foil. Elara navigated the labyrinthine paths from memory. Chase, for the first time, felt like a part of the team, not a volatile package they were escorting. The Itch was gone, but in its place was a calm sea of power he could draw from at will, a tool rather than a tormentor.

They emerged into the silent, marble-floored antechamber of the Praetorium, the heart of the spire's command and control. The air was electric with tension. Inside, Sir Kay stood before the Praetorium's central command throne, his broad shoulders squared, his military dress uniform immaculate. He was flanked by a dozen of his elite Knight-Enforcers, their polished black armor and glowing blue visors a study in rigid, impersonal force.

Opposite him, standing alone and seemingly unconcerned, was Mordred.

A massive holographic map of Avalon shimmered between them, dotted with dozens of flashing red icons. Kay had activated every security asset under his command.

"...and that is why I have relieved you of your duties, Mordred," Kay was saying, his voice a gravelly baritone that filled the vast chamber. "Your obsession with this ancient rot, your recruitment of unstable, dangerous elements," his cybernetic eye flickered with contempt, "has put this city at risk. I am enacting the Camelot Accords, Article Seven. In the event of command incapacitation or treason, absolute authority defers to the Knight-Commander to preserve order. A new order. A stronger order."

"An order built on secrets and assassination, Kay?" Mordred's voice was silk, cutting through Kay’s blustering righteousness. "An order that weaponizes the very darkness you claim to fight?"

Kay’s face tightened. "Sacrifices are necessary for stability. A lesson you and your sentimental father never learned."

It was then that he saw them. His cybernetic eye widened for a fraction of a second as Chase and his team stepped out of the shadows. The sight of them—alive, grim-faced, and present—was a critical error in his meticulous calculations.

"Impossible," he snarled. "The perimeter was absolute."

"Your trap was sprung, Kay," Elara called out, her mag-pistol leveled at his head. "We found the King's regrets. And yours."

Rage contorted Kay's features. The facade of the stoic protector fell away, revealing the zealot beneath. "No! I will not let this city fall to chaos! I will burn out the rot myself!" He slammed his gauntlet onto a control panel on the throne's armrest. "Activate the Wardens!"

The chamber floor trembled. From alcoves in the walls, four massive constructs of steel and enchanted stone slid forth. They were Golems, ten feet tall, their bodies covered in the same glowing blue control sigils as the shadow sentinels. They were the pinnacle of Kay's philosophy: arcane power bound in an unthinking, unfeeling, perfectly obedient technological shell. Their heads swiveled, optical sensors glowing a menacing red.

Borin let out a battle cry and charged, a dwarf against a mountain. Elara and Kael opened fire, their energy bolts splashing harmlessly off the Golems' heavy plating. The Knight-Enforcers raised their rifles, preparing to execute them all. The room was about to become a slaughterhouse.

But Chase stepped forward. He walked calmly into the center of the room, into the path of the advancing Golems, his expression unreadable.

"Get back, Ambrose!" Elara yelled.

Kay laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You see, Mordred? Your pet is suicidal! Let the Ash Wizard be the first to be cleansed!"

Chase ignored them all. He lifted his scarred left hand. There was no grand surge of energy, no explosive burst of light. A quiet, silvery-grey flame, no larger than his palm, bloomed into existence. It gave off no heat. It made no sound. It seemed to drink the light around it, the air growing still and cold.

He didn’t throw a fireball or a wave of force. He simply placed his palm flat against the marble floor.

The ash-flame flowed from his hand, not over the floor, but through it. A network of silver-grey lines, like cracks in reality, spread silently across the chamber. They didn't burn the stone; they passed through it, a tracery of pure, controlled unmaking.

The lines reached the first Golem. The intricate blue runes that powered its legs flickered, stuttered, and died. The Golem's leg locked up, and the massive construct stumbled, then fell to one knee with a screech of tortured metal. The lines of ash-fire continued their silent journey, touching the other Golems. One by one, their power sigils were not countered or overloaded, but simply… erased. Deconstructed. Turned back into inert symbols on cold steel.

Within seconds, all four Wardens were frozen in place, nothing more than imposing statues. The Knight-Enforcers stared in stunned silence. Kay's ultimate expression of absolute order had been dismantled as easily as a child's toy. His cybernetic eye flickered wildly, unable to process the data.

Chase lifted his hand from the floor, the ash-flame receding back into his palm. He looked directly at Kay, his eyes holding the ancient calm of embers.

"Your order is built on a lie, Kay," Chase said, his voice echoing in the sudden, tomb-like silence. "You can't control grief by putting it in a cage. You just make the prison bigger."

The fight was over. The coup had been broken not by a battle, but by a statement. Kay fell to his knees, his face a mask of utter, uncomprehending defeat. His enforcers, their certainty shattered, lowered their weapons as Mordred’s own agents emerged from hidden doorways, securing the room.

Chase stood amidst the silent, fallen Golems, the self-destructive outcast now the city's unlikely savior. He felt no triumph, only a quiet, resolute emptiness. He had not become a hero. He had simply become himself.

Mordred walked over to him, his ancient eyes gleaming with something that looked disturbingly like pride. He surveyed the scene—the defeated Knight-Commander, the neutralized Golems, and the transformed man at the center of it all.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. "Excellent," Mordred said, his voice a low murmur meant only for Chase. "The first trial is complete. Now, your real work can begin."