[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/vzxvCpR.jpg[/img] [h3][b][color=DAA520]Camelot[/color][/b][/h3][/center] Even having lived there for the past two years, Chinami Nadakai found that the city of London had never really managed to grow on her. Frozen her ass off nearly all year round, sure, but never really managed to endear her to winter any more than she'd ever been... which was to say not at all. You try living your whole life in Texas, where seeing snow was like seeing the tooth fairy, and then moving to a place where the average highlight of the year was 70 degrees at best, and then come back and tell her she was off her rocker for refusing to wear skirts. To say nothing of the loss of her precious pockets, the temperature was already bad enough without all but baring her ass at it, so all those people telling her she was being "unreasonable" or "needed to wear the uniform properly" could one and all "sod off", as the locals would say. The point of all this being that tonight was especially chilly, certainly enough so that were things not as they were, she'd perhaps be bothered even while transformed, her armor swallowing the cold faster than it caught her body heat. That said, the circumstances were not such. The flicker of warm candlelight illuminated the area in welcoming yellows and oranges, casting friendly shadows along the walls of the empty back-alley parking lot. Absolutely dominating the center of the parking lot, there stood a great hoop of wood, a table of behemoth proportions, covered with an almost underwhelmingly simple white cloth and lined with somewhere in the range of four-dozen seats... all but one of which was full. The bustle of chatter and good cheer was at distinct odds with the particularly gloomy night that had quickly fallen around them, as guests supped of a grand feast fit for a King. Venison, pork, beef and all manner of poultry lay side by side with steaming baked breads and platter upon platter of vegetables and fruits. The foods ran the breadth of modern and ancient, and all were prepared to a standard to which no fault could be found. For every seat there was a warm candle and a cup, and what filled that cup was whatever the drinker wished. Between one breath and the next, they might sip wine and orange juice in turn, savoring a mix of flavors that was never meant to be. Though there were no deserts to be found, every bite would satisfy, every flavor be agreeable. No matter who they were, man, woman or child, they would only find placed before them that which would sustain their bodies and hearts. And all would find that even a single bite of the offerings before them would fill their belly till the next mealtime may come. As it happened, to take more than a single bite was simply to dine for the sake of joy and flavor, and yet, none would find themselves able to overeat nor become sickened for trying every last thing they saw. It was a scene that one might only have found in the halls of the noble, of the wealthy and elite. Atop this table, there lay a truly endless feast for those that chose to dine, no matter their heart or occupation. All were equal at the side of the Round Table. And the vast majority were homeless. Magical Girl Camelot -though she much preferred to forget all but the last bit- gently guided a child's straying hand away from where the hilt of her blade met its sheathe, even as she instead lay his fingers upon the hilt instead. Eyes flickering to his mother, who was sitting on the boy's other side, she noted the small smile and nod, shaking her head fondly. Her sword was not a toy, and even if she could fix anything that might go wrong, it just seemed irresponsible of her to be any less careful, especially since she was the one who typically went out of her way to take seating near children at her feasts. That said... [color=DAA520]"Thomas,"[/color] she addressed the probable 10-year-old, who had quite happily been chatting her up the whole evening. She'd honestly felt guilty to say that she'd only been listening with half an ear, as something had been prodding at her attention for the past small while. It was like she was trying to remember something she'd forgotten, like a word on the tip of her tongue, a vague sense of... something. But it didn't seem quite so important for the time being, and... She glanced at the wind up timer that had been set upon the table, a beat-up old thing provided by one of her guests that would give them all fair warning of the feast's end. It had been set to go off one to two minutes before the Round Table returned to where it came from. Seventeen minutes left... Yeah, she had time. And really, what did it cost her? "Yuh-huh?" the boy asked guilelessly. [color=DAA520]"Would you like to hold Excalibur?"[/color] she asked softly, smirking teasingly with a single raised brow. The size his eyes widened to seemed to indicate an emphatic "yes", even before his head began to imitate a bobble-head. Thomas's hands both reached forward to grab the hilt in full. [color=DAA520]"[i]Ahp[/i]-ahp-ahp!"[/color] Camelot shook her head and pressed a single finger down atop the blade's guard and gripping the sheathe with her other hand from where it was leaned against the Round Table. With her strength, even a single finger was several magnitudes more than was required to keep the weapon safely sheathed. At the boy's look of child-like betrayal, she shook her head and said consolingly, [color=DAA520]"Don't worry, I wasn't messing with you. You're just going a little fast, is all."[/color] Gently tugging the hilt away from his grip, she motioned a little twirl with her free hand. [color=DAA520]"Come on, turn about. Let's do this properly."[/color] Standing from her seat, she smiled fondly, as the kid scrambled to turn his own chair around to sit facing her. Taking a knee before the boy, Camelot held the sheathed blade out gingerly, the flat lain across her palms. [color=DAA520]"Now then,"[/color] she gave Thomas stern but not harsh look, to which he squirmed and straightened up. [color=DAA520][i]Good kid.[/i][/color] [color=DAA520]"Excalibur is not a toy. It's a real sword, dangerous, but I use it to fight evil all the time. It could hurt people, but I'm careful to make sure I don't hurt them or myself, only bad guys. You got me?"[/color] He nodded. [color=DAA520]"Also, real swords like these are a little bit heavy, but I'm pretty strong, which makes it easy to be careful. Tell me, Thomas, if I let you draw this blade, can I trust you to be strong and careful too? Tell me honestly."[/color] She stared him in the eyes, allowing her gaze to soften when he squirmed but straightened his back and nodded firmly. "Yes, Miss Camelot," the kid said, balling his hands. "I won't drop it." Not exactly what she meant, but sure, she'd take it. Shaking her head lightly with a smile, Camelot held out the hilt, her own hands clasping the ends of the sheathe. As Thomas took hold of the hilt and slowly began to pull. Immediately, the parking lot was awash with golden light, bright enough to sear the retinas, yet somehow perfectly harmless to all present, as it banished every shadow about them to nothingness. In the corner of her vision, Camelot noted the turning of heads, some craned in astonished interest, others in almost smug recognition; for certainly, it was not the first time many here had seen her blade. Her focus was more on making sure the kid didn't cut himself. [color=DAA520]"There we go..."[/color] she murmured, slowly drawing back the sheathe in unison with his pull. [color=DAA520]"Easy does it, flat of the blade facing up... Almost got it... Just about there... Watch out for the weight once you've got it out fully... And there we go."[/color] The boy looked absolutely star-struck, holding the sword up high. The golden hilt glittered, a pair of chimeras climbing across its form with their mouths ending at either side of the guard. From those mouths, a baleful fire glowed, like throats filled with dragon-fire. The blade itself shone with a golden light fit to challenge the sun, and ancient words were engraved upon either side near the hilt. Reaching over, Camelot gently turned the blade in the boy's hands. [color=DAA520]"Take me up... and Cast me away; that's what it says."[/color] She hummed aloud. [color=DAA520]"Story of Excalibur in a nutshell."[/color] At the kid's barely vocalized "woah" of awe, she shook her head with a smirk. [color=DAA520]"So, kid, how's it feel to be holding the strongest sword in the world?"[/color] "[i]Hah[/i]! She [i]would[/i] say that!" declared cheerily one bearded homeless man, wearing all too many layers. "Makes sense, King Arthur and all," shrugged one man in a suit. Not all her guests were homeless, just most of them. This relatively young lad in question had been walking home, smelled the food and investigated. Just like anyone else who approached the Round Table, Camelot was more than happy to welcome them to the feast. It cost her nothing, and it brought the regular citizenry more in touch with the downtrodden and misfortunate. Snorting aloud, Camelot shook her head and gently slipped Excalibur from the boy's grasp. [color=DAA520]"Not Arthur. Successor [i]at best[/i], and only if I'm feeling particularly delusional,"[/color] she chuffed in good humored denial. "'Successor at best', she says, while helping us more than the actual damned government." "So, like Mordred with tits?" Someone tossed a shoe at the offender. "I'll drink to that." "Oi, mind the kids!" "I mean, if we're talking about powerful swords, what about the Kusanagi?" "Hah! Try Mjonir!" "That's a hammer, dumbass." "[i]Semantics[/i]!" "'Semantics' my bleeding arse!" And like that, the moment was gone. As several people squabbled without real heat, Camelot rolled her eyes in good humor at the jeers, sheathing Excalibur, as she returned to her seat, shaking her head with a small smile. This... This was nice. Honestly, it never got old for her. She never got tired of the sight of people truly brought together, happy and hearty. They say an army marches on their stomach; well, so too does a nation and people as a whole. At the end of the day, if you wanted to truly help people, to make their lives better, simply ensure that they could have full bellies. The homeless. The poor. Even just someone having a bad day. A good meal and good company wouldn't solve all problems, but in her experience these past two years, they tended to solve most of them. From a pure economic standpoint, take away the need to buy food, and that money could finally afford to be invested into endeavors that would help these people dig themselves out of their rut; for these people who had all but nothing, even a single pence saved was everything. And companionship? Gathering any who wished without question or bias to sit and feast tended to bring people together as companions in a way nothing else could. The more fortunate among their number would grow to understand these people, grow aware -or rather, be reminded- of their existence, and many would -and had- gone on to befriend and find job opportunities for their misfortunate fellows. This ability to help, to save people in the long term, not just in the short. It was something Camelot couldn't recall ever seeing in her fellow Magical Girls, nor even a particular widespread desire to actually use their powers for anything other than combatting Pageless and healing the immediate victims. Perhaps that was somewhat unfair of her, considering that she had the Round Table at her beck and call, but Camelot couldn't help but look at just about any superhero comic and firm her resolve. Even if their powers were often solely combat based, all Magical Girls got enhanced strength, speed and endurance to some degree. Burning buildings. Muggers. Hell, even just a car wreck that needed the doors pried off. In extreme and rare cases, the ability to jump so high and fast could get one of them to a potential suicide victim to hopefully talk them down... and catch them if not. These powers could be used to help so many more people than just Pageless victims, so who was she to hold back? But she had something more. She had the Round Table, and the weight of responsibility it brought was heady. Camelot had never managed to find a limit to the food it could produce, never found a limit to the number of people it could seat. Granted, it wasn't like she was going around asking football stadiums for help testing her powers, but that was beside the point. Every seat she failed to fill was food that wasn't being eaten and a belly not being filled. She had the ability to feed [color=DAA520][s][i]her[/i][/s][/color] the people, and every day she was busy or couldn't be bothered was a day they might go hungry. Unacceptable. More than that... Through her careless kindness, she had accidentally made herself a pillar, someone so many of these people relied on to even get through the day, relied upon to feed themselves and their kids. If she just stopped showing up, how much would that hurt them? How much would that harm their recovery efforts? [i]No[/i], she couldn't -[i]wouldn't[/i]- do that. Admittedly, she'd made her bed, but it was one she was more than happy to lay in. She would not betray [color=DAA520][s][i]her[/i][/s][/color] these people's trust. Even if some of them were rich. Even if some of them were hypocrites, possibly criminals, or just plain taking advantage of the situation, she would welcome them so long as they brought only peace to her table and people. Looking around at the people who dined with her as equals, Camelot smiled. This... [i]This[/i] was what it was all about. A cold chill, like death breathing down her neck ran up her spine. Sheathed sword clutched in hand, the armored Magical Girl was on her feet in an instant, her chair screeching away, before dissipating into motes of light. Camelot paid no mind to her spot at the table disappearing again, nor to the cries of surprise and anxious questions. She could see it now, [i]feel[/i] it in the air in truth, what had been curdling her gut all evening. The shadows grew longer, grew [i]darker[/i], more akin to liquid ink than any absence of light. The cold in the air... the reason she could feel it so keenly was almost certainly the doing of fell magics, of the congealing dark power of grudges and resentment, of tales new and old, told and untold... hungry for more... for better than they had. Pageless. Several civilians had stood. A couple even looked as though they might come to her or leave. Camelot's brows furrowed, as she looked upon the bright and frightened eyes around her... eyes that weren't dulled by dark lures she so often saw... and chanced upon an epiphany. [color=DAA520]"Stay where you are. Return to your seats, and do not leave them,"[/color] she commanded firmly, outstretching an arm, her tone entirely different from the one she had worn before. [color=DAA520]"They are coming here, the monsters that I was blessed with this power to fight."[/color] Several more began to stand. [i]Unacceptable![/i] [color=DAA520]"Running will not save you!"[/color] she bellowed, freezing them in place, as she vaulted over the Round Table in a casual hop, striding to the center of the ring and emplacing her sheath's tip firmly on the ground. [color=DAA520]"The magic of my kind, the hope we spread, its very presence holds back the darkness! The very fact that I was surprised at all by their approach means that the Round Table is protecting you! And not just the Round Table!"[/color] She turned a circle, gesturing to all the people as one. [color=DAA520]"All of you! You are the reason! With your hope, trust and comradery, you have held back the darkness from stealing away your minds! Have courage! Abandon fear and despair! Abandon selfishness and worry! If you run, I will be spread too thin, unable to protect your bodies from their claws, nor your minds from their wicked magics! But if you stay..."[/color] Her right hand clenched tightly, the metal creaking loudly in the night. [color=DAA520]"You have my Oath as a Knight, as the one you have graciously chosen to trust to provide time and again: not a one of you shall shed a single drop of blood."[/color] A lofty promise, but her words seemed to get through to them. Those that had stood retook their seats, and those that seemed panicked had settled down to mere jitters. There was a certain amount of wary optimism, some restrained incredulity and disbelief from those that had yet to brush with the supernatural darkness that plagued London as of late, but it seemed as if she had their cooperation for the time being. The candlelight flickered ominously, as though some force was attempting to snuff it through pure disdain. [color=DAA520]"They are here."[/color] The people went silent, many of them glancing around warily at the shadows leaking from alleys and shrouding rooftops, as her people attempted to catch a glimpse of the threat. Camelot, meanwhile, stood still and waiting, sheath planted against the ground and arms atop the blade's hilt. She could feel what the people likely could only comprehend as a gut feeling, the seething darkness infusing every shadow. She could see the warbling inhuman shapes creeping in every corner, watching... [i]waiting[/i]. Turning her head slowly to either side, she could see dozens gathering here, lured by the naked display of hope and broken but healing lives. They were playing a game of chicken with her, attempting to goad her into acting first, upon which the remainder would strike from whatever direction she chose to abandon. Even so, she knew their patience was not unlimited; for the Pageless had been growing ever fiercer, ever more feral and almost [i]desperate[/i] of late, almost like starving animals. Even now, that patience only extended so far. She could see the people beginning to lose their nerve, eyes beginning to dart around more frantically, as dark magic tugged at their vulnerable hearts. If they could not come to their prey, then the Pageless would make their prey come to them. The Round Table was not intended to be used in a protective manner. It was only by its nature and the charisma of Camelot herself that the worst was staved away, and even that could only do so much in the face of the blatantly supernatural. She was no Captain Goodheart. In the end, where it mattered, she could only attack and defend. So, it was time to stop playing the enemy's game. [hider=Not One Drop of Blood] [youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bQ2ytyhr_E[/youtube][/hider] She spoke, addressing [i]all[/i] who were present. [color=DAA520][b]"You have heard its tale, shrouded in mystery..."[/b][/color] The people seemed to jolt at her voice, as many focused on her instead of the negative emotions welling inside them. [color=DAA520][b]"You have heard its promise, an Oath of Victory..."[/b][/color] Camelot shifted her Scabbard to one hand and secured it to her hip, the other taking hold of her blade's hilt. [color=DAA520][b]"The blade that shall pierce, should its aim be sure."[/b][/color] Her eyes alighted on a group of shadows more sizable than the rest, as she idly catalogued with her more mystical senses the approximate number of foes. [color=DAA520][b]"And it's name is..."[/b][/color] Mana curled in her gut and funneled into her blade, which almost seemed to [i]vibrate[/i] in its sheath from the unreleased pressure, as Camelot fed it a sixth, then a fifth, then a fourth, and then a [i]third[/i] of her full reserves, [i]far[/i] more than required to activate its ability. [color=DAA520][b][i]"EX-"[/i][/b][/color] The Pageless seemed to have instinctively comprehended that their plan was about to fall through, and Camelot could see many beginning to preemptively lunge- [color=DAA520][b][i]"-CALIBER!"[/i][/b][/color] If unsheathing her blade normally was like a [i]mere[/i] flashbang, then unsheathing it now was a nuke directed towards the eyes, unsubtle, unforgiving and [i]oh[/i] so very [i]effective[/i]. Pageless [i]screamed[/i], as the force of the [color=DAA520][b]light[/b][/color] seethed into every corner and crevice, a golden wave simply erasing the very concept of darkness from the parking lot and beyond, so strong that its mere reflection off the alley walls was enough to illuminate streets entire blocks away. Blinded monsters collapsed, stumbled and howled in obvious agony, many clawing uselessly at the glowing crimson gashes that passed for their eyes. Perhaps more damaging to the Pageless, however, was the absolute [i]surge[/i] of hope and awe that overtook her people, as doubt and fear were made fleeting memories in an instant. Camelot was not idle. Her feet left divots in the ground, as she accelerated, hurtling over the Round Table in a whirling dervish of motion, Excalibur leaving a trail of light akin to sunspots in the vision of all who saw it, as her blade arced around, beheading half a dozen monsters in a single swing. Excalibur's light dimmed somewhat, but the light was still yet to return to normal. It was only natural. In truth, no matter how much mana she pumped into the blade, it would only ever expend a set amount for its ability. In that case, it stood to reason that one could store multiple uses if they were so inclined. Granted, such stored energy dissipated with her transformation, so she was unable to simply build up a reservoir on the daily. That would be too easy, clearly. And also, it still didn't change the fact that she had no control over when the energy would be expended other than the initial point of contact. Excalibur would sever all that stood before it in a single slash, but what defined a "single slash" could be frustratingly mutable. Most of the time, speed seemed to be the key, but that too was unreliable. In truth, it more often came down to luck and instinct. Instinct that she had to resist. Every martial form tended to be about momentum and chambering smoothly into the next strike, but the act of chambering itself seemed to declare the end of what came before it. Therefore, to chamber or otherwise attack was to declare the end of Excalibur's slash. Her armored foot impacted the chest of a Pageless, and she could feel something giving inside, before it was catapulted backwards hard enough take out the legs of several of its fellows. Her fist arced behind her in a backfist, pasting another Pageless head, before she launched forward again, hurtling forward in a low run towards the Pageless stubbornly stumbling towards the Round Table. While blinded, they were far clumsier, but that hardly removed their supernatural sense for stories and the people that carried them, nor their desperate hunger. To fight her was death. To feed was to satisfy themselves at least for a moment and then also die. One of these two options was clearly superior to the other. And running? As far as she knew, they'd never heard of it. [i]Float like a butterfly; sting like a bee.[/i] True to thought, Camelot hurled herself upside down through the air just above the table's surface, whizzing past the occupants at speeds that made her nothing less than a blur. She barely payed attention to Excalibur's light falling back down to a dull roar of existence, as she whipped it through half a dozen more foes, every swing and stab a death blow aimed for the neck and nothing less, no matter what other limbs tried and failed to interrupt her blade's progress. She cared not for the loss of her blade's strength. The enchantment had merely been a means to an end, the end, of course, being the light. Her free left hand shot downwards, powerful fingers snagging a momentary vice-grip of the enchanted wood of the Round Table's outer edge. It did not dissipate her momentum, but that was hardly the intent, merely to reorient herself upwards. Now facing the table, she continued to hurtle backwards, still propelled by her original leap, as her blade bisected a Pageless merely from being held to the side. Her feet, curled up behind her as they were, impacted brick, and Camelot wasted no time launching herself into motion -the wall behind her crumbling from the combined force of her impact and kickoff- towards the other half of the table that was currently under siege by a full dozen and half Pageless, several currently in leaping freefall from the rooftops. Internally, she winced at the property damage, but outwardly, she had far more important things to focus on. Though worth avoiding in general to not hurt others financially, property damage was a small price to pay for saving lives. Her left arm outstretched, snapping hold of a Pageless by the neck, as she passed by, Excalibur flickered through two ground-bound and one midair Pageless. Bleeding momentum from the extra weight on her left side, Camelot's right foot came down like a power-driver through a Pageless head and into the pavement, halting her movement cold. Twisting on her heel, her left arm lightly tossed up its captured Pageless -as if preparing to spike a tennis ball, as Excalibur bisected another victim. The tossed Pageless was caught by the leg, and Camelot was in motion once more, hurling the screaming devil underhanded at one of its midair brethren with deadly force. Ducking under a clawed hand the size of her head, Camelot grabbed hold of its owner's leg and kicked off the ground with a twist of her hips, wielding both Excalibur and her screaming makeshift weapon's large claws against its allies, the captured Pageless whirled and flung around her so hard that the sheer force kept its arms unwillingly outstretched. The wonderful thing about the Pageless was that it had effectively twice the range of Excalibur, allowing her to swat another two airborne Pageless down. Or rather, to pass their fellow's claws through them at great speed, leaving them to fall in pieces. In the meantime, Excalibur added another four to its personal tally. She released her reluctant weapon with a fair parting, giving it the same as its comrade and slinging it with deadly force into the last of the airborne Pageless. The remaining four Pageless had gotten close to her people, [i]too[/i] close. Even with them blinded, clumsy and slow, the Round Table was huge, and she could only be so many places at once. Even as she kicked off the ground, pavement crumbling from the steel-clad toes digging into it, she knew she physically couldn't make it. [color=DAA520][i]Not one drop of blood.[/i][/color] As her left fist burrowed into the first of the four's skull and the toes of her right leg into the second, her right arm rose, Excalibur arcing up, before she hurled it like a tomahawk at the furthest Pageless, the glowing blade entering one shoulder and exiting the opposite hip, before imbedding itself into the ground with a [i]crack[/i], chips of pavement flying everywhere. [i]Throwing my sword-[/i] [color=DAA520][i]Ser Kay would have had my ass for that.[/i][/color] The final Pageless lunged for its victim, a child- [i]Thomas[/i]. [i]Notonmyfuckingwatch![/i] Her right hand lunged for her hip, ripping her sheathe free with a [i]pop-snap[/i] of stressed straps being unwoven. If the problem was range, then why not use something just as long as the blade she'd lost? The Scabbard's steel-braced top side ripped across the Pageless' eyes with a sharp [i]crack[/i] of something in the story-eater's skull, sending the monster stumbling backwards with a screech, before Camelot's fist met its face. Whirling around, the magical Knight's eyes met... Nothing. Heart pounding in her chest, Camelot swallowed in barely concealed relief at the sight of nothing left to fight, as black ichor smoked and dissipated all over the parking lot. Letting out a slow breath, she turned and quickly strode over to Excalibur, sheathing the blade with whisper and plunging the area back into warm candlelight. Checking the straps of her Scabbard, they luckily didn't seem to have been broken by her desperation maneuver, but that was probably only because she'd been loose in securing them before the fight to begin with. Sure, the straps would repair once she retransformed, but it was something of the principle of the matter. And she had no intention of returning to her mundane form so soon. Stretching out her mystical senses, she frowned at the lingering seething darkness on the horizon. It was strong, very much so, the feeling like that of something that might even give her issues... And if it could inconvenience her, then other Magical Girls... It seemed what she had fought were merely dregs. If she didn't know better, she might even have called them a distraction, but Pageless had never proven themselves to be anything so cunning prior in her experience. More likely, it was as she had assumed from the start, that her feast was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Securing the Scabbard to her waist once more -this time [color=DAA520][i]properly[/i][/color], she turned to [color=DAA520]her[/color] people and smiled. Stuttered applause and whoops broke out among them, several even standing up or hugging each-other. Camelot allowed the barrage of words and questions to wash over her, as she turned to one of homeless she knew best, a black man named Jonathan with salt and pepper hair and a rarely missing smile that was down a few teeth; he was one of the most "in charge" individuals among the homeless she regularly met, who had seen her magic time and again and helped to ease newcomers into acceptance of what was right in front of their eyes. [color=DAA520]"I must go,"[/color] she said, briefly turning her gaze back towards the feeling of [i]roiling[/i] darkness. [color=DAA520]"There is a much greater evil to face, and its presence is muddling my senses almost as badly as the Round Table."[/color] At Jonathan's nod, she addressed the people at large. [color=DAA520]"The monsters here are vanquished, but I must attend to the disposal of worse!"[/color] At the murmurs of discontent, she rose both hands placatingly. [color=DAA520]"Did I not give you my word before? Did I not keep it? You are safe and whole, but right now, others are in just as much need as you were moments ago! Would you deny my aid to them?!"[/color] At the shouts of denial and several shamefaced expressions, Camelot nodded and turned away, before glancing over her shoulder. [color=DAA520]"The Round Table shall remain even without my presence."[/color] She smiled. [color=DAA520]"Feast to your hearts' content and make merry! You have survived the worst of the night!"[/color] And with that, naught more need be said. She was their protector, but not their keeper. There was only so far she could -or [i]would[/i]- be willing to go to reassure them. Fear was one thing. Selfishness was another, especially in the face of her own generosity. She leapt upwards almost daintily, hands catching the edge of a rooftop, as she hauled herself up and set to the tried and true Magical Girl travel method: roof hopping. (/._./) The battle -and it most definitely was such- was all too far away, and Camelot could feel something coming, something big. Now that she was closer, the darkness was no longer quite so muddling to her senses, but in large part, that seemed to be because it was -for lack of a better word- [i]compressing[/i]. It was a feeling she recognized, a once rare phenomenon that had become all too common in these days of overhyped aggressive Pageless. A "boss" Pageless. Sure there was probably a better -proper- word for it, but Camelot thought the video game term to be relatively apt. In short, the beasties fused themselves together, often absorbing some element of the environment in turn to use as a "skeleton" for the change, and the result was usually devastatingly effective. It was, in short, something akin to a defense mechanism as far as she could tell, a strange skill that allowed the Pageless to gain the strength they needed to overcome what they couldn't as relative canon fodder. In her experience, "boss" Pageless mostly showed up only when the Pageless actually somehow felt threatened, were numerous enough, and not being killed fast enough, which was -under ideal circumstances- not a common occurrence. Pageless seemed to find strength in numbers, so it tracked that the main thing they considered a threat was great numbers of opponents. In other words... Camelot deadpanned at the far-distant sight of explosions, laser beams and [i]lots[/i] of fire. Someone had decided to throw way too many Magical Girls at whatever the hell this was. Well, to be fair, it felt pretty damned threatening. If the Grand Director had perhaps seen the "boss" Pageless as an inevitably, then why not throw everything and the kitchen sink at it? In all honestly, considering that it looked like she'd sent fucking [i]Lumiere[/i] at the problem and that it still wasn't solved yet, why hadn't the Director called in her too? Not that Camelot was exactly eager to attend to the possible precognitive's every whim, but thus far, she'd never really been sent anywhere she wasn't needed in some capacity. That understanding in mind, the only reason she wasn't hailed was likely that the Director knew damn well that she'd have shown up anyway, and if she'd been called away early, she likely wouldn't have been able to protect the people at the Round Table. Rubbing her temples in frustration, Camelot groaned aloud and grit her teeth. She could feel the crescendo of the darkness now; at this very moment, the Pageless were making their move. And now that their presence was less obnoxious, she could feel why. A new Grimoire, a [i]calling[/i] Grimoire, which meant that a brand spanking new, inexperienced Magical Girl was about to be born... right in front of the apex of Pageless-kind. What even was today? She wasn't going to make it in time. For all her speed, she'd still be there too slow. But... [i]No[/i], that didn't mean she couldn't do anything. By this point, she was close enough that... [i]Yes[/i], that could work. She'd only have a single shot, but it was better than nothing. Camelot turned on her heel and bounded towards the highest thing in the area that was in range of the conflict. Big Ben. Steel-clad feet pounding across roof tiles in great bounds, nearly every step alighting upon a new building, Magical Girl Camelot launched herself toward the magnificently-crafted clocktower. Any thoughts on the landmark's splendor were an afterthought, however, as it was hardly the first time Camelot had scaled the tower simply because she could. Such familiarity with its form served her well, as she managed her ascension in a matter of seconds. Dark clouds billowing overheads and winds whipping through her hair, Camelot clung with her left hand to the peak of the clocktower and narrowed her eyes at the distant conflict, her right hand pinning as much of her golden locks back from her field of vision as possible. The Pageless had completed their transformation during her ascent, and it was going about as badly for the Magical Girls as Camelot had expected. Despite them having the likes of -from what she could tell- Captain Goodhope, fucking Dynasty Queen and her bullshit staff, and even Ethereal Rose and her eldritch bae, they [i]still[/i] didn't exactly look like they were winning. Oh, and then there was [color=DAA520][s][i]her fellow King[/i][/s][/color] Lilac Shimmer fighting alongside someone she didn't recognize, who appeared to be setting everything on fire... Wonderful. Even Lumiere seemed unable to stall the titanic monstrosity's inexorable advance, which was strange, because she really should have been blasting it to pieces from afar instead. The angelic Magical Girl tended to be nicely efficient like that, but in this case she was playing defense... for what? The Grimoire? Surely, she could have grabbed it by... now. Camelot groaned at the distinctive figure of "Stripes" almost casually walking in the exact opposite direction of the nonsense that was currently happening, which was... Okay, that was actually understandable if it was Stripes. Like, sometimes the Grimoire power lottery just really had a personal hate-boner for you. Giving a Magical Girl -individuals that all but run on friendship- a power that was practically antithetical to the very concept of teamwork? Yeah, totally fair. Super balanced. That said, there were still- A veritable [i]bomb[/i] of magical energy interrupted that train of thought and refocused her attention on the situation at hand, as she inwardly chastised herself. It was almost like an inversion of what had happened with the Pageless -with a similar amount of [i]oomph[/i] behind it to boot, kicking up a great cloud of dust in unison with the appearance of a piercing light. A new Magical Girl had been born. As the dust cleared in unison with the titanic Pageless' mad charge, and the brand spanking newbie confidently faced off with something that was so obviously way out of her league it wasn't even funny, Camelot found herself taken aback. Certainly, there was for many Magical Girls an almost dream-like sense to their first transformation, but then... this new one must have some fairly exciting dreams if she's this far divorced from her survival instincts. With a sense of renewed urgency, Camelot reached for Excalibur once more. [hider=Excalibur] [youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJeqOQhr_lQ[/youtube][/hider] Taking hold of the hilt, she firmed her shoulders and drew the legendary sword forth with purpose. Pumping mana into the blade, she fed it just enough to fuel the effect and raised it towards a once darkened London sky, where now there bloomed a second sun on Earth above the great Big Ben. [color=DAA520][b]"You have heard its tale, shrouded in mystery...!"[/b][/color] She didn't actually need the words, didn't [i]need[/i] the chant. [color=DAA520][b]"You have heard its promise, an Oath of Victory...!"[/b][/color] But there was something to it, a concept in martial arts called the "Kai" by the Japanese. [color=DAA520][b]"The blade that shall pierce, should its aim be sure!"[/b][/color] It was a real effect, wherein one that shouted with each attack would subconsciously put more power into the blows. [color=DAA520][b]"And it's name is...!"[/b][/color] In other words, when Magical Girls called out their attacks in a cheesy manner, that wasn't just ham... [h1][color=DAA520][b][i]"EX-"[/i][/b][/color][/h1] It was literally more effective. [h1][color=DAA520][b][i]"-CALIBUR!!!"[/i][/b][/color][/h1] For the second time today, she [i]threw[/i]. (/._./) High above and far away from the construction site, above London itself, there was [color=DAA520][b]light[/b][/color], a light fit to banish the very night itself, an existence that no creature of darkness could help but pay hateful heed, even if only for an all too critical moment. Unfortunately, at such a distance, even such a light as this could not hope to be more than an irritant... but that is all it needed to be. There was a murmured chant, carried by the wind and magic as if lifted to everywhere the light fell. For some, it was new, an omen of something to come, and to others, it was all too familiar. As the Pageless shook off what little unease the [i]uselessly[/i] distant light might have caused and refocused itself on the [i]feast at hand[/i], the chant reached its crescendo. Fury and blackness seemingly defying the light and its numerical disadvantage in turn, the Pageless lunged all too quickly at Nessie with a spiked pounder that transitioned into an absolutely wicked claw that- Was struck by what might as well have been the fist of God, as the sun in the sky descended into the construction yard with a rumble like thunder and a popping thump of displaced air. A streak of golden light impacted the Pageless' titanic claw, sending the limb crashing to the ground, as the monstrosity's entire body reeled back with a rattle and scream of drills. No, on second glance... As the fresh cloud of billowing dust and dirt cleared, it was clear to see that only the outer side of the claw had fallen, nearly the entire outer half of the weaponized forearm severed in the strike. The massive spike that tipped the pounder was cracked, yet still apparently as dangerous as ever, but the claw itself was now effectively defunct, save for how the remaining half might be used as a spiked blade. And even as the Pageless rattled and howled its absolute fury, its aura seething with indignation, wrath and hunger, the perpetrator continued to all but burn like the midday sun, a longsword with a gold stylized hilt, currently buried in the earth halfway to the hilt and now casting the battlefield in shades of realized [color=DAA520][b]glory[/b][/color]. The blow was struck, and the enemy finally unbalanced in truth -if even for a moment. If there were any time for the gathered allies of justice, both new and old, to finally gain the upper hand... It was [i]now[/i].