One soldier, braver or more foolish than the rest, stood and fired point-blank. The bullet struck her shoulder plate, deflected harmlessly into the dirt. Before he could blink, Mordred was upon him.
Her sword cleaved through his rifle, the blade continuing through his torso with sickening ease. He fell without a sound.
The others scrambled backward, but Mordred spun, her cloak of red lightning whipping around her. She brought Clarent down in a vicious arc, splitting the sandbag barrier and the men behind it in one clean motion. Dirt and blood sprayed into the air as she advanced.
Behind her, a tank adjusted its turret, the cannon groaning as it aimed directly at her back. Mordred didn't need to see it.
She felt the rumble and tremor in the ground as the shell prepared to fire. With a burst of speed, she dashed forward, dodging just as the shell exploded where she had been standing.
The shockwave sent her cape billowing as she sprinted toward the tank. The crew inside frantically tried to reload, but they weren't fast enough. Mordred leapt onto the tank's hull, her boots denting the metal as she landed.
With a savage snarl, she drove Clarent into the turret, the enchanted blade piercing through steel like paper.
Sparks and smoke erupted as she wrenched the sword free, twisting it to tear open the top of the tank. The crew inside screamed as she raised her blade once more and plunged it into the exposed engine.
The resulting explosion knocked her backward, but she landed gracefully, sliding to a stop as the tank burned behind her.
More soldiers poured in from the flanks, attempting to encircle her. Grenades were tossed her way, their explosions shaking the ground. She dashed through the chaos, her speed making her nearly impossible to track.
One soldier tried to cut her off, lunging with a combat knife, but she sidestepped and drove her gauntleted fist into his gut. He crumpled, gasping for air as she kicked him aside.
Clarent hummed with power, growing hotter with each swing. Mordred reveled in it—the way the blade cut cleanly through armor, weapons, and bodies. She wasn't just fighting; she was making a statement, carving her name into the battlefield.
She caught sight of another missile locking onto her position from a distance. This time, she stood her ground. As the missile closed in, she raised Clarent and channeled her mana into the blade.
The red lightning erupted, forming an arc of destructive energy as she swung upward, slicing the missile cleanly in two.
The explosion rippled around her, smoke and fire swirling as if she were standing in the heart of a storm. Mordred emerged from the smoke unscathed, her armor glowing faintly from the heat. She flicked her sword to the side, the remaining blood and debris scattering off the blade.
Ahead, the rumble of engines intensified as more reinforcements arrived—tanks, armored personnel carriers, and rows of soldiers advancing with heavy artillery in tow.
Helicopters circled overhead, their rotors slicing through the smoky air like ominous drums heralding the escalation of war.
"Finally," Mordred muttered, her smirk returning. "Let's see what you've got."
A line of soldiers dropped to one knee, their rocket launchers locking onto her position. With a synchronized shout, they fired. The rockets howled through the air, leaving trails of smoke in their wake. Mordred braced herself, red lightning crackling around her armor as she dashed forward.
The first rocket closed in, but she leapt into the air, flipping over it gracefully as it detonated behind her. The shockwave propelled her forward, and she landed with her sword already swinging.
She carved through the second missile mid-flight, its explosion sending debris cascading harmlessly around her like petals in the wind.
More rockets rained down, but they couldn't catch her. Mordred was a blur, weaving between the projectiles, each step leaving scorch marks on the earth. The soldiers below shouted in frustration, their aim scrambling to keep up with her speed.
Even though she wasn't able to move faster than bullets, she could move faster than the people targeting her, allowing her to always be ahead of their attacks.
From above, a helicopter unleashed a barrage of heavy machine gun fire, bullets spraying across the battlefield. Mordred didn't bother dodging; she raised her arm, letting the bullets ping off her armor harmlessly. Sparks danced around her as she grinned up at the pilot.
"Oh, you think you're safe up there?" She crouched low, her mana surging through her legs. The ground cracked beneath her as she launched herself skyward like a missile.
The helicopter pilot barely had time to react before Clarent slashed through the cockpit, cutting the aircraft in half. Flames erupted as it spiraled out of control, crashing into the forest with a deafening boom.
Mordred landed smoothly, the impact kicking up a cloud of dust around her. But she didn't stop. Another tank was rolling toward her, its turret already swiveling into position.
She sprinted toward it, lightning trailing behind her like a burning comet. The tank fired, the shell ripping through the ground mere inches behind her.
With a powerful leap, she landed on the tank's hull, her armored boots denting the metal. She drove Clarent straight into the hatch, twisting the blade as mana pulsed through it.
The tank exploded from within, the force of the blast launching her backward—but she landed gracefully, unharmed, amidst the smoldering wreckage.
The soldiers regrouped, desperation clear in their shouts as they formed firing lines. Mortars boomed in the distance, and artillery shells began raining down, tearing up the ground around her. Mordred laughed, the sound wild and untamed, as she charged through the chaos.
Bullets and shrapnel filled the air, but they couldn't touch her. She carved through the ranks of soldiers like a whirlwind, each swing of Clarent leaving arcs of red lightning in its wake. She moved with lethal precision, decimating their numbers before they could even react.
Suddenly, the roar of engines signaled the arrival of another wave of armored vehicles. Multiple tanks rolled into position, their cannons lowering to take aim. From the ridge above, a line of missile launchers locked onto her, the whine of targeting systems cutting through the noise.
Mordred came to a stop, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. The battlefield around her was littered with wreckage and bodies, but the enemy still kept coming.
"Enough," she growled, gripping Clarent tightly.
Red lightning crackled along the length of her blade, growing more violent with each passing second. The air around her shimmered with heat as her mana surged to its peak, and the ground trembled beneath her feet.
"This is your end," she whispered, raising Clarent high above her head. "Witness the full might of my rebellion!"
Her helm retracted back, showing of her face and blond hair, her green eyes, so similar to her father's yet the look in them so far different.
The red lightning surrounding her exploded outward, forming a swirling vortex of energy that distorted the very air. The soldiers watched in horror as the power built to a deafening crescendo.
Her voice rang out, clear and commanding, as she began the chant:
"O blade bathed in the blood of betrayal,
O weapon of rebellion that defied the crown,
Let the power of my wrath ignite the heavens.
From the sins of kings and the fire of fallen knights,
Rise now, my vengeful strike—unleash destruction upon my foes."
Clarent pulsed violently, and the lightning crackling around her spiraled into a vortex of raw energy. The glow intensified as the very earth beneath her feet splintered, unable to contain the sheer force of her mana. Her eyes glimmered with crimson light, reflecting the fury building within her.
"Clarent Blood Arthur—Crimson Lightning of Rage!"
The ground erupted as the beam of energy shot forward, a devastating torrent of red lightning ripping through the enemy ranks. It burned brighter than the sun, tearing apart tanks, vehicles, and artillery like paper. Entire squadrons of soldiers vanished in the inferno, their screams lost beneath the deafening roar of destruction.
The wave of energy carved through the ridge where the missile launchers had once stood, reducing it to molten rock and ash. The shockwave expanded outward, flattening everything in its path—trees, equipment, and even the earth itself.
When the final echoes of her chant faded, Mordred stood amidst the wreckage, her armor scorched but untouched, Clarent pulsing softly in her hand. The storm of crimson light dissipated, leaving behind only silence and the smoldering remnants of what had once been an army.
She exhaled, a slow breath escaping her lips as she surveyed the battlefield. Satisfied, she sheathed Clarent, its glow dimming. Turning back toward Camelot, she muttered:
"Your turn, Father. Let them see just how far their defiance will take them."
-----
The British Military Operations Command was a hive of tension and rapid coordination as live feeds streamed across massive monitors, each displaying the assault on Camelot. General Andrew Harrow stood at the head of the room, eyes glued to the feed from the front lines.
"Begin the advance," he ordered, voice calm but steely. "Engage all ground units. Keep Mordred pinned down."
"Sir, tanks are advancing," a communications officer confirmed. "Infantry following behind. Air support on standby."
"Jesus," one officer whispered. "He looks like something out of a nightmare."
"Focus," Harrow barked. "If it bleeds, it can be killed."
On the screen, Mordred stopped just before the leading tanks, casually resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. The audio crackled as his voice came through loud and clear: "Who's first?"
"Engage!" Harrow commanded.
The first tank fired, its shell screaming through the air. It exploded against the ground where Mordred had been standing—except he wasn't there anymore. He was a blur of motion, streaking toward the tank line with red lightning crackling around him.
"Sir!" a panicked officer shouted. "He's breached the front line—he's too fast!"
"Deploy air support!" Harrow barked. "Apache units, light her up!"
The screen showed helicopters roaring into view, their missile pods locking onto Mordred as he danced through the chaos, cutting down soldiers and tanks with terrifying ease.
"Missiles away!" the air controller confirmed.
Explosions bloomed across the field as rockets slammed into the ground around Mordred, kicking up dirt, smoke, and flame. For a moment, the feed was obscured by the chaos.
"Direct hit?" someone asked hopefully.
The smoke cleared.
Mordred stood unharmed, Clarent resting lazily at his side. His helmet turned toward the helicopters as if he were staring directly at the command center itself.
"What in the bloody hell—" Harrow cut himself off as Mordred leaped into the air, his blade igniting with red lightning. He tore through the nearest helicopter, cutting it in half like paper. The burning wreckage spun to the ground, exploding on impact.
"Pull them back!" the air controller shouted. "We're losing air support!"
"Negative," Harrow growled. "He's one person. Keep firing—overwhelm him."
The room watched in horror as Mordred blitzed through the remaining helicopters, their desperate attempts to escape proving futile. He was a force of nature, his movements fluid and deadly.
"Tanks are down! Infantry is scattered!" another officer reported. "Casualties are mounting."
"Goddamn it!" Harrow slammed his fist on the table. "Get artillery online. I want everything within range shelling that position! And scramble the jets—we're hitting him from above."
"Sir, artillery is locked on target," an officer confirmed. "Firing."
Explosions peppered the battlefield as artillery shells rained down, but Mordred continued his advance, weaving through the chaos like a storm incarnate.
And then, it happened.
On the screen, Mordred stopped mid-charge, planting her feet into the ground. And Clarent in the air, Red lightning surged around him, crackling with raw energy.
The feed cut to close-ups of him as he raised Clarent high, the battlefield glowing crimson.
"Clarent Blood Arthur—Crimson Lightning of Rage!"
The world exploded in crimson light.
The monitors flickered as the energy wave expanded outward, consuming tanks, vehicles, and soldiers alike. The feed struggled to keep up, showing glimpses of vehicles being tossed like toys, soldiers vaporized in an instant, and the ground itself ripped apart.
The shockwave hit the drone providing the feed, sending the screen into static for several seconds before it stabilized.
When it returned, the battlefield was unrecognizable. Smoke and fire stretched as far as the eye could see, with craters dotting the scorched earth. What remained of the military force was a scattering of wounded survivors crawling through the wreckage.
Mordred stood at the epicenter, his armor glowing faintly, Clarent resting at his side as he surveyed the destruction.
The command center was silent, save for the alarms, which beeped to signal the loss of communication with multiple units.
"Casualty reports coming in," someone whispered, their face pale. "Tanks, helicopters, infantry—most of them are gone. Over 70% casualties."
General Harrow stood frozen, his face pale with shock. His hands trembled as he reached for the radio. "Scramble the jets. Launch a full aerial bombardment. I want every bomber we've got in the air."
"Sir?" an officer hesitated. "The city—"
"I don't care if we level the entire bloody city," Harrow snapped. "He just destroyed a brigade. If we don't stop him now, there won't be anything left to fight with."
(End of chapter)
And there we have it, Clarent Blood Arthur, the noble phantasm of Mordred, the power of her legend, the strike that took down not just a king, but a kingdom, ended an age. So yeah, its powerful, more so since its too is used for that, to end an age and kingdom.