Final battle of Camelot finished (218) (Patreon)

Ozymandias the Great, exalted above all the world – in his palace, whose radiance the whole world could not bear, glanced at the figure of Gawain vainly striving towards him through the storm of magic. Satisfied by what he saw, he shifted his gaze to the picture behind Gawain's back.

Surely, in the end, Ozymandias could even let go of his great mercy and acknowledge the dignity of his opponent with a careless nod of his head – but that was the limit of Gawain's power. The mighty knight of Camelot, whether three times stronger under the light of the sun or invulnerable altogether, was in the end no worthy foe for Ozymandias himself.

Even now, as the knight struggles towards Ozymandias, Gawain could barely cope with the magic affecting him. Millions of spells at once cursing his soul, wounding his body and scrambling his mind, Gawain would hardly make it halfway to Ozymandias before he would inevitably falter. Perhaps on the next step, maybe ten steps later, maybe twenty, but he would falter in the end.

For other heroes, one step was their limit and perhaps not even that, dying where they stand when the Pharaoh’s Palace shows its splendor to the world. But, Gawain looked ready to make it at least halfway to the ruler of Ramesseum Tentyris - which was worthy of all worldly honors… Or a lazy nod of Ozymandias' head – which was equal to, if not superior to, all the honors of this world.

But it was not Gawain that caught Ozymandias' attention, the knight’s demise was already a truth of this world, but the tower that appeared on the horizon. The tower bathed in the golden light of the Goddess of Camelot, in this the Great Pharaoh would not mistakenly take it for something else.

For Ozymandias was well aware of what that tower was – and Ozymandias felt a contemptuous anger looking at the white tower.

For the appearance of the tower meant only one thing.

The Goddess of Camelot, the maddened King Arthur, had decided to do his cursed deed and destroy the world and all of human history in order to lead a few hundred lost souls away like the Pied Piper of Hamelin. In his desperate foolishness, considering it a victory to flee from his enemy.

Ozymandias did not see humanity as something of value in itself, such was the fate and role of a ruler. Sometimes to sacrifice less for more, and more for what was left, but such a shameful action from someone that dares to call themselves a Goddess, as merited as it might be, made him angry.

Angry that even someone he had deemed as a worthy enemy, one of the few Ozymandias would choose to use all his strength to fight, had chosen the shame of flight over the fulfillment of her duty. Not as a Servant, such a paltry reason is not something that Ozymandias would put to mind, but as ruler of the kingdom she was supposed to defend with her life.

This was the second reason why Ozymandias felt this anger.

Let there be no love for humanity too great, there was no contempt or hatred for either. After all, he was Ozymandias, how could he shine so brightly, if not only among the hundreds of thousands of mediocrities whose role in this world was to be his followers? And how could he not fight for them if they were his subjects?

The subjects obey the king, for the king is above them, but every king fights for his subjects, for that is the only possible natural order of things. Subjects die for their king, so that he in turn dies for his subjects – it was not a matter of morality or will, but was the only possible way for this world to exist.

And if the actions of the Goddess threatened his subjects, Ozymandias had to answer her threat in kind.

To crush his enemy with all the might of the incarnate god of all gods.

“Ramesseum Tentyris.” Ozymandias uttered again, and his entire infinite palace shuddered as the very reality of his regal pocket dimension began to ebb and flow.

Gawain, who to all others had seemed an almost invincible foe, was all but forgotten by Ozymandias. No, Ozymandias was at this moment facing an opponent far more powerful than Gawain, one that merits his full attention. The Goddess of Camelot.

And so Ozymandias no longer had the time, energy, or desire to let Gawain rampage through his palace, he had been honored enough.

A moment later, Dendera's light struck again, but this time, the white glow was blindingly more than any previous. Slamming into Gawain's flesh, the attack, paying no heed either to the shining midday sun, nor the invulnerability that was supposed to exist, consumed Gawain completely. The light ate into his flesh, not just burning it, but turning it to ash, which a moment later melted into mana particles.

A few seconds, no more than three, was all it took for Ozymandias the Great to destroy arguably Camelot's greatest knight. But such an action did not come free, even to Ozymandias. His left arm was missing its fingers, as everything below Ozymandias' left elbow had melted away a little earlier, turning into the mana needed to create a far more powerful attack of Dendera's light than before.

But Ozymandias accomplished the action without so much as a moment’s consideration and doubt.

Gawain was not to interfere with his action, nor was he to distract him, so Ozymandias had to deal with him. As for the lost body part? It was the natural order of things, if a ruler wanted his subjects to give their lives for him without a second thought, then the ruler should give his life for them without a second thought himself.

The endless palace of Ozymandias reacted to his intent as space seemed to begin to spiral on itself as its walls and fortifications melted, flowing into each other. Stone flowing like hot wax began to gather, flowing in all directions, forming a single shape, until the entire infinite mass of the palace created one single work of art.

No longer is it a complex of hundreds of thousands of towers and rooms, but just one shape – displaying the power of Ozymandias in all its splendor.

And what but a majestic Egyptian pyramid could demonstrate the full might of Ozymandias the Invincible?

An immeasurably large pyramid had emerged in Ozymandias' pocket dimension, a structure so monstrously large that there was no chance that even the greatest rulers of Egypt could ever have created such a thing in reality. From the very bottom row to the very top, the pyramid of Ozymandias' grandeur was crafted like a work of the finest architectural passion. A work executed with the care and zeal that befitted the temple of the greatest Pharaoh of all time.

At its crown, morphing towards its top, a sharpened dagger, honed with a kind of sadistic precision for an unknown purpose by its creator… Or at least, to a lesser mind, that purpose might have been unknown.

Though Dendera's light was, technically, Ozymandias' most powerful attack within the range of his Noble Phantasm, Ozymandias also had a workaround to project it into the outside world. His Noble Phantasm itself.

Millions of tons of stones, adding up to numbers that had no meaning or significance, just a blurry enumeration of zeros, architectural delights swept away for the benefit of sheer power. The stone blocks were turned from material to a means of attack, the pyramid of all pyramids.

A worthy tomb for the king of all kings.

The entire expanse of Ozymandias’ Noble Phantasm crackled, breaking and changing under the unbridled power of his will, before space itself twists in place. Until the unattainable horizon before the King of All Kings was one step away, the distant tower on the border of two worlds was before his eyes.

The world had twisted, and now despite being some distance away from Camelot, it was now right on Ozymandias’ figurative doorstep, right before his gaze. All under the gaze of Ozymandias, like every miracle ordered by the king of all kings. The change that followed only reflected Ozymandias' next order, and the monumental pyramid appeared in the air.

More precisely, the very concept of up and down had been changed by Ozymandias, and the colossal pyramid slowly began its fall right into where the Goddess was. Right where Rhongomyniad is.

The tower at the end of the world that was supposed to be unattainable and sacred, and yet it seemed so fragile against the approaching bulk of Ozymandias’ pyramid. But Ozymandias knew that it was not fragile at all. That was why Ozymandias used his full strength – nothing else would suffice.

Ozymandias could not allow the Goddess of Camelot, could not allow anyone to desecrate the kingdom that had the honor of being his. And for that? He was willing to sacrifice himself, obeying only his own will, his end shall be when he deems it to be, as befits the Pharaoh of all Pharaohs.

The impact of the colossal bulk of the pyramid against the tower of Rhongomyniad was almost silent, that is, in comparison when the full bulk of his Pyramid that struck the tower. It was certainly a terrifying cacophony like the rumble of thunder and mixed with the loudest of chalk scraping a board.

But, it was not even as loud as when Semiramis’ Hanging Gardens fell. The monumental pyramid of Ozymandias collided with the tower at the end of the world with almost mocking silence and gentleness, like some fancy weapon thrust at the will of Pharaoh rather than the cataclysmic calamity that it is.

Rhongomyniad, the Spear That Shines at the End of the World, froze, unable to activate its power, because of the figure of Ainz that Ozymandias could not see, still remains what it is.

It had not lost its capabilities.

Ozymandias' attack, an attack which, without false modesty, was capable of dividing seas and rivers, changing the landscape of continents, and, if the strike was accurate enough, destroying mankind solely by seismic upheaval, paused.

The physics - defying image of an upside down pyramid falling onto a tower, was frozen in time for  a few moments that seemed to last for eternity… Before the Pyramid began to crumble.

Stone by stone and block by block, Ozymandias’ pyramid began to crumble. The largest structure that mankind could only imagine, facing the embodied boundary of the world of the real and the world of the legendary – began to crumble.

Ozymandias the Great was the king of all kings, but the spear of the Goddess represented all the magic of antiquity, every legend of the past… Including the legend of Ozymandias the Great himself.

There was no way for Ozymandias to defeat himself.

It was simply an absurdity, it was not a matter of magic or 'normal', literally, it was impossible. Ozymandias facing Ozymandias, among many other legends and great mysteries of the past, simply could not do so. Such an event would have been paradoxically impossible, in other words it required an ability that could not be called anything other than a 'miracle'.

But Ozymandias was the Pharaoh of all Pharaohs and a god among gods, and therefore even miracles happened at his command.

Ozymandias' body, which had not been injured by any of his enemies, began to dissipate, turning into particles of mana which were instantly picked up by an invisible wind. The wind carrying his mana, his essence, weaved itself into the collapsing monstrous pyramid, halting its collapse, as Ozymandias' onslaught, moment by moment, intensified, even as he knew it would be his end.

Fingers, feet, palms, hands, each moment the pyramid halted its collapse as it struck the tower, burned a little more of Ozymandias, the futile grinding of one monstrosity against another.

But Ozymandias felt no pain.

He was merely fulfilling a destined duty, to die for the sake of his state was not a question for Ozymandias.

For, after all, if he was so splendid and invincible – was he then not born to bestow upon imperfect men the example of his perfect heroism?

Drop by drop, Ozymandias' body was transformed into fuel for his attack. The pyramid slowly crashing against the tower of Rhongomyniad, regenerating as bits of it sloughed off in a suicidal charge. And yet, despite his approaching death, there was nothing but boredom on Ozymandias' face, as if he was watching a film that he already knew the ending of, as if his battle was a foregone conclusion. Which, in Ozymandias’ mind, is exactly the case.

Ozymandias could not lose because he simply could not do so, which meant he would win.

Moment by moment, Ozymandias' arms and legs were consumed, before the consumption reached his face. But, before the effects of his own power would consume his eyes, Ozymandias cast one last glance into the distance.

There was only one who, during his entire reign in this Singularity, had managed to earn his true recognition and respect, the First Hassan, the Nameless Blade of the Lord. From any other Servant, he would have met that remark with only a scornful laugh, how could the Blade of the Lord exist if Ozymandias was the god of all gods?

But the First Hassan, the one who kills, not as an act of murder, for Ozymandias did not doubt his own ability to do such a thing at all, so it was nothing special, but as an act of warning. Was indeed worthy of his respect…

No, in the last days before his sacrifice, as he had foreseen, Ozymandias had met an amusing queen of distant lands, also very promising, but not having spent enough time with her, Ozymandias could not call her worthy. Though perhaps he had high hopes of meeting her again one day, in another world and another age.

Perhaps as well as the one who had made the proud queen recognize them as her Master. The one who calls himself Ainz Ooal Gown.

The roaring flames of power consumed Ozymandias's body completely, devouring all remnants of his body and consuming his heart. With that last sacrifice, the last sparks of his magic soared, fueling Ozymandias' Noble Phantasm for one last final attack, its strongest, for there is nothing left.

And the indestructible tower of Rhongomyniad let out a light, pitiful crack, and that was enough. For the impenetrable bulwark of Camelot has been cracked, and thus Rhongomyniad, that linchpin of the legend and the Age of Man, crumbled along with it.

Thus ended the life of Ozymandias the Great, the Pharaoh of all Pharaohs.

***

A crack appeared in the wall of Camelot. An insignificant small crack that in all other cases and for all other fortresses would have gone unnoticed. Unnoticed as it would be amongst many other such cracks and deformities. Who in their right mind paid attention to cracks in the walls of centuries old fortresses?

However, the small crack then grew larger, then a little more, spreading and sprouting more cracks as it traveled the breadth of the wall. Turning that first imperceptible small chip to a broken segment, and then further, until the cracks ran down the walls of Camelot as if they were made of glass. Further and further, until there was not a single solid piece or surface left on Camelot's walls.

And on and on until the entire surrounding walls were entangled in a network of cracks that were impossible for any outside observer to miss. Let alone the Goddess of Camelot herself, who felt Ozymandias' blow more than anyone else.

Camelot, the marvelous city created in a single day by the hands of the fae and the magic of legends, had been brought to this world, to this Singularity, as an imitation. Of course, it was not the very Camelot, the legendary castle of King Arthur itself, it was only an imitation, created by the Goddess of Camelot by her own power, according to her memory. From her own spear.

The Spear of the Goddess, Rhongomyniad, was a tower, a spear, a way, and many other things, but at its absolute core it was still not something tangible and material, but rather a concept – a concept encased in a form. And it was this form, the sheath of her own spear, that the Goddess used as material for Camelot, turning the gray, lifeless metal of her spear into the majestic walls and gray passageways of Camelot.

That is why it was virtually impossible to destroy the walls of Camelot, who could destroy a concept embodied in form?

As it turned out – Ozymandias the Great could.

The material form of Rhongomyniad, the tower glittering on the edge of the world, was covered in cracks, and slowly, one by one, with a grinding crack, Camelot began to crumble. Rhongomyniad, the spear itself, too, began to crumble, the network of cracks across the gates and walls of the city was mirrored by the network of cracks on the spear of the Goddess herself.

It was impossible to destroy the concept, but Ozymandias the Great managed to destroy the material embodiment of that concept. And so the spear of the Goddess of Camelot began to crumble in her hands…

To the absolute horror of Ainz, who was watching this.

But even his pitiful cry, full of pain and anger, was swallowed up by another even louder cry, full of even more anger and wailing with sadness. Not of the man who had once again failed to obtain a valuable collector's item, a World Item, but the girl who had lost her bearings in this world.

“LORD OZYMANDIAS!” Nitocris' cry resounded like only one who had lost all hope could, its sound resounding even with the cacophony of Camelot's crumbling walls and Ainz's frustrated and angry cry, seeking to express the young Pharaoh's inexpressible emotions.

It was a cry full of pain, pain of all kinds that tears at Nitocris' soul, who strives to express it, to wail outward as best as she could. All the while, Nitocris' gaze was fixed on Ozymandias’ pyramid, crumbling into ashes as the tower of Rhongomyniad began to crumble.

Nitocris considered Ozymandias, something more than just a great Pharaoh, more than just a figure she would admire. Nitocris' entire life consisted of trying to get closer to Ozymandias, running his errands, asking herself ‘how would Ozymandias act in this case’ and trying to behave like Ozymandias behaved… Or at least like how Nitocris imagined Ozymandias behaved.

To Nitocris, Ozymandias was more than just a role model, to her, Ozymandias was practically God, the living embodiment of all the best qualities that could exist in the world and in humanity. Having been summoned into this Singularity and having found herself in Ozymandias' service, Nitocris considered herself blessed.

However, the payback for her blessing was watching Ozymandias the Great, her Pharaoh, perish before her eyes.

The collision of the pyramid of Ozymandias with Rhongomyniad occurred on the horizon, unattainably far away for Nitocris to be able to do anything. And yet, Ozymandias Pyramid was so massive, and Rhongomyniad literally seemed to consume the horizon, that it seemed as if Nitocris needed only to reach out her hand and she could reach it. So much so that Nitocris could see each stone, each monolithic block that made the foundation of the great temple turn into mana.

So much so that Nitocris had a front row seat as the Pyramid began to crumble, as it finally disappeared into particles of mana.

Nitocris understood perfectly what that picture meant.

Nitocris wanted to howl in despair, in anger at the sight of it, but even as she howled involuntarily like a wounded beast, she felt no relief. The pain that tore at her throat came out without any control on her part. But even if she had continued screaming and tearing her cords until the end of the battle, until the end of the Singularity, it would not have been enough to release all her rage and pain. At the moment when the realization of the fate of the greatest Pharaoh came upon her, it felt as if the world itself had ended.

Nitocris wished she could look away from what she saw. Wished she could tear her gaze away, never see the picture before her, and erase it from her memory. But as if mesmerized, Nitocris was forced to watch, powerless even to breathe at that moment, completely oblivious to the spectacle of the walls of Camelot beginning to crack and crumble. Completely oblivious to the battle in which she was engaged at that second… Her opponent, however, had not forgotten it.

“Ira Lupus!” Gareth was not the strongest of the Knights of the Round Table. Certainly, having the support of the Goddess and being so close to the power of the Goddess of Camelot, Gareth was an outstanding warrior – but only just. Against Scáthach, Medusa and Nitocris, being an 'outstanding warrior' was not enough, the world was overflowing with 'outstanding warriors' who had died to even just one of the two that is not Nitocris.

Gareth was not just another ‘great’ warrior.

At the hands of her three opponents, Gareth represented solely a ‘problem’, but not even a ‘danger’ that had to be destroyed at all costs, simply one that is a speed bump.

But Gareth had two trump cards up her sleeve. The Goddess' gift of ‘Wolfhound’, the ability to continue her battle no matter how wounded and mutilated her body was, even to the point of death, as her body would come back to life moments later. Until her mission was accomplished.

And Gareth's mission was to ensure the fulfillment of the Goddess of Camelot's command, to ensure the activation of the spear of Rhongomyniad.

After the activation of the spear, when Camelot would have been finally sealed on the eternal border between reality and legend, there would have been no more point in Gareth's service. Then and only then could she finally perish, as befits a knight in the service of her king, having done her duty.

However, the activation of the Rhongomyniad was interrupted, and Gareth continued her immortal existence as before, fighting her enemy, an immortal hound in the service of King Arthur.

Immortality, however, could ensure that her battle continued, but not in actually accomplishing her mission, or even in the ending of just one battle. Her Noble Phantasm, however, could.

Ira Lupus, as the crystallization of Gareth’s legend, was nothing incredible. The story of how, with a single lance, Gareth defeated a host of illustrious knights in a tournament defending the honor of Lady Lyonesse. Simply a small portion of King Arthur's shared legendary epic, Knights of Camelot.

A Noble Phantasm that for a brief moment could embody her spear with the power of legend. For a few seconds her spear skill, her strength, and speed were elevated to the level that Scáthach operated any moment in time without requiring any Noble Phantasm.

It was almost too miserable to be called a Noble Phantasm, it was simply too weak, too plain. However, it was enough to accomplish what Gareth had planned.

Gareth didn't need to defend herself. What’s the need for it, if her immortality would bring her back to life anyway? She didn't need outstanding feints and maneuvers. What’s the point when Nitocris, her target, had frozen for a moment, shocked by Ozymandias' demise.

And on Gareth's side was the element of surprise.

The result of Gareth's actions would result solely in the death of Nitocris, but Gareth would not complain about that outcome. Still, the Goddess of Camelot, judging by the destruction of Camelot’s walls, had already lost her battle.

In that case, Gareth's battle and its outcome was pointless…

But still, something was still driving Gareth to achieve even the smallest success in her battle. Maybe the remnants of her loyalty to King Arthur? Or maybe in her utterly gutted soul there still existed the faintest remnants of her former personality and desire to fight a prominent foe?

Either way, with the instantaneous power of her Noble Phantasm, Gareth bridged the distance between her and Nitocris, not even paying attention to Scáthach’s spear thrust into her unprotected chest, piercing through her armor and into her heart. For almost any other Servant, the wound would have proved fatal, but Gareth paid no attention to such trivialities as mortal wounds, at least as long as she still had a mission.

After another moment, her neck found itself wrapped around by the chains binding Medusa's blades, which a moment later snapped her neck with a sickening crunch, causing her face to turn sharply backwards. But her body, still acting thanks to her Noble Phantasm, was unstoppable.

The spear that had been brought in to strike, relying on its design, lunged forward with little reliance on Gareth's own striking power, and slammed into Nitocris. After another moment where the spear met some resistance, it thrust further and further through Nitocris’ flesh before coming to a halt, as it finally fully impaled the inexperienced Pharaoh deeply, leaving a huge wound in the girl's body.

And, unlike Gareth, Nitocris could not rely on immortality, hence the huge bleeding tear in her abdomen was unequivocally fatal. Nitocris, who had seen the demise of her idol only moments ago, would follow seconds later.

Such a wound was instantly fatal. Even when done with an ordinary sword, even a Servant would face their demise, in time, moreso when done with the large spear crossed with a missile that Gareth wields. And it was a wound done on a Caster, a class not at all known for its amazing survivability.

Gareth's head, turned completely unnaturally in respect to her body, returned to its place a moment later with a sickening crunch. Gareth’s torn heart was covered in a film of pinkish-red flesh, before it began beating again. Nitocris however had no such privilege.

Taking a step back, the girl looked at the spear still sticking out of her chest, shocked, as if it was only at that moment she remembered the ongoing battle… Before her gaze rose and met Gareth's lifeless eyes, not even capable of mourning yet another death at her hand.

There was nothing in Gareth's eyes. No joy of victory, no mockery of defeat, no rage, no sense of glee in the sadism, nothing. Only emptiness, as if the very act of killing Nitocris was meaningless, done only by obeying some meaningless old reflex.

However, anger did flash in Nitocris's eyes, which were until that moment were full of pain.

“You… You!" Nitocris opened her mouth to insult, but a moment later she could only spit out a clot of blood.

Scáthach’s spear stabbed into Gareth's back again, piercing her heart from a new angle, to pierce the newly regenerated organ. But predictably, it was nothing more than a meaningless gesture. Gareth's eyes went blank for a moment, as if that's any consolation… Or at least that was what one could say, if Gareth's eyes reflected even a modicum of her emotions and feelings.

However, in life and death, Gareth's eyes expressed only emptiness.

However, Nitocris' hatred was more than enough for the two of them.

“Anpu… Neb… Ta… Djeser!" Every word Nitocris uttered made her shudder in pain, but using the last remnants of her strength, she suppressed her urge to spit the blood from her rapidly filling lungs into Gareth's face, who was already dead… For the next couple of seconds.

Instead of cringing away from Gareth's spear, Nitocris took a step forward, thrusting her body deeper onto the spear despite the unimaginable pain it caused her. Then another, and another until she was almost face to face with Gareth.

Nitocris wasn't even a ‘great warrior’ of Gareth's standard, she was woefully too inadequate in martial matters to even qualify as a mediocre warrior. She was a pharaoh… Or at least she believed she was such. And it was enough.

Nitocris was a myth.

Did she exist in reality? Did her legend of revenge for her murdered brothers take place? Had she committed suicide? All of these were mere speculation, conjecture – stories of the past, legends told through the time, the truth of which was impossible to determine.

Raising her hands, fingers filled with her blood pooling at the tips, from her scarred body or flowing from her lips, Nitocris wasn't sure. With blood tinged hands, Nitocris touched Gareth's face.

If Nitocris existed, her fate was a sad one. Her life story, murdered brothers, who were avenged by her. Her posthumous fate, a suicide – an act that cut off her possibility of a burial as a Pharaoh.

As pharaoh, Nitocris should have been buried with honors, with powerful rituals, prepared for her afterlife, for her final judgment… Yet, what might have happened after her suicide? After the murder of so many powerful aristocrats, priests, warriors?

Her body was forgotten, her name forgotten, and her soul disappeared into the rapids of Duat.

Or perhaps there was no Nitocris?

Nitocris was not famous for her rule or her power, for her legends or her stories. The only thing Nitocris was famous for was her death.

The death of a pharaoh and the devastation of her soul, the disappearance of one who should have been ruler even after her death. The death of one that should have left an imprint in history.

And so it did.

Anpu Neb Ta Djeser - Mirror Tome of the Nether. The story of Nitocris's death is all that the unlucky pharaoh left behind in history.

The gateway to the afterlife is the Duat, where all lost souls disappear.

Did the Noble Phantasm of Nitocris doom her to suffering in this case at this moment, a mirror showing the formless hell of the void of the unprepared soul? Perhaps.

But if Ozymandias the Great had perished before her eyes…

Then, at least, in her final moment, Nitocris would drag one of his assassins with her.

Gareth's resurrection meant nothing in this case. The resurrection only affected her body, and Nitocris, with her last act, had decided to take her soul with her.

And with that, Gareth faced her final death.

Thus ends the life of Nitocris, a Pharaoh who wished to emulate Ozymandias the Great, if just in death.