590 King of Hell on Earth (1/2)

15 minutes ago, in front of Lancelot's home.

In the quietness of the hall, Lancelot stood in front of the gate, looking at his daughter Christine, no expression on his face. Christine's wound had not yet healed. Perhaps someone intended this so that Christine would be so weak that she could hardly get on her own feet. The wound on her thigh burst open and was bleeding.

”Please let me go, father.” Staring at Lancelot, Christine asked in a low voice, ”This is the last time I ask you.”

”It's too late, Christine.” Shaking his head, Lancelot said coldly, ”You cannot change anything even if you get there now.”

”Is it so?” Christine lowered his eyes in disappointment. ”I see.” Then, with a clicking sound of steel, she drew her sword and positioned it on her left arm which was raised up, taking aim at Lancelot. The move had been practiced so many times that it was perfect.

There was still no sign of emotion on Lancelot's face. He drew his sword at his daughter. ”You are my daughter. I should forgive you for your mistake, but as a knight, what you did was intended provocation. I shall not ignore that. I'll ask you once more. Christine, do you know what you are doing now?”

Christine laughed. ”Dear father, the life of a knight is with his sword and armor. You taught me that, didn't you? It was not your Christine in front of you…” She paused, then she severed her kinship with her father. ”Now, you call me Galahad!” Her words were as cold as her sword.

Silence fell upon them again.

Lancelot laughed gently as if gratified by Christine's words. ”You have grown up, Christine.” Nodding his head, he said, ”It was me that made the wrong judgment. You are better suited to be a Lancelot. Maybe now it is time for me to give up my position to you?” Then, he took the beautifully decorated ceremonial sword from the wall. Caressing the thin blade with his fingers to feel the blunt cutting edge of it, he nodded gently again.

”Very good of you. But before that, let me see if you are qualified to draw your sword at me.”

The next moment, the sword pierced through the air with a flash of light. In a split second, the sound of steel striking steel was heard, and the two passed by each other at an incredible speed. The next moment, Lancelot was standing at his original position, empty-handed.

Christine had dashed to the gate, only one step away from the gate. One step that would never be taken. Lowering her head, she saw her weapon, of which the blade had been cut off. And she saw the ceremonial sword, piercing through her chest. A bitter smile appeared on her face. In the dripping sound of her blood falling on the floor, she kneeled on the ground and gradually lost her sight to the darkness before her eyes.

In her last moment, she only heard a sigh of sorrow from her father.

”You are not qualified, then,” Lancelot said.

…

”My flesh is the real food; my blood is the real drink.” It was as if someone whispering in a hoarse voice, ”Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood shall live inside me, and I inside him… Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood shall be immortal. I shall resurrect him on doomsday.”

The voice went on and on. There seemed to be some secret in it, but as she listened, it went far away from her. It was addictive to listen to the voice, and nothing seemed to matter except for the voice. She gradually sank into the deepest part of the gentle darkness, feeling enveloped by water.

Slowly, slowly… In the solemn melody, Mary carried the pearl in her hands, as if out of her senses. Without noticing it, she held the pearl tighter, and her fingers were cut by the diamonds embedded on the pearl, her blood spreading gradually over her hands.

Guided by the Marshal, she climbed the stairs, dumb as a wooden chicken, and slowly went to her throne in the solemn melody. Off the stage, the ministers in the front row frowned, confused by the dumbness and stiffness of the queen. They sensed that something was not right, but they could not tell what it was. Pretty soon, their mind was overcome by the grand and magnificent rhythm. A feeling of awe took over them, and their eyes became void and empty.

The solemn rhythm gradually changed. It began to show some gruesomeness, with faint noise spreading out from the instruments of the musicians, like the whining of some sad creatures.

It was Pomp and Circumstance March No.1.

In the ghastly and heavy rhythm, numerous mirages emerged until, at last, the grand illusional image was formed in the air—King Arthur sitting on his huge throne, being crowned to be king in the name of God. Yet, falling upon the earth from the sky was not the light of heaven, but the darkness of the abyss.

Surrounded by the thin, dark mist, the king on the throne was ghastly like a demon, and on his head, he was wearing the crown of the abyss. From the Crown, numerous music theories flew out onto Mary's body and emerged with the dragon blood, weaving a huge halo behind her. In the dark-purple halo, countless iron-like thorns covered the sabers and knives which, rubbing against each other, produced a grating, heavy noise. Fresh blood dripped from it, and the blood smelt so sweet.

Bless the King in the name of God. Yet what God brought was not light but the original sin of the abyss.

Among the musicians who were playing the music, someone raised his blood-red eye to look at Mary, who appeared to be struggling against something. A mocking smile appeared on his lips as he said, ”The transformation has not finished yet?”

”She cannot fight it for long.” The conductor muttered, ”She has taken the blood of Leviathan and blended the original sin into the dragon blood. The darkness in her blood is no longer a shadow but is of true consciousness of its own. The more she struggles, the more violent she will be when the dragon blood takes control.”

At that time, with the aether movements of the huge number of dark musicians, Pomp and Circumstance came to its climax. The gifts from the abyss fell upon the physical world and took root. Following the willpower of the Dark Sovereign, the power of kingship of the abyss fell upon the earth, cruising the world as if it was wandering in water and light.

The birth of the son of God, the perfect incarnation of the King on Earth!

In the silence, the Marshal guiding Mary had a smile on his face, through which the face of the Dark Sovereign was looming. Standing in front of the throne, he gazed at Mary. He put his hands together as if holding something invisible, and then a crystal crown appeared in his hands. Music theories representing the essence of the Dark Sovereign surrounded the crown, infusing into it the elements of the hell; the power of the king of the abyss…

Slowly and gently, the crown was put on Mary's head. On the front facet of the crown, the pearl released red light. Numerous music theories flew into her body and merged into the surging dragon blood.

The coronation was finished; the eternal king of Anglo, the King of Hell on Earth, was born.