“WHAT?!” Noah screamed internally, his heart leaping up into his throat. He looked around at the gods. Each of them met his gaze with a mixture of serenity and quiet complicity. Morrigan, of course, was smiling with wicked delight.
“What… are you talking about?” he managed to ask, though his breathing had already turned ragged. None of it made sense. Instinctively, his hand slid toward his waist, reaching for his sword—but it wasn’t there.
Dagda lowered his eyes.
“I am sorry to say… the time of humankind has come to an end,” he said gently, “They have squandered their place on this earth”
“Bullshit” Noah thought. There it was again—that sweet, lofty tone meant to wrap damnation in silk and make the executioner look like a saint. He knew there was more behind those words. There always was.
“We… weren’t all in agreement,” Dagda added, as if searching for some moral foothold. “There should have been another way…”
“I agreed,” Lugh cut in, unrepentant, unapologetic.
“But!” Dagda corrected himself hastily. “We cannot allow those other savages to descend and do as they please here.”
He was trying to justify it. To him. To a mortal, kneeling on the ground—not out of fear. No, not that.
“Rejoice!” Dagda pressed on. “You shall be the one to lead the new humanity. One more pure. One crafted in the gods’ own image. It’s a good plan, is it not, Merlin?”
Noah turned to the wizard. The old man said nothing, but his steel-grey gaze met Noah’s with unflinching calm. They nodded—just slightly. Then Merlin closed his eyes, at peace, silently passing the choice to the king.
The decision was in his hands. One man, chosen to decide the fate of the world. And to Noah, it couldn’t have sounded more absurd.
“How long have I got?” he asked, forcing himself upright.
“Until the thirty-first of January,” Dagda answered. “That is the day we have agreed upon.”
"Although..." interrupted Artio, the bear goddess, her voice deep and grounding, "...the effects will begin almost at once."
"Ancient beasts shall stir," added Cernunnos, blunt as ever.
"Heroes and immortals shall walk among men once more," said Lugh, his tone edged with reverence.
"Well, not so much return… as cease their hiding," corrected Brigid, goddess of fire, with a warm smile that flickered like a hearth.
Noah clenched his fists, then raised his gaze to Dagda, eyes hardened. The entire glade fell into silence. They were waiting—for him.
"Right. I've got two questions."
"Fair enough," Dagda nodded, solemn.
"Why now?" Noah’s voice cracked like thunder behind a stormcloud of rage. "And don’t give me some bollocks about the environment. What did you mean by ‘there had to be another way’? What are you lot hiding?"
"I fear," Brigid said, stepping forward, her flame-like eyes locked onto his, "that such matters are not for a mortal to know."
Noah’s brow tightened. He’d had enough. Enough of being treated like some naïve pawn. Enough of their self-important speeches dressed as salvation. A tingling spread through his fingers—the phantom weight of a hilt he knew far too well.
"And the second question..." He drew a breath, steady, firm. "Why should I help you orchestrate a genocide?"
Silence.
None of the gods answered straight away. To them, servitude was a given. Natural. How could a mortal dare to question it?
Then, from behind, a cruel smile sliced through the hush.
"You might break the curse that festers in the Pendragon bloodline," whispered Morrigan, her voice soft and venom-laced.
Noah turned instantly, blood frozen. Those words—he hadn’t expected them. Not ever.
"You might undo the spell cast by that woman," the goddess went on, stepping closer with predatory grace. "You could save your daughter… perhaps even reclaim your sister."
His knees nearly buckled. Just for a moment. A blink of weakness.
"Rubbish," he muttered, voice trembling. "Not even Merlin could do that."
Merlin shot Morrigan a deathly glare—but said nothing.
"Do not compare a goddess to a well-loved old man," she replied, nearing him now, her voice like silk wrapped around a blade. "After all… Morgana’s sorcery was drawn from my craft."
Noah turned to the old man. Merlin gave a slow, silent nod.
"So then..." Dagda interrupted, his grin just a bit too self-assured. "What say you? Will you stand with us—and bring honour to your bloodline?"
Noah stepped forward, steady and unshaken.
"It’s always been a pleasure to serve the gods," he said, offering a pleasant, almost rehearsed smile.
Dagda extended his hand—massive, broad enough to eclipse Noah’s entire chest. But just as Noah reached for it—
"—and still is," Noah added.
Dagda froze, his eyes narrowing. Noah held his gaze, unflinching.
"Lad…" the god’s voice dropped, like a hammer striking stone. "D’ye truly believe a god such as I would not see through thee?"
His hand remained suspended at his side.
The air stilled.
Time itself seemed to falter. Only Noah and Dagda remained—locked in a quiet standoff, neither blinking.
Noah exhaled slowly. A faint chuckle escaped him.
"I forgot how perceptive you are, my lord," he said lightly. "I’ll admit, it would've made things easier had you been a touch more arrogant."
"Mortal," growled Artio, her voice rumbling like distant thunder, "tread carefully with thy words and thy deeds."
Noah turned briefly to glance at her—and dropped the mask entirely.
His eyes now burned with cold disdain, the smug defiance of someone who’d had enough of playing along. The gods noticed immediately.
He looked back to Dagda.
"Why the bloody hell would I help you, you bastard?" Noah spat, striking away the god’s outstretched hand. "You really thought I’d agree to such a pathetic deal? Pretend to be your messiah while millions die?”
He cast a look at Morrigan. She was grinning, eyes wild with anticipation.
He stepped forward. His hand went to his side—and in a controlled surge of magic, a hilt shimmered into existence. A blade began to grow outward from it—lengthening into a great golden sword, engraved with intricate markings, a brilliant green gem set in the center of the guard.
"You actually thought I’d kneel? Me? The King of Camelot, and ruler of men?" He raised the blade in both hands—its weight familiar, sacred. "Gods are immortal, aren’t they…?"
He aimed the tip straight at Dagda’s chest. "…so tell me—would you survive if Excalibur ran you through?"
Dagda’s eyes widened—not just with fury or insult—but with something else. Something like fear.
Noah grinned. And struck.
But Dagda was quicker. He snapped his fingers.
Reality twisted. The illusion shattered. Space itself cracked like splintered glass. Noah felt everything around him collapse and rebuild in a single heartbeat.
Suddenly, he passed through something solid.
A sharp crack brought him back to his senses—the sword had pierced the trunk of Merlin’s tree.
The sacred oak withered in seconds. Its bark split open, and with a final breath of life, the mighty tree crumbled under its own weight. The impact rattled the lab. Glass vials clinked. Creatures stirred in panic. Chaos erupted.
"Thou hast erred, mortal."
Lugh’s voice echoed in Noah’s skull like a death knell.
"Thy treachery shall reap its due."
“Bloody hell!” Merlin shouted, livid. “Do you have any idea how many bloody centuries it took to grow that tree?!”
Noah shot him a look, frustration flickering in his eyes—but this wasn’t the time for arguments.
The sky was darkening. Unsettling presences coiled in the air above the chamber.
“How long to get Camelot out of godly territory?” Noah asked, eyes fixed upward.
“With luck? Five minutes,” Merlin replied, fumbling with a pair of vials. “Why?”
“Get us out,” Noah said flatly, gaze never wavering.
“The gods cannot cross into the mortal world… not yet, at least,” Merlin objected.
“The gods, no,” Noah muttered. “But I doubt their bloody beasts follow the same rules.”
Merlin looked up.
Through the glass dome, roots emerged from the void, descending like fingers from the abyss. Twisting together as they fell, they formed humanoid shapes—mud, branches, black sap pulsing through their limbs.
“Bloody loopholes…” Merlin growled, not surprised, but clearly annoyed. “This is cheating!”
“Yeah, take it up with their divine solicitor,” Noah muttered, drawing his sword. He really wished he wasn’t in his shirt sleeves for this.
With a snap, Merlin vanished.
“Five minutes, yeah...?” Noah muttered, just as one of the figures landed in front of him. It had no face, but he could feel Dagda’s eyes behind that tangle of roots—a spirit of the harvest. There was a smug grin playing on its lips.
“Of course,” Noah muttered. “This’ll be a piece of piss.”
The creature let out a shriek—sharp and dry. One of its arms morphed into a jagged blade of thorns. Noah barely dodged the thrust and swung Excalibur in a clean arc. The spirit split in two with a golden flash and vanished instantly. The sword drank its life essence with the slightest touch—especially handy against spirits.
He was just about to toss out a clever line… when another one dropped next to him. This one got him good—struck him square with a whip-arm, sending him flying several metres. It hurt like hell, but his body held. Just as the thing charged in to finish him, Noah raised his hand. The ring glowed. The spirit froze mid-step.
Noah clenched his fist, spun on his heel, and with that motion hurled the creature through the air. It slammed into another spirit just as it was forming. Both were flung through a wall, which crumbled from the impact, revealing a hallway on an upper floor.
A pair of maids on the other side screamed as the wall gave way. Noah turned to them.
“Run!” he shouted—just as a fireblast flared behind him.
From the floor rose warriors wreathed in flames. Their armour was scorched and charred, their swords burned like molten iron—Forgers.
“They’re showing up all over the city!” he shouted to the maids. “Find Elias! Tell him—they’re spirits!”
He turned just in time to parry a flaming sword. Sparks flew. He deflected the blade and twisted around, driving Excalibur through the gaps in the armour.
The thing shrieked. The heat pouring off it was unbearable—sweat was already trickling down his back.
The maids ran. Noah muttered a quick prayer they’d make it… though, considering the gods now had a price on his head, it might’ve been a terrible idea.
He yanked the sword free. The spirit collapsed, disintegrating into ash and ember. But the harvest spirits were rising again from the rubble. They leapt down, and upon landing, began to entwine—roots, mud, branches. Fusing into something taller. Broader.
Noah narrowly ducked a blazing slash from another spirit. He activated the ring and flung it into one of the carnivorous plants— which chomped it down in one bite, unfazed by the flames.
He spun back to face the new big harvest spirit. He used the ring again, but it only just slowed the thing. Enough time to block a brutal hook with his blade.
The blow knocked him to the ground. His stomach twisted—from the heat, the strain, everything. He rolled instinctively, dodging another Forger’s swing by pure gut feeling. Pushing up with a grunt, he spun and brought Excalibur down in one clean arc—slicing the spirit’s head clean off.
It burst in a golden flare. The flash stunned the larger creature.
Noah didn’t waste the chance. He grabbed a greenish vial off the floor and hurled it straight at the creature. The glass shattered against its chest, and the roots began to melt like butter on a hot pan.
He remembered most of Merlin’s potions well enough. And here, in the lab, he had the upper hand. He grabbed another—this one red—and poured it over the blade. The sword burst into living flames.
He sprinted toward the spirit. It swung blindly at him, but Noah dropped to the floor, sliding underneath, and sliced clean through both its legs in a perfect arc. The creature collapsed, fire consuming its limbs.
He rose, panting a bit from the effort. Surely five minutes had passed by now?
A tingling sensation crept down his spine. He spun around and slashed at the air just in time—splitting a pair of arrows mid-flight. From the walls emerged beasts with animal-like features, their forms cloaked in a shimmering aura… the same glow that arrogant god had radiated.
They readied another volley. Noah raised his sword—it pulsed with brilliant light.
The spirit warriors glared at him with disdain.
“You lot seriously think I can’t cut your arrows again?”
The creatures’ eyes gleamed. Noah smirked, just slightly. The flames around his sword shifted—burning now with a golden radiance.
“Maybe I can’t.”
The spirits screeched in irritation and let fly. Noah spun and unleashed a brutal slash. The arrows shattered in mid-air, and the warriors screamed as an invisible wave tore through them side to side. The wall behind them split clean in two—like it was made of paper.
Their severed torsos hit the floor. Legs dangled from the walls, embedded in the stone, dark blood trickling down the cracked surfaces.
Noah exhaled, slow and deep. Looked like that was the last of them.
Still catching his breath, he pulled out his phone. One new message from Merlin.
“The engine room was full of nasty little beasties. We’ll be out of danger in two minutes.”
Naturally, followed by a massive thumbs-up emoji.
Noah still had no clue how the hell Merlin managed to send messages when he didn’t even own a phone.
The king leaned on his sword. That hit from the plant-spirit had bruised up his insides, even though he’d managed to block it in time. His eyes scanned the floor, searching for one of Merlin’s healing concoctions.
He’d taken out a fair few of them—just with his sword and the ring. Could’ve been a walk in the park if he’d had his royal gear. Or his crown.
Then came the hiss.
It froze him to the bone. When he turned, the blood drained from his face.
A serpent the size of a bullet train coiled along the walls of the lab. Its scales glowed from within, as though burning with anticipation. Its glittering eyes locked onto Noah with a hunger that chilled him to his core.
“Nathair Nua... the Eternal Serpent,” Noah muttered, clutching his side in pain.
He tried to raise his sword, to strike from a distance—but a whip-crack struck him in the back before he could react. He was launched through the air. His sword clattered several metres away.
He tried to push himself up—his ribs cracked, and he coughed blood.
The serpent slithered slowly down the walls, its grin unmistakable.
“A pleasure to see you again, King of Camelot,” it said in a slow, mocking tone.
“Likewise. Last time I saw you, I chopped your bloody head off,” Noah gasped, trying to keep it together while scanning for a way out. “How’re you still breathing?”
The creature hissed, amused. It coiled its tail around Noah’s torso and lifted him off the ground, until they were face to face.
“Eternal Serpent, mortal. Not just a catchy nickname,” it said, tilting its head with a sadistic gleam. “Though I do recall the agonising pain... perhaps I should return the favour.”
The tail began to squeeze.
Noah screamed, raw and guttural. His insides creaked and twisted.
The serpent opened its maw. Noah thrashed, but it was useless. Just a bit more, and his spine would snap. Not even Merlin could bring him back if he ended up in a vegetative state.
In one last desperate move, Noah pressed his fist against the creature’s tail.
“Come on, come on...”
Excalibur materialised instantly—piercing through the serpent’s flesh… and slashing into his own side in the process.
The serpent shrieked in pain and let go. Noah hit the ground hard. The sword clanged beside him, its glow fading. But the strike hadn’t been enough. Nathair wasn’t some run-of-the-mill beast. You couldn’t kill something like that just by siphoning off a bit of energy with Excalibur.
Noah tried to move, but even the adrenaline wasn’t enough. His muscles refused to listen. If this kept up, he’d die here.
The serpent roared, livid, and lunged. Its head rocketed forward, jaws wide. A pair of fangs extended fully, aimed right at the broken king.
Noah could smell the venom in the air.
Then—something.
A faint tremor. Barely there.
And the serpent vanished.
Noah blinked, dazed. He collapsed onto his back. When he looked up, he realised the sky was fully clouded—nothing like before. The creatures… all gone.
Merlin had done it.
They were out of the gods’ territory. And by some miracle, it seemed the monsters hadn’t crossed with them.
He pictured the serpent faceplanting into the dirt, utterly confused. A weak smile tugged at his lips.
Then—nothing.
His senses slipped away.
End of Chapter.