KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE

By Ed Ainsworth

Cornwall
Southwest England

The winds were cold, as Brian took a sneaky drink from a bottle of beer under his coat. They stood on the beach of Newquay, Tourist hotspot of Cornwall. A surfer’s paradise apparently. Knightraven hung back, trying to stay out of the light and the attention of the people on the beach, while Elsa and Druid revelled in it.

Brian stood apart from them, checking his phone at appropriate intervals for texts or emails from the other Captains. There was nothing to be found, no contact for the last four days.

He sighed, and whisked the contents of the nearly empty beer bottle around by shaking his wrist,as Elsa came over to talk to him.

“Brian,” she said, with a smile creeping across her features, arm’s snaking around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. She parted her red lips enough to encourage Brian to do that same, but he made no effort to return the affection in anyway.

Elsa smiled as she moved away.

“You’re different. So much more different than when we left. You’re drinking again, we know this is bad for you, Brian. Come on, just give it up, whatever it is, right? You’re just working too..GUK..”

Elsa was lifted off the ground by Brian, who wrapped his hand around her throat, dropping the beer bottle onto the ground.

“The sex wasn’t very good, Elsa. For someone who prides herself on being a prissy little whorebag, your whoring ways need a lot of work. I’ve been more satisfied by eating a microwave meal and crapping out the plastic coating.” He dropped her on the floor, and threw his coat at her, revealing his new costume. Military type boots, shin high, a black all-body covering with internal armour plates working their way up his legs and arms in V’s and the Union Jack in the centre of his chest. He smiled a big wide smile to the people on the beach, and began to hover off the ground.

“Come on then, Druid, Knighty and Whorebag. We’ve got a sword to find and I’d really rather not waste any more time with you idiots than I should.”

Druid helped Elsa from the ground, who was clearly extremely livid at her treatment.

“I’m going to break his bits off, Druid.”

“Mhmm,” Druid added, patting her on the back and kicking the beer bottle onto the beach.

“The trail leads us here first,” Druid spoke for the first time in the better part of an hour. They group stood, as usual with Brian standing apart, his fingertips dug into the mud of Bodmin Moor, watching the birds, and rabbits and wild pony’s running free across the soft, green ground.

“Trail, does it? Doesn’t seem to lead anywhere, ‘mate,’” Brian said with contempt, looking at Elsa with narrowed eyes as she shot daggers at him through her sunglasses.

“That’s because you’re looking with England, Brian. Not with your eyes,” Druid spat, walking towards the Captain, and kicking his hand out of the soil.

“Britain will lie to you, Brian, because it wants to protect itself. Where’re getting close, they’ve moved the sword here. To a castle that is ethereal in nature.”

“Meaning what exactly?” Brian asked, his patience wearing thin. Knightraven put his hand on Brian’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Calm down, mate,” he whispered into Brian’s ear, as the Druid’s fingertips extended into twigs, digging themselves into the ground, bushes and huge branches full of leaves growing from his back and extending outwards.

“I don’t trust them any more than you do, but we’ve got a job right now, and that guy is the only one what knows where we’re going. Give it a minute or two after we’ve done the job, and then punch his lights out.” Knightraven moved away from Brian, and cradled his chin in his jaw, mocking Druid with feigned interest.

Elsa pushed past him and walked straight to Brian, looking up into his eyes.

“Etherial Castle Equals Ghost Castle, Brian. We can’t get into it unless we have some sort of plan or power. Druid is doing that. Clear?” she spat, Brian leaning down next to her ear and smiling.

“You want me. You can’t have me,” Brian said with a sinister smile on his features.

“Hrm.” The Ghostly king sat on his throne, staring through transparent walls towards the men below them. Bodmin Moor was never the location of their castle before, so how did they know to find it here?

“Good knights!” he yelled, looking across the assembled might of armored men before him. He took a deep breath, and gestured towards the large sword stuck firmly in the stone to his left.

“We waged war for years against the forces of Darkness, for Merlyn and Uter and all who came before. We stand on the soil of England, giving power to it’s power, from Avalon. We stood against French and Fae alike, and now we must face our biggest challenge!”

He gestured towards the figures walking towards them. The figures of Druid, Knightraven, Brian and Elsa.

“I have word from the Greenteeth. They have fallen. Crushed like FLIES beneath the boots of these monsters!” Spittle shot from the corners of his mouth, as the knights looked from each other and back to their master. They would kill for this king, for his word and his bond.

They stood as a united front, save for one. The Green Knight. He stood with no-one but himself. He was the only knight, clad in green armour, with antlers of a great stag strapped to his back, who stood before the king, instead of kneeling.

“They come for the sword! They came for Excalibur, and we cannot allow them to take it without a fight! So I say, and speak to you, my knights…I emplore you! DEFEND AVALON! DEFEND THE SWORD! DEFEND YOUR RIGHTS AND POWER AS ENGLISHMEN!” He pointed towards the ghostly doors opening before them, the army charge outwards, their swords raised.

As the final man charged from the keep, the Green Knight turned to the King and drew his sword.

“The Green Knight knows who his enemies are, King. And you…you are no king.” His form began to change, as his sword slowly elongated and took the form of an Axe.

“Druid…” the Knightraven began to say. Anthony held up his hand and shot him a look that could kill a cat at thirty paces.

“Anthony…” Elsa followed, touching his shoulder gently. He looked up. The knights, ghosts and almost completely transparent were being given form by England. As they touched the ground, the elements themselves rose form their place to clad them in flesh of dirt and armour of stone. Their flint swords and arrows of ivy and spines shot through the air, impaling the Druid’s back with their power.

The projectiles shattered against the skin of both Brian and Elsa. Knightraven simply held his sword up to defend himself.

“Well, good plan, Druid,” Brian said, sarcasm thick in his voice, as he shot forwards, digging troughs into the ground behind him. His muscles bulged as he thrust his fist through the first warriors head.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been so turned on in my life,” Elsa began as she drew two Uzi’s from her thighs, and trained them on the armoured beings approaching her.

“Enough to lay an egg?” Knightraven asked, pulling his body low, his shadow appearing to manifest large wings behind him, somehow deflecting the arrows that fell down on him. A thick layer of bird excrement coated everything around him, and his clothes, as a flock of angry corvids joined the fray.

“You’re a disturbing individual, Knightraven,” Elsa said, pulling the triggers of her guns down, and spraying the area with indiscriminate fire.

“When this is over I am going to crush him with my thighs,” Elsa whispered to herself, leaping over the swipe of a blade, and kicking the knight in the helmet.

“This isn’t working!” Druid shouted, as he threw his fist through the midsection of a knight, exploding it from the inside with a bloom of moss and fungus.

Several shapes shot across the sky, and Druid looked up.

“Oh…Shitbags.”

“Oi Brian!”

Captain Britain looked over his shoulder and smiled a big smile. His friends were here. His proper friends. People who didn’t want to sex him because he was Captain Britain and they had nothing better to do with their time.

A quintuplet of Captains. Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Cornwall and even Captain UK.

A white haired Linda McQuillan dove out of the air first, energy building up around her knuckles, as she ploughed directly into the small army, throwing men into the air, and leaving a crater in the soft mud of the moor. She pulled herself into a standing position, ever elegant, ever beautiful and ran a hand through her long, and stylishly cut hair.

“Never were one for subtly, were you Linda?” Brian asked, punching the head off another knight, as it’s sword broke against his skin.

She smiled, as Wales landed next to her, removing his glasses, and closing his eyes. A deep and unearthly music came over the Moors, haunting and powerful. Wales replaced his glasses, and opened his eyes. Wales is the only member of the team who used to be a superhero outside of his obligations to the Shadow Captains. Rhiawallon was his name, and he held the powers of Wales in his body.

The knights around him stopped, their bodies dropping and falling apart. Wales ran a hand through his hair, as sweat trickled down his temples. He was causing them to degrade. Wales is known for it’s beauty and it’s natural power, and he commanded both.

Scotland, however, commanded violence and drunken fury. His flight was erratic as he crashed into the ground, his feet skidding on the soft mud, and his fists crashing through the bodies and heads of the knights. He was clearly enjoying the violence.

“I dinnae ken why you’re all not enjoying this s’much!” He laughed, embracing the slightly impenetrable nature of his accent. Scotland and Wales enjoyed talking to each other in their native accents, which often annoyed the others.

As Ireland landed, she showcased the finesse of the Captains. Her violence was limited, but potent. Each action appeared to be carefully choreographed, her flat hands separating limbs from bodies, and heads from necks, almost as though it were a defensive move rather than an offensive position.

The final Captain, flying low avoided the knights and shot towards the Castle. He spied something inside.

“It’s Gawain! Shit!” He gestured for Captain Britain to follow him as he burst through the Ghost Castle’s gates.

Brian took off from his resting position, and followed Cornwall, through the doors of the great keep. Before him hover Cornwall, looking somewhat horrified at the thing before him. The Green Knight, Gawain. He held his massive emerald axe at his side. The knight itself was giant, probably 30 feet tall. It’s armour was covered in vines and leaves, as well as huge circular sigils which glowed ever so slightly.

The most alien thing about the knight was it’s helmet. It looked like a golden squid, with huge tentacles hanging from the front of it’s head. In it’s massive hand sat a small rock with a sword in it. And Brian knew exactly what it was.

“We need everyone for this,” Brian said quickly, pointing towards the knight. Brian’s voice was hurried, full of weight and emotion. “We need that sword, and we need to get it quickly.”

As the Shadow Captains bore down on the Green Knight, Druid stopped in place, and grabbed hold of Elsa’s arm.

“We need to leave now. These people are bad news. We don’t want to be associated with them in anyway, they’re going to try and stop us.” The fear and anger were clear in his voice. As he pulled Elsa away from the battle.

“But the sword?” Elsa asked, Druid shook his head, and waved the question off.

“We can do it without the sword. Just.”

The Earth opened up before them, as Druid pulled himself and Elsa into the opening, a similar “portal” opening for Knightraven, but giving him no choice in the matter. The heir to the Nightraven throne was sucked through the hole and into the Earth itself.

Druid had to get to Stone Henge before the others.

“Avengers Assemble!” Cornwall yelled. They all looked up from their various positions in the battle, and Brian tilted his head a little.

“Avengers?”

“Sue me. I have a sense of humour.” Cornwall smiled, as the other Captain’s launched into the air, all coming to a stop around Brian and Cornwall.

“Right…Here’s the plan…”

The Green Knight lurched from his position,his massive axe held in both hands now. A deep howl emerged from the front of it’s Cepheid like helmet.

“Wales…Bind it.”

Wales turned around, removing his glasses again. It didn’t help his powers in any way, but it was more of a habit. Take the glasses off to call the power, replace them to control and focus it.

The Knight was audibly confused as the vines around it’s body began to constrict it’s movement.

“Who’s the fastest?” Brian asked, as Ireland raised her hand. “Okay, Run interference. I want it distracted by your movements. Keep it around the head area.”

Ireland shot off, her green “jet-stream” smelling of fields and grass. She circled the giants head, who clumsily pawed at her.

“Scotland I want you, to…”

The Green Knight who had previously been so docile, was now quick and cunning. The hilt of the axe hit Ireland in the midsection and sent her hurtling towards, and throw the bottom of the ghostly keep, into the mud of the moor below.

“Damnit!” Brian yelled.

“Just…Just fucking rush him!” Scotland screamed, shooting towards, followed by Linda and Cornwall. The three of them hit the knight in the helmet and the stomach, knocking him off balance. Wales continued to work his natural magic, constricting the knights armour.

“Only got one chance at this…” Brain said to himself, exploding from his position in the fastest he’s ever flown. He hurtled through the air, fists forward, as he punched a hole through the swinging axehead and towards the rock with the sword in it.

Flicking his wrist backwards, he caught the hilt of the sword, just as the massive hand of the knight came crashing down, seemingly squashing Brian under it’s weight.

“ENGLAND!” Ireland shouted from her position underneath the castle. Even her view was obstructed.

The Knight’s hand was separated from it’s wrist with the flick of the Sword, and Captain England stood triumphant underneath, flipping the massive golden hand from his body with both his arms extended upwards.

“We’ve got what we came for. Lets get the hell out of here.”

Unbeknownst to the other members of the Shadow Initiative, and Excalibur, the astral form of Roma moved slowly through the group, her body close to the ground, her stomach grazing the surface of England herself. She stopped by Brian Braddock, and looked carefully into his scabbard.

He carried with him something that was more precious to him than his very soul, something he had described before as his very soul, as well as his heart. The Sword in the stone was no Excalibur, but it was a very, very close Facsimile.

Every time Brian touched the hilt of the sword, he felt a combination of emotions he never felt with the real Excalibur. He felt warm inside his chest, his heart beating faster and harder, but a great sadness came over his mind. He felt loss, loss like he’d only felt once in his life before.

And the Sword felt it as well.

She felt hurt every time but Brian’s ignorance to her situation, by his lack of knowledge of her inability to change back. How she was trapped never able to feel the touch of his lips, or hear his heart beat ever again.

Like any good wife, she would never be able to leave his side.

NEXT: Showdown!