A Gauntlet from the Aegis

The landscape fills with travelers far and wide down the longest gravel path the Welsh lands have to travel. Bearded men on horseback pulling carts of treasures from countries unknown. Women in colorful tunics in hoods, scarfs, no hoods, and fancy hair fashioned in odd shapes carry baskets of fruits the Welsh soils do not bear naturally.

Children in odd hats disobeying parents traveling to new homes. All this and more the two silent knights clad in spectacular armaments. Cloaks bearing the sigil of the Arthurian Court of Pendragon woven in the center.

"Sir Bors told me that you received permission from Saint Joseph to seek the end of your... life," says Sir Percival.

The two knights trotted in silence for several minutes. Sir Percavile removes his helm trimmed in gold revealing his locks of perfect golden hair. Several women whistled from the back of the road some ways back.

The other knight lets out a small humorous grunt. Sir Percival grasps his reins and pulls left with his chocolate-brown stallion to cut off the way ahead for his traveling partner. The other knight gazes motionlessly through his thin visor.

"Tell me, Galahad. Why do you seek such an end when our mission as knights is not yet expired?" asks Sir Percival.

"My dearest friend. We were nothing before Arthur gave us something. Is it not enough to know the Holy Grail? Is it not enough that evil in Avalon has been tempered? Is all of what you see not enough?" asks Sir Galahad.

Sir Percival, dismounts his saddle and places his hand firm on the hilt of his honorable blade. A single tear spills from the ducts of his perfect blue eyes. He stares hard through the armor of Sir Galahad.

Sir Percival draws his sword from his hilt bringing his point to the chest of Sir Galahad's noble steed, "I, Sir Percival, Knight of the Round Table in service to the Kingdom of Avalon to the one true Holy King Arthur Pendragon challenge you, Sir Galahad, to a one-on-one duel. The winner must pledge an honorable service to the duty of the court until death be taken from him not chosen by him. Do you accept, brother?" asks Sir Percival.

"What is it that Merlin tells us, Percival? Time is right when the heart feels it is time not when the mind thinks it sees time as being right," replies Sir Galahad, as travelers linger and stare at the sword-drawn knight.

"Merlin is wise, but destiny is infinite, not singular. Does Merlin not say that?" says Sir Percival, his blade still pointing strong.

Sir Galahad dismounts his horse and unclasps the brace of his neck guard. He removes his helm from his head. Brown locks of curly brown hair fall to his ears. With one brow raised, Galahad runs the sweat off of his goatee with one hand and steps forward.

In the blink of an eye, the heavens opened up and reigned down a circled beam of radiant light. Sir Percival looked on in dismay. He swung his sword, but the barrier burst his slash with kinetic force throwing Percival toward his horse. His feet catch the horses mid-section and he flips over the saddle landing hard on his head.

Sir Galahad beat from within the barrier, but his horse and he could not be free of its enclosure. Within seconds Galahad and his steed discriminated into thin air into tiny bits of lights. The surrounding people screamed and hollered. The crazed woman shouting at Sir Percival from earlier dropped to their knees in an act of holy worship.

***

Sir Galahad could see within this radiant experience the essence of his body traveling faster than his mind could keep up with. He vaguely saw his horse alongside him. His appearance was quite off and made Galahad cock his brow in defiance of all he had come to know that was possible. Every few seconds his steeds legs would be his legs. The horses head his head. Once in a minute, he thought he witnessed a centaur but it was just him without a torso and a lush soft tail protruding from the crack of his back hatch. 

Then, darkness. No more awkward body-swapping just a painless calm moment of darkness. Sir Galahad had thought, for a moment, that this might be the end he asked so clearly from Saint Joseph to have. He thought back to what he said to Sir Percival about Merlin's wisdom on feelings. All of a sudden the mist poured in from the dark. Dark becomes gloomy and full of smog. Smog quickly revealed the cold hard ground of an unknown surface. The smog thins and reveals lights from evening stars casting its range and depth over the figures that now stand before him.

"What is... this place, strangers," asks Sir Galahad, as he admires the sky above him.

Above his head, in the sky blackest he had ever seen above him flew the largest structures he had ever seen. Constructs with rigid edges and bright shapes propelled back and forth organized in tight spaces among the stars.

Sir Galahad accidentally bumps into a large dark-skinned woman clad in unique trinkets and armaments of battle. Her look was cold and stern but graceful and controlled. She perched against her spear held tightly in her hands flaring the piercing through the front of her nose.

"I apologize madam. I meant you know dishonor," says Sir Galahad, as he bows, his armor scrapping the attention of the other warriors behind them.

"I would show no remorse for such a mute even if she is female," says a rough-looking fella in a leather cuirass with matching spaulders, a whip hooked to his left and a gladius hooked to the right of his belt.

"That is all well, sir but every person is equal in the eyes of our lord origins of her birth aside," replies Sir Galahad.

"The blade is sharper, but without the handle, a swordsman is just a man," says a short man kneeling on a small platform in a peaceful position dressed in blue garments, his black hair in a knot.

A man stronger in stature leaner and more articulate walks down a flight of marble steps. That is when Sir Galahad noticed the large mausoleum in front of him made of radiant stone that shined all types of colors some of which he had not witnessed in the art of his time. The man wore similar armor to that of the sarcastic man who spoke illy of the female warrior.

"The ronin speaks wisdom beyond your years, Flamma. All you speak is combat like a dog fed by the hands of Roman hands," says the lean man, as he takes his last step from the mausoleum.

The top-knot warrior stands and joins the warrior at the end of the steps, his hand on the handle of a hilt that is odd to Sir Galahad.

"Welcome stranger. My name is Spartacus and this is Miyamota. The fool who spoke out of turn is Flamma, a gladiator from a different time. The woman you showed kindness to is known as Okoh, a Dahomey Amazon--"

"Dat is Leada of da Dahomey Amazon," interrupts Okoh.

Sir Galahad bows to everyone in respect but clings his vision to the sky.

"Apologies. Leader Okoh," says Spartacus, as he shakes Galahad's hand.

"The others at the top of the mausoleum are Vlad, a man called Crazy Horse, Galvarino, and Aristodemus. We have been awaiting the last competitor," says Spartacus, as he looks up to the ships above them moving for unknown reasons.

"Competitor? I don't understand. Wait, did you say your name was Spartacus?" asks Sir Galahad.

"Aye. That was the name I earned from those who chose me during the Roman campaign that brought all of Rome to its knees. As I understand it now, Rome fell long after my death, but I lit the way for others to rebel," says Spartacus, as he gently pulled back his leather cuirass to reveal a scar.

A loud gong-like noise rang deep through the courtyard made of marble. Sir Galahad looked around realizing that he had not yet seen his horse anywhere. Before he could begin searching the courtyard his surroundings changed in the blink of an eye.

All of the warriors stood in the clearing of a large marbled hall. Forward was a sectional table set in the traditional style of the last supper. The tables and chairs were lavished in silk and gold except for the obviously centered seat that stood taller among the rest.

Sir Galahad marched forth his hand on his hilt, "Excuse me? Creature of noble fortification. I would ask why you have brought me here to this place? Is this where I am to die? To be ascended for my efforts in retrieving the Grail of Christ?"

The odd humanoid-like figure sat arched in his chair, his several eyes fixed on the knight. His eight fingers on each hand touched tip-to-tip for several seconds before he rose to his three reversed limbs. Two arms peered from his back to fix the position of his popped-collared cape.

"Depends on your decision Galahad of Primemarius-Earth-001," replies the unknown alien.

"Decision? For what purpose. I've chosen to end my life, yet you have stolen that choice. I do play games, sir... what is it that your people call you in this strange place?" asks Sir Galahad.

"I know your brothers in arms call you the perfect knight. The epitome of chivalry that will be written about you long after your death. My companions refer to me as Aegis. I monitor timelines and determine which events were justified by our studies giving one combatant of note to win the future of their respective worlds while the others collapse into the winners' timeline. The fallen become shadows of forgotten history while the winner influences their timeline into a new future deserving of change and life.

The warriors look amongst one another. Spartacus, in particular, shows much empathy to Okoh and Miyamota. Sir Galahad grips his sword as he looks away from Spartacus.

"Your words carry much heartache to those of us who have suffered lifetimes of suffering and oppression. Where I hail from is finally at peace. You wish me to fight for what was already hard-earned?" says Sir Galahad, fiercely.

Spartacus steps forward and places a hand on Galahad's shoulder, "Calm yourself my friend. This creature will not be moved by shows of force. Let us play his game and see what fruits bear from his actions, yes?" says Spartacus. "We will do as you ask Aegis. What task will see the victor through?"

"In a timeline from the ages before you, times combined were brought to life giants roamed the world. The offspring of fallen angel's in a time when the fault lines of Earth were primed with spiritual essence. These mythological leaders of the valley's and hills soon became sparse in numbers due to the rise of humans. Your rage and sheer human will consume the landscape and brought forth the end of magical beings," says Aegis, as he waves his hand to the dome of the grand hall has lights created imagery of the tellings his voice commanded.

"Goliath? The sacred tale of David and Goliath?" says Sir Galahad.

"Wat dos de metal man say?" asks Okoh.

"Very clever, Sir Galahad. I often forget that knights of your time are very disciplined in the lore your people would soon hide from the world in the future," says Aegis.

"So we dice this Goliath and one of us gets a fast track to fame and glory, yeah? Well, I've already won my freedom four lifetimes over so I accept," says Flamma, as he slams his fist together.

"You unscholarly fool. Goliath is a giant. The giant. From the stories during a time before the life of a savior came to be," explains Sir Galahad, as he turns to the group.

"You said 'dis was a competition. I'm the butcher of men, not the sheep to be fed to giants," says Vlad, as he points the tip of his oversized trident.

Aegis smirks and grabs a device from the table in front of him. Aegis signs his many fingers over the smooth surface of the device in geometric swipes. The marble floor opens up below Vlad's fur boots and latches him to the floor. Aegis sits back in his chair. A disc-shaped tile hovers from the floor propelling Aegis from his fixated spot into the air.

"I'm Aegis of the Annunakian Federation of Space & Time. It is empirical that all of you participate or forfeit your timelines in the interest of perfecting the human race for ascension into the stars. We must make sure the genetic isotopes that are active in your DNA are the strongest and most proficient among our other worlds abroad. Those who refuse shall be erased. This is the way," says Aegis. He pushes a button on the arm of his chair.

The ceiling releases a burst of focused light that engulfs Vlad's figure. The rays scan him from head-to-toe. The color leaves his skin as he withers into black smoke that evaporates into nothing.

"Monster!" screams Crazy Horse, as he charges Aegis, his Lakota cry echoes the halls.

"NO," cries Spartacus, as Galvarino follows suit, his handless arms pushing forward with spiked blades lashed to them.

Okoh takes a defensive stance pulling a spear to a point in front of her. Miyamota draws his katana and pulls back into his fabled ronin stance.

"Damn, fool," says Flamma, as he draws his favored Syrian swords. He clashes them together. The blades burst into flames.

"Do you hear that?" asks Galahad.

The group could not make out if Aegis was smiling in his floating chair, but the ground of the hall began to shake. The floor beneath began to move as marble plates moved and disjointed in complex patterns to reveal a large dark opening.

"Flamma, move your ars," says Spartacus, as he and the others run toward the entrance.

The seals in the great door to the hall vanished as if they were never there. Flamma turned around and laughed at the others.

"I heard a lot of stories about the great Spartacus, but I never believed the Romans when they said you were a coward," says Flamma.

A great figure with one giant eye and smooth lean skin crept slowly from the opening in the floor. He shouldered a great spiked club. He bore a basic tunic stitched from many different threads. His mouth carried the overgrown points of two large canine teeth that could not fit in his jaws. He peered at the group then looked down at Flamma and smiled. "Your end will be my beginning little men," spoke Goliath.

Flamma and Aristodemus look up.

"Well, this isn't Sparta," says Aristodemus, as the spiked club came barreling down.

Sir Galahad and the others looked on as the Crazy Horse and Galavrino disintegrated into nothing while Flamma and Aristodemus met their fates like minced meat.

"You see knights. Everyone here has something to gain from the other. While you conceded to an ending you have been told was prophecy the present before you is only proof of one thing," says Aegis.

Sir Galahad thought back to the moment when he discovered the grail with Sir Bors and Sir Percival. The loss he felt when Percival's sister sacrificed herself for their holy sakes. The pain he felt, but the guilt weighed on him because he felt the loss of a necessary step to fulfill his destiny.

But destiny is infinite, not singular. Echoes in Sir Galahad's mind.

"Galahad? Galahad?" asks Spartacus, as Goliath approaches.

"You will not take away my destiny this day puny human rats," cries Goliath.

Sir Galahad smiles at Spartacus. He unsheathed his sword.

“You’re right, Aegis. My destiny is infinite,” says Sir Galahad. 

Sir Galahad charges forward toward the long strides of Goliath. He pulls the shield from its latchings on his back and blinds Goliath by reflecting the particles of the rays from the ceiling. Goliath swings his club backward toward Galahad, but he jumps out of the way rolling between the Giants' legs. Galahad brings his sword forward and whispers a mantra onto its hilt. The engraving comes alive on the blade glowing ever brightly. Galahad slashes the giant's achilles tendons and Goliath cries out in pain. 

“Okoh. Spartacus, now,” cries Sir Galahad, as he bends down his shield perched over his shoulder. 

Okoh and Spartacus charge in a furious stride of warrior cries. They jump onto Galahad’s shield. Sir Galahad launches them into the air. Okoh and Spartacus land on the center of Goliath’s back. They continue charging toward the head and pierce the giant's skull with their combined spears. Okoh and Spartacus slide down the giant’s arms landing firmly on the floor. Goliath sways back and forth before finally falling.

“No!” cries Aegis, as Goliath crashed into his floating seat crushing the device, and sending him to the ground. 

Aegis now pinned to the marbled floor looks up at the four warriors standing above him.

“ ‘Ow come silent swordman not strike,” asks Okoh. 

“A great warrior is one who wields the mind in favor of the sword,” replies Okoh. 

“I no unda’stan,” says Okoh.

“I must agree with our battled sister. The mandressed-wielder sounds wise, but heeds no reason to my understanding,” replies Spartacus.

“Aegis. I think we should discuss your charge of these so-called timelines,” says Sir Galahad, as Spartacus lets out a controlled laugh from Okoh’s comments on Miyomota’s comments.