Gate of Dimensions

[Act 2] Chapter 11: Destroyer of Worlds

The army was still marching hours after the gate of Blanche had closed behind them.

Dawn had given way to pale morning light as the road to Camelot stretched like a silver-grey ribbon through low hills and rain-dark fields. Villagers hid at the sight of the approaching banners, while far behind them lay Blanche, Mordred's fortress, and the German army held on the western side of the mountains by Guinevere's ancient right.

Camelot remained distant, yet it was finally within reach. The weary army marched on, terrified of losing the hope that had sustained it for years. Horses foamed at the bit, wagons creaked beneath their supplies, and German-built tanks rumbled beside ranks of modern infantry in green-and-red uniforms. Among them marched remnants of the old army carrying swords, spears and bows, while Guinevere's white-and-red standards snapped in the wind.

Guinevere rode near the head of the column, the thought of the home she was cast out of finally returning to her. Her wounded hand remained wrapped in linen stained with dried blood, a mark of what she had done at Blanche. German weapons had failed to open the ancient Gate, but the blood and words of Arthur's line had caused it to yield beneath her hand, as if the stones had waited centuries for her return.

In that moment, she had felt more than magic. She had felt history responding to her.

She needed no permission from Werner and no support from Rommel's guns. If she could reach Camelot and stand before the Round Table, Elaine could open its ancient communication portal for her - if the Court Wizard was one of Mordred's loyalists. Then Guinevere would call the Crusade and force the Continent to choose between Arthur's heir and the Germans, who were preparing to surrender their world to a demoness in human skin.

Vera had said very little since they left Blanche. She had finished the last bottle of Fanta she had carried from Guinevere and placed the empty glass inside her saddlebag, a trivial remnant of a friendship she no longer knew how to understand. Internally, however, she was still heartbroken.

Bela rode just behind Guinevere and Vera upon her chestnut horse. She frequently scanned the column and the road ahead, as if expecting Camelot to emerge from the morning mist. Each time she looked back at the soldiers, her expression showed pride, though it never quite overcame the uncertainty in her eyes.

Elaine sat in the front command wagon beneath an oversized cloak, one hand resting near the German radio secured between reinforced crates while the other flipped through her notes in the book resting on her lap. The tanks and officers retained their shorter-range sets for communication within the column. Still, the larger machine beside Elaine was their only remaining connection to the Germans west of Blanche.

The radio had come alive only minutes earlier.

At first, Werner's transmissions had been brief and official, ordering the column to halt and await further instructions. The distance and the mountains between them had damaged each message. With every attempt, however, his voice had become less commanding and more urgent.

The radio crackled again.

Elaine looked down before anyone else moved.

"-Guinevere, answer, please. Stop the column at once. Do not proceed towards Camelot. I say again, Camelot has been selected for-"

A shriek of interference swallowed the remainder.

Nearby soldiers glanced towards their Empress, visibly uneasy but remaining silent. They recognised Werner's voice. This no longer sounded like an angry commander issuing a threat. He sounded like a man pleading with someone standing unknowingly at the edge of a cliff.

Vera turned in her saddle.

"That is the third time he has called."

Guinevere did not look back. "I know."