Chương 4: Honor

The Three Swords of Álfheimr. That was the title given to the three men who had once stood against the Black Dragon, a primordial monster born for one purpose alone: to rival the gods. They had not killed it. No one could claim that glory. But they had wounded it, driven it away, and forced it to flee into parts of the world no one could name. Where the Black Dragon had gone, no one knew. But Álfheimr had survived. The forest they called home had been protected. Now, another threat stood before Walter.

One just as horrifying. The Doctor stood in the middle of the ruined street, calm and amused, as if the destruction around him was nothing more than scenery. Walter did not waste a word. He threw his sword high into the air. The Doctor's plague mask tilted upward, following the blade. That was all Walter needed. In a flash of flame, Walter closed the distance between them. His fist crashed into The Doctor's face. Red scales covered Walter's arm like armor, and fire burst from the impact.

The blow sent The Doctor skidding back, his mask cracking beneath Walter's fist. Walter caught his falling sword without looking away from him.

"I'll avenge my son later," Walter said.

"The bigger threat dies first." He hurled the sword forward. The blade pierced The Doctor's arm and pinned it back. For a moment, The Doctor stared at the weapon lodged through him. Then he began to laugh. Half of his face had been burned away. Part of the plague mask had melted with it, revealing ruined flesh beneath. But the damage did not last. Bone reformed. Skin crawled back over muscle. The broken mask stitched itself together along with his face, as if both flesh and fabric obeyed the same command.

"Ooh," The Doctor said, his laughter softening into amusement.

"You're scary." Walter's flames gathered around his shoulders. The Doctor gripped his own impaled arm. With a wet tear, he ripped the arm free from his body. The severed arm twisted in his hand. Flesh stretched. Bone sharpened. Muscle hardened into a long, grotesque blade. At the same time, a new arm grew from The Doctor's shoulder, forming as quickly as the old one had been removed. Walter's eyes narrowed.

"A member of the Seventh Heroes party, Olivia Sanguine, possessed that ability." The flames around him burned hotter.

"Divine Hand." The Doctor's amusement faded slightly.

"It allowed her to alter the physical properties of any organic material she touched," Walter continued. The Doctor held the flesh-made sword at his side.

"Quite the memory you have there." His voice remained light, but something colder rested beneath it. He tilted his plague mask toward Walter.

"But please…" The blade in his hand twitched.

"Do not speak about her." Walter did not answer. Instead, he raised one hand.

"Come to me," he said calmly.

"Power of the kings." A bright light began to gather in his palm.

"I require you." The Doctor watched in silence.

"My Regalia," Walter continued.

"I speak your divine name." The light sharpened.

"Lion King of Heroes." Regalia. The power of the stars. The constellations were not merely lights in the sky. They were heroes, demons, gods, and champions from other worlds. Their legends had been engraved into the heavens, and when the stars chose someone in this world, they granted them an artifact. That artifact was called a Regalia. The crystallization of a story. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. In Walter's hand, a sword began to form.

It was beautiful. The blade radiated a brilliant light, bright enough to push back the smoke and shadows around him. Its golden hilt was carved into the face of a lion, its mane flowing around the guard like a crown. Walter raised the sword. A pillar of light erupted from the blade. Then came the roar of a lion. The sound shook the street. Walter brought the sword down. His flames mixed with the light, becoming a burning wave that tore through the city path. Stone cracked beneath it. The road split apart.

The heat was enough to make the air scream. And yet, somehow, not a single flame touched the trees. The forest remained unharmed. The Doctor was sent flying. Both of his arms were severed, and his body burned as he crashed through the ruined street. Walter lowered the sword, breathing hard. The Doctor lay still for a moment. Then he laughed.

"Even with my regeneration," he said, "you are far too strong." His ruined body began to heal.

"Truly, a mighty opponent." Walter did not give him the chance. He raised the Lion King of Heroes again, light gathering along the edge of the blade for another strike. The Doctor's laughter grew softer.

"Please understand," he said, "fighting clean is the foolish way of a martial artist." Walter's eyes narrowed.

"That is something I do not subscribe to." A gunshot rang out. An azure bullet tore through Walter's arm. A second shot followed. This one pierced his leg. Walter's stance broke. The light around his sword flickered as he staggered, one knee nearly hitting the ground. The Doctor stood slowly, his body and clothing knitting themselves back together.

"Power trumps all," he said.

"But power wielded by fools like you can easily be beaten by trickery." He turned his plague mask toward the side of the street.

"Good work, Jackpot." A man stood there in a white winter coat. An azure mask covered his face, and in his hands were two pistols that looked as though they had been carved from crystal. Pale blue smoke curled from their barrels. Inari looked away. He did not want to watch. Not a swordsman like Walter. Not a man that strong. Not like this. The Doctor walked toward Walter, flexing his newly healed fingers.

"I am lacking quite a bit," he admitted.

"I know that." Walter tried to rise, but his wounded leg buckled beneath him.

"Especially against such a strong opponent." The Doctor crouched in front of him and grabbed Walter by the chin, forcing him to look up.

"But that is why I never fight alone." The Doctor kept his grip on Walter's chin.

"This world cannot be fixed with just means alone," he said. Walter glared at him through the pain.

"No." Flames began to burn in the back of his throat.

"You're just not strong enough to fight with just means." The Doctor's mask tilted slightly. Then Walter opened his mouth. A blast of fire erupted from him at point-blank range. The flames swallowed The Doctor completely and launched him backward through the street. His body tore across the ground, burning as he rolled to a stop. For a moment, there was nothing left of him but a charred shape. Walter forced himself upright, blood running from the wounds in his arm and leg.

His breathing was ragged, but the Lion King of Heroes still shone faintly in his hand.

"I'll die before I kill the fox-masked man," Walter said. The light around his sword began to gather one final time.

"But at least I'll kill you." Then his arms fell. Both of them hit the ground before Walter even understood what had happened. The light vanished from the sword. Walter's eyes widened. Standing nearby was Owl, his hand lowered at his side. Labyrinth stood close beside him, trembling beneath her raincoat. The Doctor slowly sat up, his burned flesh already beginning to repair itself. Owl looked at him calmly.

"You still have much work to do before you become this world's next apocalypse." The Doctor laughed weakly as his body healed.

"You cannot expect me to bail you out every time," Owl added. The Doctor rose to his feet, smoke still drifting from his coat.

"Fine, fine." His ruined mask stitched itself back together as he walked toward Walter.

"Let us get going. The manor is waiting." He stopped in front of the kneeling knight.

"We must slay the vessel of calamity now, before he becomes a thorn in our side later." Walter tried to move. He had no arms left. No sword. No strength. Only rage. The Doctor reached down and grabbed him by the mouth, lifting him into the air as if he weighed nothing. Walter struggled, but his body had reached its limit.

"I wish I could torture you," The Doctor said.

"I truly do." His fingers tightened.

"But I am on a time limit." Walter's head burst apart. The proud knight's body went limp. For a moment, the street was silent. Then The Doctor dropped him. Walter Fafnir fell to the ground, dead among the ashes of the city he had tried to protect. The Doctor turned toward the manor.

"As long as Isaac dies now," he said, "this era will be without a hero." His laughter echoed through the burning street.

"None shall stop us." With that, The Doctor and his allies continued toward the Fafnir manor.