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Chapter Text

2019, Proper Human History

The Shadow Boarder raced across the frozen wastes of Antarctica away from the ruined base that had sheltered them throughout various adventures across human history. Within the large vehicle was a small number of brave heroes of the Chaldea Security Organisation, those few that were left, at least.  

Over the white, empty vastness of the icy wastes the Boarder surged towards the ocean, tet in that moment, none of those within focused upon their narrow escape or the difficulties to come, rather they gazed beyond the windows of the vehicle at the impossibility that they saw.

Seven stars falling to earth, falling straight downwards in defiance of the normal trajectories of falling celestial objects. Each descended in a slow, languid manner belying the actual speed that they thundered towards the ground.

Little did Chaldea know yet, but when each of those stars made inevitably contact the ground, they would begin to overwrite the very surface of the world itself with a new history.

Ahead of the group were abundant adventures, the friends made and lost along the way and the beginning of a new Grand Order.

"Senpai, look!"

It was abrupt, indeed, had one not seen it then it would have gone unnoticed by almost all. 

Of the seven stars, only six hit the earth. 

2019, Unknown space

Kirschtaria Wodime was a man who had hardly expected for everything to necessarily proceed smoothly at the onset of this operation. 

In this world, things rarely did, and on the face of it, that was one of the reasons for the Alien God to create multiple Trees of Emptiness. Even had one or two of them in some way been destroyed upon its descent, there would still be others that would survive.

But Kirschtaria’s own past had demonstrated abundantly that one could never expect things to go perfectly.

The seemingly smooth progression of his life as heir to a one-thousand-year-old Magus lineage, which should have seen him succeed to the title of family head in his mid-teens, had almost been cut short by the actions of his father. Were it not for humans acting in amazing ways when faced with such unexpected developments, then they would never have reached this point in their existence.

That small boy had done the incredible for him, without Pino, he would have died and all those careful plans of both his grandfather and himself would have been all for nothing, failing at a solitary hurdle early in life.

So some small degree of things going off the rails had been expected. 

Chaldea, the primary threat to the entire goal of the Crypter’s plan had been able to escape through a near miraculous series of events that should never have been able to occur… But he struggled to begrudge such. 

The enormity of the challenge that the group was facing meant that he could focus on the real question at hand, namely---

"What do you mean, one of the Seed’s disappeared?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I mean exactly what I'm saying; only six have taken root, one of them just went up and, poof! Disappeared completely," Scandinavia Peperoncino replied, and for all of the feminine man’s normal levity there was just a hint of confusion. 

How could a Seed disappear?

There had been no flash of light or obvious sign of its destruction, even if such a thing should be next to impossible, given the bleaching of the Earth surface…

Wodime thumbed the top of his cane, which had been sat beside his throne. 

The other Crypter’s, all present in person or in projected image were silent. 

"It matters not. This changes little, even with six Lostbelt’s, the plan continues unabated. The Tree's of Emptiness have already taken root and the world rewritten. The Felling Theoretical Phenomenon is complete, and the beginning of a new history for the planet commences," he declared.

There was nods around that grand table, the six members of the Crypters present occupied their seats... and yet---  

"... But with the disappearance of a Lostbelt, one of our own has gone with it. Perhaps it was to be expected, there was one for each of us, after all, it only fits that they would disappear alongside their Seed..."

Another long silence.

Wodime shook off the faint melancholy that had settled upon his shoulders. In this moment, as the head of the Crypter's, he had an image to present.

… He remembered their own simulated journey through the Incineration of Humanity, he had been right by their side---

"I am sure that the Alien God has it within its powers to return both our fellow and the Lostbelt in question to its rightful place. Perhaps the fox woman would be willing to look into the matter, given her... interesting habit of popping in and out as she wishes. Let us put aside the matter aside for the moment and focus on the growth of our respective Tree's of Emptiness, and I shall conduct investigations into our missing fellow in the meantime."

If nothing else... the majority of the plan had gone smoothly. 

He just hoped that his fellow Crypter was safe.

2011, ‘Earth Bet’

In the sky above the earth, a star appeared from nothingness and fell. 

Displaced in time and space, removed from the bleached timeline onto which it was intended to fall, it still descended upon the world as if nothing had happened. 

The phenomenon was observed by many, although without sufficient time for anyone to take action or to stop it.

A golden figure paused in his efforts helping the victims of an earthquake, and the Shard network as a whole took notice of the falling object. It was alien in some way, it was something that didn't belong to this planet, which the Entity as a whole had gone to such efforts to lock off from outside influences.

The planets self-defence systems had been compromised and locked down so that they could not interfere with the cycle, so what was this falling star?

It was something that the Network did not recognise at all, in the seconds before the star collided with the ground there was nothing that could be done to stop it.

Within a moment of touching the earth it expanded, a great storm wall expanded from the impact point like an explosion, claiming the very earth over which it moved. In those first few hours the storm expanded hundreds of miles, far faster than anybody in its way could escape, and it would continue to expand after that, even if the larger it grew the more the rate of its expansion slowed.

Within that space a new history began to overlap what had been there before, washing away what had been there before with something new. 

The various humans captured within that expanding storm wall could only watch, helpless, as the very world around them changed into something new. The environment, the climate and culture eroded away and replaced with something they had never seen before, and likely could never even imagine in the first place.

In just a minute, tens of millions of people had been trapped within the new history that was imposed upon the surface of the planet.

Even as the first panicked reports began to issue in to various governments, the nascent Lostbelt was born.

Chapter Text

"Tasked by the planet with correcting the course of history ruined by sinners.
My love for this land was too strong to see it fade away. How can I abandon this place I love?
So I burned down the anchor of this world and built a new one in its place.
Let rain and ashes fall, let the bodies of sinners accumulate and build this land further. Let the borders expand until Britain covers the world.
And if the world puts forth a new purpose, if it will let me have this land I love in return for battling a greater threat...
Then so be it."

Londinium, Era of the High Queen

Mathas Bartholemew was a man used to change.

It was impossible not to be flexible in this world.

From prince to pauper, from a comfortable childhood to laying under rubble with little chance of survival... the development of superhuman powers that could bring any person from the lowest depths to the greatest heights! Such was the story of his life.

Survive or die.

Adapt or perish.

All of this is to say, that when the alarms went off and he went to the window of his London apartment and saw the vast, roiling cloud surging towards him from the north... there was only one thing to do, and it was roll with the punches to come, and reach for his mask.

…

…

…

“What fresh hell is this?”

He was surrounded by ruins. The stone and architectural style was… difficult to know, really. Architecture had been his mother’s passion, even if she had perished young some of her drawings and plans had been his only connection to her as a youth.

But the atmosphere, it was heavy, it was suffused with something---

No.

Suffused was not the right word for it. The air was so dense that it was as if previously he had been standing in open air, and then been instantly transported to the bottom of the ocean. It was all encompassing, it was cloying, it was impossible to handle.

It was like going from breathing air to trying to inhale soup.

He staggered in place, he put a hand against the weathered, rough stone of a nearby wall to steady himself

“Mommy what happened!?”

“The actual fuck---”

“The hell is this!”

There were other people here, his vision levelled out as he took deep breaths. He looked around. Dozens of people, hundreds just within his vision, filling the space of these ancient ruins, normal people mostly, and all panicking as they adjusted to this new situation. Confused men and women and children everywhere, the roads were packed, and even on top of ruins and buildings, suddenly transported and stranded up in the air.

Instantaneous transportation, but of so many people?

No.

A Shaker effect seemed more likely, a truly vast one. Something like this was on a scale almost impossible, he wasn't even one of the eggheads who worked in the Suit's research division, but even he could tell, from his eight or so years in this life, that this was massive. 

This was something more along the lines of that Russian cape, the Sleeper, transforming and warping a truly vast area into something new within just moments.

In a strange environment the average human rapidly became a beast, already the cries of surprise were turning into panic, and with panic came stampedes and illogical behaviour. 

The ground was not the place to be at the moment, certainly not before he could contact some of the others---

He checked his phone. 

"Fuck."

No signal at all. 

Indeed, within a few moments of turning on it began to flicker, the light stuttering despite how it was mostly charged up. Then, it died without fanfare, perhaps this new and heavy atmosphere had messed with it? Or the process of being transported.

He did not need to wait long however, hidden away as he was, before the sounds of panic around him were interrupted by a voice in his ear. 

"Jabberwock."

He recognised that voice in his ear.

Invasive though it was to be contacted out of the blue, he would much rather hear a friendly voice who might know what the hell was going on. The voice was purely in his own ear, the man could only contact those he had shaken hands with before but they had worked together for long enough for that not to be a concern. 

"Lord Walston, you got any idea what the hell's going on?"

"Wish I knew, my boy," came the slightly dry response from the older gentleman. "Question; what's the situation where you are? I presume you are also suddenly in a vast set of ruins?"

"Yup," he popped the p on the end, despite knowing it would annoy, one of the top members of the King's Men. "Ruins as far as the eye can see, gimme a sec---"

He began scaling the nearest set of stone blocks, ascending without concern for his health or safety. If he fell... well, secret identities probably meant a lot less in a situation like this, and if it came down to it, a few folks in the Suit's owed him a favour to kill a story. It took him barely ten seconds to clamber to the top of the ruined tower, his fingers easily pushing into the soft and weathered stone. 

From atop the crumbling facade, he took in the wider world around him.

The ruins of a city, once upon a time it had been large, the grand walls that enclosed it were near complete but damaged in places, not a single building within the walls was whole. The toll of years,  battle and siege were apparent, scars that had never healed or been repaired, but there were columns of smoke that rose above some of them, there were signs of life that couldn’t have been created from nothing at all.

But beyond the city walls was a sea of ants---

People. Surrounding this ruined city were people, hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, all of them confused, looking around, panicking. Dressed in the modern style, all of them looking utterly out of place in the green grassland that surrounded the ruins. Further beyond them, trees, and other places as well. With the vantage of this height Jabberwock could see for miles, and pick out the things in the landscape that were wrong.

... It wasn't just London.

Whatever Shaker effect this was, it spread all the way to the horizon.

"Well chief, looks like we're in quite the pickle. Entire ruined city from what I can see, no subburbs or end of the effect," he declared.

"You've got a vantage point?"

"Yeah... looks like it's affected everyone in London... got some columns of smoke so might have been people here already? I'm seeing a big grassland around the city, no farms or buildings for miles... stuff in the distance though... actually, I think I can see a town?"

He closed his right eye, and the left bulged to thrice its normal size, poking out of his skull. 

With it came acuity he had not had before. He peered far, vision as acute as a falcons picking out distant settlements, roads, signs... figures in the trees---

"... Chief, don't wanna alarm you, but there's folk in the distance looking this way, and they ain't human... got wolf and dog heads, weapons as well..."

"I'll put in a call with the Suit's, this is big."

Understatement of the century there, chief.

Earth Bet, New York

"And I'm telling you, golds going to go up, Bigland Reserves IS reporting a new seam they've found not far from Melbourne and the initial prospects look excellent."

"I'll believe it when I see it, their last two 'big seams' barely saw any volume at all, I think they're over estimating and luring in suckers to buy based on that to raise capital," another man returned, nursing his second beEe of the lunch even as he sat back in his suit. 

The noon meal was a time of day for the various Wall Street Investors to find refreshment after a few hours of work and, just as importantly, catch up with their fellows. 

"You're such a pessimist, James!"

"I've got a hunch, and I always follow my hunches with this stuff, Bigland's going nowhere," he said, with such confidence that his fellow paused for a moment. The downside of youth in this business; his fellow thought that he could take these risks and did not see the patterns, and didn't fully appreciate the risk, too quick to jump at the latest exciting potential investment rather than doing his research into the matter before diving in.

The sudden blare of his phone filled the air, cutting any response that might have been to come.

"'Scuse me," he said, checking the number, and he raised his eyebrows. "Going to take this, give me a second," he stood, taking his beer with him to a corner of the bar and pressing the green accept button.

"Andre?" he greeted his old acquaintance at once. It had been a few years since they last saw each other in the flesh, before the financial crash actually when they had a rather fiery disagreement.

"James, there's something happening in the UK, something big! I can't contact my man in London but folk in France are saying something's happened to the UK!"

"What do you mean something has happened to the UK?" he asked, trying to keep a waspishness from his tone.

Over the sound of the surrounding crowds filling that busy London pub that lunch time, the James listened intently, one ear plugged with a finger and the other crushed up against the speaker of the phone to listen to every word his friend over in Europe was saying. 

Frankly, he tried to not take the man’s advice too often; he'd made a few bad trades years ago and the man was still recovering from it, whilst James had managed to weather most of the 2007 crisis, it had still left some scars yet to heal. Had he taken the other man’s recommendations then he would have lost almost everything. So he listened without any expectation to agree to anything as the other man spoke.

"Some sort of giant storm's surrounded England and then turned into... merde , I don't know how to say it, light! A big light wall, apparently you can see it from across the Channel and further! No calls are getting through."

... If this was some manner of prank by the man.

"What do you mean, big wall of light?"

Parahuman?

It had to be parahuman, this shit was always parahumans, ruining perfectly good business. They were just behind Endbringers in terms of the amount of financial ruin they could cause in a short time; he'd lost a good few folks to suicide when their investments had been utterly upturned and ruined by Endbringer or Parahuman involvement.

Probably why the economy had been in a bear market for so long, hard for investors to be confident when any random idiot could suddenly blow up a major business or investment.

Andre hung up when he needed to place another call, and James was left with a half-finished beer in hand, which he took a distracted sip from. It would be easy to put aside the man's call as a prank or mistake but... 

He quickly dialled a new number. 

A business partner in Scotland, Hogson and Sons Securities. 

The call didn't go through, not even to an answering machine.

Another call to a major land leasing company in London.

Another failure. 

... What if Andre was right?

Something wasn't settling right with him right now, every moment that passed was one accompanied with a sense of impending doom, or perhaps it was just the fact that he had heard about this supposed storm and wall of light but nobody else around him had. His fellow traders were all eating and drinking with barely a care in the world, whilst he had information over them that he could put to use... 

Time sensitive information, if it was true.

So he did what came naturally. 

"I'm calling it here, need to get back to the floor," he explained to his companion, who nodded and made to finish his own beer. In that time, James was already making calls. 

He began short selling his various UK assets before the news could spread further, rapidly liquidating everything he could relating to the UK.

His gut was telling him to do it, and his gut was never wrong about things like this. 

Get ahead of the competition and sell now before everything potentially became worthless, claw back as much investment as possible. 

However, as the hours passed, it became increasingly clear that the situation was not fading. 

The United Kingdom, the world's seventh largest economy had just disappeared, and with it also the seventh largest stock exchange and a major centre of global banking. 

The sixty or so undersea cables that had connected the United States to the United Kingdom were all cut, the remaining length just disappearing upon meeting the wall of light (although confirmation of such would not be achieved for several days) and with it, not just communications between the two nations, but others further beyond. 

The end result?

Pandemonium reigned over the various exchanges, rate and values began to slip and freefall, hurried and rushed emails and calls of various financial partners in the UK failed to reach. By the end of the day James had succeeded in liquidating most of his assets even as many of his fellows despaired and lost major portions of their portfolios.

It was just the beginning of financial chaos that was to be the fallout of events in the United Kingdom, one of many dominoes that would fall in days to come.

Chapter Text

Camelot, Era of the High Queen 

Within a grand hall whose ceiling reached for the heavens, the assembled throng moved as one, and as some elders among them had done hundreds of times before. The setting sun was visible beyond the open segment of wall behind the vast arrangement of metal, crystal and other, more esoteric substances that composed the grand throne that acted as the solitary piece of furniture within the room. 

Both geographically, politically, and magically, that throne lay at the very heart of the city, and by extension, the entire kingdom. 

“Prostrate yourselves. Offer yourselves up. Worship. Submit.”

The collected voices, both male and female, of the fifty-equine headed armoured figures within the hall resounded and echoed loud and clear. They formed two great lines, forming a corridor to the throne.

“The six clan heads, thirty ambassadors, and one hundred government officials gathered here shall bow their heads.”

As one, the guards turned ninety degrees in a clank of metal plates, facing inwards. 

“The ruler who expands the borders. The ruler who built the Fairy Kingdom. You are in the presence of Her Majesty Queen Morgan. You hear the mantra of Her Majesty Queen Morgan.”

As one, the guards lifted their halberds and brought the metal butt of the weapons against the ground, creating a sound like thunder that quelled any other noise.

A long moment's silence fell as the wise bowed their heads, and those that did not chanced furtive glances towards the end of the room. 

Sat upon the throne, superimposed against the round, mirror-like backing that, from afar, might make one imagine it was a pearl within a vast and open clam, a woman sat facing the assembled dignitaries and nobles.

“The same faces as always, is it? How tedious. How very tedious.”

The voice carried in spite of the distance from the Queen to her courtiers, although for the emotion it conveyed it could as well have been a gust or cold winter breeze. 

"I will not pardon any of you. I will not save any of you. Do not forget. Britain is my property, down to the smallest pebble. Know that without my protection, there is no future for the Fairy Kingdom."

It was all a well rehearsed and played out piece of pomp and ceremony.

One that all attending knew well enough.

“We understand, Your Majesty.” 

“We are but your loyal servants.” 

“We offer all our time to you.” 

“We swear our undying loyalty to you.”

The boundlessly varied, yet endlessly repetitive announcements and statements of those who had come to pay court and respect to their monarch, whether out of loyalty, duty, ambition, or hatred. It did not matter exactly the reason why that assembled throng of fairys were in the room, only that they were there.

An errant flick of the wrist, almost dismissive. 

“Hmph. Very well. All you clowns, back against the wall. I shall allow the clan heads to speak. Each of you may share your opinions.”

For any young hopeful who might have hoped to speak, to make some dashing and bold entrance into the political heart of Camelot, any chance of doing so was roundly squashed by the bland command of the Queen. In this place, only those called upon to speak could do so without punishment; indeed, one could go centuries riding the coattails of one’s betters and die a bitter, vindictive Mors without having the chance to say so much as a single word.

“Ooh, thank you for your generosity, Your Majesty. Then, I shall take the first honour.”

A man stepped forward, long eared and well-dressed.

Dutifully, Clerk Yttri announced for all (not that it was required) the fairy's identity;

“Head of the Earth Clan. Lord of Norwich, Lord Spriggan, you may speak.”

“Your highness, abundant humans have appeared across Britain, all of them in strange dress and in deep panic… in Norwich alone estimate i have heard the number exceeds tens of thousands, and we hear that similar or even greater numbers have appeared across Britain!”

“I am aware of this. They are vagrants of another history. Currently, some sixty million humans now roam my Kingdom, undocumented and unconstrained.”

The number caused no small amount of consternation, in the crowd that occupied the back wall of the throne room various courtiers leaned over to one another, a chorus of whispers passed between them.

Spriggan bowed his head to the Queen's comment, and, after indication to speak again from Yttri, went on.

“As it is, in Norwich I have been forced to deploy soldiers to bring them outside the city walls into a temporary camp, at great expense... but the economic benefits of so many humans is of potentially great boon to Your Majesty's kingdom---”

It was not the Queen who responded to him, instead it was the deep and resonating growl of another.

“You're talking about money at a time like this? You seem unconcerned with the threat these humans represent."

Once more, dutifully, Yttri spoke up.

"Head of the Fang Clan. Lord of Oxford, Lord Woodwose, you may speak."

The ten-foot-tall fairy in a deep purple suit took a single step forward, easily looming over his fellow Lord. 

"I give the same advice as always. Your majesty, please think of building up your army. The Mors increase in number year by year, the Round Table army the same and now with so many more humans infesting the country, the problem has only escalated! What if the Round Table recruits even a fraction of this number?" 

More whispering into the ears of those behind them as the Lord of Oxford went on;

"I humbly request that you increase the number of human shipments, and allocate them to the barracks."

Alas, the somewhat venomous reply that had been about to come from the mouth of Spriggan died before it could be uttered, replaced instead by the slamming of doors leading into the throne room from its left wing. The sound startled no small number of the officials and courtiers present, for the doors were rarely used, leading as they did to the residences of the Queen herself. However--- 

"Mother!" came the a voice from the doorway, and for the volume and anger within it, its owner was not in a good mood whatsoever. 

"The Fairy Knight of New Darlington, Princess T---g-aagh!"

Clerk Yttri stumbled and fell, removed from his feet at the ankles as the newcomer rounded on him, teeth visibly gritted.  

"Are you for real!? You dare presume to say my name so casually!"

Nobody chose to raise an objection at that moment, and the Princess once more rounded to face the throne.

"Mother! As I was in the middle of being dressed by my maids a human man appeared right next to me, he was practically touching me he was so close!" she declared with the rightuous indignation only a spoiled princess can achieve. "And there were others who appeared in my other rooms as well, they were screaming and shouting, the nerve of it!"

Nobody in the hall had any doubts about what the fate of those particular humans had been. 

Indeed, with the Queen's daughter making such a display, quite a few individuals were suddenly silent and paying great attention to the status of their ankles. Although, the notion of a human suddenly appearing in the presence of the Fairy Knight of New Darlington whilst she was half-dressed would become a common source of amusement (and racy jokes) in the coming days. 

"... Knight's, have Camelot scoured and any remaining humans brought to a chamber and left to my daughters’ pleasure."

The decree of the Queen cut through the fury of her daughter, the pale fairy in her neat red dress paused, perhaps mollified in her anger for a moment. She paused long enough to compose herself somewhat, before giving a courtesy towards the throne. 

"Thank you, mother! I shall have so much fun with them as revenge for ruining my morning!"

With that, and mood considerably elevated, the red clad Fairy Knight turned on the spot, ignoring the pained moans of the clerk she had deprived of his feet, and departed the chamber. 

However, the situation did provide some manner of leverage. 

"Your Majesty, the plight of your daughter has no doubt been repeated up and down the country in the homes of fairys across the land; if what Lord Spriggan has said is true, then there are more humans currently within Britain than there are fairys! Surely, this situation cannot be allowed to remain, who knows what may happen if so many humans were left to roam wild! Our heart goes out for them, lost and alone without shelter!"

It was Aurora, clan head of the Wing Clan who made this comment, the radiant creature who for so long had been regarded as one of fairest woman in all Britain practically glowed with concern.

Accompanying it, quiet murmurs and conversation, but those were silenced by the proclamation of the Queen that came in response.

"Tell all the Lords. Tell all the fairys. Those humans that have appeared will be taken under our rule by their desire alone, to be ruled over just as the humans of the farms are. Offer them the choice of bending the knee and serving us, or to not enjoy our protections. There is no need for anything else; their submission is their only option."

The declaration was met with a wave of excitement.

"Oooh the Queen is giving them to us!"

"I've been getting ever so bored with the limited supply of humans recently!"

"We should get a hundred of them, and make them fight to the death!"

This idle chatter filled the back of the hall, the tittering of enthused courtiers already wondering about what would be done with the humans now in their midst, be it idle entertainment or something far less pleasant. If the words of these fairies reached the High Queen, she gave no indication of her thoughts either way, and the dark veil that obscured her face only further disguised any such reaction. 

However, it was by no means the end of the current matter---

"And the Humans within Londinium, Your Majesty?" Spriggan ventured, hand raised to cup his chin as if he were speculating on a matter of little importance, but idly speculation. 

"Fairy Knight Gawain, depart from Camelot with soldiers and deliver my ultimatum. Those who submit to my rule and the existence tax may depart the city and be given accommodation and supplies. The government ministers present can organise such."

"And those that will not bow, your majesty?"

There was barely a moment of pause. 

"The number of humans stands in the millions, and they came to my Kingdom without food and water; let no fairy offer them such until they submit. If they will not accept our rule, then they shall simply have to accept the rule of starvation instead."

The problem of humans within Britain was one that had been firmly under the thumb of the Queen for many years. 

The farms produced them in sufficient abundance to satisfy the fairy population of her domain, but also in limited enough supply that not each fairy could enjoy their presence. 

Fairy's were not equal, after all, they were created in a hierarchy that differentiated the clan heads and A-Rays from the chaff. 

Morgan Le Fay was the Queen based upon this very principle.

The culture of her land was based on humans because fairys had not the imagination or capacity to grow and build their own, and instead they had emulated that which they had seen.

And now there were more humans, and not the farm grown humans of before, either. Instead, they were humans that did not have the limited lifespans of those grown in the farms, humans that had lived lives beyond the confines of their limited childhoods and experiences. 

It was a metaphorical headache. 

Queen Morgan walked without need for haste, robes trailing along the ground and her staff as ever in hand. 

This was not how things were supposed to be. 

After all her efforts to establish the rule of the High Queen, after the destruction of the world tree that had underpinned this history, she had gone to such ruthless efforts to ensure its survival. She may hold no love for the people of this land... but she loved the land itself.

This nation and all it represented, built upon the boundless corpses of those that had lived upon it.

... But it was a problem that could be dealt with. 

There should have been a bleached earth beyond the confines of the wall of light, according to her husband. There should have been other, similar histories dotted about the planet against which she would have been competing to become the pre-eminent history that would replace the old pan-human equivilent. 

But such was not the state of things. 

Something had gone wrong. 

Or perhaps, it had gone right?

There was no competition from the other histories, these other 'Lostbelts' as it were. Instead, it was to a thoroughly inhabited world, one filled with millions, billions of human beings. The quality of magical energy in the atmosphere beyond the wall of light was weak, so incredibly weak. The Age of the Gods in this world had come to its close, evidently, but even considering that, the magical energy was far too diffuse in nature for it to have followed the natural decline that should have occurred.

Something else had happaned.

Even the most cursory of glances beyond the light wall could reveal all manner of indications as to what.

Despite the stifling of the world's magical energy, common men and women could perform a sort of magecraft. Limited greatly in its variety, and yet potentially potent. 

Any one of the effects that they produced was something that she could emulate with ease, and yet none of these humans had the faintest clue about even the most fundamental aspects or components of magecraft in the first place. It was more akin to the natural abilities of a demonic beast, which knew innately how to make use of its strength. 

... It was a matter to be investigated. 

And there were plenty of individuals suited to do so. 

Among them, her husband... such as he was.

There were abundant humans with this errant magecraft, these abilities that should be impossible but were manifested in some manner. She would send him a message... she had no doubt that he would be able to capture even one of them for examination.

It would be a pleasant distraction for him, he had been so industrious in New Darlington.

But still.

She continued on her way.

Among the myriad rooms of Camelot, there were many which no living creature, be it fairy or human, had seen decades, if not centuries. Bounded fields, hidden doors and all manner of ingenious construction served to further the building's greater purpose of channelling magical energy into the Winter Throne. A side effect was of this was that it transformed the castle into a labyrinth of rooms and hidden spaces. 

In one such room was a chessboard. 

Ten by ten squares, the marble of them gleaming white or deepest black, and atop them, frozen figures. 

Soldiers, fairies, golems, all manner of things required to emulate the game of Kings. 

The Queen had never once played; the life-sized set was a vanity she had created to pass the time a few centuries back. A glorified storage location for individuals valuable in the moment, but otherwise of little use. Hidden away in a corner of the the castle, if any individual did exist that could make it past the various layers of bounded fields and traps within the castle, they would have no reason to suspect that the giant gameboard was anything more than a pointless indulgence and folly.

In truth, each piece was an asset, to be awoken when the moment came.

One such frozen individual was her focus at that moment, and she silently stepped across the board to a particular figure, who had been placed so that he held the White King in checkmate.

"Portunes. Awaken, Knight Portunes."

The frozen member of the Queen's Knight's took a moment to animate; indeed, when he did there was a second in which the only movement was the faintest rise and fall of his shoulders as breathing commenced after so long frozen in place. 

"Sire. Guard Knight Portunes, at your command. It is an honour to be released from the chessboard," he fell to one knee; it was a formality perhaps, but even centuries before, he had always been an adherent to older rules of decorum.

"It has been two-hundred years, yet her Majesty's beauty has not diminished in the slightest."

A worthless, empty flattery. 

How many times had people recognised her beauty?

The compliment washed off her with ease, it barely was worth notice.

"A fine greeting," she waved off. "As for the current state of the Kingdom, drink. This is the Water of Conveyance, containing a record of the last two hundred years."

The Knight rose his head, looking at the small glass vial in her hand. 

"Then, if I may be so bold---" he took it, drinking it down in a single, great gulp. There was a powerful shudder as the knowledge of two centuries worth of history struck the fairy. "... I understand. A new history, abundant humans appearing at once... What of the rest of the Mirror clan? Who is the current head after Ainsel?"

"Every last one of them has vanished. You are the last of your kind, Portunes."

She delivered it without kindness, without the mercy of gentleness. 

"... Quite an ironic fate... to think I would be the survivor after parting ways with Ainsel and becoming Her Majesty's knight."

To that, she nodded. 

The pleasantries had been dealt with, the tiresome obligations of catching the fairy up on the fate of his folk, now it was time to put him to work. 

"You judged correctly. Now, put your crisis-avoiding foresight to good use."

Portunes did so; for a long moment there was silence between them, just the Queen and the knight, surrounded by other frozen figures.

However, Portunes was not long was the answer;

"Your majesty. I foresee crisis and opportunities, I foresee calamities like never before, a many-winged beast screaming, men of foreign lands attempting to assail Britain with weapons of iron," Portunes declared, an utter certainty in his voice. 

The gifts of the Mirror Clan, a potent weapon in the right hands, Portunes was one of the many treasures that she possessed, and this was why.

But then, Portunes paused.

"... Your majesty, I foresee your head struck from your shoulders and a new Queen placed upon the Throne of Britain."

He said with an utter, dread certainty despite the treason his statement represented.

Behind her veil, invisible to the knight before her, she frowned. It was the first moment in a long time that she truly knew surprise, even the arrival of so many humans from the history beyond the wall of light had merely been an inconvenience. 

"... Knight Portunes. You shall explain all you see in the fullest of details, and henceforth you shall remain close to our person here in Camelot."

Chapter Text

The Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, Susan Brown, stood with hands clasped behind her back, boring a hole into the obstinate stone wall that was facing her. Rather than her comfortable, well protected office, she was in a dilapidated stone room that barely even had a roof above her head, taking reports from all and sundry.

"What are we looking at to the south?"

"Complete breakdown of law and order, ma'am!"

"We've got people rioting and fighting not far away, most of the force was off for the night and we've got no equipment to keep them under control!"

Even as the man said that, somewhere in the distance, a gunshot went off.

She hoped dearly that it was not a gun held by one of her officers… then again, it was hardly as if there would be any tabloids to report on it now, by the looks of it.

What a shit show.

She could only assume that somewhere, some deranged Parahuman had gone off the rails and done something so utterly extreme that it had fucked over the entire city.

For a few minutes, she had wondered whether Tir Na nÓg of the King's Men had gone off the deep end again, and she would finally have means to bring that maniac in. But this was not her style at all, it was far too… mundane.

Well, certainly compared to that Nottingham incident.

According to early reports and the best of her ability to understand, the entire population of London (and possibly beyond) had just been transported somewhere new, to this ruined city surrounded by verdant green fields, as if the world had reverted a good few centuries. Pandemonium was the ruler right now; there wasn't enough space to fit over six million or so people within the walls of these crumbling ruins.

This was less a crisis in progress, than a crisis barely beginning.

All people had was the things that had been in their possession when the bright light hit the city, which mostly meant their clothes, perhaps a phone that was now useless and maybe a book or random piece of junk. 

Radios and receivers were useless in this place, phones as well. Not even the fancy satellite ones that could supposedly get reception in the middle of the goddamn Gobi Desert were working.

In the twenty-first century, all communication had been reduced down to fucking messengers running about on foot!

She reached up to rub her eyes.

"Any word from the Suits?"

The Suit's, one of Europe's pre-eminent hero organisations, had always had a strong presence in the United Kingdom, and by extension, London.

"King, Jack and One through Four of Swords have cordoned off an area surrounding what seems to be an old church. The Prime Minister is currently there, but we don't even know where most of the damn Cabinet is! The Spades are trying to disperse some of the violent crowds in the west, but there's nowhere for them to go and it's six against tens of thousands, there's no chance of bringing it all to heel any time soon!"

"And the other departments?"

"Most of the Wands and Clubs were apparently out of the country, we've got a few of them, but they can't do much without resources. Seven of Wands is already drawing up a plan, according to Lord Walston there's a forest not far away, and Brunel might be able to mass produce temporary accommodations with some support from other Tinkers."

Well, that was something.

She'd rather not call on the King's Men.

After the attack by the Simurgh on London in 2003 and the assassination of the Prime Minister orchestrated by Teacher in 2004, efforts had been made to rebuild and reorganise Britain's hero scene from the ground up. It had led to the creation of the Suit's, divided as they were by abilities and power. The King's Men had fallen by the wayside in terms of influence and popularity, a number of their members had joined the Suits.

But they still remained, and their ranks were made up of veteran's of the Parahuman scene. Lord Walston alone first appeared as a Parahuman in the late eighties, an old man in a world where most died young.

They were another resource for her to call on in a world where things rarely made sense... and right now, where it made none whatsoever.

"Ma'am, there's somebody who wants to speak with you."

"I'm busy---"

"He knocked out eighteen people to get here, and apparently he's a local, like… a native here," the officer explained in a rush, glancing over his shoulder to somebody she could not see. The various men and women at the door were looking testy about something, their eyes focused on something taller than themselves.

A native, somebody who knew this place or what the hell was going on?

… Somebody who had taken out a lot of her officers as well just to speak with her. That got her hackles up and body tense. If somebody could do that, then they were no doubt a Parahuman of some sorts, but with how strange things were right now, how could they be a Parahuman and yet claim familiarity with this place?

Something wasn't adding up.

Well, many things weren't, but that especially.

"And he's just waiting outside?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm pretty sure he can hear us."

"I can."

The officer paused, and made an apologetic expression towards her.

Squaring her shoulders, and preparing to give the man who came in a good tongue lashing for his actions, she took a deep breath.

"… Show him in."

The intruder wore full metal armour and carried a spear, relatively handsome and tall, dark haired and with kind eyes.

He clanked into the room, stooping through the doorway to not smash his head against the roof she had commandeered to act as her emergency office of sorts for this shit show. Still, he nodded his head pleasantly, despite the presence of the spear he didn't look as if he wanted to make any move against her or any of her staff.

"Hello there. My name is Percival, leader of the Round Table Army and most of these ruins, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Night had fallen.

King of Swords scowled at the crowd before him even as he stood straight backed, hands resting on the elaborate pommel of the tinkertech sword, created by his own hands, that rested point down on the ground in its sheathe. The moment it was drawn, only pandemonium would ensue, but the threat of him doing so was also the only thing currently holding back the crowd across the street.

Flanking him were Two and Three of Swords, each standing a metre or so back and in similar poses to indicate a readiness to act. Behind them further, a line of uniformed police shuffled and stood, keeping an eye on the situation.

Pathetic.

They had no weapons, they didn't even have clubs, what were they going to do to hold back the crowds, form a human wall?

Laughable.

The Prime Minister was hiding away in a ruin just down the street behind them, and the best that the population of London could think to do was form an armed mob and try to rip the man apart for answers?

"Give us some fucking help!"

"We need food!"

"Tell us what's going on!"

"Everyone please! We are trying to find out what is happening, and the Prime Minister is currently in meetings to try and make sure that we can get food and resources out to everyone who needs it!" shouted a woman beside him.

Jack of Swords---

Strumpet, he mentally corrected himself.

She only held the position because she was young, pretty and was fucking King of Cups, in terms of her actual abilities she barely even stood above Two of Swords. Whilst the boundaries between the numbers used for their various ratings may be somewhat arbitrary, and one could never underestimate the nature of a situation a conflict took place in... the girl didn't deserve to stand among them at the rank she did.

Hadn't he put in ten years of hard graft and work to stand at the pinnacle of the Swords?

Hadn't it been his Nægling that had cut from the Simurgh's back a single wing? Hadn't he made over fifty weapons and outfitted the Swords to the degree that they were? Hell, he had been the one to bring in Grendel, the most unhinged and dangerous Brute in Britain's history!

But no, the little slut had simply slept her way to the third-highest position within the Swords in under a year.

He kept his disdain to himself.

Most of his armoury had been lost, a decade of hard work gone. He had only four of his treasured blades, and his mood was foul enough as it was without these morons acting up.

Jack of Sword's was still trying to calm them with pleas to be calm and rational, not realising that the time for such had already passed. Words were of little use at the best of times; his own experiences had shown him that with the King's Men, and then with the Suits. Only action produced results in this world, just a shame that he was currently chained to protecting a man who had nothing but charming words and smarm to protect himself.

"SILENCE!"

His voice boomed, artificially enhanced by the powers of the blade in his hand, Jack of Swords practically jumped out of her skin at the explosion of noise that issued forth from his helmet.

The crowd all backed up, some cowed and other, in surprise, only to collide with others in the crowd. They barely had space to move as it was; millions of people confined in a space of ruins could only go so far, after all, but for the moment the threat of them advancing further was abated.

Sure, they started shouting again, but they had been cowed for a moment longer.

"... Was that quite necessary, Michael?" a voice asked in his ear, that of an elderly gentleman.

"To hell with you, Walston, unless you have something useful to say, leave, and I won't press charges for contacting me out of nowhere."

He was not in the mood for the prattling old fool. He had cut the King's Men out of his life years ago when he left to join the Suits. Without him, it wasn't like they had ever been much of a force as it was, he had been their headliner for the longest time anyway---

"Jabberwocky has observed that the figures on the edge of the forest have been reinforced; an army is approaching," Lord Walston interrupted, the old man's voice quite cutting through his thoughts with that calm, faintly condescending manner that King of Swords had come to hate, that voice that always expected more and more.

An army?

"Kindly pass it along to your superiors, their insistence of not becoming part of my network of contacts has rather shot them in the foot again."

A solitary road connected the ancient Fortress city of Londinium, or to be correct, its ruins, to the rest of Fairy Britain. The site, long forgotten or put out of the mind of the common fairy, was rarely visited.

Its high walls, its ancient ruins may have stood out against the horizon, but few had reason to come to this part of the south-east of Britain. The closest city, Norwich, had little use for worn and ancient stone, the echoes of the cities grandeur had long ago been stripped away for other purposes; its polished marble had been used to build manors across the country, its riches had been squandered on food and pleasures.

No, the city had no worth at all, apart from as a relic of a bygone age.

Metallic boots crashed against the worn and ancient cobbles of the highway that once connected the city to the other cities of Fairy Britain.

An army of five hundred of the Queen's Soldiers, a force to make almost any fairy in Britain bow their heads and submit unquestionably. They marched in unison, metallic plates clanked and shifted, grand halberds met the ground in unison as they walked.

Cresting the hill, the newly arrived army surveyed the scene before them.

The ruins of the Fortress City had indeed become a hive of activity, and chaos.

The plains surrounding it was covered with distant ants, swarming and thronging about. Trying to get into its walls... or get out. Despite the sun just falling beyond the horizon, they were all still visible, the blood-red sky casting an eerie shadow over everything.

"Spriggan was right, then," one soldier declared as she rested the end of her halberd against the dry and dusty ground and leant on it.

"So many humans, I've never seen this number even at the farms!" another said, leaning forward a little as if the couple of inches advanced could provide a better view over miles worth of distance.

"Should we call for reinforcements?"

"No."

A solitary voice crushed the conversation, heads looked to the tallest among them, and their leader. Clad in armour of gleaming metal, the woman stared unblinkingly out over the city.

"There is no need for more, they are just humans. I shall deliver the Queen's proclamation myself. Ten of you shall escort me, the rest of you spread out, form a perimeter. Let none of them come or go unless they accept the Queen's mercy, and if not, put down this arrogant garbage that dares set foot in the Fairy Kingdom of Britain!"

"Yes, Lord Gawain!"

The momentary pause in their journey had come to its end, and once more the army began to march.

Chapter Text

Trying to explain things to the new arrivals in Londinium had been difficult for Percival. 

Mostly because numerous explanations fell on strangely deaf ears. The 'Commissioner of police' and 'Prime Minister' who were supposedly in charge could accept that they had been suddenly transported to Fairy Britain (quite how he had no idea) but the notion that this was a land of Fairy's was somehow beyond them. 

Exacting definitions and clarifications about seemingly pointless things had been omnipresent. 

He was used to dealing with a small army, not people with ways and a culture all of their own, and who were so strangely pig-headed about certain things. 

"Fairies don't exist, this must be a Parahuman effect."

"How can we be sure that you aren't part of this trick?"

He was quite sure that he had spent more time trying to explain the concept of fairies and other such basic things to these people then he had appraising their (dire) situation that was supposed to the main topic he wanted to discuss! But he had not risen to be the commander of the Round Table Army by growing swiftly angered by this sort of petty annoyance.

"If you doubt, you can touch my armour, I assure you, I am as real as you are. My name is Percival, I am sixteen years old, and I am the leader of the Round Table Army that opposes Queen Morgan."

His appearance had them doubting his age. Apparently, he looked older than he should be? But then again, by their apparent ages these two likely had no more than a year left... so why did they  disbelieve him to such a passionate degree? 

Questions about food and supplies, he had hoped to hear that they had their own, but it seemed not, and his response saying that they didn't have enough food for them was also not met well either. 

But then, somebody new arrived, well, two people. 

The first was an old man in a well tailored suit who walked with a cane, yet carried himself as if he did not really need it. Beside him was another, a man with a strange, slightly off grin at everything going on. Just meeting his eyes made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Lord Walson... Jabberwocky, you were not given permission to enter---"

The younger man simply walked past the woman, not even glancing at her. 

"We've got bigger shit to deal with right now, chief," there was no respect for the woman there at all despite her, to Percival's (albeit limited) knowledge, being one of the key figures in this community. So he watched, perplexed, as the newcomer made the way for the older gentleman to make his apologies to the Commissioner and Prime Minister, before approaching Percival.

"Excuse me, sir, but you must be the local man I heard about?" the older man said, extending a hand and quite ignoring the spluttering of the Commissioner behind him.

Percival recovered himself, and smiled as warmly as he could manage, extending his own gauntleted hand.

"I am Lord Walston, I would sit down for tea, but we have neither the time, the chairs or the tea... so I am afraid I somewhat have to impose on you immediately. Prime Minister, Commissioner, there is an army of approaching these ruins, so whilst I would love to follow proper procedure, we have a situation on our hands," Lord Walston declared. "They number five hundred or so, and none of them appear to be human."

"An army? What do they look like?" Percival asked at once, and despite himself, his shoulders tensed.

"Tall, in armour, horses heads as well. Led by a shorter woman with a flaming sword, couldn't see much more."

Flaming sword...

"Fairy Knight Gawain..." his heart sank at the news. The response had been so quick, he had hoped it would take a day for Camelot to respond to what was going on here...

"Oho, you know about this woman and her men, then?" the old man pressed him, raising a brow. 

He nodded.

"Yes, each one of the Queen's soldiers are capable of fighting multiple normal faeries at once, and Gawain is one of the strongest fairies in all of Britain, only the Queen, Fairy Knight Lancelot and Lord Woodwose of the Fang Clan would stand a chance at defeated her... how many soldiers do you have?" he asked, keenly. 

The deafening silence that followed that did not give him confidence.

"... Most of Britain's armed forces were not stationed in London, and of the police we have barely any that have their equipment," the woman, the commissioner said after a moment, lips pursed in a thin line. 

"The Round Table army has some spears and swords lying around---"

"The police do not use those sorts of weapons, they use batons, riot gear, tasers."

What in the name of Camelot was a taser! And how could so many people possibly all live in the same space without a standing army of some size and quality! How did they deal with wild beasts and Moss attacks if they didn't have any weapons or people who knew how to use them?

He had knocked out over a dozen of the 'police' who had got in his way here earlier, and they were all so incredibly weak! Compared to humans like him who were native, they were as delicate as dry stems of grass!

"We also have the Suit's and King of Swords, this Gawain won't stand much of a chance---"

The other, somewhat disturbing man, Jabberwocky, barked a laugh that echoed strangely.

"King of Sword's is the strongest Parahuman in Britain only so long as everything comes down to a fight," the man clarified. "And right now, nothing's going to be solved by swinging those dick compensators of his around, especially if it's one versus five hundred."

"Who is the strongest of your fighters, then?" he asked, clutching at straws.

"Well, Lord Walston's the strongest Parahuman in Britain."

"Now now Jabberwocky, none of that. I'm just an old man," Walston said, raising a hand modestly.

But the way the old man pinned him with a sharp gaze gave Percival pause. There was a keen evaluation there, the man looked him up and down, and he had the most uneasy feeling that, all at once, the man knew far more about him than perhaps he would have liked. It was the same feeling as whenever an old fairy looked him over and could tell things from their own experiences. 

He was only sixteen years old, but the man imposed a similar weight to that he had felt when he was a boy, training under the watchful gaze of Woodwose.

"It seems we don't have much time, Sir Percival... and it appears that diplomacy is the only real option here. But certain pieces need to be moved before that... so let us get to work..."

Michelle Dean had a problem. 

A big problem, one not easily dealt with at the best of times. 

She had a small child. 

Now, this was not to imply that she was unhappy to have had Katie, quite the opposite, even if Darren had left her when he found out the news, leaving her broken-hearted, she loved her little girl and was determined to do right by her. 

The only problem was that there was no food. 

Just like everyone else in London, she had at once found herself in a strange place, a vast and empty field of grass and bare earth, in the distance a great walled ruin, and between her and it, a seething mass of people. Barely anyone she recognised, but then again, there were thousands of them, perhaps millions. 

She had no idea what was going on, all she had been able to do was hold Katie close to her chest and do her best to protect them both from the jostling of the crowds, the shouting and the confusion that prevailed. 

She was just a temp' worker at a call centre, she sold mobile phone contracts to people, this was most certainly not a situation over which she had any degree of power. Her phone was useless, she only had the clothes on her back, her baby and a bottle that once had contained milk but was now utterly drained. 

Michelle hadn't eaten for hours now, and more importantly, she had no milk to feed Katie with. She had never got used to breastfeeding her daughter, and after several months having not done so, would she even be able to?

There was no shelter either, and she had seen big gray clouds on the horizon. If it started raining, or it got cold, then what would she do, huddle close to everyone else to try and stay warm?

She had made an effort to move to the outside of the great crowd of people huddling around the ruins in the distance, she had heard that most people in groups like this died from getting trampled, so it had made sense in her head to try and be on the outside.

Clank.

A sudden sound, she turned sharply to see what had made the noise. 

There was something there, in the gloom, illuminated by a glowing bead of light.

A figure, wearing dark armour decorated with magnificent golden filigree and standing close to ten-foot tall. Instinctively, she flinched away from the figure, whom she could only presume to be a Parahuman that suddenly appeared in their midst. She had heard the solitary pair of clanking footsteps, but beyond that, it was as if they had appeared from nowhere, with night having almost fallen, it was difficult to see.

She took another step back when she saw the gigantic halberd carried in their hand, the great blade of which was as long and wide as she was.

"Humans."

It was a female voice that issued forth from that helmet, strong and loud, carrying over the crowd far and wide. 

"Her Majesty Queen Morgan, in her benevolence, has granted her benediction upon you. Any human who submits and agrees to live by her laws and rule shall be granted her protection," the voice continued.

But there was no Queen Morgan, England already had a Queen---

"No human may depart from the ruins of Londinium or its surroundings unless they submit."

And then.

The figure stood, silent and still as a statue. The crowd that Michelle stood in was silent, parsing through what had been said. Then, there were a few nervous chuckles, glances from person to person. This couldn't be real, right? Like... they couldn't be trapped here, right? 

It was just one person with a big weapon, surely this was just some strange situation that would all be resolved.

Twenty metres or so away, a man tried to make a break for it-.

The horse-headed figure tilted her head slightly, and then their eye flashed a bright red as they raised the halberd---

BOOM!

She shielded her eyes, as did many others, as a pillar of flame burst into being suddenly. She saw, for a moment, the figure of the man who had tried to run superimposed against the flame before its brightness swallowed him utterly.

She looked back, against her chest, Katie was waking up and beginning to cry. 

The man was gone. 

The bottom of the halberd was back against the ground again, and a few metres in front of them was a patch of black scorch marks where once had been a man. There was just smouldering ashes left behind.

"Myself and my five-hundred companions have been tasked with this duty. No human shall leave Londinium without submission."

Another stunned silence, before the shouting began.

"You can't do that!"

"We don't have any food!"

"We have rights!"

"..."

A breeze blew as the halberd raised into the air, and shrieks and shouts replaced those previous declarations as everyone tried to run, only to be too densely packed to escape. The easy raising of the weapon by a few feet silenced the dissent and anger far more easily than any spoken word.

"You have the right to submit to the rule of her Majesty, or to remain within Londinium. Any who attempts to flee shall face swift punishment."

In the distance there were lights, momentary pillars of flame and lightning. 

Michelle looked to the side, where other figures like this one were stood before the crowd, and where other people were trying to make a break for it or to attack them... only to be smote down with the same casual ease. Five-hundred? What was this thing? 

It had to be a Parahuman, right? But even as she looked into the distance, they all looked the same from what she could tell. 

... What choice was there?

She took a few steps forward, holding Katie close. Her baby was squirming, she was not far away from crying.

"E-Excuse me?"

The horse-like head turned to focus on her. 

"If we do, will there be food and somewhere to stay?" she asked, trying to force her voice to be strong in the face of obliteration.

"Yes. Supply lines are being prepared."

There was only one choice she could make right now.

Her submission to the rule of this 'Queen Morgan' imposed a strange, heavy weight upon her chest. 

But it was not like anybody else had a clue what was going on, or more importantly, food and shelter for her baby. What was saying you submitted to a woman calling herself a Queen, when she had never even had the choice in the first place otherwise? 

She was the first of that group, but not the last. 

Michelle ended up standing with a growing group of people some fifty-foot behind the horse-headed figure, waiting, wondering. A few tried to lie and run away... only for a solitary raise of a halberd to kill those fools.

She cradled Katie close and tried to mumble out a lullaby to her crying baby as the sky continued to be intermittently illuminated with bursts of light, and closer to the city gates, a warmer light burned.

The man had been late, due to a few issues with the Underground a train had been a few minutes off, and he had instead been required to wait for the next. In truth, it had been a hidden blessing; that extra few minutes had probably saved his life. He had just been power walking into work, the American Embassy at 24 Grosvenor Square, when the wall of light hit. 

As the doors to the embassy opened, it all disappeared, his ears filled with screams.

The Embassy was not a small building by any means, most of his colleagues had been in their offices up on the second floor or higher up even than that... and they had not been returned to the ground when they had all been transported to this new location. 

The result of which was that, the moment he got his bearings, he saw the vast majority of his fellow ambassadors and diplomats come screaming to the ground, bones breaking. A few of those that had fallen from greater heights had compound fractures that had forced the bone through the skin, there had been blood and any attempt to deal with the fallen had been held back by the fact that utter chaos had swept over the population. 

His boss and a good few others that had been on the top floor were now dead, and he was somehow the highest-ranked person left of that team who was both still alive, and had not sustained a crippling injury.

And then the trampling began because space was at a true premium, and the number of people in a city like London who were several stories in the air was not small...

Numerous had died, plenty more had been injured by having people fall on top of them, and he had been trying to force his way through the crowds of people to find somebody, anybody, who was in charge. 

The natural choice? To head to the ruins, to take stock of everything going on. 

That had been hours ago, and there was still no word about what was going on until night had fallen, and things escalated once again. 

The crowd at the front gate was parting suddenly, for hours he had been wedged into an alcove watching people run around like headless chickens. People inside the ruins wanted to be out of the crowded, crushing mass... people outside wanted to be inside, thinking that it would be a better situation. 

And he had been standing, watching it all, trying to adjust to this new normal and scanning the crowd for notable figures, until things changed.

A woman in gleaming silver armour, flanked by five figures on her left and right. Armed and armoured giants with horse-headed armour and gigantic halberds, who marched in unison. The woman's sword burned with bright flame, providing a hellish illumination. From her head, opalescent horns seemed to rise, adding to her already impressive height that stood over him by a good few inches. 

"This is a message for the leaders of this city; her Majesty Queen Morgan has empowered me to carry a message to people not native to this world within Londinium!" the woman had an incredibly powerful shout, he practically felt his head rattle from the volume. 

Still---

He composed himself. He may not represent the people of the United Kingdom, but he still had a job to do. 

He strode forward five paces towards them, putting on the serious airs that he had both been trained in, and developed over the course of his career--- 

Immediately a weapon was raised, attention focused on him. 

"I'm a diplomat!" he called out, like a shield, as he came to a stop. 

"For this city?" the blonde woman demanded.

She looked at him with something that he could not quite pin. He would not call it disdain because that implied hatred.

"No. My name is Joseph Henderson, diplomat for the United States embassy."

A long pause. The fearsome blonde woman stared at him for a few long seconds. 

"I know not of these 'United States.'"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. 

How could somebody not know of the USA! No, now was not the time. These were clearly extraordinary circumstances, and the most important thing to do right now was finding out who was in charge, and more importantly... find a way to contact Washington. Anything else could wait. 

"Ahem, the United States is a country across the ocean, and a major ally of the United Kingdom," he explained. "As a foreign diplomat, I desire to speak with the appropriate authority."

"Very well. If you recognise her Majesty Queen Morgan, then you can be escorted to Camelot."

"As sovereign British territory---"

"This land is not the Britain that you were in formally; this is Fairy Britain. As far as we are concerned, you are all intruders upon our lands, and can be dealt with accordingly."

Well, that was already a worrying sign.

"Be that as it may, there are still legislations covering the treatment of individuals, even if they are considered unlawful," he said, forcing his voice to be calm. A controlled tone of voice was essential in these things, avoiding the escalation of conflicts and discussing things in a rational manner.

"There are no laws here beyond those of Queen Morgan."

... So they were rejecting, or were ignorant of, International Law? 

Joseph carefully took a moment to compose himself, already his mind was racing with the implications that such could carry. International law was the glue holding together not just diplomacy as a function, but the very world itself. Nations were forced to follow a set conduct by it, the moment one broke away from such there were sanctions, there were consequences designed to penalise that country... and it could escalate to far more dramatic things. There were so many concerns and implications that came to mind, and which he decided not to muse on at the moment. 

A diplomat in such a country normally would have to play things very safe, or get the hell out of the country as soon as possible. 

Right now, he had to remain composed and get the hell to somebody in charge before this became a major international incident. 

Was this like when Earth Aleph became an issue, which had required an entirely new category of legislation to handle? The moment the two Earths had been connected, an entirely new sub department of International affairs had been created to handle diplomacy (and threat assessment) with the alternate Earth... 

Was this a similar situation?

Hopefully, this could all be settled without conflict.

"Very well, I will provisionally recognise your Queen, if it allows me to speak with the relevant authorities. I fear that there are a lot of international concerns that might soon be falling on your Queen, and it would be best for me to make sure that they have been explained in the full."

He said the metaphorical magic words, it seemed, as the woman nodded.

"Yggtra, watch over him... and any other diplomats," the blonde woman said, indicating to one of her companions. 

One of the Horse-headed figures nodded, moving to the side and gesturing with a hand for him to join them. He did so, stepping over carefully and trying not to crane his neck to look up at the gigantic figure. This close there could be no doubt of just how tall they were, were they all parahumans in the same sort of armour? 

This place had been described as 'Fairy Britain', but of course fairies did not exist, no matter what that one insane(ly dangerous) cape, Glaistig Uaine, might claim.

Every moment, he had more questions than answers.

Nevertheless, it seemed he had arrived at just the right time, as the crowd at the gate cleared at last.

The Prime Minister of Britain had a face like stone as he approached, with the lack of light in 'Londinium' he was primarily illuminated by the flames of the ten 'fairies' and the flaming sword of their leader.

The man had come to power amidst a wave of popular support for a number of his policies, which had promised extensively to revitalise the British economy after the economic crash under the previous Prime Minister. Britain had endured a somewhat slow recovery from the recession, its banking sector was a major source of income and had impacted the city hard. 

Unfortunately, economic growth was not something that happened overnight... or even after two years, it seemed. 

Joseph was no economist, the embassy had specific people for that, but a knowledge of how money worked was a key trait for any diplomat. The flow of goods and trade guaranteed a countries place in the world, and discussions related to such constituted a large majority of his work. 

He could only sit and watch as the conversation began, praying that it would go well.

Something was wrong. 

It barely took any time for the figure to take notice of it, but trying to decipher exactly what it was, was another issue. 

The golden figure who appeared as a man floated several miles from the southern tip of a chain of islands on the edge of a continent, frowning at the wall of golden light that had appeared suddenly around a large portion of its boarders. It was an alien thing, something that had not been created by part of the network. 

Information was pouring in from the various Shards that had Hosts currently within the boundaries of the wall, all manner of new information about the situation inside. 

That was to say, an utter rewriting of the surface of the world inside to something new, and new organisms as well. Already a few Hosts had made contact with new species inside, the network was rapidly digesting and processing the volume of information provided. 

But Scion paid less heed to that, parsing through the more relevant information; the threat it provided. 

For the first time in many revolutions of the planet around the systems star, the avatar of the Warrior felt something beyond a vast, soul crushing void.

The beings within the wall of light, which acted as some manner of dimensional barrier, were an order of magnitude more dangerous on an individual level than the Host species of the Cycle. Their abilities varied enormously, their functions the same. They were flesh and blood and something more. Where was the energy for the wall of light coming from? 

At current, the network was trying to determine so many things. 

... For the moment, it would leave this newly emerged golden domain whilst the network harvested additional information, and then Scion would handle it--

Its attention shifted.

There was a golden dot that was rapidly growing brighter as it approached, within a moment, Scion had analysed it. A colossal lance of light---

An attack. 

Instinctively, he fired back, with only a moment to take in the great lancers volume and predict its power, the entirety of the avatars defensive functions came online. 

He created a barrier of light, Stilling whatever manner of physical effect the lance of light would produce.

The wall that should have been inviolable to the effects of Parahuman powers and other such effects lasted just a second before the drill like lance pierced it, and there was a magnificent flash of light. 

He had miscalculated, the amount of energy it would take to counter the lance was too great.

At the last moment, the Avatar transported itself to another dimension rather than take it head on.

The residents of Western Europe who had been in their beds were awoken by a detonation that filled the night sky with a light as bright as the sun. The shock wave of the explosion shattered windows for hundreds of miles, seismographs across the world pinged and alarms blared at what they recorded and considered a potential nuclear blast occurred... and a lot of important individuals were suddenly woken for crisis meetings.

On the other side of Earth Bet, the Warrior's Avatar reappeared, a frown on his simulation of a face. The network was going into overdrive with its analysis, with a solitary conclusion;

Fascinating.

It was the alien approximation of a feeling he had not experienced in a very, very long time.

Chapter Text

There was nothing else to be done.

By the descriptions of a local man, conveyed by that damnable old bastard, they were against a foe they stood no chance against. 

The notion would have made King of Swords scoff when he was younger, but experience had tempered him with time. 

Five-hundred was the number that surrounded the city, their leader was supposedly one of the most dangerous figures in the entire of this new country in which they found themselves, and of such talent and natural ability that this 'Percival' had said they stood no chance. 

He wanted to test such a claim, but now was not the time. 

Cynical as he was, he was not willing to throw away his life before getting further information on the matter. 

The Prime Minister would surrender the city, the need for food and water was too pressing, the blockade imposed on these old ruins was too complete for the masses to escape. But with the surrender of the population would come processing, and no doubt they would come for the Parahumans first.

All of this was to say...

That they had to cut their losses and make the most of it.

He knew for sure that the old man would find some way into an advantageous position, that freakish lapdog of his as well. Most members of the Suits could hide away among the population, their abilities able to be hidden as just another person among the masses. But such was not the case for him, he could not just surrender the weapons he had spent the better part of his life honing and perfecting. 

"King?"

"Hm?" he grunted, glancing to the side. Three of Swords stood beside him, hands resting on the pommel of one of his many blades. She was a lesser talent than him, of course, but she had still been in the Swords for a few years, longer than others could claim for certain.

Her armour had been painted in red and gold, it was a somewhat distinctive outfit compared to his, but she'd earned the right to it.

"What's the plan?"

The people of London were a lost cause, and it was time to cut them loose. 

"We get out. The Prime Minister's going to fold like a house of cards, he'll go along with whatever they want to guarantee his own skin," he said, and he made no attempt to hide his cynicism like he did for the cameras. Most of his team would see through it any way, at this point. 

"Wait, we can't just abandon them!"

It was Jack of Swords who spoke up, voice loud at first but then dropping it after a second, evidently conscious of the impact of her voice on the surrounding civilians.

Nothing more than a coddled and idealistic child with no idea about how the world worked.

"They'll survive," he growled out, and the woman paused in place, staring at him. "But those things find us, then who knows what will happen. We need to get out and plan, or at least, get away from here. There's so many here that it'll be like a concentration camp anyway," he said. 

Jack of Swords paused for a long moment, he could practically see that pretty face chewing on its lip, glancing back at the crowds. 

"But we can't just leave, it's our job to keep people safe from stuff like this?"

"We need to know what we are up against, not throw our lives away, and we can't do that if they take us prisoner," he retorted, already growing sick of this conversation. "If you can't handle it, then give me back your Sword, if you're going to hide among the unwashed masses, then you don't need it." 

He extended an imperious hand towards her.

She flinched back.

"No! I mean, can't we just wait for a bit to see what happens?"

He rolled his eyes, but of course, his armoured suit disguised it.

"Idiot, this isn't a time for sitting around, this is a time to get out before the noose tightens and we can't get out. As soon as the Prime Minister gives up, they'll begin dragging folk away, and then everyone will get split up. Divide and conquer, the moment they hear we have powers and what we can do, we'll be put to work for them."

"Can't we just... sit tight for a bit until we know what's going on?" she asked, putting forward silly suggestions.  

They didn't have time for this shit.

"No, give me the sword or stay with us."

Jack of Swords paused for a few seconds, looking between them one by one. He could just about see her bright-green eyes behind her mask, looking from him to One through Four, and then---

She turned and ran. 

One and Two made to chase after her--- 

"Leave her. The Sword will be useless without maintenance anyway," he rumbled, and the pair of twins paused, glancing at him before reluctantly shrugging their shoulders. 

He had deliberately been doing a half-assed job of maintaining that particular Sword anyway... what was the point of throwing good after bad? 

Jack of Sword's wouldn't get far with the combination of her weak power and a Sword that would soon lose its effectiveness.

Disregarding what just happened, he focused on the distant meeting at the front gates of the ruins. 

The bright light of fire from the woman leading the delegation from the native land... her sword was on fire. Was it some manner of Tinker ability, was she another weapons master like him? What would it be like to cross blades with his Dyrnwyn? He almost wanted to see... but with time. 

He had already abandoned the King's Men when the time came, and now he would abandon the population of London. 

A large, sheep like mass of people without food was worthless as things stood anyway. The idealists could stand by and die. 

"Come. Let us find a weak point in the perimeter and break through," he turned and began to walk; according to the local man, there was another gate to the West that they could get out of, on the other side of the main. As far away from the woman with the flaming sword as possible.

The crowds in the street had settled, forced by the darkness of night and their own exhaustion.

Finding the lesser gate was easy, making their way through the crowd beyond was not. 

In the distance there was the occasional flash of fire and distant screams, people trying to escape only to be smote down by the army of beings that trapped them here.

'Fairies', this Percival man had called them.

King of Swords didn't care if they were humans, the creations of some rogue Parahuman or actual mythical creatures. The world having fairies made as much sense as a human being able to fire lasers from their hands, 

Once upon a time, a woman calling herself the Fairy Queen had killed his childhood friend and fellow member of the King's Men, Athrwys... so it did not matter what these things called themselves. 

In the end, the giant figure was in the way. 

The gap between it and the next of its fellows was not inconsiderable, they just needed to take the horse-headed knight down and break through. It wielded a halberd and called columns of fire from the sky in some manner of potent Blaster power, that much was obvious. 

Of the four weapons he carried, he picked the ideal one for the fight to come. 

Dyrnwyn, named after a legendary blade from his native lands myths. 

He had created it in the hope of someday using it against Behemoth; indeed, it had been perfectly created for the purpose... if only he had been granted the opportunity, but each time the famed monster emerged from the earth it had always been too late to the battle to use it, or his superiors had refused to send him out. 

'Too valuable an asset to throw away.'

As he and the other Swords began to advance to the edge of the crowd, he broke into a run. Charging the foe head on was a fools plan, but so would be approaching it slowly to speak and try to take it by surprise. No, speed was of the essence here, it was a shame that none of the Suits best Movers had been in the city when the wall of light hit, or they could have been out of here without issue. 

But instead, it came down to their efforts to break through.

As he drew Dyrnwyn it set alight, blazing with flame. 

In response, the great horse-headed knight raised its halberd and just as before, a great pillar of flame came down, exactly as King of Swords had hoped and expected. 

The first secret of Dyrnwyn was that it granted him an impressive Brute rating... but it only applied against fire and extreme temperatures. And then the blade's secondary function, and the one that was obvious, activated as the blade fed hungrily, drawing in the flames into its own blade until it shone bright. Devouring the heat to enhance its own flames and growing more sharp and deadly by the second, blazing as bright and proud as the sun. 

Behind him the four other members of the Swords charged, their own blades drawn and shielded from the flames of the enemy by Dyrnwyn. 

The horse-headed creature's reactions were impressive, the surprise at seeing its pillar of flame fail was only momentary before it took up the halbard and, with the benefit of its reach, swung the great weapon with such speed it created an audible 'whoosh' of displaced air.

If King of Swords only had normal human reactions times, then he would have been struck. But with the enhancements granted to him Carwennan, his faithful dagger, he ducked in place, sliding along the ground under the swing with ease. 

Rising from his feat of athleticism, he struck.

Dyrnwyn cut, the blazing blade striking the thick looking armour. The seemingly mundane metal of the armour resisted its blazing advance in a way that not even medium level Brute's had before, the metal began to boil and bubble in place, glowing red-hot but even then--- 

This thing was truly resilient. 

And fast. 

One of Swords tried to come in from the side to drive his own blade the visible chink in the armour at the hip. But even as the figure grunted and hissed with pain from the blow of Drynwyn they moved with a truly blistering speed.

The massive head of the halberd crumpled armour, flesh and bone as it smashed into One of Swords. In a single blow enough force was imparted to utterly break and cleave through the man him with ease, and then it continued onwards. 

King of Sword's barely had a moment to prepare himself, those same superhuman reactions of before barely allowing him to leap over the swinging halberd with barely an inch to spare. 

The momentum of the swing barely seemed to phase their opponent, when by all rights it should have spun them around or at least taken a moment to arrest, in just a second they had changed their grip, getting read to strike straight downwards. 

But it was still an opening. 

Two, Three and Four of Swords struck simultaneously, each aiming for a different part of their foe even as King swung with all his might, slicing one of the creature's hands off, buying just a moment more before it could strike back. One and Two struck for the torso, driving their Tinkertech blades to varying depths through the metal with a dreadful sound, and Three, who had the benefit of an estoc like blade with incredible accuracy, drove her weapon straight through their foes eye and into the skull.

The thing fell in a crash of metal that silence the night air. 

The fight had barely lasted a few seconds, but it provided a lot of information. He could have taken the creature himself, especially now that he knew more about it. Had he used Claíomh Solais then he could have put down the creature in a single blow. 

But its speed, its endurance and strength were deadly, truly superhuman on all accounts. 

"Let's go!"

They couldn't hang around at all. Even as cheers from the crowd behind them sounded and some surged forward, they only had so long to flee before the others of its kind took notice and began to fry them all alive. 

If there were several hundred of these things, then they stood no chance at all. 

It was a vindication for his thoughts. There could be no resistance against this army at the current time, the Prime Minister's surrender would keep the city safe, and their break through right now needed to be fast. 

He took up the sword of the bifurcated One of Swords as they fled; there was no point in leaving it behind, but beyond that, he paid no heed to the body of his fallen comrade. 

Soaring over the dark land of 'Fairy Britain', Lord Wolston surveyed the land below.

Compared to the land he was born and bred in, one thing stood out; the lack of lights. Beyond a number of key population centres, the land was dark, untamed even. 

Here or there was the occasional-fortified hamlet, farmstead or village, but the sprawling urbanism of the Britain he loved was gone. 

Why was that?

Sir Percival had made mentions of 'Moss', describing black, sludge like beings that preyed upon fairies... a sort of natural predator. Was fear of such beings enough to make these mighty creatures wary? 

There was so much to consider and think about at the current time, and now was not the time to do so. 

"Here will do, Mathias," he called out over the rushing wind to the man carrying him.

"You sure?"

"Quite so, my man," he said, firmly. 

Jabberwocky landed a mile or two away from the bright lights of this Britain's version of Oxford. Wolston took a single step forward with the momentum provided, driving the tip of his cane into the ground as he surveyed the city before them. 

"Heh... looks like they avoided all the urban sprawl. Always hated that part of 'ford, only good bit was the university and old parts," Mathias commented. The large, leathery wings dotted with ugly black scales that had carried them here were pulling back into his body with a movement that looked both as if it were melting and being sucked down a drain. 

"... I cannot say I disagree," Lord Wolston commented idly, even as he brushed himself down and adjusted his tie. 

Travelling by flight was convenient, but it did have downsides in terms of how it messed with one's apparel, and a gentleman should always be dressed for the situation. 

"When I was studied in the Oxford back home, I rarely left the college grounds for that reason, apart from to visit Queen's Lane or the museums."

"Heh... let me guess, theology?"

"Perish the thought," Wolston gave an amused smile, even as he looked out over the city before them. He could see no indication of the cities historic spires and churches, it was a very different looking place than the city that had been his alma mater. 

A shame, but needs must when the devil drives. 

"Sir Percival, what is happening in Londinium?" he asked aloud, and was gratified to receive an answer swiftly.

Well, it seemed young Michael had decided to go rogue again.

Wolston had expected him to do so, his son was tiresomely predictable at times. Indeed, it worked into his plans all the better if King of Swords was not in Londinium.

"Well, it is what it is... take care my man, Jabberwocky and I are doing as I said, I'll be in touch," he commented, and once he dropped the line he began his leisurely stroll towards the city.

Chapter Text

By all accounts, the Palace of Camelot was the most luxurious building Joseph Henderson, Diplomat of the United States, had ever seen. 

He had been to many such centres of opulence during his life. He had wandered the Palazzo Pitti in Florence, Versailles and, of course, Buckingham Palace... but they all paled in comparison to the sheer size and majesty of the vast structure he now found himself residing in. It was so magnificent and grand that the castle town around it seemed less to surround its north, east and western sides then it did hang off it, like an unpleasant leech. 

He felt rather out of place. 

The glossy stone, the high vaulted ceilings and impossible wonders that seemed to occupy every room... all of it was magnificent. There was enough gold in the canopy above his four-poster bed to pay the lifetime salary of the entire embassy he had been working in just days ago, the chandelier shone not with candles or lights but with little orbs of blue flame that sparkled off the gemstones and diamonds inlaid in the majority of the walls in patterns. 

And he had servants. 

A veritable fleet of them of all sorts, he had struggled to believe in fairies until the moment a rather beautiful young woman in a dress with giant butterfly wings had asked him his choices for breakfast. There were a number of the local humans, but they were just for carrying and lifting things, most of his servants were actual fairies who barely left him alone for an hour of the day.

There was just one strange thing about it all... well, many strange things, actually, but two that stuck out.

Firstly, there was nobody else here with him.

Not to say that he wanted to share a room, but beyond the servants, there was not a single other soul that appeared to live in the building. During a number of walks, always escorted by a servant, he had been carefully directed where to go, or to be more correct, where not to go.

“You cannot go there, Sir, that is towards her majesties wing.”

“I do not know what is beyond the door here, sir, so we should not go this way.”

“Sir, the Princess is going for a walk today. From what I have heard, it would be an awful idea to run into her when she is in a bad mood.”

Beyond the occasional guard, he had not seen the supposed Queen, her household or her ministers. It was as if this entire palace were purely for the Queen alone, which rather made him feel as if he were some manner of interloper. But he would just have to deal with it, he was an honoured guest for the moment, after all.

The second strange thing, and something impossible to ignore, was the gigantic and yawning pit that his rooms overlooked. It had been quite a shock to walk all the way up to the windows, keen on looking out over the rather beautiful golden sunset of his first night, only to see a great, yawning darkness open up below him. 

He was not proud to admit that he had made a sound of some fear as he backpedalled away from it. 

Everybody seemed to avoid speaking about the pit as much as possible, as if it was some manner of evil or curse that could not take effect so long as they didn't discuss it. 

Whenever he asked, it was always the same;

“Criminals and traitors get thrown in.”

“We don't talk about it.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I have more tasks to do for your comfort.”

Everybody was terrified of the yawning abyss, and it begged the question; what sort of maniac deliberately built a palace on the edge of a gigantic pit that nobody seemed to know much about, but was utterly terrified of! If the old added of real estate was 'location, location, location' then what was the idea behind all this? 

He disliked the pit, whenever he stood at the window he was keenly aware that if the glass was not there, he would need to take only a single step to fall into its all consuming abyss.

Still, now that a few days had passed, and he had settled in, he was finally seeing progress in his actual work, as after a few requests, he would finally be having his first meeting with a government official later today. The fairy was a man by the name of Spriggan, the Lord of one of the major clans of the country. What he had managed to gather about the structure of this country pointed to an absolute Monarchy, but with a ruler who left a lot of the mundane day to day management to her various officials. 

What gave said monarch to do this?

Power. 

The absolute power to tax anybody via her magic, and the strength to single-handedly obliterate entire armies. 

In the several days he had to sit around with little more to do then pen a few letters to the Queen herself, the Servants sent to attend to him had been more than willing to tell him the stories. Most notably of the 'Winter War' two thousand years ago, in which the Queen had swept down from Orkney and subjugated the Six Clans utterly. 

Two-thousand years, the history of the world since Christ, and this woman had been alive for all of it. 

The idea boggled the mind.

Even now, he was busy writing out a rough timeline of this nations' history for his own reference, it was scattershot in nature, but it was essential that he kept notes---

“Sir?” 

He glanced over from his seat at a desk. There was one of his staff of fairies at the door, the first one with wings he met, Bluebell. She was a rather beautiful young-looking woman, with wings of a bright and iridescent blue-purple colour, which apparently were the source of her name.

“Yes?”

“Her Majesty has sent a gift.”

Well, this was something indeed. He got up from his chair, and made it halfway across the room before the gift was brought in by a pair of burly looking fairies escorted by two of the giant, horse-headed figures. The gift had an armed guard? 

“Her Majesty has made a gift of one of her Water Mirrors,” one of them declared imperiously, voice filling the room. Joseph tried not to flinch at the sound; the sights of that horrible first night, in which he saw men and women struck with fire and lightning, came to mind sharply. 

“I see.” He had no idea what that mean't---

“A second has been sent to 'Washington DC', and shall allow you to speak to your various superiors.”

Oh. 

It was a communication device? 

The name Water Mirror was a fine name, actually, as the Queen's gift was clearly no normal mirror. The large, oval frame of the mirror was two or so foot tall and appeared to be solid silver, but within its bound, where normally would be glass was instead what could only be described as a sheet of liquid, gently rippling and shifting with each movement. It was clearly no normal construction, and only further enhanced the faintly rising panic at the unnatural state of this nation. Whether it was magic, or ubiquitous Parahuman powers, he did not know, all he did was that he was massively out of his depth and trying to keep things together.

The Mirror was carried over with all the reverence one might normally give a cherished family relic or funerary urn, and the mirror of his vanity was removed and replaced with the new Mirror.

“When the other has arrived and been activated, this mirror will make a sound like a bell to announce that the other person is calling,” one of the knights explained, and from there little was said. The pair of knights and their accompanying crew departed with little more said. 

For a minute or more he stood there, considering the mirror. 

Well, as if the people with wings and magical powers weren't indication enough...

“Sir, Lord Spriggan has arrived, he is waiting to meet you in the Lapis Room.”

“Wonderful. I'm almost ready to go, if you would show the way, Bluebell?”

He had expected the Lapis Room to follow in the tradition of palaces around the world, in that its primary colour would be a uniform blue, painted and artfully decorated around. Buckingham Palace had the White Drawing Room, the Green Closet, the Crimson Drawing Room, after all. 

He was not expecting a grand room entirely crafted out of precious stone. 

The floor, the walls, the ceiling, all crafted from solid lapis lazuli polished to such a shine that it was more like walking on glass than polished stone. Golden filigree and other precious materials were everywhere, the windows were large to allow in an abundance of light that made the veins of pyrite in the lapis glitter like stars in a dark blue sky. It was beautiful.

By contrast, the one whom he was to meet appeared comparatively normal. 

Spriggan, Lord of the Earth Clan, was a blonde fairy who almost looked human were it not for his pointed ears. Dressed in browns and reds with tasteful hints of gold, the man rather stood out amidst the sea of lapis lazuli.

“Ah, you must be the diplomat Her Majesty mentioned,” the fairy said, a pair of rather startling blue-green eyes focusing on him as the man stood up from the seat he had been occupying, stepping over with an easy stride that seemed rather casual. 

“Yes, Joseph Henderson, pleasure to meet you, Lord Spriggan,” he extended a hand. 

For a moment, the fairy looked at it, before taking it in a firm grip. Strong, but without being crushing. 

“A pleasure. Are you partial to tea? I had some of the finest brought with me, I find these meetings are always more pleasant with something to drink,” the fairy said as they both moved to the chairs. Indeed, a pair of cups were set, empty, beside a kettle that steamed without any source of heat below it. 

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

How did they even grow tea on this island when surely it needed to be imported?

The opening salvo of the meeting over and tea served, they began.

“I am afraid her Majesty mentioned little about the purpose of this meeting, so I had to conduct some small amount of digging into you, Mr. Henderson, you'll have to forgive me.” For his tone, he almost sounded a little amused. “You are from a nation across the ocean, the 'United States of America', as it were? I have heard your nation is rather prosperous, I am sure that your people must be very content.”

“The US, yes. Home of freedom and democracy.”

“Wonderful; I am afraid that Faerie Britain's arrival in this world must have caused some small amount of trouble for yourself and your people, but I am sure that with time any such chafing can be smoothed over.”

It was delivered with an almost consalatory air, as if Joseph had not seen the soldiers of this land slaughtering civilians with plumes of fire for attempting to flee a desperate situation. In one night, he had seen enough actions to bring a war crime tribunal against the leadership of this nation, and perhaps even worse charges! But he allowed no such thoughts to show on his face.

“I rather fear it might be rather beyond 'chafing', Lord Spriggan, a good number of US nationals where are stranded and unable to get back home.” 

“Well, it is quite unfortunate. But Her Majesty can be generous, I am sure that mutually beneficial settlements can be reached for your citizens that shall see them quite happy here under her Majesties rule... and with time I am sure that any individuals who are unhappy can be relocated back to their native soil. The magical abilities of Her majesty are vast, after all.”

The possibility of escape back to the US was put second, very much indicating the more likely course of action, that they would not be leaving this place.

At least, not for a long time. 

“Your Queen sounds as if she is an incredible woman, to be able to perform such feats as moving your entire world here and other such miracles.”

“You could say that. Truly, the Throne is the keystone that holds the entire of Fairy Britain together, no matter the nature of the Calamities that attempt to destroy us. There is none in this land who can possibly compare to her...” he said. 

“... I must ask, what are the intentions of Her Majesty for the people of Britain.”

A long hum. 

“Well, for our own people, I am sure things will continue as before, for two-thousand years the land has known peace and stability through such a system... whilst the arrival of so many humans is unprecedented, all those who submit to the rule of Her Majesty shall become part of the very same system. In her generosity, Her Majesty has granted the Clans dominion over the newly arrived humans within their lands, so as long as they submit to the Throne, their fates are within the hands of the Clan Lords of those areas,” Spriggan explained.

Joseph had to pause there.

So it was less a case of him inquiring about the fates of the nation as a whole... such a thing depended on the moods of the particular lords in this backward, feudal system?

“How far do your lands extend, Lord Spriggan?” he asked. 

He had seen a map of the land, which curiously omitted Ireland and a vast majority of Scotland (but somehow still included Orkney), but it had not really shown the lines of clan divide.

“Ah, well, the lands of Norwich extend as far as Londiniuman and the River of Tears, and halfway to New Darlington as well. My lands may be small when compared to the vast plains of Salisbury, the rugged Welsh lands of Gloucester and, of course, Edinburgh... but I suspect that a significant number of the newly arrived human population of this land falls within the domains of myself, Lord Woodwose and Lady Aurora.”

It meant that Joseph would need to have a lot more conversations in the future... because rather than dealing with one central figure who dictated how American citizens in this country were handled, there were multiple stakeholders. 

The Fang, Wind and Wing Clan, all who seemed completely different in nature. 

Just from the descriptions that his staff of servants had given him, biased as they were, the news made his heart sink. So he took a long sip of tea and allowed his thoughts to settle. 

Currently, he could only handle the here and now... that was to say, the fairy before him. 

“And may I ask, what are your intentions for the humans in your lands, Lord Spriggan?”

A strange smile was his response.

“Well, the Earth Clan shall be kept very busy in the coming days, you see. We are the artificers and craftsmen of Fairy Britain, the ones who built homes and structures, crafts and wares... so I imagine that the majority of those newly arrived humans will have to be put to some small use building homes and facilities to house them. After that, they shall be quite the economic boon. Fairy Britain has always suffered from a certain lack of supply to meet demand when it comes to humans for menial labour and entertainment, you see? And fairy labour laws do not cover humans, so there is a bare minimum need to recompensate them.”

Joseph stared at the fairy opposite him. 

“You're making humans into slaves?”

“Personally, like to think of them as workers, seeing how they are paid a minimal wage,” the long-eared Lord of the Earth Clan said, in a voice almost a little dismissive. “They get food and board, they are paid a small but steady sum for them to spend as they like...”

“But you would still take people and force them to work in this way?”

“Yes.”

Nothing further there, no denial or attempt to put the matter in a more diplomatic way. 

He was stunned, he sat there for a few moments just staring at the fairy opposite. It hit Joseph like a truck, the realisation that this conversation was real. His servants were inarguably inhuman in nature, but they still gossiped, laughed and gigged even with their odd personalities and approaches.

He was suddenly reminded of why warning stories in fairy tales existed. 

“The United States cannot stand by and allow people to be transformed into slaves! Especially not its own people!” he said, unable to help himself. “The history of the United States is born upon rejecting slavery and the oppression of others, Lord Spriggan, and without wishing to cause any insult to yourself or those you represent, the idea of American citizens or those of the United Kingdom being enslaved is intolerable!”

His words echoed off the solid walls of the cavernous lapis room, almost as if coming back to reproach him for the impassioned outburst. 

“... Is that so?” the fairies striking eyes were fixed on his, a strange smile curled the corners of his lips.

There was no immediate anger or retort to it, instead the fairy was looking him over in a way that rather made Joseph feel as if he were being X-Rayed. The next question rather took him by surprise.

“You have a nice suit, Mr. Henderson. Indulge me, who made it?”

“... It's Armani.”

“Oh no no no, I don't mean the tailor, Mr. Henderson, I mean't who made the fabric, who picked the cotton and then wove it on a loom? Did they get well reimbursed for their efforts... or were they just another form of slave?”

Joseph bristled.

“They were all paid---”

“---A minimal wage, getting food and board from their company?” the fairy asked with a wry tone of voice, raising his blonde eyebrows.

Joseph stopped, a pit forming in his stomach.

The fairy’s smile was far too knowing. 

“... It's alright when it's a child you've never met, isn't it, Mr. Henderson? When it is part of the very economics that keeps things cheap in your country, suddenly it's easy to turn the other cheek...” Spriggan began pouring them both another cup of tea, but this time he did not focus on what he was doing, instead keeping constant, unceasing eye contact with Joseph. “What's the difference here? I take a large number of humans and put them in a factory for a small sum and give them the resources they need to stay alive, but impoverished, then sell the products I make to your country or its companies. It would be no different from what you do for any number of other nations, it's been the core thesis of the industrialisation of the world that has allowed your country to become so powerful... I had actually rather hoped that I could speak with you today on the matter of opening up such trade, Fairy Britain is such a limited market, after all, and new business opportunities are so difficult to find... sugar?”

The last part was asked as the fairy used a pair of silver tongs to life a cube of said material up, a mocking raise of the eyebrows accompanying the question before it, as if all of this was some mere hypothetical and not.

“No... thank you,” Joseph said, slowly.

The fresh cup of tea was passed over, and both of them drank. 

Joseph's hand faintly shook as he did so. 

Spriggan closed his eyes for a moment as he drank, but Joseph kept his gaze fixed on the other man. 

Something was off about all of this...

“You have a better grasp of human society than other fairies I've met, Lord Spriggan.”

He didn't mean it as a compliment. 

Spriggan opened his eyes and lowered his cup. 

“What can I say? I may be one of the Clan Lords, but in truth, I have far less going for me than some of the others,” it was almost offhanded. “Lord Woodwose could break me in half like a stick, I do not have Lady Aurora's beauty or even Lady Muryans prestigious powers... but I do have one thing, my mind. It's how I got started actually, with Spriggan and Capless,” there was a wry smile there, of something not being said. “Humans are brilliant creatures, so inventive, fairies are not. But we can copy human inventions and ideas for our own benefit.”

He said it in a manner almost speculative, indeed, Joseph had heard about the men invention of the department store and how it had revolutionised this 'Fairy Britain', plenty of people said he was quite sharp.  

“I have been learning all about the world beyond the wall of light in the last few days, about the differences between the newly arrived humans and the ones we grow on the farms---” what a wretched existence that was “---let me just say I am impressed; the human world has come up with so many genius ways to exploit its fellow man for profit I am rather out of my league. But as I said... we fairies are very good at imitating human beings.” 

Joseph wanted to wipe that sardonic smile right off the other man's lips. 

Of all the fairies he had met thus far, this one was by far the worst.

Once his meeting was over and Spriggan had departed, a tired Joseph replayed the last hour or two over in his head, turning the words over endlessly. There was just so much to parse through and process, so many contradictions and horrors, that he felt rather as if he had aged a year in the span of that short time.

Walking with hands behind his back, he departed the Lapis Room and within moments, Bluebell was at his side, evidently having waited the entire time for him to emerge.

“Mr. Henderson?”

“Yes, Bluebell?”

“The Prince Consort has sent a letter requesting to meet you, shall I schedule an appointment to do so?”

Consort--- oh, the mysterious human he had heard so much about, 'Beryl Gut.'

He had heard little of the man, only that he was some manner of 'Magus', a title met with some small (and somewhat poorly hidden) derision from his staff, and that he had quite a reputation. 

Supposedly the town of New Darlington, which he had power over, was... quite a place indeed.

Still, marshalling his thoughts as they walked back to his appointed rooms, Joseph rather thought that right now he just wanted to sit somewhere quiet and reflect, perhaps make some notes. 

But such was not the life of a man in his precarious position.

“Yes please, Bluebell. Please let the Prince Consort know that I would be delighted to meet with him. Tomorrow, if possible,” he said. Bluebell nodded demurely, and changed the topic.

“The Water Mirror has successfully activated. Poppy has informed the human on the other side that you will be back soon.”

Thank Christ.

His footsteps grew just a bit faster, Bluebell kept pace with ease, glancing at him with eyes that evidently read into his renewed energy. But she held her tongue and made no comment on such.

The rest of the walk was in silence, and upon his return, he discovered a trio of his staff loitering like butterflies around a flower near his vanity, peering and peeking at the somewhat stiff form of a man in a suit visible on the other side of the Water Mirror. Said man did not look amused whatsoever, but straightened just a little at the sight of Joseph rapidly approaching.

“Ladies, privacy please.”

The servants scattered, all bows and deferences once more even as an amused glint remained in their eyes, moving away to line up against the back wall. He had rather hoped to be alone, but it seemed that even now, he would not have a moments' peace. 

“Joseph Henderson, deputy Minister for Consular Affairs for the British mission,” he introduced, fishing out the card from his pocket. It was a little scuffed and faded from many years of use, but he had been clutching onto it like a lifeline for the last few days. 

He said it more to cut through any questions, and to show he was who he was. 

He already knew the other man, Anthony Johnson, Chief of Mission to the United Kingdom.

They had met before a few times, although that had been before Johnson's promotion to Chief of Mission following the death of his predecessor. It had been at a cocktail party when the two first met, actually, a rather bland event celebrating the birth of some royal child in the UK, and they had whiled away the evening trading stories, even if Joseph had been far less interesting, being several years the man's junior.

“Henderson, I'm going to need a lot of answers and I'm going to need them fast, what in the hell is going on over there?” the man demanded, with unusual bluntness. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, a few very long nights had been his superior's recent life. 

He sensed that his day was going to only get longer, but dutifully he began to explain all he knew, for better and worse.

Mostly worse.

Chapter Text

Sat in the study of his handsome estate in the centre of Oxford, the Head of the Fang Clan sat with fingers interlaced, claws gleaming as he regarded the fairy across from him

Said fairy was bowed at the waist in respect.

"... And this human insulted the meal, despite it being a kindness extended to him by his host?"

"Y-Yes, Lord Woodwose! He said that the flavours were imbalanced, the spices were 'woeful and lacking' and that he could barely eat it as a chef! A member of staff almost tried to kill him there and then before one of us could stop them!"

Well, the loyalty of his clan to fine cuisine was as ever appreciated.

Indeed, his first instinct was to have the impertinent human of this alternate history killed, and it was one that he fought to resist. 

But he was a changed fairy. 

The average member of their race had little capacity for hindsight, they lived in accordance with the purpose that was at the centre and foundation of their being; indeed, for the longest time Woodwose had done the same. 

However, that did not mean that he could not adapt, could not change in small ways. 

A reinvention that was aligned with his purpose, an attempt to become something more than the Sword of Fairy Britain. 

"If the Fang Clan remains ruled by its savage nature, then it is doomed to be undone by that same nature."

Whether Queen Morgan had meant for that statement to cause such a great change in him, he could not know... but he was eternally grateful for her words. 

In truth... the Woodwose restaurants had begun purely because he had no idea quite how to change. 

He knew nothing about the proper formulation of a meal, the methods of food preparation was something that for the longest time he had frankly seen as beneath his notice. But just as fighting was at the core of his being, so was the sensation of tearing flesh from bone or tasting blood in his mouth... so an attempt to branch out into the gastronomic had been the first thing that had come to mind. 

Somehow, it had worked. 

The restaurants that bore his name were a point of pride at this point, Oxford had been transformed in recent years from just being 'the home of the Fang Clan' into a centre of gastronomic excellence. His fine city was a place where fairies came from across Britain to dine and socialise.

Which further made the current situation aggravating.

A human from the alternate history, insisting that the food served in his restaurant was sub-par.

"... Shall we have the human killed, Lord Woodwose?" the clan member before him asked.

"No. If the human has such strong opinions and confidence in their statements, then we'll put them to the test."

The Fang Clan had always been fond of competition; normally of a more physical and martial variety, but was there truly any better way to establish the quality and character of a fairy than to see them compete over something? Indeed, he became Lord of the Fang in an extended competition of etiquette against Boggart many centuries ago, even coming perilously close to loosing before the oaf messed up when his human wife betrayed him.

But all this was an aside. 

A competition would settle this matter.

"Tomorrow night have the chef from my restaurant, and this human cook the same meal, and I shall see personally which holds merit," he ruled. 

"Yes, Lord Woodwose!"

The dog-headed fairy straightened and hastened out of the room, and quiet once more fell upon the study. 

Woodwose leant back in his chair, glancing down at the handsome desk on which a neat pile of papers and a number of texts sat, contemplating the situation. 

Even with his changed outlook and wisdom hard-earned with age, normally he would not have taken this course of action. 

Recent developments had thrown him for a loop, this influx (or perhaps, tidal wave) of new humans had upended the entire course of the nation and just like his rival Clan Heads, he had to make sense of the new normal.

The problem with farm grown humans was that they lived for so very short a period of time. Just long enough to be put to use, perhaps enough to master a trade before they died. For that reason, they were put to use in menial labour; why train a human to be a craftsman when an apprenticeship would take up a third of their life, at minimum? No, better to leave such things to members of the Earth Clan. 

However...

Just as fairies were unable to change easily, they also were not imaginative. 

There was a reason why Woodwose's office was designed by humans, rather than fairies. 

As a breed, they could only truly emulate, their civilisation was one of imitation, they were divided spirits of the planet after all.

The farm grown humans went some way to filling the gap, in their short and ephemeral lives they could help to design and provide some degree of creativity in this world that was endlessly entertaining and new.

The humans of the alternate history did not have the same limitation. They lived several times longer than those created on the farms, had enough time to truly master something, to work long and hard on pursuits that a grown human would perish pursuing. They had their own culture and knowledge, they had abstract notions and ideas that could not be explored by Fairy Britain's own humans. 

Damn the man, but Spriggan had been right on one thing (and that was the most he would begrudgingly give the man!)

The new influx of humans was an opportunity. 

The Oxford of the alternate human history was a centre of learning, a 'university' of collected intellect and wisdom that stood among one of the greatest in the world. Alas, its great libraries and structures were lost now, but debatably the most valuable resource of that place had carried over, its humans. 

One-hundred and fifty thousand of them in Oxford alone, without including the surrounding areas and the vast numbers of humans being distributed around the country from Londinium following its surrender. 

The students and professors of the supposedly great Oxford University had been granted his protection and were comfortably within his clan's firm grip. The academic population of the universities great rival, 'Cambridge' had fallen in the territory of New Darlington.

Most of the humans in those two territories would be dead or put to work soon enough, Woodwose had no doubt.

As for the non-academics that had arrived, the human chaff... well, he had been asking Queen Morgan for more soldiers to deal with the increased Moss problem for decades now.

The average human from the alternate history was pathetically weak, even compared to the humans of Fairy Britain their natural attributes were frankly pathetic. 

But quantity could have a certain quality of its own in warfare, especially against unintelligent foes. Give each man a bow or pike and have them trained to a modest degree in return for food and board, and within a year he would have a vast number of trained fighters. Give squads of humans over to trusted fairies and sent out to patrol the countryside and help keep a better grip on the Moss problem. Humans couldn't be affected by the corruptive nature of the Moss, after all. 

The strong would thrive, the weak would die. 

And they would breed, which was a strange notion all of its own (and one he had not troubled himself to fully understand either). The reliance on farm grown humans was over, the Fang Clan would cultivate its own strain of humans for warfare. 

And that was without including the ones with 'Parahuman powers', a new weapon to exploit.

It would take time and effort, but it was probably the best use the Fang Clan could find for the vast numbers of humans suddenly dropped into their lap. 

But still, returning to the topic of the academics, some of them had been carrying books and texts at the time of their transposition to Fairy Britain. Now a number of those same texts sat on his desk, stacked neatly. 

No doubt there were more, this was just a small selection.

The Head of the Fang Clan reached over and took up the book he had been reading before the other fairy had come to him with the matter of the impertinent human.

The Lord of the Rings; The Fellowship of the Ring

The prose was dense and at times ponderous, the exacting descriptions of locations that did not exist was confusing at times with its constant referencing of other places that only existed in fantasy (the map provided at the forefront of the book was an essential). 

And yet... as Woodwose read of the death of Boromir, and the song with which his fellows sent him off with he was struck, he found himself murmuring the words aloud.

Despite its density... the quality of the story eclipsed anything produced by the hands of the farm humans. 

... What if Oxford could be more than the seat of the Fang Clan and centre of gastronomic excellence? What if he could further adapt it to also include the greatest centre of learning in Britain?

Perhaps he, Woodwose, could come to be known not only as the Sword of Fairy Britain but also as patron of the culinary arts and the wise?

He had the resources needed to do it, after all... he was feeling invigorated by this all.

Ah, but he was getting ahead of himself. 

First, he would see if this human chef of the alternate history could impress him the next night. If not, then they would find out that something bearing the name Woodwose was not to be insulted without consequence. 

The next night, the contest took place.

The dining table of Woodwose's estate was dark, high and grand, made of wood cut and carved from the World Tree of Orkney itself, Seyfert. 

Were Woodwose to auction the piece of furniture then it would not be bid upon by common fairies, oh no, but by the other Clan Head's themselves, and for an extortionate price as well, considering the scarcity of the material. 

Few wished to visit Orkney and the wrath of the spirits there, after all.

He sat at the head of this grand table without any other joining him, but he was by no means alone. 

Two rows of servants bearing twin sets of plates and dishes arrived, even as the Clan Head sat patiently the various paraphernalia of fine dining were sat down. He had instituted the conventions of multiple forms of knife and fork for different foods, and which were now emulated across the land.

On the left, the human chef from one of his restaurants stood, hands clasped behind his back.

On the right, the human of the alternate history who had besmirched and insulted the efforts of the other, pale but steeled.

Two lines of farmed human servants, one on each side of the room, stepped forward with covered plates and bowls with handsome silver lids. These were placed upon the grand table in rows for presentation to him, and in a synchronised flourish, the lids were removed, and two plates were carefully served up by the chefs.

The food articles on the left was as he would expect, it was the standard presentation in any of his restaurants and how all of his chefs were trained to prepare the meal. 

However, when the lid came off the equivalent meal from the alternate history, Woodwose raised a brow. 

It was the same, but different. The way the meat was presented, the arrangement of vegetables and drizzling of the gravy, it was subtle in its difference, but notable. 

The matter of aesthetics was one he was not as suited to comment on, so he left that matter aside for now as he enjoyed a small portion of the former. 

Carefully, he raised the fork to his mouth of the first plate. 

Delectable, no less than would expect from one of the chefs trained in his restaurant. The chewy meat, the watery gravy and the well cooked vegetables. How could anything else possibly compare, how could this human of the alternate history possibly find fault in it all!?

However. 

Having tried a bite of each component of the first plate, he had it moved to the side and the one prepared by the cook from the alternate history was put forth.

He sampled each part, giving each the same opportunity as he had the other, and swiftly enough, he was done.

"..."

He raised a napkin to his mouth as the second plate was removed, just like the first, not speaking and instead in deep thought.

For a few moments the room was utterly silent, the air was filled with the subtle scent that humans produced when they were in the depths of fear, and he made no efforts to be swift in his deliberations.

Then, Woodwose pointed to the chef from his restaurant.

"Have that man killed."

"Lord Woodwose!---"

The other human glanced from the corner of his eyes, breath hitching and face blanching of all colour as a servant began to drag away the soon-to-be dead, but very vocal man that just moments before had been one of the most renowned chefs within the entire city of Oxford.

"Congratulations," Woodwose began, putting his hands together and interlacing his fingers, over which he peered at the human. "You have utterly ruined for me the very food that I have spent centuries promoting across Fairy Britain. Henceforth, you shall be my personal chef, and shall assist in raising my restaurant's to new heights," he declared.

It was an honour for the man, of course.

If he had been willing to make the challenge in the first place, then no doubt this had been his intention from the start. 

Woodwose glanced from the corner of his eye to one of his staff, who had been watching the proceedings. 

A human, one from the alternative history, who had approached him without fear and declared he had powers that would be invaluable to him. At the time, Woodwose had almost disregarded him, granting him exactly one minute to convince him or perish.

He had done so, the men's abilities was something only a fool would refuse.

"Let it be known that humans from the alternate history that those who hold the title of 'chef' are to be protected to the same degree as the students and professors."

"Of course, Lord Woodwose."

Chapter Text

New York

It was a miserable time to be on Wall Street. 

Well, if you were an average trader, that was. 

“How long do you think before things begin to look up?”

“First two-thousand and eight and now this, fucking Parahumans!”

James listened in to the complaints and despair of his fellow traders in silence, without caring to point out his own recent successes. A long career in this industry taught one the benefits of caution around others, so rather than gloating, he listened in. Following the 'Wall of Light' springing into being, markets had crashed worldwide as everyone scrambled to recover what little value they could.

Britain was no longer one of the world superpowers by any stretch, but it was still one of the biggest financial hubs in the world and one of the cornerstones of the system. Just the City of London represented a loss of almost two trillion dollars of property loss, and that was without including the other notable cities like Bristol, Birmingham, and Glasgow. Each of those three had an approximate property value of over ninety billion each, and the total loss was staggering, and a lot of international investment and ownership had literally just evaporated into thin air.

The spider's web that was the financial system had just had a bird fly straight though it, punching a massive hole through the entire lot. 

It wasn't just property either, a lot of very affluent people around the world held property in London to take advantage of various beneficial tax breaks. But now all that value had evaporated without opportunity for reimbursement. James had never had the opportunity to buy a nice town house in London, but it had been one of his plans if he could. But now it seemed that he would need to find a nice little tax haven somewhere else. 

He still owed Andre a good few drinks; the man's early warning had saved his entire portfolio and allowed him to liquidate his various British assets before the news came through and the markets tumbled. 

“Any official responses from the President on this all?”

“Just a bit of lip service, I don't know, I've more been focusing on the markets, not the other news.”

“I doubt we'll hear anything until they know more, that gold nuke really has a lot of people scarred.”

Ah yes, the 'nuke' the seemingly Parahuman weapon that had been fired from the walls of Britain at Scion, creating the largest explosion recorded in human history, surpassing even the most insane weapons developed by the damn Soviets! At least the world's greatest hero had survived the blast, but whatever the official response had been planned to be to what was going on in Britain, it had no doubt been stymied or held back by the blast.

James had been across the ocean from the damn thing, but still heard it when the shockwave hit New York. 

At least his apartment windows had not shattered, like they had in Europe. 

That would have been quite a bill for his account. 

All in all, the British situation had plunged the world into chaos, and with chaos came opportunity. James knew that well enough, he simply wished that said chaos was a bit less impactful on his line of work. For now, he was holding all options in reserve, the proceeds from the British assets he had liquidated would very much be remaining cash until things stabilised.  

As the various traders discussed the situation over lunch, in the background of the bar, a TV was blaring with the news headlines. The owner knew to put on the news when all the traders came in, to let them monitor what was going on. Indeed, it was one of the main reasons why so many of them convened here because it sure as hell wasn't the food.

Nowhere in New York could overcook a fry like this place.

Currently, a CNN report was blaring. 

“---An emergency meeting of the UN convened this morning to discuss the situation in the United Kingdom convened earlier, with representatives from across the globe invited.”

“Only took four days, must be a record. They must have skipped all the meetings about what canapés to serve the delegates,” one of James fellows, a big, old school trader by the name of Doug, said, snorting in a manner not unlike a pig. A cynic through and though, but probably correct on that assessment. 

James watched the news headlines idly, sipping at his beer as he did so. 

The information about the UN report was scant, most of it was focusing on the Secretary-General making a speech calling for 'unity in dealing with this unprecedented crisis' without anything more concrete than that. He might as well have said nothing for all the good it represented. The lumbering juggernaut of the UN had finally woken up and begun trying to handle a crisis that had been affecting the world days ago. 

As it was, there was only a little time to discuss the convening of the UN, as the current report was suddenly interrupted from the main studio. 

He took another sip of his drink as the younger traders to his left got into an argument about the merits of the UN's involvement and how much of a difference it would make. 

James wasn't a politician or clued in on such things, and frankly his cynicism would go no way in helping the matter, so it was not like he could make a judgement on all that. Results mattered far more than talk, and from what he had seen of it all, there were plenty of windbags in this world.

“And we are just getting news that Vice President Smith is giving a statement on the British situation,” the rather vapid blonde news anchor said, even as the screen suddenly cut to depict the man himself, a somewhat weedy man holding on to the edges of the lectern with a stuff grip. 

“Henry! Turn up the TV!” barked Doug, and obligingly (although with a faint grumble) the owner did so, the entire room focusing on the various screens dotted about. 

“---In the last few hours, we have managed limited contact with some individuals within the United Kingdom. At this time, it would appear that a large scale, extradimensional shift has occurred due to Parahuman involvement, with all individuals in the country suddenly moved to an alternate United Kingdom. Whilst the source of this event is still unknown, various experts in the areas of Parahuman science are currently investigating several theories to try to ascertain the exact nature of what has happened.”

It was difficult to hear the man's voice for the number of flashing, clicking cameras going off in the background.

“Well, that should rally the markets a little, just having a bit of good news,” James commented idly. 

A hum from one of the others, but there was a pessimism in the air as the Vice President continued. 

“We have successfully made contact with lawmakers in the United Kingdom to try to resolve this situation peacefully, and are working to ascertain the situation and safety of American citizens currently trapped in the wall of light, with the aim to safely relocate any such citizens.”

Well, that was good to hear. If there was some manner of authority and contact had been made, then the whole sordid mess could probably be sorted out with time. The real problem would be bringing down the damn wall of light to allow things to truly return to normal, because if this was the permanent state of being from here on out...

Markets didn't like uncertainty and unknown factors, it liked stability. 

The moment something was hidden or people lost confidence, things collapsed and the entire carefully stacked deck of cards that was the financial system began to implode upon itself. Even with dozens of Endbringer attacks over the years, the world's financial system was not built with a level of resilience that could handle something like this. 

James wasn't particularly concerned about the plight of American citizens in the United Kingdom, he was a money man and little more. As he listened to the Vice President continue to drone on and take (more often, avoid) questions from the various reporters, there was a feeling in his gut telling him to keep a lot of his assets in liquid cash. 

Cornwall, Fairy Britain

On the outskirts of a particular forest at the furthest end of Fairy Britain, a well-dressed individual watched as several figures plunged into the depths of the woods, fleeing their pursuers. 

Over several days, they had run all the way from Londinium, been cornered multiple times and fought their way out each time at a loss of two of their number along the way.

At least, that was what he had heard, all of Britain was in such a tizzy presently with the sudden arrival of so many humans. He had certainly seen plenty of grand, sordid affairs along the way, seen things that only heightened his hatred and disgust at the fairies of this land. Then again, plenty of the humans had been more than willing to cast aside their own as well if it had bought them more time or a favourable position...

Both were frankly rather wretched, but the latter group was just floundering around in the dark, in a way it was rather pitiable.

The existence of so many humans with abilities on bordering on supernatural was fascinating, though, an interesting piece for the metaphorical board that was this land... and for toppling it all over.

“Oh no, no, no. Even though I was rushing, I've seemed to have arrived a little late,” he mused, watching as the dog and wolf-headed faeries all wisely came to a stop, taunting and jeering at their quarries but unwilling to head further in. They knew the risks, the four (now two) humans they had been pursuing did not.

Still, he had failed to reach this asset in time, it appeared.

A scratching, high-pitched voice reached his ears. 

“Huh? Because I've been taking it a little too easy? Come on, cut me some slack here, the entire of Britain's in chaos with all these new humans, I can't be everywhere at once! But you're right, Blanca. It's time for me to get serious, too. Oops, are those fairies lurking in the shadows? One, two, three, four of them...oh dear, that's quite a bad omen---hrrrk!” the speaker stopped speaking as the breath was forced from his lungs.

It took a moment for him to look down, so shocked was he by the sensation of something piercing his body all the way through.

A sensation, pulling down, the absolute force of the weapon pushing down until he met the ground. Other sharp implements pierced the speaker, pinning him in place like a butterfly in a display case. 

Blanca was flying at his attacker, but just a moment later a pair of downy white wings fell to the floor, part of a thorax as well, falling gracelessly with a small thump beside his face. 

The King of the Moss had just a moment to take in who it was that had attacked him.

“You---”

“There is no need for worms to speak.”

Another weapon pierced his body, and his attacker didn't even look at the corpse left behind as it began to break apart into golden dust.

Instead, they began to approach the Nameless Woods.

Chapter Text

Michelle Dean's feet ached. 

The long march from 'Londinium' to their eventual end point of 'Salisbury' was not easy to somebody who had not been able to eat or sleep much in a while. If nothing else, as one of the first to submit to the rule of the Queen, she was also near the front of the group.

However, even with this position, her situation was dire.

“Please, do you have any milk?” she begged one of the fairies escorting them.

“Milk? What is milk?”

 Why did nobody know what milk was! Were there no cows or anything like that? She needed some for Katie, there had to be somebody or something that could help!

Her babies crying had already caused trouble on the journey, a few times she had felt the irritated gazes of others, both human and fairy, upon her back, despite her best attempts to soothe the infant. 

The walls of their destination were ahead of them, the city of Salisbury. 

Down the long road they walked without concern for tiredness, pressed on by the surrounding knights. The knights at the gates had a very different suit of armour and uniform than those of the horse-headed knights, but Michelle couldn't pay too much attention to all that. 

As a group, they were given over to the local knights, and the march continued, Michelle asking all and sundry... and yet, nobody could help.

“Excuse me?”

A voice beside her.

The speaker was a short and stocky, with a slightly sad face but very normal otherwise. Certainly normal compared to the humanoid dogs and wolves, the nine-foot tall horses headed knights that summoned pillars of fire and the people with butterfly wings!

“My names Mike. You said something about milk?” he said, looking up at her. 

He must be another type of fairy... perhaps, like, a dwarf? People used to call fairies the little folk or stuff like that, right? Or maybe he was more akin to a gnome---

“I have milk at my tavern. Not many people like to drink it though,” the strange fairy frowned a little in a manner almost a little sad. 

But right now, she wasn't concerned about how he felt, zeroing in on what he said.

“Please, do you have some I can have? It's for my baby,” she pleaded, even as Katie squirmed and looked about ready for another big crying session. 

The fairy frowned as he looked from her face down to the bundle at her chest, blinking a few times as if it were his first occasion ever seeing an infant. Which, based on what others had said, was probably true.

“Oh, a small human? That's strange,” his heavy brows furrowed as he looked at her daughter's face, but after the moment he gave a little shrug to himself. He took out a bottle of what looked to be water and poured it out quite casually on the ground.

Then, giving a wave of the hand, he filled it with what could only be milk, milk that appeared from thin air.

“Here you go.”

No demands or expectations or confusion. The bottle didn't have a nipple for Katie, but at this point, Michelle didn't care, she took it with such gusto that she was surprised none of it was spilled, bringing it carefully up to Katie's lips. 

Within moments, her daughter had quietened down and was drinking, getting as much of the precious, precious food on her face as in her mouth. 

“There you go, there you go---” she was careful, oh so careful with how much she supplied at once, Katie was so hungry that a few times she began coughing when Michelle tried to give her too much, but anything was better than nothing! It took a few minutes, her daughter was so hungry, and in that time the short man at her side just watched with earnest curiosity.

It was only when Michelle was done that she thought to say something to him.

“Thanks so, so much!” She would have given him a hug, but she was still holding the bottle and her baby, so she was just a little tied up in terms of limbs.

“Oh, it's nothing, it's nice to see a pretty lady smile,” he said as he walked at her side. 

He said it with smile lighting up his face and removing that slight dour, sad look of before. For the first time, she found herself smiling back, despite her aching feet and exhaustion. 

 The little man kept pace with the line, and Michelle had to wonder;

“Why are you coming? I thought only... you know, humans were,” she said, glancing at the line ahead of her, which steadily moved ever forwards to the large, cathedral like structure ahead. 

“Hm? Oh, I wanted to ask Lady Aurora for a human who would help me in the tavern. I heard that fairies who need help can come forward and are likely to be granted it because there are so many humans who need help. I've never owned a human before, but it would be very helpful.”

So they were all being given out? Maybe it was like a homestay situation until things sorted themselves out... but at the same time, the fact he talked about 'owning a human' made it sound a lot more like a form of slavery. Then again, hadn't she willingly stepped into this situation out of desperation? 

God, it was all so horrible. 

But...

This man, this fairy, he had milk, the thing that Michelle needed most right now. The fairy owned a business, and Katie wasn't too far off taking solid food, and right now, in this long line leading into the cathedral like building...

She needed to take her chances.

If everyone in this queue was being given a place to stay and some manner of job to do... then it only followed that Michelle might not find another place that could provide food for Katie. As much as she didn't like the idea of basically being given into a form of servitude, she had made this choice on her own initiative. 

If this fairy owned a pub and needed somebody to help him, and more importantly, if he could provide for them both, then it was just... switching employers, right?

“Maybe I could help you! I've worked as a waitress before, not for long, but I know how to pour drinks and stuff! And if you can just give me somewhere to stay and plenty of milk for my baby, then I'd be happy to help,” she said, all in a big rush. 

“Oh... Oh! That would be really nice,” the fairy visibly brightened at the idea. “What's your name, miss, I'm Mike!”

“I'm Michelle... and this is Katie,”

“Mishielee and Katy.”

He seemed a little bad with pronouncing names, it took a good few attempts.

They were growing closer and closer to the front, and the line was being split apart.

At the end of the hall were a number of fairies directing who would go where, chief among them a woman with long, faintly pink hair and large wings of much the same colour, edged in black. In a pretty white dress, this chief fairy glanced up at the pair of them and, whilst not raising an eyebrow, the question as evident in her expression.

“Hello, Miss Coral,” Mike greeted the woman respectfully, so Katie tried to do the same. 

“And you are?” the fairy asked, pink eyes (was everything about this fairy pink?) looking between them.

“Mike, of Mike's Tavern.”

Inventive, the fairy beside her clearly was not, but Michelle could not afford to be choosy right now. 

“I see. The line for requests is over there, Mike. The line for processing the new humans is that way, human,” the fairy clearly indicated. 

Mike spoke up before Katie could;

“Miss Michelle here wants to work for my tavern, she said so,” Mike explained.

“Yes, um, Mike promised to provide me with milk for my baby, and I don't mind being a waitress! I've done it before---” Michelle doubted that fairies needed temp agents, but everyone needed bar staff and waitresses... even supernatural beings, right? 

“I do not have the power to assign you on the spot,” the fairy, Coral, said simply.

“Lady Aurora could,” Mike said, even as Michelle felt her heart sink a little. Arguing with bureaucrats never went well for anybody, and Coral frowned, voice just a little hardened as she replied;

“Lady Aurora is busy at the moment---”

“Oh? Now now Coral, there is no need for that,” spoke up a voice, and at once, the door behind the pink haired fairy opened, and from behind it, somebody stepped out. 

If Michelle had any doubt about the supernatural nature of the beings that were now surrounding her, then the luminous creature emerging from the finely filagreed double doors put it to rest. She was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful woman that Michelle had ever seen, with frankly impractically long hair and iridescent wings containing seemingly every colour possible.

“Lady Aurora!”

“It's quite alright, Coral, no need to take on so, I simply happened to hear what was going on and had to see for myself! It's quite wonderful to see our new arrivals mixing so well with the people of Salisbury!” 

The fairy had a soft, tinkling sound of voice that was pleasant on the ears, the sort of voice that you could listen to forever or which could talk about anything and make it interesting.

“Oh? And what do we have here?” the lady, Aurora, peered down at the little face of Katie.

“Um, this is my baby, ma'am. Her name's Katie.”

“How fascinating, a tiny human! What does it do?”

What does it do?

It was such a strange question that it took her a few moments to formulate any sort of answer. Like, how do you try to explain a baby to a person? 

“Um, she's going to grow up,” Michelle explained, trying her best to follow along and not be rude.

Coral interjected.

“Lady Aurora, according to the information, humans from the other history breed more like animals rather than the humans from the farms. It takes them around fifteen to twenty years to mature, this one is a newborn, it will be a few years before it walks and talks.” 

From... the farms? 

What was the sudden chill that went down Michelle's spine? 

“How inspired!”

As if in response to her own excitement and plea, the fairy practically glowed and gave a benevolent smile. She seemed like such a nice and gentle person, willing to take in so many, but she paid barely more than a moments' attention to Katie. 

Still, Michelle had to take the opportunity provided.

“Mike here offered me work, and he can give me the food I need for Katie, um, milk that is, we were hoping I could work for him?"

“Well then, I am sure we can allow this, can't we, Coral?”

“Yes, Lady Aurora." And now that she had instructions from the boss, the pink haired fairy was all too willing to help. “Here, I have a contract, standard employment sort of the new humans... if you would put your name here as the benefactor,” Coral said, smoothly passing a quill to Mike, who happily took it and began writing, in big bold letters, his name.

Meanwhile, Aurora was still focusing on Michelle.

“You must love your 'baby' a lot, then?”

“Yes, she's my world.”

That earned a strange response, used to dealing with people as she was, Michelle could swear that Aurora's radiance dimmed, just a for a moment as the woman looked between them. 

And then---

“Well, that is quite wonderful,” she said, sweetly, although it was something of a non-response.

Coral glanced over, and just a little sharply.

“I am sure that what she meant, Lady Aurora, is that the baby is very special to her. Apparently, humans of the other history live in small 'families'.”

The pink haired fairy was sending Michelle a look, wide-eyed, unblinking and right into her very soul. 

A warning. 

There was no other way to read into it.

“I see. How lovely.”

There was a tittering giggle of joy from Aurora, but for some reason, Michelle felt tense all over and kept her mouth shut. 

Fortunately, the ruler of Salisbury did not remain for much longer, swiftly disappearing back into the room from which she had emerged, and Michelle signed on the line for her new contract of employment. 

A copy was provided, and then it was all done, and she was walking beside Mike out of the long, beautiful hall. 

Katie was asleep in her arms, they both had a place to stay, Michelle had employment and most importantly, food. 

It felt as if a great existential weight had been lifted from her shoulders, only for another, lighter one, to have been tied around her neck. She would read the contract in full later, there had not been time, but she needed to understand it all.

As they walked down the long hall, she noticed somebody walking their way, moving down the line of exhausted humans without concern. It was a young woman, with silver hair and clad in blue and white armour. A blue visor was sat over her eyes, and it was impossible to not notice that from the two blades near her hands, droplets of blood were falling, forming a trail of crimson.

“I cannot wait to get back! Maybe you can explain what the rooms upstairs are for, oh, and do you know how to cook? I can, but not that well,” Mike was speaking beside her, beaming up at her with a smile.

“Yeah... I can cook---” she replied, distracted. As the silver-haired young woman went past, Michelle tried not to stare, averting her eyes when that visor-covered face turned her way for a moment. 

It wasn't until they were safely past that she spoke up.

“Um... Mike?”

“Oh, yes Mishell?”

“Michelle, sorry, um... who was that?”

“Hm? Oh, that was Fairy Knight Lancelot, she's the strongest fairy in the whole of Britain! Apart from the Queen, of course.”

She shivered.

The sooner she got indoors somewhere normal, the better. 

Chapter Text

“Here you go, darling.”

“Thank you, Mash.”

The cup of tea was set in front of him, and he glanced at her, a smile on his lips.

Ah, his lilac haired love...

Those bangs, that look that made her resemble a helpless deer or rabbit about to be hit by a car. She was perfect, oh so perfect. In the clothes he had picked for her, she looked the very part of his woman, there could be no doubt about it. 

In the comfortable rooms of their New Darlington Palace, they could have their idyllic, fairy tale life that he had always imaged in his most sentimental moments.

He took up the cup. 

Ah, she made it exactly how he liked it, that was to say, incredibly sweet.

It had taken her three attempts to get it right,

“... What do you want me to do now?” she asked, and there was just the faintest hint of bitterness or irritation tinted her voice, and the sound brought a primal wave of revulsion to him. 

His face fell, he paused in enjoying his tea as if it had been made with soured milk, unable to find any enjoyment in it.

“... Ah...”

The little chit clearly realised her mistake as she hurried to correct it, but it was all too late for the statement and tone to be walked back. The veil was lifted... and he had such high hopes for this one as well...

“W-wait---”

“Mash would never say something like that,” he mourned, “she would be far more demure...”

He killed her with a single blow. 

It barely took any effort at all, the humans of this alternate history were just as weak and pathetic as the ones from the Proper Human History from which he had come, and yet...

That was the seventh girl who had tried to mould into a replacement, at least in terms of rough appearance and personality, but just like all the others she had slipped up. 

In the three weeks since the Lostbelt reached this new world, New Darlington had experienced a constant influx of new humans, it was hardly as if he were lacking in terms of fresh material, as it were. The Slaughterhouse Theatre was doing a booming trade at the moment, the arts were being pushed to new heights. 

With so many humans, they could afford to kill hundreds of them a night without concern. 

But the repeated disappointments in his personal life stung dearly. 

Truly, Mash was one of a kind... there was no replacing perfection.

Beryl put such efforts into modifying the appearances of the various girls to best resemble his darling, gave them firm instruction on the correct behaviour and manner, yet they always slipped up. Truly, there was no replacement in this world for his dear kouhai, when he broke the fingers of the girls he put such effort into, their expressions of agony were nothing like those of Mash, their responses were all wrong. 

If inflicting pain was an expression of love, then his love was repeatedly spat. 

Curse this situation!

Curse this rotten world! 

What was the use of Wodime's plan when he was in an entirely different dimension, timeline or even reality! Beryl had no ability to contact his fellow Crypter's or even escape this wretched island filled with Fairies, there was an entirely alternate human history beyond that.

He could not even escape and return to the Clock Tower because fairy Britain had utterly replaced it, and by the sounds of it, Magecraft didn't even exist beyond the Wall of Light!

Why could it not have been one of the others who endured this twist of fortune, Kadoc would probably have loved this situation, finally being the most notable human Magus in all the world! 

Beryl sighed, long and dramatic. 

No, it was not the time for such histrionics. 

He ran a long fingered hand through his hair, casting his eyes to the ceiling of his New Darlington Palace. 

So much to do... and yet, he found little joy in it without the prospect of seeing his love again. 

Even his recent endeavours to investigate the Moss curse, and find an application with humans, were lacking in passion... he had only put cursory thought into it. The differences between humans and faeries may be as stark as night and day, but his upbringing in Witchcraft gave him a well of knowledge when it came to the application of curses. 

With his current mood, he would gladly find a means of application and cast the Moss curse beyond the Wall of Light to consume the entire world beyond, such was his ire at the situation. 

It was, in its totality, a hopeless situation.

Short of miraculously gaining access to the Second Magic, he was stuck here.

The only other avenue that brought some hope was the local form of power accessible to humans. 

'Parahuman powers.'

His 'wife' had tasked him with performing investigations into the matter, and the initial results from his various vivisections had proven quite illuminating, and he had already sent the proceeds to the Queen. An entirely new section of the brain, some manner of supernatural connection to a greater entity, even if his research into exactly what said entity was had stalled. 

To distract himself, he strode over to the desk in the room, ignoring the cooling body of Mash imitation number seven, and glanced over his recent proceeds. 

Experiment #64: Application of Slack Snark curse directly to additional organ; rapid mutation of organ led to subject expiring within six minutes, despite repeated forced resuscitation. 

Experiment #66: Application of Slack Snark curse into partially vivisected additional organ; anomalous response, power rapidly deteriorated, curse successfully neutralised source of Parahuman abilities(?) The subject demonstrated no capacity to use ability after the experiment. Subject euthanised.

Experiments #68-#73: Attempts to replicate experiment #66 showing decreasing success. Shared resistance/capacity to resist between unconnected subjects?

All very interesting, it indicated a shared source between all these powers and abilities. Whatever was messing with humanity as a whole was doing so on a wide scale, far larger than anything that conventional Magecraft could achieve in the modern era. 

Of course, with a limited supply of 'Parahumans' he had tasked a number of New Darlington's more sadistic fairies with producing more of them for study. 

The Slaughterhouse Theatre reliably produced two or three new Parahumans a night, with varying levels of chaos when they tried to escape, but thus far, none of them showed potential for what he really wanted.

A means of escape, a way to get back to the proper timeline in which Mash resided.

He cast down the sheaf of paper and took a seat in a rather grand chair. 

Relying on the Parahuman's was casting darts at a board, hoping for a miracle to deliver the solution to the problem. But if he had to break every human in Fairy Britain to get back to his home timeline, then so be it.

A knock at the door, the faint creak of its hinges. 

“Lord Gut?”

One of his servants... this one had been around for a week without incident, and even if she was trembling in her boots, she was still wise enough not to try to test his patience. 

“Hm?”

“A report has come from the interrogators,” the servant said, waiting at the doorway still until he gestured for her to approach. 

She presented it with a bowed head, and he took it idly. 

“You can go, my dear,” he said with faux amicability, and she wasted no time in departing.

Not everything could be the fun and games of vivisection and exposing people to curses, after all. 

Just as valuable a source of information was interrogation and torture. He had taught a few fairies the intricacies of both; while they lacked the proper ingenuity for high-quality human torture methods, they made up it for by being swift and enthusiastic learners. In that regard, he really could not fault them, humans tended to be all too slow to or hesitant to learn such things until you really convinced them. But for fairies, it was just another toy with which to amuse themselves. 

This latest interrogation was performed on a 'Parahuman scientist' and advisor on policy to the United Kingdom's government. 

Quite a valuable resource! 

Beryl had ordered the man not be killed, or at least, not until he had spilled everything of possible use, and hungrily he glanced over the report. 

There was much to consider, but he sought and focused on a particular section, a thread that had been mentioned in other interrogations. 

'Madison', 'Professor Haywire', 'Extradimensional portal' and 'Simurgh.'

Confirmation that it was possible, it just required the right person. 

It appeared that this 'Simurgh' had in some way known ahead of time about all this, why else would it have selected the city? From other interrogations he knew a bit about these 'Endbringers', at least, enough to form a few conclusions and speculations. It was all something warranting further investigation---

Footsteps, the familiar sound of a portal opening. 

One of Morgan's water mirrors opening, and from it had emerged a certain red-headed princess. 

“Ah, hello Baobhan Sith.” 

He really was not in the mood to deal with the Princess, but then again---

“Hmph! You look a lot happier than last time I visited you,” the red-headed fairy turned her attention to the dead girl on his carpet and the pool of blood, turning her nose up at it. “I don't understand why you allow for these human servants.”

“Oho, I see that you still have a distaste for them?” he entertained her statement.

“After they appeared in my rooms, I cannot stand to see them!” 

The Princess still had not gotten over that, despite it occurring weeks ago... well, he supposed for a young lady to be interrupted whilst dressing, it would be rather traumatic and mortifying. Still, it was so utterly petulant and childish that he rather found himself disappointed... but a fairy was ruled by its nature, in the end. 

The girl was fun to string along, and the witchcraft that he was teaching her was sure to lead to interesting results with time. 

“And here I thought that those newly arrived fashion designers were pleasing to you? Those new shoes of yours are rather fantastic, your taste show's my dear,” he said, glancing down. 

A petty compliment, but she was weak to sincere flattery.

“Only so long as they continue to prove themselves,” Sith said, just a hint of haughtiness to her voice. “They should be happy that I gave them my protection. I still don't like having to look at them, though.”

Of course. 

The girls' vanity astounded, but then again, when you had royal backing and the powers of a Fairy Knight, perhaps it was to be expected? It was none of his concern what Baobhan Sith chose to do with the various humans of Camelot, anyway. 

“So then, to what do I owe the pleasure of you coming to visit me then, Baobhan Sith?” he questioned, and she focused on him again. 

“Mother's been too busy recently to spend time with me, so I thought I would come here for some fun.”

“And here I thought that I would be languishing by myself all day,” he said. Well, he might as well go for a pleasant walk or put himself to some small use, really. Sitting around would do no good, the fresh air could act as a balm to any man.

So, with Baobhan Sith in tow, he wandered. 

New Darlington was quite a city. 

For a location so very new, it was still built with the curious antiquity of the rest of Fairy Britain. Even if the wood, stone, and bricks of each building had only been assembled within the last century, everything looked so very picturesque and ancient that one could be easily fooled. It was even more curious to think that the Faeries built upon, and indeed from, the bodies of their dead.

It was all so very macabre that when he first arrived, and still to this day, it rather tickled his tastes. 

Still. 

New Darlington was young, the youngest city in all the land, built after its previous iteration was mysterious destroyed by a certain bloodsucking Calamity...

He glanced to the side. 

Baobhan Sith walked along oh so daintily on her high-heels, uncaring or perhaps luxuriating in the attention and fear of the passers-by that gave them the respect and wide berth that the fairy thought she deserved. 

Ahead, being marched down the street, were two lines of humans being escorted by soldiers. With heavy manacles connecting them all, Beryl rather thought that they looked like the pictures of chain gangs of slaves and prisoners he had seen in the past. To see something so primitive and cruel in this modern era was rather delightful, as were the expressions on their faces. 

A little spice to warm up the day. 

They were, for the most part, large, thuggish looking sorts. Beryl had never really associated much with the great Lords of the Clocktower, certainly not before he met Animusphere and Wodime. But for certain, his peers back in his younger days would have described the people of the chain gang as being members of the 'criminal classes.'

“Oho? What's this?” he asked, even as Baobhan Sith turned her nose up at the column of humans being driven forward. 

The column came to a brief stop as the fairies at the head paid a brief respect to them both.

“New arrivals, Lord Beryl, from Camelot and the countryside,” one fairy, a hard-faced Earth fairy, said with something of a sneer. “Most of them criminals and undesirables in their past life, the Queen doesn't want them.”

And of course, no need to favour any of the clan Lords too highly with additional humans, especially when there was already such a glut... and criminals would only give birth to more problems with time. How many prisoners had there been before the humans of the alternate history moved over to Fairy Britain? Tens of thousands, perhaps? 

Well, either way, it was all the more chaff to make some use of, for both entertainment and his research.

“How thoughtful of her Majesty! Well then, you know where to take them,” he said, and even as shouts and despair of the various men and women filled the air, they were dragged, cajoled and threatened forwards. 

“Well, that's rather lifted my mood, shall we continue on?”

“Hmph,” Baobhan Sith had gotten distracted looking into the window of a nearby shop. 

Still, with the humans out of sight and soon to be out of mind, they continued on their leisurely stroll.

Chapter Text

In the Nameless Woods, you lost your name.

Such a thing should sound obvious, but plenty who fell into this place had no idea exactly what would happen to them. They saw an expanse of trees, untouched and uncut in many years, and thought that it was a place to escape pursuers or the troubles of the world beyond, abundant as they were.

In many ways… it was one of the sole places in all of Fairy Britain that was safe, where people could be free of the Queen's tyranny or the various clan lords.

That was why she had come here after all, to try and forget who she was. It had not worked, the curse of Lord Foul Weather as he was devoured by Fairy Knight Gawain, had failed to strip her of what she had to be.

But that didn't matter right now.

What did, was finding her way out, or at least to somewhere safe.

She had been wandering for ages, with no direction or clue where to go.

Until, quite by chance, she found something very unusual.

A man, bloodied and bruised.

His armour was dirty, numerous blades sat on his person, five of them in total. He was surely some manner of knight, but she did not recognise the crest. The emblem depicted a stylised man with a crown on his head bearing a sword, and there was another man, in a flipped yet identical pose, connected by the torso. It was a symbol she did not recognise whatsoever.

There were two others beside him, their faces pale and pained… and long dead. And yet, their bodies had not transformed, had not become the soil, stone and wood that built this land. They both appeared to have been knights as well, although unlike the first man they had great rents and burns and other injuries upon them, which no doubt had been their deaths.

Humans?

And no less than three of them as well, escapees of the farms?

It did not matter if they were human or fairy, only that one of them was alive.

And so, she hurried to try to help him, although it was a little while before he began to wake.

When he did, a great surge of relief flooded her.

"Thank goodness. You've regained consciousness. You don't appear injured, so I don't think your life is in danger… Please let me know if you have any pain anywhere. I'm still a novice, but I can do some basic treatment!"

She did what she could, she called upon her training from… somebody... to put to use what magecraft she knew.

As she leaned over him, doing all she could, she could see a face in the mirror-like shine of his armour, could see her own expression, filled with worry, with concern.

It caused a reflexive sensation of fear to be beside this man, this knight… memories of the Queens Knights...

She removed his helmet to reveal a handsome enough face, although it was marred with frown lines, as if the man's expression was perpetually set in such an expression.

His pulse was strong, even if signs of exhaustion showed even in his rest.

And then, his eyes opened, blinking in the weak sunlight that fell on them both from a gap in the canopy high above.

"… Evie?"

The voice was groggy, marred and obscured by saliva caught in the throat and hazy, half-remembered recollection.

Pupils dilated, that gaze was fixed on her.

Evie?

Was that a name? It wasn't one that she was familiar with, but then again… did this man recognise her? he couldn't, if only because that wasn't who she was... but she could pretend, at least.

Most importantly, he wasn't lying, or he didn't think he was. He earnestly thought she was Evie.

"Oh. Ah–yes, that's right. That was my name, wasn't it? I see. Evie, huh. It's an original, but short and sweet name. But, if you know my name, then you and I must have been friends, after all!

The man was pushing himself up, not to standing but to sitting, a gauntleted hand rose to rub at his face, smearing some small amount of mud against the corner of his eyes.

She winced at the sight of him doing so, but backed away just a little to make space.

"But the car, you're… no, you're here."

The man was talking to himself, talking about her?

She had no idea quite what a car was, but it must be something of some significance to him.

"Are you okay?" she pressed.

"Tired." Blunt, simple. And then--- "Where are we, Evie?"

"Oh, um… the Nameless Woods, I think... We must have stumbled in here."

He nodded, even if it was clear that he did not understand and his eyes darted to and fro.

And then, his gaze found the pair of dead knights beside him.

There was a long moment, during which the only sound was the singing of birds.

"…"

The man reached over, and gently closed the eyes of the woman beside him, which, half-lidded, had stared with a deadened gaze into the canopy above. It was a movement of gentleness, of farewell, even if, from his expression, he had no idea quite whom they had been.

"Let's go, Evie."

Where exactly they would go, she had no idea, but having another beside her made the matter so much more palatable. The man got up, adjusted the various swords on his person, and then took up those of his fallen comrades, until he had no less than seven.

Thus, they wandered, onwards.

There was some small conversation; attempts to help him remember who he was.

"Lysander?"

"… No, that doesn't sound right," the man mused, the frown lines on his face were deep furrows as he tried desperately to remember who he was.

"Well, I am sure we can work it out with time," she said, trying to be positive.

He looked like somebody who was always serious, so she would try to lighten his mood in whatever way she could.

After all, if he recognised her, then they must have known each other before the Nameless Woods, and if so, then they were partners in this journey. Those other two, now dead, must have also been their friends, and whilst she would mourn them, at least she had this man.

Even if she had no idea what his name was.

In their wandering they travelled for an hour or so, even if time was hard to track in this misty wood, and they had little luck at all, until, quite suddenly, they ran into a pair of fairies.

A fair man with butterfly-like wings, and dog-like man, both in the process of gathering wood by the looks of it. There was an instinctual pause from both groups sized up the other, the canine-fairy at once raised a spear, perhaps suspecting them---

"Get behind me, Evie!"

The order was immediate, and instantly, one of the man's many weapons was drawn, blazing with flame.

The group opposite paused in their step, the hackles of the dog-like man raised at once.

Fang Clan, some strange part of her mind recalled, even if distantly.

"Calm, friend! We mean no harm!" the man with wings emerging from his back declared, raising a placating hand in a gesture of peace. "How about we all talk over some food, hm? We have quite a feast cooking back in the village, and we can all get to know one another there, fairy to fairy, hm?"

Beside her, faintly, she could hear a sound of confusion as the man regarded them both.

But if he was human...

She kept her mouth shut, and followed along as they were led to a village.

Days passed.

The village was a simple, even humble life.

Her magecraft was only so much use (and judging by the reactions of others, incredibly strange, for what use did fairies have for magecraft when they already had Fairy Patterns?) but 'Evie' had managed to find some amount of purpose in helping others, and in particular her companion.

The man still had no name, but it did not seem to trouble him much.

"Always good to have another member of the Earth Clan," said a member of the aforementioned group as the two of them watched the man work. With hammer in hand, he worked steadily, having removed his armour to mend his various blades and those of others.

If one thing stood out, it was that he was really good with weapons.

Well, it was to be expected, right? A knight should know his tools well… but Evie was not swift to disabuse the fairy beside her of the notion that her companion was one of them.

The Earth Clan member departed to do some work, and Evie approached the man, looking over the various arms he was working on, and dared to pick one up.

The smallest, a highly decorated knife. There wasn't much feeling of it being anything special to be honest, she could detect faint hints of power running through it but struggled to know exactly what it did. But then again, her training in Magecraft had always been a bit… off.

"Carnwennan, my first," he explained, frowning even as he lifted a small knife he had been working on close to his eye.

Despite still being red-hot, he had seemingly no concern about bringing it close to his face, and now that she looked, his hands were covered in small cuts, burns, and scars.

"Made it out of a car frame, remade it dozens of times… I think, had to cut my way out… it's slowly coming back," his eyes glanced at her, he stopped himself, visibly biting his tongue. "... My name's Michael, I just remembered. You can call me that, Evie."

She still had no idea what a car was... but now she had a name for him.

She found herself smiling, and he returned it, a small, slight thing.

Michael gestured to his other arms.

"… If you want to look at the others, you can. Just don't let anyone else grab them," he warned, and returned to his work, but ever was she aware of his presence beside her. Well, she had nothing else to do, and frankly she was curious.

The second weapon, a long, pointed sword, simple and without being flashy, with a brilliant point.

"Naegling… I think it is a weapon from a story in my childhood."

The third, the one that had burst into flame when he drew it... It did the same when she pulled it from its sheathe, and she was not proud to say that it earned a squeak of surprise.

"Dyrnwyn."

The fourth---

A calloused hand found her arm.

"Not that one, Evie."

She looked at him. For a long moment, they stared at one another.

"Why?"

"… I don't know," he admitted. "I just know that it shouldn't be drawn casually."

Michael released her, and turned back to his work, with only a brief glance back. Well, she would respect his wishes, even if she burned with curiosity about the weapon.

"Aha, I see. Well, thanks for letting me have a look, Michael!"

"It's alright, Evie."

As it was, for now… 'Evie' looked out over the village. Everyone seemed so happy and prosperous, even though most of them could remember their histories or past, some part of her still felt a faint confusion or wonder at seeing fairies in such a state.

Was this going to be her life from now on, happy, sedate village life?

A life away from the destiny she had tried to run from?

They had discovered the truth.

It was such an innocuous little detail that revealed it, namely, the fact that her companion grew hungry. Among creatures that ate only for pleasure, such was a dead give away.

And because she, too, had no obvious fairy features, they thought that she was human as well.

Fairies were horrible creatures.

She had always been able to see the lies they spoke so easily, the little day to day white lies they told one another, and the more serious ones as well. But now, everything was lies or violence.

Douga tried to organise his clan mates, tried to make sure that the two of them would be unharmed… and got ripped apart for his efforts to maintain some basic decency.

Harobalomia and the other members of the Wing Clan had been set upon by Onfam and the members of the Earth Clan.

All at once, this pleasant little village, this bastion of civilisation amidst the misty woods had become a battlefield, a brutal melee in which it was every fairy for themselves.

Was this the true nature of the world, wherein people would turn on one another so quickly?

The village was burning, the melee continued, even as she and Michael tried to break through. The nameless fairy, well, nameless until she granted her a name, Hope, was trying to show them the path, but even then---

"Get him!---"

"The humans are escaping!"

Michael strode forward, in his hand the flaming sword, Dyrwyn. As the village burned it fed hungrily, as the chaos filled the surrounding air, it cut down everything in their way. No pause, or relenting, just cutting down anything that got in their way without pause.

All the people that they had got to know recently had turned on one another so swiftly, and all for the sake of gaining possession of them, to eat and feast. And now in the orgy of violence and flame all sides fought one another, down to the last man.

Visions of a small village and other memories came to the forefront of her mind in a great rush.

Tintagel.

That village, that horrible place where she had worked so hard for so many people. The army of fairies that had arrived to find it already burning, her desperate efforts to escape it all.

Another village consumed by fire, by the pointless, stupid, cruel greed of fairies.

If the world was filled with fairies, then was it really a world worth saving… ah, but that was the problem, wasn't it?

It had to be saved by somebody, and of all people, that duty fell upon her.

As the sounds of battle echoed through the forest behind them, they continued their escape, even as the fairy guiding them increasingly broke down, increasingly fell into pain.

In the end, she succumbed, but only once she had managed to guide them away through the mist.

It was all too much for the poor creature, and now the blob of black, algal sludge squirmed their way.

Moss.

Her companion moved to put her down.

There was no hesitation, not even a moment to mourn the poor creature that had once worked so hard to make their time here pleasant, and who had guided them to safety.

Didn't she deserve even a moment?

A voice spoke up.

"Excuse me."

A great blazing blue spear of fell from the sky, piercing and obliterating what had once been the shy fairy who had done their best to guarantee their safety.

Just like that, a life extinguished.

The person to have done the deed was a woman stood just a short-distance away. Evie... no, Arturia, could have sworn that there was nobody there just a moment ago.

And she looked so similar to her, bar for a few small differences---

"Greetings, Fairy of Paradise," the woman spoke up, focusing solely on her and quite ignoring the armed human. "My name is Aesc the Saviour, and I am here to guide you."

Chapter Text

"Sir, this is for the meeting with the British Queen at eleven," an aide said as they passed a number of papers to US Secretary of State, Xavier Wilson.

The man in question regarded the document with some combination of grim resignation and reluctant excitement. 

The document his aide handed him was distressingly thin. 

He had been waiting on a dossier about this for weeks now, and to see it so very lacking was a bitter gall. 

The current situation when it came to the islands formerly known as the United Kingdom was, in his estimation, an absolute clusterfuck. A clusterfuck only worsened by the fact that there was next to no information about what was going on, until very recently. 

The US government was used to having a finger in every pie, having networks of agents capable of drawing information from just about any country on earth, no matter how stubbornly isolationist by nature. Be it Russia or the CUI, there was little that the American Government couldn't learn or find out given enough time and resources.

If Xavier asked for a dossier on a particular world leader, then he could expect to receive one as thick as any book within a few hours. 

What was going on in the UK had completely upended that; for days the entire world had been left utterly in the dark when the curtain of light appeared suddenly and cut off the archipelago from the rest of the world. The questions and political pressure to take some manner of action overwhelming.

The status of the one-hundred and seventy thousand US citizens residing on British soil. 

The delicate system of global trade and finance had been hit by a metaphorical bulldozer, inflation was skyrocketing and even if the markets had stabilised somewhat since the initial plunge, trillions of dollars had been lost. 

It was only in more recent days that they had gotten good news... even if its arrival had been alarming. 

A large, ornate and most definitely not normal mirror that had spontaneously appeared in his office. 

Nobody had noticed it doing so, it had just appeared. 

It had caused an uproar in itself before, suddenly, like something out of fucking Snow White, somebody had appeared in the mirror, as if it were some manner of television screen. 

From there, a lot of answers (and more questions) had come from it.

What mattered was that, even with the questionable means of communication, they had a man on the inside; a petty diplomat by the name of Joseph Henderson. Quite how the man had organised a 'magic' mirror to facilitate communication, Xavier didn't know, but he and the entire department were grateful for his effort’s. The news that the man's colleagues had all either died, or were severely injured, had only worsened tensions. 

Several times others had appeared in the mirror, strange humanoids with features just a little too uncanny to be human, some of them with butterfly wings protruding from their backs... Natives of this strange land that had subsumed and replaced the United Kingdom. But they were strange, their conversations very unserious by nature. 

They liked to poke and speculate, and converse on things of little matter. 

But they could be moved (gently) onto sharing their own news and histories, from which information had been drawn. 

Henderson and the gaggle of maids who served him had provided an absolute wealth of information that was far more valuable than anything that Costa-Brown and her group of headless chickens could provide.

So much for Parahuman intelligence services. 

One solitary man had achieved through conversation and inquiry what hundreds of Thinkers had failed to source. 

And more importantly.

A means to achieve wider communications. 

Even if these... Water Mirrors were drastically limited in function.

Xavier opened up the thin dossier. 

It began with a timeline. 

His eyes scanned it, then looked at the dates, which were in both the local (the 'Queen's Calendar') and Gregorian system.

“... Wait, she's two-thousand years old?” he asked incredulously, brows raising and glancing at his aides.

“All the records say so, sir... the... fairies in 'Fairy Britain' have a recorded history that stretches back that far. The actual veracity of that is uncertain,” one of them, who had been heading this investigation, replied. “Until such time as we can get materials through to try and carbon date, it could just be deception, but all sources spoken to reported the same thing.”

That was... well. 

His first instinct was to refuse the notion, that it was impossible. 

It was about as impossible as some sort of fairytale land suddenly replacing an entire series of islands and distinct nations whilst surrounding it with an impenetrable wall made of light. 

He continued reading. 

The Winter War, 0 QC, in which this High Queen subjugated all opposition through sheer firepower and magical talent. 

Calamities that occurred once a century that threatened the nation.

Multiple wars. 

Indeed, this millennia-spanning timeline had a great deal of information on it, at least in terms of implications.

He flipped further ahead. 

Information on the Queen was sparse; mentions of an 'existence tax', of her callousness to the common people... human farms?

That latter part had a section all of its own, which painted a grim enough picture.

Xavier put down the file and reached up to massage his temples. It wasn't even ten-thirty in the morning, and he was hankering for some manner of drink despite having been sober for fifteen years. 

“... It is quite a situation,” he ventured. 

“Yes, sir.”

He read on, prepared himself further and when the time for the meeting came, Wilson stood before the ornate Water Mirror and waited, hands clasped behind his back, for this meeting to begin.

On the screen of the Water Mirror was a woman. 

Even with a dark veil partially obscuring her face, there was no hiding the fact that she was quite beautiful indeed. But there was a coldness to her expression that served to diminish that factor somewhat, a pair of blue eyes that stared back at him in a way that was frankly uncomfortable. 

It wasn't a look of disdain, or one carefully assessing him. 

It was with disinterest. 

“You must be Queen Morgan, ruler of 'Fairy Britain'?”

“Correct.”

Good. No more inbetweens, straight to the person in charge. From all information, Faerie Britain was a monarchy with the woman before him at the very top, even if a great deal of day-to-day goings-on fell to a number of feudal-style lords. 

“Firstly, thank you for agreeing to this meeting, Queen Morgan. The United States government is glad to have finally managed to open up a channel of communication with yourself and your government, and we hope to soothe over a number of concerns that have presented themselves in recent days ever since the... somewhat odd arrival of your nation.”

The woman simply stared back, and a moment later, nodded.

“Very well. What is the first matter to discuss?”

God, where to even start on this clusterfuck...

“Perhaps it would be best to cover, the status of American sovereign citizens on your soil, according to our records, some one-hundred and seventy-thousand nine hundred and eight of our people are currently within your borders, and we would like to discuss their situation.”

It had been a major topic on the news of late, alongside the golden explosion launched from the wall of light over the British Channel and the damage dealt to the world economy. 

Well, frankly, the news had been filled with nothing but the British matter of late.

Queen Morgan nodded.

“We will offer one of two solutions. We will either return your citizens to you, or we shall recompensate you for them and have them naturalised as citizens.”

“Recompensate?” he asked, seeking a clarification.

The woman raised a hand, unblinking eyes still focused on him. There was a faint flash, and then a gold bar appeared in her palm, forming a pile and then falling to the floor below. 

“Your nation weighs its currency against gold; We will offer compensation of quantities of gold equal to a one million in your currency per person.” 

“You make it sound as if you wish to effectively purchase civilians.”

“Purchase their lives, remunerate for the unexpected situation, it is one of the same. I can create as much of it as I want, whether it is one million or ten million per person does not matter, it is a trivial matter.”

Well, it was hardly the most illogical of Parahuman powers in the world, and from the scant information available on the matter of the Queen, well within her purview, but still---

“The lives of US citizens cannot be purchased,” he said, firmly. “And it is frankly intolerable that such a conversation should happen.”

“We see.” It did not sound as if his statement had much impact at all, indeed, she sounded almost bored of the discussion. “Would it be preferable to have them returned for a small fee, or shall Faerie Britain fold them into its own citizenry?”

This person worked on such an alien logic. 

Simply folding people forcibly into her own nation, when they already had their own sovereign status, was a War Crime. It was contrary to so many rules of how the world worked, on a fundamental level.

“I have been made aware that you may not fully comprehend the legal troubles created by the appearance of your nation, your Highness, but your government is committing a number of actions that could be considered war crimes and Crimes Against Humanity.”

The woman's face didn't change whatsoever. 

“We see. Those are crimes against humans, by humans. Those charges fail to apply to us.”

Xavier considered his words carefully, still stood with hands clasped behind his back. 

They didn't factor in non-humans, because that was never necessary at the time they were created. But then again, they still did not have proper confirmation that the woman wasn't human on some level, and was simply pretending to be inhuman.

“You consider actions taken against the people displaced within your borders to not be of consequence, Queen Morgan?” he put forth, keenly searching her face for some manner of reaction. 

There wasn't one.

“The people of Fairy Britain are its Faeries, not humans. Within our laws, humans are not legally recognised citizens, and instead act in a manner similar to livestock, to be reared and dispensed as enrichment or labour,” she replied. There was no attempt at subtlety, she spoke simply and bluntly without the normal graces and prevarications that tinged the vast majority of diplomatic discussions.

In the background, Xavier could see some of his aides taking notes, and pausing at that point. 

And then, the woman raised a hand and gestured, as if flippantly. 

“The citizens of your nation are currently considered to be property of the Crown until some arrangement is reached... your diplomat was rather insistent on such. I am suggesting solutions to this issue.”

“And the people of the former Britain?”

“Naturalised and dispersed according to Faerie Britain's legal system. Unless another nation would like to take on their burden, then they shall continue to be treated as such.”

So reduced to property, then. 

Wilson took a moment to compose his thoughts, his instinctive response to call out the flagrant inhumanity and wrongness of the situation was tempered by the need to look out for his own people first. The one-hundred and seventy thousand American citizens within Faerie Britain had to be considered before the other sixty-three million souls that had been living on the archipelago beforehand. 

As grim as that was. 

“... That is, unless the United States would be willing to add them to its population?” despite the blank tone of the woman's voice, he could tell that she was testing him.

The United States couldn't just accept that many people into its borders; it would wreck economic havoc. No single nation could, and even splitting that sixty-three million or so between multiple nations would still prove ruinous. 

They had enough problems with immigration and public perception as it was without suddenly increasing the population by twenty-percent. Especially when that additional population had nowhere to live, no resources and no money with which to start a new life. 

Any administration even attempting such a thing would crumble under the weight of the required bureaucracy and public response. 

But to not take some action for the people of Britain was also damning.

They were stuck between two options, but one of them could be achieved; the other would destroy the administration and cause absolute chaos for the United States.  

He had to take care of American citizens first.

“My job is to take care of American citizens first. I'll bring your suggestions to the President.”

If nothing else, reclaiming their stranded citizens would be a major political win in the midst of a disastrous situation.

The Queen nodded. 

“We would also like to discuss the weapon Faerie Britain deployed over the channel,” he switched the subject. The matter of US citizens and what to do with them had been mostly explored, the options mostly laid out... the matter of deciding which option to take, and then the finer details could be dealt with at another time. 

“Various conventions prohibit the use of Nuclear Ordinance, but experts have found no nuclear material.”

For the first time, the Queen looked away from the mirror for a second, glancing off to the side, although her expression did not change. 

Was she looking out of a window, perhaps?

“We were aiming at a threat; we simply deployed some amount of firepower to ensure that it did not attack further, even if we were unsuccessful in destroying it.”

“A threat?” he asked, struggling to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

“We believe you call it Scion.”

Scion? The world's greatest hero, the one who even the Endbringers ran from? The notion that the woman in the mirror regarded Scion as some manner of threat was concerning, and no doubt the various agencies listening in to this conversation would spend many days parsing over that piece of information.

“Scion is a threat?” he tested.

“Scion is not human, merely an avatar for a larger being.”

Well, he would have to ask Costa-Brown about that.

Then again, she could simply be delusional because between all this talk of Faeries and alternate histories, frankly that was just as possible. But dealing with delusional dictators was something he had been required to do before, and this was little different to that.

The more he heard, and learned about this entire situation, the more he recalled various reports about a certain inmate currently contained within the birdcage. 

“I see. And the nature of the weapon you deployed? International laws prohibit the use of Nuclear weapons, the scale of the effect warrants discussion. Even if you were unaware of such, ignorance is no excuse on the international stage."

A high, arched brow.

“The weapon was not, as you would call it, nuclear. It was a replication of the Divine Construct Rhongomyniad, constructed through transcendent magecraft and only able to be wielded by my own hand. However, such a thing is beyond your casual understanding.”

He had frankly no idea exactly what on earth she was talking about, but somebody else who did would no doubt fill that in with time. Perhaps Costa-Brown had some manner of reference he could use, but for the moment---

“Judging by the size of the blast it created, the payload it contained was equivalent to around... 10 megatons.”

“You may ascribe to it whatever classification you wish, given that you cannot understand its fundamentals.”

Ignoring the fact that he had just been insulted, he moved on.

“I see. Well, your 'Rhongomyniad' caused a great deal of commotion and concern for the international community, I am unsure if you have some way of communicating with France and Germany?”

Half of Europe had been woken by the blast, windows for tens of miles had shattered, and the corresponding property damage had been huge. It was remarkable that nobody had been killed by the shockwave alone, even if plenty had been horribly injured by other factors.

“We do not. Such will be sorted soon enough. But if Scion, or any threat, attempts to attack Faerie Britain, then we can deploy similar ordinance to deal with it.”

“Is that a threat, Queen Morgan?”

“It is a statement. We'd rather Faerie Britain continues to chart its own course without interruption from the outside world. We have no need for international meddling, we have gone for millennia as a self-contained nation without a wider world to trouble us, and unless there is something you have to offer, little reason to engage further.”

A refutation of the increasing interconnectedness of the world. 

The mention of no interruption during its history was an interesting notion; there had been mentioned by Henderson, following a conversation with 'Lord Spriggan' that Faerie Britain was self-sufficient, which presented its own problems. 

True self-sufficiency was next to impossible in the modern world, even with the trouble caused and created by Parahumans and the Endbringers. No nation could truly create and provide everything it needed, if only because of the distribution of natural resources across the planet. Global diplomacy had long been a push and pull of agreements over trade and those resources, one nation leveraging what it could offer versus another. There was a vast amount of power in what one could trade with another, in the formulation of supply chains and networks, damaged as many of those things were. 

But a nation that needed nothing was one for which the major angles of diplomatic leverage were invalidated or no longer an option.

“And if the United States wished to deepen ties with Faerie Britain?” he posed.

Given the current climate and the reception of the 'nation', it was increasingly unlikely that there could be positive ties between them, but an at least ambivalent attitude was better than hostile. 

“Then it would require something that it would need. Such can be discussed with Lord Spriggan; he can handle matters of trade without requiring our oversight.”

Henderson had spoken about this 'Spriggan', a true capitalist at heart who indulged in slavery and other such crimes. But it was an inroad, and if trade could begin on some level, then it would act as an increasing leverage with time, 

American power was not purely military, more than enough dictators had been toppled by the growing dissatisfaction of their populace after a prolonged period of being exposed to American culture, after all. The wishes of a people oppressed by a tyrant could become a movement that swept away all opposition, given time and the right incentives. Was that not the history of America itself, and the course of human history?

Not that he was proposing such, that this administration seek to topple this Queen who had taken sixty-million people as her slaves. 

Not at all.

His concern was the lives of American citizens, after all. 

The meeting came to a close, there was only so much more to be said.

The Water Mirror went dark, and Wilson released a sigh, reaching up to rub at the corners of his eyes as he did so. There was so much critical information they were lacking, and the woman's seeming ignorance for international law (and disregard for it) was only going to prove more of a headache with time. Perhaps if they could provide a copy of various laws to Henderson, or even set up a proper embassy, then more efficient communications could be set up. 

For a first meeting, that could have gone better. 

But opening up the dialogue was the most important part, moving on to the fine details came next.