Philemon of Sicydna was a man who loved the fairer sex like none other.
He considered every woman a goddess in their own right and worshipped the very ground they walked on.
For him, marrying a beautiful woman was a blessing, hence the reason he dared to marry as many as three hundred.
Both locals and foreigners, Philemon did not discriminate in his love as he chased after each one diligently and after he made them his alone, he loved them with all his heart.
His goal was to surpass his great great great grandfather who held the world record for the most marriages.
It was a whopping six hundred... Philemon planned to hit seven hundred.
Regardless, due to his many wives and their differences, it wasn’t surprising that there would be conflicts within the palace as the women competed among themselves to claim the title of Queen Mother, a title that would make them not just the head queen but also the mother to the heir to the crown.
Philemon, at the center of it all, was naive... perhaps a bit too naive.
As he sat in his study, a terrifying heartache caused his expression to distort as he clutched his chest. He wondered where he had gone wrong.
Why had he been poisoned?... Did he deserve such a cruel fate of dying without fulfilling his dream?
He was regretful but no matter the regret, it did not change the fact that he was dying.
His attempt to call out for help resulted in him collapsing to the ground before proceeding to cough up a mouthful of blood.
As his eyes turned bloodshot and his skin was quickly drained of color, Philemon dragged himself towards the door to his study.
He was well aware of the poison that had been used, considering it was a well-known liquid that was considered contraband within the Solomon Alliance.
It was fast-acting, causing the organs to shut down one after the other until the person dropped dead.
Philemon thought it an unworthy end to a man like him.
He deserved to die in the embrace of a woman!... Not on the floor, crawling like a dog, covered in his own blood.
Pathetic... utterly pathetic.
Finally, he arrived at the entrance and tried to push... but then he fell to the ground, never to rise again.
... And then there were two.
Elena struggled to hold back the corruption threatening to engulf her while also maintaining her current state of being in two places at the same time.
She couldn’t risk fully entering the Abyss, especially not out in the open .
The worst-case scenario would be her dissociating, turning into particles that would be scattered across the twisted scenario.
The best case was she lost her mind to the corruptible air.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself while ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth, Elena made her way back into the submarine where Ulysses’ head was waiting.
Putting a hand over her mouth to stop herself from vomiting again, Elena inquired. "What happened to you?"
"I... had... no... choice. I... would... have... lost." Ulysses replied.
Elena bit down on her lower lip, drawing blood as she remarked. "What now?... What do you want me to do now?"
"Ana," Ulysses muttered. "She... can... help. She... can... revert... and... pause... my... time."
"That could be dangerous," Elena admitted. "Such an act would affect changes to the time stream."
"It... is... either... that... or... death." Ulysses said in a tone of finality.
It seemed he had resigned himself to the latter option should Ana fail to revert him, causing Elena to close her eyes.
"Would it hurt?... The process you are suggesting?"
"I... would... constantly... be... on... the... verge... of... a... breakdown."
Upon hearing that, Elena took a deep breath before proceeding to conjure a dimensional slash in her right hand.
"So let me put you out of your misery." She said, allowing herself to fully enter the Abyss.
Ignoring the chaos within her, she waited patiently for Ulysses’ response.
He blinked once and then twice... before finally closing his eyes to wait for death.
Elena raised her hand... and then there was a flash of light.
"Excalibur." Alex breathed out evenly as he held the hilt of the Godkiller with both hands.
The next instant, he watched as the etchings on the beautiful blade lit up, not with yellow light as before, but instead with a red incandescent light.
Following that, a surge of pain rushed through Alex’s body, causing him to spasm as he hit the ground with a dull thud.
The pain was enough to knock an average man out but Alex refused to believe that this was worse than before.
This wasn’t the sword actively rejecting him due to the will of the Artisan that once reigned within.
It was, in fact, a rite of passage for him.
If he wished to wield the GodKiller, he had to endure the pain that came with it.
It was like being struck with a whip that had thorns on it... painful, but bearable.
And so, gritting his teeth, Alex held on and slowly got to his feet.
Once he had done so, he glanced at the Fixer, who was staring at him in awe, then shifted his attention to Victoria, who had a look of reverence in her eyes, almost like she expected him to push through the pain.
As labored breaths escaped his lips and perspiration covered his forehead, Alex raised the sword and pointed its metal tip toward the sky.
The next instant, the clouds above darkened and red lightning flashed down, striking down at the top of the blade in quick succession.
In a loud voice, Alex said. "EXCALIBUR!... I CALL UPON THEE!"
Across the Azure Seas, in the northern continent of Argent, a thirty year old man wearing a flower embroidered dopo with pale skin and a hair full of white hair was meditating with his eyes closed.
But then, suddenly, he opened his eyes and glanced towards the center of the room where an altar of the Only One God Marduk and his seven Virtues was erected.
However, he wasn’t looking at the altar but the beautifully crafted longsword embedded at the center of the altar.
The blade trembled and a moment later, flashed with a bright white light.