Lost by Psych Osis

I dodged the stone blade. I swung my blade up against my foe, my sword nearly an exact duplicate of his. He blocked on the flat of his weapon. I lunged forward, glancing a blow off his silver helm. Stunned and knocked off balance, the warrior still managed to land a long scratch on my forearm.
Pain lanced up my left arm and I threw myself back, landing near a ledge. Gritting my teeth, I pulled off my cloak as blood welled in a six-inch wound along my arm. I flexed my hand. No tendons severed.
I glared back at my enemy. His helmet had fallen far below, down to where hundreds of knights fought, kith against kin, friend against comrade. His grimy gold hair hung at his shoulders. Even with his tunic in tatters and blood on his hands and face, he struck a kingly, noble figure.
I hated every inch of him.
“This is not the way.” He said pleadingly. He dared speak? “You were raised better than this! Or are you ashamed that—”
“Silence, old man!” I raged. “I care not for your feeble excuses! I will water the grass with your blood and feed your flesh to the ravens! You die tonight!”
We hefted our swords and charged, but before we could take but a few steps, a reverberating boom shook out, knocking us from our feet.
Over the ridge two figures came into view, a bizarre couple. One, a wizened old man, with a strong, but gentle face set in intense focus and shoulder-length alabaster hair. The other struck a figure of a beautiful woman, young, but with a dark aspect far beyond her years to match her flowing tunic. They glared at each other, not moving but for their hands, which jittered and twisted into elaborate patterns.
Lightning flickered in sinister clouds high above them, the billows beginning to move, twist.
WHAM! I silently cursed myself for letting my concentration lapse. My assailant had slammed into me, pushing me down the drop. I struggled to my feet. My rib was broken, maybe two. The golden-haired man stood twenty feet above, looking down sadly.
A howling assaulted me, inciting me to look back. The clouds had wrapped themselves into a funnel, tearing around the man and woman, but not harming them. The same could not be said for me.
A pull ripped me off my feet, yanking me into the vortex. Lightning pulsed down on top of me, and I knew no more.


I awoke to the blaring of trumpets and whooping of an ungodly noise. I staggered to my feet. A metal monstrosity rushed at me! Bereft of my armor and clad only in my tunic, I hefted my sword.
Glowing eyes flashed at me, and the noise of ten trumpets deafened me. At the last second, it swerved and a human leaned out? He yelled at me, “Out of the way, freak!”
His accent was strange, foreign. And I looked around for the first time. The air was heavy, the landscape a forest of stone and metal. Thousands of faces peered down at me from stands. I was in some kind of arena. The grass beneath my feet was unusually plush. Fake? And stripes crossed it at regular intervals.
A voice like thunder blared at me: “And…uh, apparently, the new mascot for the Minnesota Vikings!” Applause and cheering rang out from everywhere. Why would anyone applaud Vikings? They were ruthless, cruel men who raided England’s villages constantly. I made a mental note: when I become king, my first action will be to wipe out those savages.
Who was my opponent? I was obviously in a gladiator’s arena. A giant, grotesque bird emerged from one entrance. It was yellow and blue with a red head. I charged.
Surprisingly, he ran. Perhaps he was only a chicken. I managed to get in a slash to the back and neck, but it cut easily. A costume?
Men in light tan uniforms came and escorted me to a cold cell room. As I entered, my temper snapped. I spun, slicing all of them in the chest with my sword. They collapsed, bleeding. Pansies. They should at least avenge their honor and make a final stand. Wait… a metal weapon of some kind was attached to their sides. I knelt and scooped one up.
It was heavy and cool to the touch. My hand fit comfortably on one of the longer pieces, with my first finger sliding into a notch. Was this a sort of wand?
I ran outside, to where many metal beasts milled about, a vast majority of them yellow and spotted. Storm clouds gathered up above, throwing lightning about. For a moment I watched as people waved at them until one stopped, lifted a sort of latch on the side, and pulled it apart to enter. They seemed to be using the monsters as transport.
I attempted to follow suit. I waved frantically at one. He stopped for me, and I lifted the latch and entered. A rough, thick man with a hint of a beard turned to me.
“Would help if ya shut the door.” He grunted. Door? Ah, the opening apparatus. I pulled it towards me and slammed it against the metal. He grunted again. “Now, where ya want be goin’?”
“Take me to the highest point of the land.” I ordered.
“The sears tower? Sure.” We set off at an incredible pace, faster than a man could run. But dread filled my heart when I looked skyward. Instinctively, I knew being struck by lightning was my way home, but the storm was abating.
“Faster!” I cried, waving the metal weapon about. The driver looked back in fear.
“Please…sirrah! Ah don’t wan’ no tuble! Please, ya sirrah, don’t hurt meh!” His accent became indecipherable in his terror. The tube? Perhaps it was a magic wand after all.
We increased our fantastic speed, the metal and rock blurring around us with our velocity. Finally we reached the largest building, and I ran in, cape fluttering about my back. A few people stepped into a cubicle. I ran to order them,
“Get me to the roof!” A unnerved woman punched a small button on the wall, and it lit! Suddenly doors shut around us. I was trapped! A falling sensation built in my chest.
A few seconds later the doors opened…but the world had changed! I was on the peak of a mountain, looking down at all the other buildings and people in metal creatures.
Two men in tan yelled at me: “Hey! You can’t be up here!” Their mouths were on fire! Smoke curled from wood trapped in their lips. Disgusting!
I balled my fists in anticipation of a fight. BLAM! A sound like thunder from the magic wand that I stole. My hand was jerked back. What was this witchcraft? The small hook my finger sat in had been moved, and a small hole now sat where I pointed the tube.
I tried again. I pointed at one of the men and pulled the hook. BLAM!
The noise and jerk again! But look, the man was bleeding, blood dripping from his sholder. I aimed more carefully and put a hole in his head, killing him instantly.
Wham! Again, I had forgotten my opponent in my mystification over the wand. He threw himself on me. His breath smelled like smoke. I frantically pointed and pulled the stud twice. BLAMBLAM! The abomination dropped dead.
Thunder rolled and I looked up. Lightning coursed down on top of me, and the world went black.

Once again, I was in Camelot, among all the knights and…the king. I looked over.
“My son, do not do this. It is not the way. I know you, Marty, and you do not want to do this evil deed.”
“Oh, but I do.” I grinned cruelly.
I pointed the wand at him.
“My name is Mordred.”