Hello, hello, hello.

So I wrote this chapter a few years ago, and I figured I might as well give it you now. I apologize for the shortness, but it's something I think you'll enjoy.

Trigger warnings: Arthur gets beat up. A lot. I apologize in advance.

This is the most action scene you're gonna get. We'll discuss the backstory and events leading up to this in future chapters, so I hope you're all prepared. Buckle up.

For the record, Colin is Merlin.

Hope you enjoy.

Chapter Twenty
"I don't know where the blame lies.
But you better believe I'm not gonna carry it all."
-Loudspeaker, MUNA

So Arthur never claimed to be smart.

As a king, it was his duty to lead his army into battle, coming out on the other side with few causalities and victory, but that was a long, long time ago, one he could remember vividly but couldn't be applied to this place and age. There were other moments he showed his strength, for his kingdom and people, but when it came to here and now, there weren't many options.

Most of the day had been spent preparing for battle, with Guinevere slipping knives under her sleeves, and Gwaine procuring firearms from a source he wasn't quite comfortable with sharing with Percival in the room. Morgana, already armed with her magic, was at his side the moment they walked out of the door, and the group of royalty, knights, and sorceress headed out into the streets of New York as a united front.

If only things had been as easy as they thought. Coming together, stronger than ever before, was exactly what Morgause had been prepared for. For as much growing as they had done since their reincarnations, the witch had done the same, learning about the legends and gaining the magic from the people she'd slaughtered. He should have expected her to be strong, which he had been, of course, but he hadn't known to what level.

The moment they'd stepped onto the premise, a thick cloud of darkness had overtaken them, and they were separated before they'd even realized what had happened. All Arthur was left with was the screams of his friends and family in the distance. Smoke embraced him, with a tight chest as it filled his lungs, eyes burning as they pressed them closed, and his feet left the ground as he was thrown through the air.

"I told you to come alone." The voice sent chills rocketing down his spine, and Arthur propped himself up on trembling hands and knees, almost too afraid to look. "You're lucky I have no need for their deaths quite yet."

There was a beat of silence as Arthur finally raised his gaze to meet a pair of golden eyes, glowing through the shadows which covered the helipad. Arthur let out a roar and tried to stand but found himself frozen, unable to direct the movements of his limbs, until the gold grew brighter, and he was flown through the air. His back collided with a brick wall, and as he hit the ground, the cement scraped his palms. He struggled to regain his footing, and when he was finally able to stand albeit on shaky legs, the sorcerer stepped out of the darkness.

Morgause.

She strode forward, her eyes glistening with the recesses of magic which brought about the sense of déjà vu. The golden light was reflected off of the metal of her sword, glittering ominously in Arthur's line of vision. Arthur's own puzzled face met the piercing chocolate orbs, her face hidden in the shadows. Hands reached for the holster on his leg, but he grasped empty air.

"Please," Morgause laughed, shaking her head at his cry of surprise. "You really think I'd let you bring a gun to a swordfight?" An icy shiver ran down the young warrior's spine; he was trapped, and there was no way to escape. He had no gun, no sword of his own to fight in battle with.

Arthur stood, rooted to the spot, unsure whether to berate the witch for all her wrongdoings or to accept the challenge of combat. It was obviously going to be the latter as Morgause raised her sword, and Arthur saw the shine of a silver gauntlet under the moon's dim light. Where the witch had obtained a piece of armor, Arthur may never know, but he made a move to pick it up regardless, his lips set in a firm line of concentration.

Suddenly, Morgause whipped her sword through the air, pointing it directly at Arthur's heart. He dipped to the holster on his other side, floundering to find the knife he'd sworn Guinevere had stashed before they'd left. He was barely able to contain his panic when his hands grasped empty air again. Heart thundering in his chest, he raised his fists, preparing to fight her without a weapon, choosing to rely on instinct as the witch reared her horned head.

Arthur narrowed his eyes in defiance, mirroring the challenger's defensive stance. He mustered up the strength to speak, sending the witch a patronizing stare which, back in Camelot, would have left all its recipients stammering and squirming under it. "I accept your challenge in combat, though, I ask you to please allow me to have a weapon." He straightened his back as Morgause drew her sword back.

She let out a haughty laugh before gesturing with her gloved hand to the area around them, fingering the hilt of her sword with slow, deliberate motions. "The Almighty King Arthur, oh how the mighty have fallen." Arthur raised his eyebrows in confusion, wondering where she was going with her monologue. "Not even a sword can protect you, not even Emrys is here to save you."

"I haven't done anything to you, Morgause," Arthur relayed, clenching his hands into fists. "Why do you choose to pursue us in this life? It's a new start; it's a new-"

"For the same reason your dear father started the Purge," Morgause shot back, "Revenge for the pain that you caused."

Arthur had no time to form a response as the sorceress lunged forward, her weapon poised to kill. He dodged her attack, leaping to the side and ducking under her arm. He took off at a flat-out sprint, feet pounding against the cement in time with his racing heart. However, once more he found himself flying, a victim of magic, until gravity took hold and brought him back down to Earth. Arthur's body throbbed, so he lay still for a moment, attempting to recuperate from the blow. A dark chuckle interrupted his train of though, and he pried his eyes open to see a dark figure hovering over him.

"Arthur Pendragon," a deep, baritone voice snarled, and Arthur's eyes widened dramatically.

Cenred.

The ex-royal had no time to react as Morgause entered the scene, her eyes glowing gold, and a blanket of black covered his vision, like a blindfold, thick and fast. "No," Arthur muttered, but it was a helpless plea caught in the wind of chaos. He couldn't see anything.

The clock ticked tiredly away, and Arthur rocked back on his haunches, preparing to dash off in any direction. Strong hands gripped his arms, pulling him to his feet. His skull thrummed to the beat of an unknown song—allowing him to keep rhythm as an attempt to keep his mind off of the situation at hand. No matter how rigorous his endeavors proved to be, however, nothing heeded the gravity of it all.

There was a chance he could die.

"Gonna start begging, Pendragon?" Cenred drawled out, roughly backhanding Arthur across his face, dazing the former king. He was dragged violently across the wet pavement, and he tried to pull away from the older man. "It'd make my day." Cenred's tone was edged with mockery, and it only served to fuel Arthur's irritation.

The taunts and teases continued to whip through the air with leisure, and Arthur could hear Morgause mumble a spell. Suddenly something wrapped around his entire body, slowly tightening as if to restrain him, but Arthur took that moment to act, knowing that the two would underestimate his strength. He tugged at Cenred's grip and Morgause's magic, using all his energy in the process, only to have Cenred's hold tauten into a vice grip.

"Think you can escape, boy?" the ex-king hissed. "I'd settle down and enjoy your last moments before I send you on a one-way trip to hell."

Unable to give his assailant's the satisfaction of witnessing his panic, Arthur wordlessly once more attempted to escape, but he was rendered immobile by a blow to the back of his head, leaving him unsteady and light-headed. He staggered blindly forward for a few steps before digging his heels into the ground, trying to find some friction, but his shoes simply blundered across the ground.

"This is gonna hurt," Cenred simpered, the man's hot breath puffing against Arthur's ear.

A tingle erupted over his skin, and Arthur could feel the magic grasping his flailing limps and lifting him into the air. A shudder ran through him, and he knew Cenred felt it as his grip became rigid. The amusement of the demons Arthur couldn't see increased as he felt himself hover over empty air.

Fear hit him.

He wanted to stagger back from the force of it, like bricks that seemed to slam into him and throw his heart off its beat, but he couldn't. He refused to let his attackers know he was afraid; however, he wondered when he had become so weak. Back in Camelot, he never would have found himself in a position such as this one—completely helpless with no hope in sight. A spark of humiliation flooded him, yet he retained the same stubborn streak from before and repudiated the inevitable.

As long as there was breath in his body, Arthur would keep fighting.

"I'm gonna enjoy this," Cenred whispered before Arthur felt the older man's body slam into his own the same time Morgause released her magic's hold.

Arthur was soaring through the air, and for a split second, fear and instinct took over. His arms reeled in a vain attempt to grab onto something—anything to keep him from falling—but it was hopeless. His fingers clawed against a brick wall and found no traction to halt his falling frame. His fate was in gravity's hands.

Then the pain was everything. It throbbed with each step that struck him, reaching deep within him to jar his cold, damp bones. He hit the ground, hard, bouncing across the pavement like a rock skipped across a pond—until he finally rolled to a stop. He lay there, trying to catch his bearings, shaking uncontrollably, as a thunder of footsteps rushed towards him. A particularly brutal shiver sliced through him; it was so violent that Arthur closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against it.

Everything inside of him thrummed with pain, seizing all his thoughts and actions. He could not function properly, but he knew he needed to escape. He propped himself up on shaky hands and knees, and a groan fell from his lips. Suddenly, a large hand wrapped itself in his hair, burying deep in his golden locks and drawing out a choked gasp. Arthur tried to hold in his pain, as though allowing himself to breathe would cause it all to come falling out. His stomach was pulsating as he held back the tears that threatened to fall.

He wanted nothing more than to be brave in his last few moments, but it was so hard to have courage in death.

In his past life, it wouldn't have been too difficult, but this time was different. In his second life, Arthur had no duty but merely a destiny. He had everything he had ever wanted, and he didn't want to lose it—not when he had just gotten it back. Nevertheless, Arthur desperately tried to think of all possible ways to save himself, but none were too clever. All he could do was spare Cenred and Morgause the benefit of watching him break.

"You scared yet?" Cenred asked, sending chills down Arthur's spine. "You should be—"

"Go to fucking hell!" Arthur roared.

He heard a high, soprano voice giggle at his words. He easily recognized it as Morgause. "I'll see you there, Arthur Pendragon."

Once more, magic took a hold of him, and he was hurtling through the air. Hitting the ground, darkness engulfed him, pulling him either way—into the light or into the shadows. It was as though he was standing on a ledge: one wrong move and he would topple over. With all his strength drained, though, Arthur fell. It literally grasped onto his flailing limps, gripping him for dear life, pulling him under. It felt as if he was underwater, unable to breathe or tell which way was up or down.

He was going to pass out.

"We're just getting started, boy," Cenred growled out.

A hand grasped Arthur's collar and pulled him to his feet; his left ankle gave way as soon as he placed weight on it. He heard a distinct snap ensue from the foot, popping the bone out of place. Arthur let out a strangled sob. Cenred tugged him forward, though, and Arthur found himself limping after him. The pain came in loads—so immense that it couldn't be registered on any known scale.

"It hurt?" Cenred said. "It should."

Agony steamed through Arthur's body like a waterfall, flooding his every being. The fear of death was at the forefront of his mind, though, taking hold of all other worries and pushing them back. He was no longer concerned about his well-being but rather of surviving. The words, laced with bitterness, tinged his heart. He was most likely going to die; there was no use denying that. However, knowing that death would soon strike kept Arthur fighting.

"Come on, Pendragon," Cenred taunted. Arthur felt calloused hands trail the edges of his face. "Gonna fight back?"

Arthur growled lowly, but it only served for Cenred to shake him. His ankle throbbed in sync with his heartbeat, so when his attacker decided to pull on the injured area, it wrenched a strangled scream from Arthur's raw throat. His vision, already blocked due to Morgause's magic, darkened as he picked up his struggle. A hummingbird fluttered in his head, the sound of its wings thundering past his ears, breaking his concentration, and his struggles slowly began to weaken. The pain persisted, however, running as easily as blood through his body. Each pulse of his heart sent out a flare of agony while the torture and suffering raged on.

A single tear ran unhindered down his face, and try as he might, Arthur could not stop it. He knew that his tears—if he did let more free—would eventually end, but the pain would continue as well as his screams. Cenred and Morgause had found a way to manipulate his emotions through their actions, and it made him feel weak as though he was fighting a losing battle.

It only served for him to lose a little more hope with each passing second; he didn't think he could take much more.

Suddenly, he felt something heavy pressing on his leg, unrelenting in its path for destruction, and before he could manage to throw off the pressure, he heard the cracking of his own bones for the second time that night. Arthur's throat was shred to pieces as a scream ripped through it. He attempted to grab his limp in a last ditch effort to escape from his captors and the pain they were causing, but the inevitable end that he had been sentenced too was determined to play itself out.

"Had enough?" Cenred sneered from above him, but Arthur could scarcely organize a coherent thought.

His adrenaline was pumping, and the pain became too customary feeling. There was a few, warm slashes of pain every now and then, but moments had passed, seconds wasted as the clock ticked away, and Arthur was barely lucid. He wondered how much time had gone by; he knew it was not enough to make a difference but merely long enough to make him notice. Arthur lifted his head as Cenred dragged him along the pavement, but he did not have the energy to drag his feet forward. Each movement pushed him to stifle screams of raw, real, and true agony. There were more tears, each salt water droplet genuine.

Arthur felt as though he was dying. In fact, it was the only conclusion he could possibly draw. It made him feel weak, but he tried to cope with the idea by letting his mind drift away from the current situation and towards his family and friends: the people who truly mattered. Arthur pictured the times when they were all happy and carefree—back in Camelot when everything was as it should have been. He remembered his father sitting in his throne, the golden crown atop his head, poised with a calm, self-assured, and dignified expression. He remembered Morgana in all her glory, the jewels glittering in her silk gowns, her graceful walk through the stone corridors, compassion and confident sparking whenever she defended her beliefs. He remembered himself leaning over Guinevere, arms wrapped around her waist, fingers dancing across her tanned skin, her answering laugh lighting up his whole world. He remembered the times when Merlin used to smile, the contagious smirk evident no matter what predicament they had unfortunately found themselves in.

Arthur wished for nothing more than to be with them, but it wouldn't matter. Camelot was a thousand years before, and all he had nothing but the memories now a days. And sadly, this time, the memories could do nothing to help save him.

"Welcome to the end, Pendragon," Cenred said, his voice chiming with a tenor side to his ridicule. It reminded Arthur vaguely of Gwaine's taunting Princess remarks. But his mind was delirious from the torture, and his thoughts were marred by his subconscious taking over, so he couldn't be sure. "In a few minutes, you're going to be dead."

This was it, Arthur realized. This was the end. He was never going to reunite with his past, never see Merlin remember who he was, never see Morgana grow into the woman she should've been, never marry Guinevere. It was all lost to him. Every single moment he had ever taken for granted - everything.

Morgause and Cenred were conversing above him, but he could not detect any comprehendible phrases due to the pain he was experiencing. It irked him to no end because he wanted to be able to understand. A light drizzle had began to fall, and the rain tainted the blood that ran down his arms and face, soaking his clothes in the process. The scarlet substance combined with the droplets, forming an abstract painting on his skin and clothing. Arthur was cold, wet, and delirious.

"You ready for this, Pendragon?" Cenred murmured, hot breath tickling Arthur's ear. He shivered at the sudden heat in the midst of bitter chilliness. "You should actually be thanking me. This way you don't have to see your precious Guinevere killed or your beloved sister—"

"You fucking leave them alone!" A firm slap to the back of his head sent a splitting pain through Arthur's skull, but nothing hindered his words. "You selfish bastards! You think killing people will get you power, but it won't! M-Merlin will stop you—with or without his memories!"

"Keep telling yourself that," Cenred said. "You keep screaming, and I'll guarantee that you'll have a very slow and painful-"

"Oh," Arthur retorted haughtily. "If this isn't painful, I don't know what is. Even… Even if I die tonight-"

"When you die tonight," Morgause corrected.

"Go to hell," Arthur spit out through gritted teeth. A hand curled itself in his matted locks, pulling back roughly and silencing him with a soft whimper. "You can't do this." The words were lost on his captors as hands gripped his blood-stained shirt, pulling hard, situating every tear in the fabric as if they were a jigsaw puzzle to the perfect masterpiece—the perfect murder. "T-They'll kill you." Arthur's voice was hoarse, sounding unnatural to his own ears.

He was rewarded with a kick to his stomach; Arthur grunted in pain. "I suggest that you shut the hell up," Cenred said, continuing to drag Arthur along the path, his ankle a dead limb.

Arthur didn't think he could endure any more pain, but at the same time, he doubted that he could suffer anything else. His thoughts were broken; his stutters were incoherent; his pain was raw. He wanted nothing more than to break down, but he wanted to remain strong in his last moments. The thought of his death made his heart splinter, and he thought he would drown in the wave of emotions that threatened to overcome him. Arthur took a deep breath and released everything in an ear-splitting, heart-wrenching, stomach-throbbing scream.

"Arthur!" a voice shrieked in return, and it wasn't Cenred's

Suddenly, a bang interrupted his train of thoughts, and the darkness covering Arthur's vision disappeared. He gasped as the world came back to him in a wide array of colors and lights. There was a faint scream and a cry of outrage before everything was silenced. Arthur shook his head, unable to comprehend what had happened, but he stopped when a familiar face loomed over him.

"Arthur!" Colin cried out, latching onto the blonde's arm.

The ex-royal raised his head off of the ground for a few seconds before sinking back down in exhaustion. He lay still for a few moments, attempting to regulate his breathing pattern, before meeting Colin's panicked gaze. "Are… Are they gone?" Colin managed a hesitant nod, and Arthur closed his eyes in relief, tears pricking in the corners. "Thank God." His vision swam before him, and he wished for nothing more than to sleep for a thousand years.

The warlock lent over Arthur's exhausted form, icy shivers traveling through his body, detectable only by the faint shudder of his hands. "Are you alright?" Colin questioned softly, his hand resting atop the blonde's shoulder.

Arthur opened his eyes once more and ducked his head in an affirmative fashion. "I-I'm alive," he said, propping himself up on trembling elbows. The pain, however, caused him to collapse back down onto the wet pavement "W-What about you?" A stab of fear struck him as he subconsciously began to check Colin over for injuries. "Did they attack you too? Wait… What are you doing here? Did they attack you too, Co-"

"No, no," Colin reassured him, his blue eyes dancing with unbridled happiness. "I'm fine, but you are too…. You're alive, and that's all that really matters." He sat back on his haunches, his smile broadening until it was a full-tooth grin.

Arthur's heart jumped into his throat as he saw it. It took him back a thousand years – when he was a King who never stopped fighting, and Colin was a servant who never stopped smiling.

"I'm not some damsel in distress, Colin," Arthur teased. "I could have handled it myself… Eventually." He turned his head to the side, relieved that he had miraculous survived, but he could feel his hold on reality slipping.

"You're right," Colin said, "A damsel would've been thankful. You're more like a fucking dollop head." He let out a shaky laugh, and Arthur felt a bright smile worm its way on his face, and he couldn't remember a time when—

"I always thought if things had been different, we'd've been good friends."

Arthur froze, like he'd been struck by lightning. "What… What did you say?"

"Just rest, Arthur," Colin said. "Just… It's alright."

It was fading fast, and Arthur struggled to make his last thought known before it all disappeared. However, his eyes fluttered close, and it was then he realized something.

Colin had called him Arthur.