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Alaric stood at the base of Glastonbury Tor's tower, his Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan spinning lazily as he scanned the area.
The voice that had spoken to him seed to echo from all directions, yet its source remained elusive.
He took a step forward as his boots crunched against the grass, and spoke again while his tone was calm but firm.
"I'm here for sothing that doesn't belong to you," he said, his voice carrying a hint of steel. "Sothing that was taken long ago... Excalibur."
The air around him seed to grow heavier, the faint hum of energy intensifying. The voice responded, its tone more guarded now.
"The sword is not ant for mortal hands. It is a relic of a ti long past, a symbol of power and responsibility. You are not worthy."
Alaric chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Worthy? You think I care about your concept of worthiness? I'm not here to prove myself to you. I'm here to take what I need."
There was a pause, as if the entity behind the voice was weighing his words.
Then, the energy in the air shifted, and the faint outline of a figure began to materialize before him.
It was a woman... she seed ethereal and otherworldly, her form shimring like mist. Her eyes were a deep, piercing blue, and her hair flowed like water around her shoulders. She wore a gown that seed to be made of the very fabric of the air itself, shifting and swirling with every movent.
"You are bold," she said, her voice soft but carrying an undeniable authority. "But boldness alone will not grant you the sword. Do you truly understand what Excalibur represents?"
'It's just a weapon created by the Isu... but let's humor her for now,' Alaric crossed his arms, his expression unimpressed.
"Let guess... it's a symbol of justice, honor, and all that nonsense. Save the lecture. I'm not here to play the hero. I'm here to take the sword because I need it."
The woman's eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing through him. "And what do you intend to do with it?"
"That's my business," Alaric replied, his tone cold. "But since you're so curious, let's just say I have plans. Big plans. And Excalibur is a piece of the puzzle."
The woman seed to consider his words, her expression unreadable. Finally, she spoke again, her voice quieter now, almost resigned.
"If you wish to claim Excalibur, you must prove yourself. The sword is guarded by trials, each more dangerous than the last. Many have attempted to claim it, and all have failed. Are you prepared to face what lies ahead?"
Alaric smirked, his Eternal Mangekyo spinning faster. "Good, bring it on."
The woman nodded slowly, her form beginning to fade. "Very well. Proceed to the heart of the Tor. There, you will find the first trial. But be warned... once you begin, there is no turning back."
As her voice faded, so did her form, leaving Alaric alone at the base of the hill. He glanced up at the tower, his smirk never wavering. "Trials, huh? Sounds like fun."
With that, he looked at the tower once again... it stood before him with its ancient stones weathered by ti.
The entrance was a dark, gaping maw, and Alaric could feel the weight of the trials ahead pressing down on him. But he didn't hesitate. He stepped inside, his crimson eyes glowing in the darkness.
The first trial awaited.
---
Inside the tower, the air was heavy with the scent of ancient stone and damp earth.
The faint light of Alaric's Eternal Mangekyo illuminated the narrow passage before him, casting long shadows on the walls.
He moved forward cautiously, his senses alert for any signs of movent or traps.
The first trial soon revealed itself.
The passage opened into a large chamber, its walls lined with ancient carvings and symbols.
In the center of the room stood a massive stone door, covered in intricate runes that glowed faintly in the dim light.
As Alaric approached, the runes began to pulse, and a deep, resonant voice filled the chamber.
"To proceed, you must solve the riddle of the door. Fail, and you shall be cast into darkness."
Alaric raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "A riddle? That's craaazyy~ fine, let's get this over with."
The voice began to speak, its tone slow and deliberate.
"I am not alive, yet I grow;
I do not have lungs, yet I need air;
I do not have a mouth, and yet I can drown.
What am I?"
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