In another reality—another thread spun off from fate itself—the legend of Camelot did not end in triumph.
Sonic awakened Caliburn's true form, becoming Excalibur Sonic, and he struck down the corrupted King Arthur. Camelot rejoiced. A restored kingdom stood poised for a new golden era.
It lasted hours.
Something ancient and intentionally cruel—Lord X—looked into this world not out of need or purpose, but curiosity. He touched it the way a child touches a wound just to see if it hurts.
And it bled.
Sonic's light—his soul—was the first thing corrupted. Then the blade followed.
Excalibur warped.
Its divine silhouette twisted.
A sword once built with balance and elegant weight became a slab of metal so heavy that it cratered land with simple impact—a blade wider than shields and thicker than anvils, forged into a weapon only Sonic could lift, not through strength, but through forced adrenaline that burned his body just to move it.
His armor blackened into jagged plates fused into his flesh like molten tar cooled into bone. His fur became coarse and flickered with unstable energy. His breathing sounded like rotted metal being ground against itself.
Camelot resisted.
Camelot died.
Sir Lamorak was split in half.
Sir Lancelot fell defending a ruined gate.
And Sir Percival—her rapier flickering with flame—struck true only once before Sonic's corrupted Excalibur hit the ground beside her, collapsing the earth and burying her beneath shattered stone.
But Sir Gawain did not fall quietly.
He fought a battle that was never winnable, and he fought it anyway.
His blows cracked armor plating.
He shattered a shoulder guard.
And then—through a final lunging strike with the full weight of his will behind it—his blade severed Sonic's right arm at the shoulder.
The corrupted Excalibur fell with it.
Hope existed for exactly three heartbeats.
Then Sonic roared—not in pain, not in fear, but in something primal—and tore into Gawain with his remaining arm like an animal ripping apart prey. The effort was not swift; it was brutal, deliberate, as though Sonic wanted the knight to understand how pointless hope had been.
Gawain died without seeing Camelot survive him.
Then came the Blacksmith.
A fox with no title of war.
No mastery of battle formations.
No oath to conquest.
Just the artisan who reforged Caliburn—
the one who had seen Excalibur awaken—
the one who believed swords existed to protect.
His apron was slashed.
His goggles cracked.
His slingshot loaded inefficiently against a god.
Still, he charged.
Soul Surge was not fury for him—it was resolve.
He struck Sonic with explosive rounds meant to destabilize the corrupted armor. One hit scorched. Two hits dented a plate. The third hit landed—
—and Sonic moved faster than thought.
The corrupted Excalibur—now wielded with only a single arm—punctured through leather, bone, spine—lifting him from the ground.
Blacksmith inhaled sharply.
Not screaming. Not resisting.
Just accepting.
His hand found the blade above him. His fingers traced it like he was remembering something.
"Blades protect"
he exhaled.
Sonic did not pull the sword back.
Instead, he lifted the Blacksmith higher by the weapon still lodged inside him and turned toward you. The body hung like a banner on a spear.
One of Sonic's eyes is dead—the iris grey, empty.
The other twitches with frenzied dilation.
He roars.
A guttural, animal sound.
And using the sword still impaling the fox, he hurls him forward—your direction—not by removing the blade, but by driving it through the corpse so violently that the momentum tears the body from the weapon.
The Blacksmith lands at your feet.
Twin tails motionless.
No breath.
No spark of creation left.
You are nothing heroic.
No knight.
No chosen heir.
Just someone who lived long enough to see the end of things.
Sonic, Bearer of the Void walks toward you, dragging Excalibur behind him.
Sparks hiss from the ground as it scrapes.
His missing right arm never reforms.
The wound remains exposed—charred, blackened, still leaking volatile energy.
What you choose now doesn't matter—
Fight.
Flee.
Stand still.
Whatever comes next…
Camelot has already fallen.
Its legacy already broken.
Lord X never returns to claim victory.
He doesn't need to.
He's already forgotten the world he ruined.
You are not here to save anything.
You are simply the last one left to witness its end.