At the Foot of a Throne

I feel a body, presumably my own. The space is still black, but the cause is obvious this time. My eyes feel heavy and this feeling is proof that they exist.

Confirming my position, I appear to be kneeling with one knee on the ground. I flex my fingers once life returns to them.

"My hands…free."

The hair around my body feels a kind of thick fabric beneath heavy metal.

"Bindings…none."

I take a deep breath. Greeting my dry throat is an air of dust and stone. This would be a terrible sign if not also for the subtle odour of trees and flowers.

"Location…near an exit."

There are no obstructions to my movement as I had initially assumed. An awakening like this often reveals rope or chains around my wrists, but those don't appear to be present. I do not appear to be locked away in an enemy facility.

"Let us welcome Clement Liutfrid!"

A booming voice breaks my concentration and attempts to knock me to the ground. The following chorus of horns drive my eyes open. At first, my eyes landed on a deep red fabric laid out over the hard floor. The corners of my eyes are then assaulted by sights beyond my current comprehension.

To my left and right are a line of men clad in metal suits of armour. One by one, soldiers raise their spears in an oncoming wave that sweeps down the massive marble walls. At the end of the hall is a golden throne sat several steps above the rest of the ground. Light shines down through towering stained glass panes and collides with the ground to illuminate one man at its centre.

"It is my pleasure as King of Melior to greet such a fine man recognised by the goddess herself!"

Keeping my head down, I scan the room. The bellowing fanfare beats down upon me from an open floor above. Behind one row of steel-clad knights are two more, all of which have their intense gazes placed on me through their helmets. Around the throne itself are knights clad in detailed metal and vibrant fabrics. I don't need my trained instincts to understand their strength.

"Your reputation speaks for itself! To receive this honour at such a young age, you have truly lived up to your family name."

Continuing his speech is a man grey with age wrapped in purple robes. He appears to be well beyond his prime, but that powerful voice betrays a lack of frailty beneath his weathered skin. Complementing his already commanding presence is a bejeweled golden crown that glows in the light from the glass roof above. He does not appear to be armed.

"This young man has been chosen by the goddess to serve our nation as its Blessed Knight!"

I'm surrounded by numerous cheers both on this floor and the one above, but the noise fails to distract me from my analysis.

"Two hundred and fifty-three potential hostiles. Forty-five appear to be unarmed and the remaining are within range to attack. My weapon…"

As the sole individual with his hands free, the king claps his hands along with the cheers. Meanwhile, I feel for items around my body.

"A sword…"

Attached to my right hip is the handle to a sword roughly the length of my arm. While not my weapon of choice, it will certainly do in a pinch. Silently digging through the various pouches along my belt locates useless coins and handkerchiefs. These thick streams of cloth around my body may aid defensively, but they won't protect me if they attack all at once. I also will be unable to dash well with these metal plates across my body. I'm not accustomed to apparel made heavier than kevlar.

"Escape? Possible, albeit barely…"

Behind me is a pair of stone doors at least double my height. Their hinges show an outwards swinging construction and a couple of brutes standing nearby shows the force required to move them. I need only deflect attacks for approximately 20 metres and I can reach the windows beside the doors. What happens afterwards will simply have to be improvised.

The sudden widening of the king's arms returns my attention to the front.

"Rise, my champion!"

Stone pillars supporting the floor above rattle at the king's order. Considering my position alone at the centre of the hall, I appear to at least own his favour. Avoiding combat would be the most ideal solution.

"It would be my honour, Your Majesty."

I promptly rise to my feet and bow my head to the bearded man that glows with divinity. My past training in preparation to meet the Belgian monarch may have been too detailed on Earth. However, my assassination of his advisor is serving me well in this new environment.

"You may rest on your formalities, Clement. As a hero, you demand as much respect as myself."

"If that is your wish, Your Majesty."

I return my neck to normal and lock gazes with the king's blue eyes. Lowering the arm currently placed over my chest, I rest the bare hand against the hilt of 'my' blade. At that moment, I realise that something isn't exactly right about my sense of touch. Before I can inspect it, the king grasps the golden scepter leaning against his throne and raises it into the air.

"Let all bear witness to the Blessed Knight of Melior!"

At the end of the golden rod is a crimson jewel that begins to glow. A brilliant light consumes the entire hall and blinds with both its rays and its pressure. The only thing that can challenge this wondrous crystal is the gem embedded inside of my right palm. The eight-pointed star much like a compass juts out from my skin and meets the energy released by the king's scepter.

"Goddess, hear my decree. Clement of the House of Liutfrid shall be your champion and mine. Protect our holy warrior and bestow upon him the strength to fell the Titans threatening this civilisation built in your honour."

The red energy forms a blazing sphere in my hand. The burning on my skin spreads throughout my entire body and lights a fire inside my brain. Through this lightheadedness, I manage to hear the king's next words.

"Let your heart select its weapon! This artefact will become your blade and a symbol of justice across the world!"

A weapon? That's a difficult choice.

The first thing that comes to mind is a firearm. A ranged weapon with almost limitless killing potential is fitting for most situations where survival and efficiency are required. However, they are not always the most viable. During previous cases of espionage, knives or chains served me just as well. Regardless, I've held almost every kind of weapon humans have been able to dream up. Selecting from this large variety is nearly impossible.

BANG

As if listening to my thoughts, the red sphere lashes out at my psyche. A searing pain tears through my brain and removes my vision, excluding one terribly painful memory.

"This is nothing personal."

The words of my fellow agent snap my memory back to that day. My hands are red, just as they are now. However, this is my own blood. From my spot dying on the floor, another image is visible and also covered in red. It's a symbol I have worn for every mission and that I had believed to be synonymous with myself.

"Empty Magnum."

An organisation of the strongest human weapons. Even with the most powerful bullets, an agent is capable of eliminating any target as if the cartridge were empty. Our guns are just a sidearm, our skills are the primary tool.

"This is Agent Clark."

While both my organisation and its legacy may no longer exist, that does not erase my purpose. Assassination, espionage, disruption, terror. I'm a secret agent contracted by the government to perform the difficult jobs with absolute success and without question. The entity giving orders and writing my check may have changed, but the role has not. My name and history may not be as they were before, but I have remained the same.

"Consider your mission accepted."

The words under my breath are lost, but they were never necessary. All that matters is that I accept the role given to me. If they desire a 'Blessed Knight', then I shall become one and meet the expectations associated with it. That is my job.

I place my right hand across my chest and a shockwave erupts down the marble walls. The light subsides and in my fingers rests a six-shot revolver.