by Philip-Todd Franklin
At Westminster Palace in London, England, within the House of Commons, the daily business of running the United Kingdom continued, and the most recent debate about how best to do that had been taking place for over an hour. Many of the members of Parliament had exited the chambers for many different reasons during that hour, only to return once more, but the debate was no closer to a conclusion. Halfway through the debate, a young man with dark black hair, dressed in a grey suit, came running into the chamber and, ignoring everyone else, headed up to Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.
After managing to convince the uncompromising British leader — once nicknamed the Iron Lady by a Soviet journalist — to follow him for a confidential meeting, the young man slowly led the prime minister from the chamber, stopping once they were on the other side of the heavy wooden doors. “What is the meaning of this, young man?” Mrs. Thatcher asked as she looked at him.
“I’m afraid I’ve got bad news, Mrs. Prime Minister. It would seem that you and your contemporaries are no longer needed,” he said as an evil grin slowly appeared on his face.
It took a moment for the information to really sink in, and as it did, she quickly shook free of the young man’s grasp. Looking at him with all the indignation she could muster, she said, “Young man, I don’t know who you are, but that is an outrage, and I shall see you taken away as soon as I can summon the guards.”
Margaret Thatcher turned and began to make her way back toward the chamber, when there was a large explosion that shook the very doors before her, knocking her to the floor. As she slowly began to rise, she noticed that the young man who had pulled her from the chamber had disappeared, replaced by a figure dressed in what looked like ancient, full-plate armour with a large broadsword that was tinged with a bright red glow. More importantly, the point of the sword was aimed right at her face.
“There is a new order in our great nation, and the true rulers of the nation are finally taking their rightful place,” he said. “Yet at this time you, unlike your contemporaries within the outdated House of Commons or the House of Lords, are still useful to them. I would recommend you assist them, or your usefulness will quickly come to an end, and then your life truly becomes mine.”
At the same time, a dark event had begun to take place at Windsor Castle, where every living member of the Royal Family in line for the throne had gathered for what was considered nothing more than a family reunion. Two figures dressed in ancient-looking, full-plate black armour, each carrying ancient-looking broadswords, mystically appeared within the castle and quickly made their way through the residence of the reigning Queen of England and other Royal Family members. Despite the gallant but futile attempts for protection by the royal guards, all members of the Royal Family, young and old, were quickly cut down with the glowing broadswords.
After a few moments of making their way, room by room, both armoured men entered the Queen’s private chambers, only to find their way blocked by four guards, each branding assault rifles pointed at them.
“It would seem, brother, that this fraud to the throne truly doesn’t care for the cattle she rules,” one of the armoured figures said as he glanced from one guard to the next and then to Queen Elizabeth of England. The other figure only nodded slightly in response as he looked at the elderly Queen Mother.
“Who are you? And what is the meaning of this?” Queen Elizabeth asked as her four guards slowly took aim at the two armoured men.
In silent response, both men swung their swords faster than the human eye was able to trace, and in mere seconds, each assault rifle was laying in pieces upon the ground, leaving the four guards holding only the stalks and firing chambers. Before any of the guards could respond, both of the armoured men once again swung their glowing swords and cut them down.
“No!” screamed the reigning Queen of England as she watched her personal guards quickly cut down, slowly backing away toward the back wall behind her.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” one of the armoured men said. “Your mistake of an existence and that of your whole misbegotten family ends today, and England’s true royalty arises to take its proper place. These worthless sheep shall once again know what it is truly like to have a ruler.”
“So true, brother, and I do believe mother shall be so pleased at how easily this has taken place,” he said as he quickly stalked toward Queen Elizabeth. With a look of total fear, she drew her final breath as the man slew her with the glowing broadsword. The armoured man reached down, took hold of the royal crown upon her severed head, and held it before himself.
With a few movements of the other armoured man, both of them disappeared from Windsor Castle just as they had appeared, leaving many disfigured bodies strewn about, none of them living.
Later that evening, two news presenters, a woman and a man, sat behind the news desk of the BBC. They were both silhouetted as the announcer spoke.
“This is the Nine-o’-Clock News from the BBC, with Julia Trimble and Brian Fields.”
Theme music played as the news presenters were blacked out, and a computer-generated graphic formed into the words 9 O’Clock News over an image of Great Britain at the edge of the globe. The image glistened for a moment, then faded out.
A photograph of the Queen faded into view, followed immediately by a man’s voice narrating. “Queen Elizabeth II assassinated by sword-wielding terrorists.”
An image of a large family dressed in splendour was then shown, whilst a woman’s voice said, “The Royal Family is wiped out, with no survivors.”
An image of the Chamber of Parliament was shown, and the man’s voice said, “The entire assembled House of Commons is executed as part of the nation’s worst massacre in recorded history. Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher is the only survivor.”
Then a video of people on the street was shown, weeping and crying as news of the tragedy swept across the nation, and the woman’s voice said, “The United Kingdom faces its greatest tragedy since World War II.”
A short clip of theme music played, and the two news presenters came into view. The woman was dark-haired and wore a black-and-white-chequered suit, whilst the blue-eyed, blond man was dressed in a pale grey-blue suit. The woman spoke.
“Good evening. We will have a special report on the murder of Queen Elizabeth II and the massacre of the Royal Family a few minutes later, along with an address to the nation from Prime Minister Thatcher. But first, we have just been informed that an unscheduled press conference is now being held in front of Westminster Abbey.”
The scene shifted from the view of the two BBC news presenters to the steps outside Westminster Abbey behind the Parliament building. Standing in front of the old abbey was a young-looking woman dressed in a long, flowing black dress; she had piercing grey eyes and long, dark hair, and upon her head were the crown jewels, whilst the royal sceptre was in her right hand. She was surrounded by four ancient-looking, black-armoured men, each holding within their hands glowing broadswords pointed toward the ground.
The woman slowly made her way toward the podium and faced a large crowd of people and reporters, many of them international. Glancing over the crowd of people, she slowly closed her eyes and then reopened them as she reached the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Morgana le Fay, and as of this moment, I am your new lord and master. Each of your lives now belongs to me, and there is nothing any one of you worthless wretches can ever do to change this.”
She paused as the men and women in the crowd were in an uproar, shouting angrily at her. Yet none made a move toward her or any move at all, as each of the armoured figures near her lifted their swords threateningly. She then raised her voice and continued speaking over the shouts from the crowds, “Any of you who decide otherwise shall most happily meet with the same fate that has fallen your worthless Parliament, along with the very fraud you so happily called your Royal Family. And as a word of warning to other nations of the world, I shall not tolerate any interference from anyone. If so opposed, then that nation shall forever pay the price. As a warning of my power, I give you this.”
Slowly she raised both her arms out to her sides and began to chant in an ancient forgotten language; as she spoke, the jewels upon the sceptre began to glow. For those at the press conference, it looked as if a great darkness grew from the sceptre and slowly began to expand, first engulfing those upon stage and then the reporters who were covering the event. As each camera was so engulfed, the feed was lost.
At the CNN Center in Atlanta, Georgia, the anchor quickly tried to come up with an explanation for the media blackout that had caused the loss of signal from the United Kingdom. At the same moment in many other nations, news anchors were trying to do the same.
In another dimension called Avalon, the ancient wizard known as Merlin was sitting once again at his old oak table, intensely watching the scene taking place within. A young woman could be seen dressed in what looked like a woman’s dress suit of alternating black and red; she was standing next to a man wearing what looked like any old World War II flight jacket and cap, with an eyepatch over his right eye. He continued to watch his granddaughter and others as they fought against at least two others that he could see. One of the figures was dressed completely in blue, except for his red gloves. The image brought forth a name that he knew didn’t belong to that world; the other was dressed in red and black, and he was known to be the SS Ubermensch agent and scientist called the Red Torpedo. Merlin continued to watch the scene taking place within his scrying bowl.
Without warning, a crystal ball sitting upon the oak table began to flash quickly through the spectrum of colours, gradually growing brighter until Merlin softly placed his hand over it. Concentrating for a moment, he was able to bring a picture to form within. The sight that he beheld was his centuries-old enemy and former student Morgana le Fay; the spell of darkness she was performing made his mouth drop as he gasped, “Oh my, no! This cannot be! Things are not prepared, and I cannot yet take action upon that frightened world.” His full attention distracted him from the still-functioning scrying bowl and the scene that continued to be played before it, so he did not see the battle taking place take a turn for the worse as armed men in black SS uniforms came in running to surround the attacking heroes.
“Someone must take action now, and I’m afraid there’s only one way to get it done,” Merlin said, his voice very grim. “King Wingdore, I need your help. The need is dark and very grim.”
Off to Merlin’s left side in a flash of light, the king of all fairies of Avalon appeared. “Do so tell me the great need, my friend, and know my children have always prepared to help such when there is need. So tell me, my friend, all that is your need,” he said.
Merlin, in a very grim voice, quickly began to tell King Wingdore all that he had seen and what actions he would have to take, praying that what needed to be done was still possible and that it was not too late.