him to gain the large ledge where the portal shimmered between two oak tree stumps of immense size. He looked out over the plains behind him. His army spread as far as the eye could see, a dark stream of death for any who tried to get in his way.
Philip smiled. After more than eight centuries, it was time.
Sucking on the tube leading to the sack on his back, Philip entered the portal.
Time seemed to freeze.
The portal felt the same as the one he had entered in London. The gray swirled around him, a void of unsettling vertigo. The path before him was blank. He walked forward anyway. He had done it before and knew what to expect. When the light intensified and pressure built on his chest until he could barely breathe, he girded his soul for the battle he knew would come, one he had always known would be a part of his destiny.
Philip Plantagenet returned to the world of his birth.
Chaos and pain came the moment he tumbled free of the portal. The cacophony of weaponry pummeled him as soon as he stepped into the cavern, an assault like none he had witnessed against any person in his life. He grimaced but kept his fear in check, the contents of the bag on his back keeping him alive as he freely drank. John followed him, doing the same, as did the first Templar Knights to enter Rome. Before them hundreds of Swiss Guardsmen fired their weapons from all quarters, the projectiles threatening to drive Philip backward. He held his ground, sneering. With every bullet that entered him, the Graal pushed it out; the moment a bone or his skull was struck, it healed. It would take more than the weapons of man to kill him and his men.
The Templar Knights continued to swarm out of the portal wearing leather bags of their own; dozens upon dozens of soldiers came forth, until hundreds formed an arc around the portal, keeping their king safe from the Vatican defense.
All were invincible. All were ready to die if need be.
The gunfire ceased suddenly, the silence deafening, as the roar of a man beyond the Swiss Guards lorded over all.
“Philip Plantagenet!”
With the assault’s reprieve, Philip gained a better look at who had called his name. Two older men and a boy of barely twenty years stood beyond the defensive arcs of soldiers, all focused on the portal and the Templars that continued to stream through. The boy held a flaming knife that marked him as the portal knight; the men gripped long broadswords and wore black robes, one of which bore the papal crest of arms.
“Pontiff of Vatican City,” Philip greeted, his contempt thick. “It appears you have a wonderful welcoming party here. Have you brought more worthy warriors to my cause?”
“I am Pope Clement XV,” the oldest of the men said. “Beside me is the Cardinal Vicar of Rome, Cormac Pell O’Connor. St. Peter’s Basilica is a sanctuary, one for the devout and one for the good. This day has sadly long been in coming. The Vigilo has witnessed your rise in Caer Llion, the growth of your people, the construction of an army filled with dark purpose. We will not abide its existence in this world. You must return. Now.”
“I do not believe so,” Philip said. “I have spent centuries in Annwn. The fey have been quelled. It is time. Time to fulfill the promise to my father made so many centuries ago. Time to wash this world of its evil as I did in Annwn. Time for you to join me or die. There are no other options, Pope Clement XV.”
“From what I understand, you have not completed your duty.”
Philip smiled. “I control Annwn.”
“The Templar Knights at your side were banished for heresy centuries ago,” the Pope continued, his voice firm. “You will take them from these sacred grounds. Or we will see them sent to Hell where they—and you—belong.”
“My king has come to fulfill Saint Peter’s direction for the world,” John said beside Philip. “You are both of the Vigilo. I sense that much. Embrace us as brothers, not as enemies! It is time we work together, to establish the world as God intended, to see the Word spread through this world as it has never been before.”
“You are a rotted man, John Lewis Hugo,” the Cardinal Vicar spat, his red hair almost as white as his companion’s. “Your selfish appetites while in Annwn have been well documented