American comics: Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who worry about their fathers!.

Chapter 1038 Artoria: You are Mordred's father, who am I?

Alien meteorite?

A catalytic energy source that fuels vampire mutations and madness?

Upon hearing Azu's explanation, Bruce's heart sank.

Gotham's crisis and the vampires' mutations—are they all connected in such a complicated way?
The situation was more complicated than he had anticipated.

"Has the Godfather not been found yet?"

Bruce was silent for a moment, then asked Azu about Peter.

Azu shook his head and said with a serious expression, "Dad disappeared with Ciri, Diana, Kara, Jane, Persephone, and Zatanna on the shore of Lake Smallwell. I have been looking for them for the past few days, but I have not found any trace of them."

Bruce nodded and said nothing more.

As Bruce fell into deep thought, the abandoned Church of St. Mary fell silent once more.

The cold moonlight shone on the two of them. Under the night sky of Gotham, an even greater storm was quietly brewing.

On the other side, the world in the mirror.

Peter was unaware that his absence, along with the failure of Raven's four children to return from the Hogwarts world, led to a vampire invasion of the DC universe, resulting in Azuma, Clark, Star-Lord, and others killing each other.

At this moment, he was standing in an oasis in the desert, discussing with Ciri, Diana, Kara, Jane, Persephone, and Zatanna how to leave the world through the mirror.

He was talking to Ciri when suddenly, without warning, an uncomfortable feeling welled up inside him.

A chilling sensation penetrated deep into his soul.

Peter frowned slightly.

Sensing that something might have happened at the farm, he closed his eyes and grasped the Sandman Ruby.

A series of blurry images appeared in his mind:
The ferocious silhouette of the Dripping Beast pierced Gotham's leaden sky, the raindrops as cold as needles.

A cloak fluttered as it stood atop Gotham's shadow, and Bruce stood atop the Dripping Beast.

A younger, more agile blue figure emerged from the shadow of the Water Beast like a ghost.

Then came a piercing shriek that tore through the air.

The sound of a blade piercing flesh rang out, and Bruce's body stiffened abruptly, his black cloak falling limply to the ground.

The guardian of Gotham was stabbed in the chest by the blue figure and fell straight off the dripping beast.

The next instant, Peter suddenly opened his eyes.

"Bruce"

Recalling the scene he had just witnessed, his brows furrowed involuntarily.

Has something happened to Bruce?
After acquiring the Sandman's Trinity, Peter's sensory abilities and spiritual power became exceptionally strong.

The fact that he could see this scene meant that Bruce might really be in some danger.

It seems I have to leave here as soon as possible.

"Ciri!"

Peter's call instantly drew everyone's attention.

Diana, Carla, Jane, Zatanna, and Persephone all looked at him with anxiety and worry on their faces.

Ciri stopped what she was doing, panting, and looked at him with exhaustion and a hint of barely perceptible frustration in her eyes: "Peter, have you thought of a way?"

Yes, the world is like a solid mirror.

Peter looked at the distant desert horizon. “It perfectly reflects, absorbs, and bounces back all spatial forces that try to cross it, including your ancient blood. We can never break through it by conventional means.”

Then he took a deep breath and said, "So what we need to do is not 'pass through' it, but—break it!"

His gaze swept over the crowd, finally settling on Ciri once more.

“I will use all my strength to tear a ‘crack’ here, even if it’s just for a moment, Ciri. At that moment, you must seize the opportunity and use all your power to traverse space. When the crack appears, the rules of this world will be temporarily disrupted. That will be your only chance.”

Ciri's azure eyes lit up instantly, but were quickly covered by worry.

"Tear apart the barriers of this world? This power... sir, will you..."

She hesitated, her face filled with worry for Peter.

Forcibly disrupting a spatial structure capable of imprisoning ancient blood would have unimaginable backlash.

"will not."

Peter shook his head and said with a serious expression.

The power of the Sandman granted him not only perception, but also absolute control over the strength of his own soul.

"Believe me, it's worth a try; it's the only way out."

"Peter!"

Diana was the first to step forward, saying, "I'll help you open the crack; my power is with you!"

The Amazon princess spoke without the slightest hesitation.

"And I!"

Kara strode to Peter's side, the Kryptonian girl clenching her fists, a faint golden aura rising around her. "Tell me what to do, and we'll break it together!"

Jane Foster, the holder of Mjolnir, silently walked to Peter's other side.

She didn't speak, but simply smiled at Peter, revealing her feelings.

Zatanna was the last to step forward. Under her top hat, a black veil concealed her expression, but her deep eyes shone with an astonishing light.

"Don't forget, I am also a magician."

Looking at the women who stood by his side without hesitation, a warm feeling rose in Peter's chest.

Peter's gentle gaze fell on the women. "Diana, Carla, Jane, pour all your power into my guidance. Hold nothing back. Leave everything to me."

"Ciri!"

Peter looked at Ciri one last time and said to her, "Get ready, you only have one chance!"

Ciri nodded emphatically, leaning forward slightly, like a cheetah poised to pounce.

She held the silver sword horizontally in front of her, activated the Ancient Blood, and blue-white arcs of electricity that seemed to leap through space gathered around her.

Seeing that everyone was ready, Peter drew Excalibur.

"With my spirit, I receive the strength of all of you!"

"It is hereby declared—"

"Sever illusions and pave the way home!"

"EX——CALIBUR!!!"

Peter let out a soul-shaking roar.

"boom!!!"

Excalibur, having absorbed the power of the women, unleashed an unprecedentedly brilliant and terrifying torrent of blazing gold from its blade.

The powerful energy converged and crashed violently into the spatial "mirror".

Time seemed to freeze at this moment.

There was no earth-shattering roar, only a soul-chilling creaking sound, as if the very foundation of the universe was being forcibly pried open!

The struck mirror, like crystal subjected to pressure beyond its limits, was instantly covered with billions of crisscrossing golden cracks.

Then, the crack spread wildly in all directions from the point of impact, tearing and ripping.

"Snap! Snap snap snap—!"

A piercing cracking sound finally erupted, and the entire mirror world began to tremble violently.

The spatial barrier was forcibly blasted open, leaving a huge and hideous "wound".

It's now!

"Walk--!!!"

Ciri transformed into a bolt of lightning, shooting towards the spatial rift, unleashing the power of the ancient blood to its fullest extent.

The instant he rushed into the rift, Ciri hurled the silver sword in his hand at Peter.

"Grab me—!!!"

An "anchor chain" made of pure spatial energy was suddenly flung backward from the spot where Ciri had rushed into the rift.

The anchor chain ignored the raging energy turbulence and coiled around Peter, Diana, Kara, Jane, Zatanna, and Persephone.

A tremendous pulling force came, and Peter felt an irresistible force locking onto his waist, dragging him forward violently.

He glanced one last time at the mirror world that was collapsing completely before his eyes were completely engulfed by violent spatial turbulence and blinding light.

Ciri's spatial anchor chain dragged them along like drowning people caught in a raging torrent, plunging them headlong into the spatial rift cleaved open by the Sword of Excalibur, leading to the unknown.

The mirror world behind them trembled violently before being completely engulfed by endless fragments and turbulent energy currents.

I do not know how long it has been.

The biting wind, carrying a strong, nauseating stench of blood and the cold, damp earth, brutally filled Peter's mouth and nose, dragging him back to reality.

With a loud thud, he fell heavily into the cold, sticky mud, feeling as if his bones had shattered, his mouth filled with the taste of blood and the bitterness of the mud.

The air was filled with a variety of sounds: the long, painful neighing of dying warhorses, the cawing of crows as they greedily pecked at their prey, and the mournful sound of the wind sweeping across the wilderness and over piles of white bones.

The intense light blurred his vision, revealing only a fleeting glimpse of Venus and shadows before his vision returned to focus after a few seconds. Standing up, the sight that greeted Peter made him frown.

It seems I've left the mirror world, but where am I?

What about Ciri and the others?
As he pondered this, Peter looked around.

The setting sun, like blood, dyed the sky a sorrowful dark red.

Before him lay an ancient battlefield strewn with corpses.

Everywhere you look, there is the frozen state of death; broken spears are stuck in the mud, and shattered shields are scattered everywhere.

The dark red blood had long since soaked into this land, giving it an eerie sheen in the setting sun.

In the center of the battlefield, a low hillside became the only slightly higher element in this scene of death.

On the hillside, a figure was kneeling.

The female knight's golden hair was now covered in dust and dried mud, dull and lifeless.

The silver armor was covered with crisscrossing cracks and deep dents, and had lost all its luster.

The most shocking sight was the huge, gruesome, penetrating wound on his chest and abdomen, so deep that the bone was visible, and the flesh at the edges was rolled up and charred black, as if it had been burned by some terrible force.

Thick, dark red blood continued to seep out extremely slowly, each faint breath causing more to gush from the wound, pooling into a puddle of blood beneath her.

Peter was slightly taken aback when he saw the female knight's face.

Peter was no stranger to that face that was famous throughout the Type-Moon world.

King Arthur, Artoria Pendragon!
At this moment, Artoria's face was deathly pale.

Those eyes, which once held unwavering will and compassion, now had slightly dilated pupils.

The once dazzling glory of a king has faded like the tide, leaving only the emptiness and weariness before life's passing, casting a bewildered gaze at the blood-red horizon in the distance.

A knight in tattered silver armor knelt beside her, his helmet already removed and discarded to the side.

The young knight knelt beside her, tears mingling with blood streaming down his face.

His trembling hands tried in vain to press against the fatal wound, only causing more blood to gush out from between his fingers.

"My king... my king..."

He called out to Artoria, his voice choked with emotion.

A moment later, after glancing at the battlefield to his left and right, the young knight gritted his teeth, picked up King Arthur, and carried him onto a horse, galloping forward at high speed.

Peter, who witnessed all of this, followed the young knight and King Arthur with his eyes.

If he's not mistaken, the young knight should be Bedivere.

Did Ciri travel out of the Mirror World and bring herself into the world of King Arthur?

Peter stroked his chin, lost in thought.

He remembered that in the original story, Ciri did indeed enter King Arthur's world.

After entering the world of King Arthur, the knight Gahalad encounters Ciri bathing by the lake. He mistakenly believes that this beautiful girl is the legendary Lake Nymph and hopes that she will bestow upon him the legendary sword of kings.

Ciri and Galahad became good friends, and Ciri introduced her to King Arthur.

However, the King Arthur that Ciri saw should be a male King Arthur, right?
As he pondered this, Peter glanced at Bedivere, who was riding away on horseback.

Seeing that the other side was about to leave the battlefield, Peter immediately gave chase.

At Artoria's insistence, Bedivere had no choice but to place her under a large tree.

Leaning against the big tree, Artoria seemed to use all her strength to lift a blood-stained hand with great difficulty.

Her movements aggravated her wounds, and the intense pain made her body tremble violently, letting out a suppressed gasp.

But she forced herself to hold back, her hand trembling yet reaching with unusual determination towards a long, narrow object wrapped in a piece of coarse linen that was also stained with blood.

Bedivere immediately understood, and he reached out his equally trembling hands, carefully holding one end of the cloth bag.

“Be... Dewell... Lord…”

Her voice was extremely weak, a hissing sound mixed with blood and foam, intermittent.

"Over..."

She gasped for breath, her emerald eyes straining to focus as she gazed at the distant, somber mountain range behind the knight, bathed in the crimson sunset. "That...mountain..."

"Found...the...lake..."

Each breath aggravated the fatal wound, causing a violent spasm that made his words even more fragmented.

"Put...the sword..."

Her gaze fell on the cloth bag Bedivere was holding, her eyes filled with reluctance, relief, and liberation. "Returning it... to... the fairy of the lake..."

"This sword..."

Her voice grew softer and softer, more and more ethereal, as if it came from a distant shore, "belonging to... Avalon...not...mortals."

As the last word fell, it was as if she had exhausted the last bit of strength that sustained her life.

Artoria's arms hung limply at her sides, her body leaning slightly forward, only managing to stay upright thanks to Bedivere's support.

The light in her eyes dimmed rapidly, leaving only a faint spark that stubbornly refused to go out, as if waiting for some final confirmation.

Bedivere clutched the cloth bundle containing the holy sword tightly in his hands, tears streaming down his face like a burst dam.

He buried his head deeply, his shoulders heaving violently, emitting a silent wail.

On the other side, Peter stood in the cold mud, watching the legendary scene of "King Arthur returning the sword".

Will I be able to witness the passing of this legendary king, Xiao Mo's true father, with my own eyes?
As Peter observed this scene, Bedivere suddenly raised his head, his face still wet with tears, but his eyes had transformed into a martyr's resolve.

Then he carefully held the cloth bundle containing the holy sword tightly to his chest, and looked at the king, whose life was about to be extinguished, with longing and sorrow.

Gritting his teeth, Bedivere resolutely turned around, took heavy steps, and rode his horse toward the distant, gloomy mountains, toward the legendary, mysterious lake.

Peter, familiar with the legend, naturally knew that Bedivere had hesitated to throw the holy sword into the lake the first time.

It wasn't until the third time, when he knew King Arthur had made up his mind, that he finally threw the sword into the lake.

After the third time, King Arthur died peacefully.

With that thought in mind, he stopped hiding and walked out directly.

At this moment, Artoria's life was flickering to its limit.

The gruesome penetrating wound between his chest and abdomen had long since stopped bleeding, as the blood had almost all drained away.

A biting cold spread from her limbs to her heart. Her pupils were dilated, staring blankly in the direction Bedivere had disappeared, at that unknown place shrouded in the shadows of the mountains.

She was waiting, waiting for confirmation of an end, waiting for the end of an era.

Consciousness sank to the bottom of a cold lake, becoming increasingly blurred and heavy.

Just as her consciousness was fading, footsteps came from behind her.

Artoria's unfocused pupils began to contract as she realized a stranger was approaching. Despite her body being on the verge of collapse, her right hand instinctively reached for her waist.

However, she forgot that the Holy Sword had been taken by Bedivere, and she hadn't touched anything.

A figure slowly walked up to her.

The newcomer was tall and wore a peculiar dark-colored outfit made of neither cloth nor leather.

Seeing the deep gaze fixed on her, Artoria gritted her teeth and asked, "Who...who are you?"

At this moment, her voice was hoarse and weak, but it carried an inviolable and chilling majesty.

"Who are you? Are you... a phantom sent by Morgan? Or... a messenger of death?"

She suspected this was her arch-enemy sister's final mockery, or a harbinger of her journey to the underworld.

Peter looked at the legendary king who was about to fall.

With a complicated expression, he shook his head.

No, I am neither.

He took two steps forward, stopping at a distance that was neither too close nor too far, allowing for a clear conversation. He bowed slightly, offering a salute that transcended time and space.

"My name is Peter Patrick."

His voice was deep and clear, “A traveler lost in the crevices of time and space has inadvertently entered this place and disturbed your rest, King Arthur.”

"A returning traveler? A gap in time and space?"

Artoria pondered these two unfamiliar words, her wariness not fading, but rather replaced by a hint of doubt.

She had never heard such a description before.

She was breathing heavily, but her eyes were still scrutinizing every detail of Peter, trying to find a flaw.

Why are you here?

She continued to ask Peter with difficulty.

Peter met the other's eyes, paused for a moment, and said, "I don't know, but I think it's probably because I'm not entirely unrelated to you."

He paused for a moment, then said to Artoria, "Mordred, she is my child too."

"what?!"

Artoria's body jolted violently, as if struck by an invisible bolt of lightning.

A tremendous storm surged through her heart!
(End of this chapter)