Epilogue: Revenge of the God Emperor

What would have happened if you had stayed?

What if you had never left Camelot?

What if you had continued to rule, standing firm as its king instead of turning away?

In another ending, in another timeline, you distanced yourself from your kingdom, your people, and everyone who once stood by your side.

And in return, you lost yourself. You lost your purpose, your goals, and even your love for Camelot. You grew indifferent, detached, until, in the end, Alaya saw fit to turn your own people against you.

You no longer saw them as your subjects, but as burdens. You resented the weight of their needs, the endless conflicts they expected you to resolve.

Babysitting their problems became an inconvenience. You stopped caring, you stopped reaching out, and in doing so, they slipped further and further away from you.

Ruling no longer felt like a duty, nor an honor—it was a chain, an obligation you loathed.

Camelot became nothing more than a distant memory, an echo of a past life that no longer held meaning.

And in that timeline, you wandered. You drifted from civilization to civilization, never truly belonging anywhere, never looking back.

You built new empires, met new people, took new women into your bed. Rome became your new dominion, your new obsession, and with it, Camelot faded into irrelevance.

You forgot why you had fought in the first place. Power and conquest became the only things you desired.

And when even that power became inconvenient, you abandoned it too, letting everything you built rot in your absence.

You never lacked options. There were always those willing to serve you. So why did you, a king, find yourself begging traitors to return to your side?

That was your mindset in another timeline.

But what if you hadn't left?

What if, instead of walking away, you had stayed?

Everything would have been different.

The story, the fate of Camelot, the very fabric of history itself—it all would have changed the moment you chose to remain, the moment you still cared.

Because you only ever abandon something once you stop caring… and once you do, all that remains is fire and ruin.

But nothing is ever truly set in stone.

Different timelines. Different choices. Different outcomes.

In the end, it is up to you to decide which path to take.

In this timeline, you had returned from the vast, open grasslands, fresh from your conquest of Attila the Hun. You had claimed her body right there in the wild, fucking her mercilessly in the tall grass, your thick, powerful cock stretching her tight, wet pussy to its very limits.

The fierce warlord, a conqueror in her own right, had been reduced to a moaning, writhing mess beneath you, her body trembling as she took every inch of your cock, surrendering completely to the sheer dominance you imposed upon her.

When you finally left, it wasn't just satisfaction that coursed through you. No, you felt something far greater—the unmistakable surge of strength that came with every woman you conquered. Each time you claimed a woman, each time you made her yours, you grew stronger. Your power swelled, deepened, refined itself with every thrust, every climax, every submission.

Unlike another timeline where you abandoned Camelot to rule the Roman Empire, taking the mantle of God-Emperor, here you had chosen differently. Instead of forsaking your kingdom, you returned to Camelot, reclaiming your rightful throne as its one true king. With your dominion secured, your gaze turned elsewhere—to a place untouched by your conquest.

The Shadow Kingdom.

It was the last frontier, the final piece of the puzzle in your grand design. You had commanded Morgan and Merlin to seal away the Shadow Queen, preventing her interference in your plans. But now, it was time to face her yourself.

Scáthach.

The infamous Godslayer.

You would either make her submit to your will, binding her as another piece of your empire… or you would obliterate her if she proved to be a nuisance.

At this point in time, you had yet to fully devour the System and assimilate its power, but even without it, you were already a force beyond comprehension. The Shadow Queen, despite her reputation, was nothing before you. Your mere presence dwarfed her entirely.

Your piercing blue eyes glowed with an ominous light, the sheer force of your power leaking into the very air around you. The knights surrounding you trembled, feeling the creeping touch of death itself as your aura pressed down upon them. The weight of your existence alone was suffocating.

"Morgan," you commanded, your voice reverberating through the air like a divine decree. "Take me to Scáthach. Unseal her domain."

"Yes, Father."

Morgan obeyed without hesitation, her magic flaring to life as she wove the spell. The world twisted around you as space bent to her will, and in an instant, you arrived at the Land of Shadows.

The moment your feet touched the cursed soil, the very essence of death surged toward you, a force meant to break the will of any living being that dared step foot upon this forsaken land.

But you were not like others.

You were beyond life. Beyond mortality. You had already slain the very concept of death itself, rendering it meaningless before your gaze.

The very foundations of the Shadow Kingdom trembled. The ancient barriers that had once kept even the greatest of warriors at bay crumbled before you, disintegrated by the sheer weight of your existence.

And then, standing before you, was Scáthach herself.

Her piercing gaze met yours, unwavering, unreadable. Even in the face of your overwhelming presence, she did not falter. But neither did she welcome you.

She was not pleased by your arrival.

"I have seen other fates for you, Uther Pendragon," she murmured, her voice carrying an eerie certainty. "You were never meant to be here. You were supposed to take the throne of Rome, to abandon Camelot and rule as a hollow God-Emperor. That is the fate written for you."

Her eyes narrowed, flickering with something between amusement and warning.

"And yet… you did not."

A smirk ghosted across her lips, but there was no warmth in it.

"You stayed. And now… you have become an inconvenience."

Without wasting another moment or uttering a single word, Scathach lunged forward, her spear thrusting toward you with lethal precision. The entire land beneath your feet was ensnared by intricate runes—ancient symbols she had woven to trap both you and Morgan in an unbreakable seal.

Yet, you did not waver.

Chains of Heaven erupted from the void, wrapping around her with divine authority, seeking to bind her movements. The runes beneath your feet—complex, formidable, meant to suppress even the mightiest of beings—were rendered meaningless in an instant. Your Eyes of Death Perception cut through them as if they were mere illusions. With a single stomp against the earth, they crumbled to nothingness.

Scathach was not so easily subdued. With the grace of a battle-hardened queen, she twisted and spun, her movements like a deadly dance. She evaded the chains effortlessly, weaving between them as her spear struck forward, its crimson tip aimed directly at your throat.

But you were faster.

Your hand snapped up, seizing the cursed spear mid-strike. The sheer force behind it would have torn through mountains, but it met nothing but an unshakable grip. Scathach's eyes widened slightly as cracks formed along the weapon's shaft.

The Infinity Gauntlet adorning your arm shimmered with raw, unrestrained power. You focused the might of the Power Gem and Time Gem simultaneously—one to amplify your overwhelming strength, the other to distort the very flow of motion itself.

Scathach slowed.

Her reaction time, her speed—everything was dulled as if the world itself had betrayed her.

In that moment, you exerted your will.

A surge of Denial of Nothingness followed, intertwining with your Power Gem and Eyes of Death Perception, as you denied the very concept of Gáe Bolg's existence. The spear, a weapon of legend, the bane of countless foes, shattered in your grasp, crumbling into absolute nothingness.

Morgan was not merely an observer in this battle.

With mastery over sorcery unparalleled by any mortal or divine being, she invoked the Blackened Grail under her command. Darkness coiled at her feet, writhing like a living force, forming an endless expanse of cursed thorns—spikes so potent they could pierce even the fabric of dimensions themselves. The power of the Fae and the Will of Britannia answered her call, the very essence of the land bending to her dominion.

Scathach was ensnared.

The moment she moved, she would die.

Yet, instead of fear, she laughed.

"End me, Uther Pendragon. You have won." Her voice carried neither regret nor despair—only the satisfaction of a warrior who had fought to her fullest.

You stepped forward, looking down upon her restrained form, her body entwined by thorns and chains, and you spoke with finality.

"Yes, I have won, and you have lost," you declared. "But I will not grant you death. I will set you free—and I trust upon your honor that you will never interfere with my rule again."

Ignoring her desire for a warrior's end, you cut away the cursed thorns that bound her. Denial of Nothingness severed them from existence, leaving no trace of their imprisonment.

Then, you turned your gaze toward the land itself.

"Now, I take what is rightfully mine—your kingdom, this domain," you announced. "But I will not enslave your people. You are too proud for that. You would never bow before me, nor would you serve me."

A moment of silence stretched between you.

Then, Scathach spoke.

"You… have changed the future," she murmured, eyes narrowing as she studied you. Then, as if reconsidering, she corrected herself. "No. You did not change the future. This… this was always your grand design, God Emperor."

She took a step forward, no longer bound, no longer an enemy, but something else entirely.

"I will not leave," she declared, her voice unwavering. "I will rule by your side—as your queen."

Morgan was clearly displeased by her statement, but you didn't mind having beautiful women take the initiative to become yours. So, without hesitation, you nodded and accepted her proposal.

"You will rule in my name, in my place, Shadow Queen."

"Father... Is this not too hasty to appoint her as queen?" Morgan objected, her voice sharp with frustration.

"She will be replaced when she proves herself unworthy."

You barely spared her a glance before turning away, your decision final. Morgan grumbled under her breath as she followed behind you, seething with resentment at the appointment and your unwavering authority. But you didn't care.

Before you could leave completely, Scathach stepped forward, blocking your path.

"Since you have named me queen, I shall fulfill my obligations as one," she said, her voice carrying an almost seductive authority. "Please stay, my husband... my king."

You stopped in your tracks. Morgan froze as well, her eyes flaring with jealousy, her mouth parting as if to protest. But before she could speak, you silenced her with a single command.

"You may leave, Morgan. Rule Camelot in my stead."

With just those words, you expelled Morgan from the Shadow Kingdom. She disappeared, forced out of your domain, leaving only you and Scathach standing in the abyssal grandeur of your throne room.

Now, it was just the two of you.

"Now, my queen... it is only us," you murmured, your voice laced with amusement.

"Yes… only us," Scathach replied, a smirk playing on her lips, an eerie laughter underlying her words.

Then, without warning, she kissed you.

Your eyes widened—not because of the kiss itself, but because of the sudden flood of knowledge that surged into your mind.

Visions flashed before you—your future, your return to the past, your conquest of the Shadow Kingdom, your inevitable meeting with Scathach, and the carefully woven fate that had led to this moment.

Every thread of your grand design, every piece of the puzzle you had unknowingly set in motion, came rushing back into your mind.

And with it—your peak power returned.

When you opened your eyes, Scathach was still standing before you… but she was no longer alone.

Kneeling before you in absolute devotion was your queen—Altrouge Brunestud.

"My Emperor," she intoned, her voice smooth yet reverent.

In that instant, everything became clear. The reason Scathach had recognized you immediately, the inevitable path to your ascension, the destiny awaiting you as the God Emperor.

She had never been your true enemy. No, she had always been a piece of your grand chessboard, positioned perfectly for this moment.

You laughed. Loud, triumphant, understanding the grand tapestry of fate that had brought you here.

"Arise, my queen," you commanded, extending your hand.

Altrouge stood at your word, her crimson eyes glimmering with anticipation. Then, you turned your attention to the Shadow Queen.

"Scathach, the time has come for you to face your destiny. The battle you have long sought, the distant heroes, the outsiders from the stars, even the gods themselves… they will all come for us."

"Let them come, God Emperor," Scathach answered, her voice unwavering, her confidence absolute.

"Good," you praised, your lips curling into a smirk.

It was time.

Everything had returned to its rightful place. The past had been rewritten, the shattered pieces reforged into something far greater.

Now, it was time to march upon Rome once more.

"Now… we march to Rome!"