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Dame Erina (Baron Zeppeli knighted her) stood, posing in a most dramatic fashion, as she stared down the undead knights in front of her in all their ps2, triangular glory.

Her honeymoon cruise had been ruined by gay vampires for the third time this week. This time Dio ought to be sent straight to hell (where all canonically bisexual vampires go so they can all make out with each other) and not just be made to sit in the corner for several hours.

“Go get them sweetie!” Jonathan (Erina’s husband) called as he sat at the foot of the ship’s steps, looking pretty in his big, fluffy gown.

“Will do, love.” Dame Erina said britishly.

The vampire/zombie knights screeched at her, scandalised— “WOMAN!” because they could see where her legs ended at her crotch because of her un-womanly divided skirt she used for bicycle riding (and slaying vampires).

“Fools! These are my slaying garments!” 

“Well, they doth be slaying.” Agreed the one wearing only fluorescent-pink pants and fishnet (he is gay). The rest all muttered their agreements (they are also gay).

Dame Erina looked to see Dio filing his nails on top of a coffin (he has stolen a priest’s body)— all besides him— Dio, had surrounded her. She recognised Sir Bruford and Sir Tarkus but these other three were new…

Sir Caineghis: The assumedly one-eyed man (his hair was glued to one side of his face in a tragic childhood incident)

Sir Eijkman: The lightning knight (raised by dutch nuns in the middle of a swamp, that’s all you really need to know)

And Sir Winzaleo: The Lion King (1994)

The only megan thee stallion fan— gay homophobe— and bear to finish the 77 rings challenge, respectively. (marrying 77 people was a serious challenge back in ye olde england)

Dame Erina bravely unsheathed the sword she pinched off Sir Bruford: The unassuming, while he was watering his hair. 

“Have at you!” 

With her cry they all jumped at her but one brave fellow vaulted over Sir Tarkus’ shoulder, out in front of the rest causing them to halt their steps. It was the fishnet man. He raised his hand, declaring to his fellows,

“I’ll handle the woman.” With a devilish smile he drew an odd, crescent-shaped blade. 

Dame Erina took proper stance, waiting for his move.

“Ah, what kind of knight would I be if I didn’t let the lady go first~” he remarked, falsely playing the gentleman. 

She held her ground. “I insist.”

“How generous of thee~”

With the invitation he charged. Once within her range it was clear she was no easy-pickings like he had assumed, she was quick and  precise with her strikes, not to mention, light on her feet. Despite him having such a stupidly shaped sword they somehow managed to fence.

They exchanged blows, neither one letting up but Dame Erina was being quickly overwhelmed with how fast and hard-hitting his blows came. She came to notice that for a brief moment, just after he would slash horizontally, there was a large opening in his stance— his dominant shoulder. 

Two more blows came, he was now close enough for her plan to work, unfortunately she quickly came to realise that the supposed opening was a trap. Mid way through her jab he drastically leant back, closing that vulnerability and using that very same momentum, swung his leg round to strike her hard in her own shoulder with his heel. No, he was not one to play fair or go easy. 

Also, he did have like 600 or something years experience on her. She staggered back but Sir Caineghis did not approach. He dropped his guard, smirking, believing he had already won.

Refusing to let up her grip on the blade she regained her breath. With choked out words she acknowledged his prowess. “Olé-”

“The correct term is Touché, dear!” Jonathan (her husband) corrected.

“-You know tactics far better than mine, Sir knight.” She coughed up a small amount of blood.

Sir Caineghis laughed, pleased with himself.  “Of course I do! Thou stood not a single chance from the start! I will say though, women are usually better off with that trick. I realised I couldn’t do enough damage with a corset in the way so be glad it was your arm I broke, not your ribs~”

Nevertheless Dame Erina again raised her sword, wry arm folded behind her back. The man found it amusing as he gloated to his fellow knights, glancing over his shoulder. “Ha! The lady thinks she can best me with a broken arm!”

Irked at being ignored, she struck. With a mighty swing of her sword the sharp blade came down upon his bare shoulder, slicing his arm free of his body— scimitar clattering to the floor as well. Sir Caineghis finally looked back to see his own arm on the floor, he blinked dumbly before staring at the lady knight with mild contempt.

She hacked off the other arm.

His face twisted with ire. “Right! I shall get thee for that!”

“You’ll what?!”

He tried to kick Dame Erina in the side, it had nigh effect on her as she just draped her sword right where he was futilely kicking. He hopped around like a madman, “Come on then!” The other knights were too busy trying not to laugh to bother and help him.

“Look, you stupid bastard, you’ve got not arms left.” She huffed.

“Chicken!” He accused, running up to kick her again. Dame Erina staggered with the impact, he was heavier than his femboy appearance let on.

“What are you going to do? Bleed on me?”

“I’m invincible!”

“You’re a loony.”

Suddenly from behind her, Dame Erina was grabbed, not by a hand but by thick ropes of raven hair— Sir Bruford’s.

She was ripped from the very ground she stood on and was flung back and forth into the decking repeatedly until she managed to twist her body in the right direction and slice the locks that imprisoned her. She landed with a dull thud and rolled until she could regain her footing.

Sir Bruford was mortified to see his majestic hair was now a half-meter shorter, he would have to feed it at least three rolls of salami to get that kind of length back.

With everyone but Dio and Jonathan (Erina’s husband) joining in on the drama, the scuffle was now an assortment of swords, axes, spears and Tarkus’es being thrown around like confetti at a birthday party. Most attacks missed their target but majority just went to wrecking the very lower deck of the boat they were still standing in. 

(Also, every so often someone would headbutt the pipes, including Dame Erina herself, so most of the combatants couldn’t even see straight half the time thanks to the concussions they would keep getting.)

Jonathan (Erina’s husband) called out from the same spot at the foot of the stairs, offering advice to his courageous wife. 

“Perhaps if you show them your mercy after you defeat them with sunshine it might appeal to their sense of honour and they shall spare you any more strife.”

“Jonathan, dear. I really don’t think that’s a good plan— gah!” She just barely sidestepped another battering ram charge from Sir Tarkus, fortunately though, all the other knights were standing in a line and got knocked over with bowling pin sound effects.

“Ah. Well, have you tried taunting them? They may become so cross they make a mistake.”

“What kind of mistake would that be, love?” She parried another blow with her sword, ducking as someone’s axe went flying across the room, and this time, straight out a porthole.

Jonathan (her husband) went silent, thinking, as metallic weapons clashing could be heard in the background— but he could not come up with a good answer to her query. 

“…Have you tried the holy hand grenade?” 

“No time, dear— that and I left it in the wine cooler.” She answered, landing a kick to someone’s groin, her kitten heels doing extra stabbing damage, suffice to say; Sir Eijkman was out of commission for the time being (as per him crying in the foetal position on the floor).

“Oh, was that what the explosion in the dining room was?”

Dame Erina continued to fend off the miscreants as Jonathan (her husband) cheered from the sidelines. Unfortunately, he was then whacked in the noggin by a stray plank of wood and got knocked the fuck out, abruptly ending his emotional support.

With the second’s distraction Dame Erina was caught off guard, allowing Sir Caineghis’ poisoned scimitar to penetrate her leg. With a pained cry she fell to the ground, weapon still plunged in her thigh.

She scrambled for her sword but she knew in her heart even its luck could not save her now. Gripping it tightly in one hand she used her one good leg left to push herself backwards along the wooden deck, even in immense pain she could only think about protecting her husband. Sir Caineghis stalked her, his footsteps slow as to mock her— what other freak of nature could heal an entire two arms as fast as he?

She brandished the sword at him. “S-Stay back”, she said, voice quivering no matter how hard she grit her teeth. “I warn you—”

She made a swipe at his legs but he easily sidestepped the lousy excuse for an attack, then catching the blade under his heel. With a hard yank, Luck was torn from Dame Erina’s grasp.

“The Lady’s been bested, leave her be.” Sir Bruford called but Sir Caineghis continued to approach as Dame Erina could only look on in horror.

He took a knee, close enough that Dame Erina could feel the breath against her face, catching a glimpse of fangs in his mouth. “Thou hast heart— I give thee that, my lady.” He ripped out the scimitar, eyes darkening in sadistic delight as she screamed.

Tears stained her cheeks as she pressed the cloth of her skirt against the open wound, blood already seeping into it. Those malevolent eyes of his turned to her husband, to which she threw herself in front of the defenceless Jonathan. Crimson blood came forth from her wounded leg though it didn’t pain her nearly as much as the thought of her innocent husband being struck down in his slumber.

“You shall not harm a hair on his head or else tempt my wrath!”

He howled with laughter. “Wrath?! Look at thy self. Thou couldst not hurt a pigeon in such a state!” He plucked a hair from Jonathan to provoke her further. 

“What doth thee say to that?~”

In a sudden, swift movement she grabbed hold of the coif round his neck with a unexpected strength. Her shattered arm… had healed.

“I say— thy fate is sealed”, she breathed, her eyes burning with a fiery glow— as did her whole body, it was wrapped in golden flames.

With another deep breath, hamon closed over the last wound. Her arm reeled back— “Zoom pun-!” Unfortunately for Dame Erina, fate had it out for her. 

A rope descended from the ceiling and when Sir Caineghis pulled it, a comically large piano fell on top of Dame Erina and her husband— followed by a tuba, trumpet, flute, triangle, bass drum, tambourine and lastly, a plate of spaghetti (A few of the keys from the piano bounced off, playing the notes from Giorno’s theme song).

Silence befell the room. Even Dio himself had stopped mid way through painting his nails black, looking dumbfounded by the sight of his dead step-sister crushed under an entire orchestra.

“Well… that art one way of solving it.” Sir Winzaleo stated, less shocked than the rest.

“You cretins! I wanted Erina’s husband’s body!” Dio screeched at his knights of the square table. Wang Chen was so shell-shocked he had a heart attack and died at Dio’s feet (he actually died an hour earlier but no one noticed until just now because he looked the exact same).

Sir Caineghis flicked his hair with much vigour, tucking it back behind his ear— the flaming degenerate brushing any stray dirt off his clothes (but did not give half a fuck to the fact that he was drenched in blood).

“Ugh, Women.” He scoffed, “Always wanting to behead me and steal my grain.”

He dramatically thrust out his hip, resting his knuckles on it before turning his nose up at the tuba (disgusting instrument) and strutting off.

Sir Bruford was just chilling when, materialising up from the floor behind him, Sir Caineghis appeared and encircled his shoulders. Feeling the cold, manicured, hand of death— Sir Bruford prayed, “Lord have mercy-”

“Sir Bruford, was it?~”

“Aye.” (Do not be fooled, though he speaketh English and we are on an english water vessel and most of the other knights are British, Sir Bruford is actually Scottish).

“I come bearing a gift, my prince~” Sir Caineghis held out this ‘gift’ under his nose.

“Uh- …sliced ham?” 

“For your hair~ So it may regain its strength.” He answered in an entirely too flirty manner.

The hair gobbled up the pig’s flesh without a moments’s delay (Sir Bruford having to reprimand the naughty thing for snatching) and suddenly it grew another meter, so that Sir Bruford had to throw it across his shoulders like a scarf for it not to drag on the ground.

At the sight of those joyous locks (it shines when it’s happy) Sir Caineghis pulled his fellow (but shorter) knight into a tight embrace. Sir Bruford, annoyed but relatively uncaring that he was pressed up against a man with blood splattered all across his chest and face, rolled his eyes.

“I’ve got a good idea, why don’t you and I, say… have a few drinks before the entire ship explodes?~”

Both knew full well they were already drunk enough (why do you think they agreed to go on a cruise ship with s*raight people?) and he— Dio, almost too far away to hear, gaped at the homosexual audacity, why, it rivalled even his!

“In the year of our Lord, 1889?” Asked Sir Bruford.

Sir Caineghis laughed dismissively, like one might do when an ignoramus calls the earth round (it is obviously banana shaped). “No lord cometh here, my prince~” 

He spun the dark knight round in dance, catching him again as he clasped one hand, the other at the curve of his back— as they were then pressed chest to chest. “Only mine ardour and~” he dipped his partner before sliding his hand up the underside of his thigh, “-hot body.”

“Thou say that as if it means something. We are all ripped.” Groaned Sir Eijkman.

“ ‘Cept for Bruford ig.” Said Sir Tarkus (no one taught him how to speak ye olde english).

“That’s because he’s looking to get ripped in two.” Sir Winzaleo informed, nudging him in the side. They both snickered like 4th graders at a deez nuts joke.

Standing up straight again Sir Bruford hummed, trailing his fingers up Sir Canineghis’ bare chest. “Perhaps I wouldn’t mind a date of sorts but…” his eyes flicked up to meet their other, “what’s say we just skip to the thing you’re really asking for?” 

The fishnet clad knight played coy, “And what might that be~?” 

He got a hand under his thigh, hoisting up the dark knight’s leg again, this time having it rest against his own, “A kiss? Or maybe thou means— something to do with thee and I in my bed~?”

Sir Eijkman seized hold of his chest, currently having an aneurysm. “B- But- But, yond gay stuff is illegal!!” He cried, clutching his invisible pearls.

“Fuck off. Bitches in glass abodes shan’t throwth stones.”

Sir Eijkman swooned and fell straight (gay) to the floor with a hollow thud, perfectly, like he was on rupauls drag race.

Sir Caineghis picked up his lover and tried to sit him upon a large barrel so that they may kiss but Sir Bruford objected.

“If a man wanteth my affections he can lift me himself.” He huffed, hair kicking the barrel to the other side of the room (straight into Sir Tarkus’ head, idiot didn’t even notice when it hit him in the face).

Back on the ground, his arms reached round Sir Caineghis’ neck, pulling him down so he had to be looking up at the shorter knight.

“Oh! I like my men bratty~”

He then picked up Sir Bruford up for himself (don’t worry he’s not a warlock, he weighed at least three ducks) and settled the man’s weight on his hips as those legs hooked round him. With Sir Bruford being in just the wrong/right position, he could feel the (ye olde English word for da dick) annnnnd all the previous cockiness drained from him in an instance.

His face flushed bright pink. “I don’t know were that came from. I-I must be coming down with something…” he said, checking his forehead.

“Comingdownwithgae-” Sir Eijkman was quick to add (he is no longer affected by swoon disease).

“Shuteth up, Sir blue-hair-and-pronouns.” 

“I have not yond pronouns.”

“Thou should have told me earlier! I hath been usingth he/him this entire time.” Sir Caineghis scoffed, flicking his hair again.

The knights of gay then started to kiss passionately (Sir Eijkman re-caught the swoon disease).

Being the horny bastard child he is, Sir Cainegays raked his hot pink, painted nails along the lithe side of Sir Bruford’s body— bare of any armour, only protected by a purple tunic that felt much thinner under his touch.

The dark knight’s kiss was wanton but he still managed to pull away.

He looked up into Sir Bruford’s eyes to see they seemed to sparkle with a sudden impatience— demanding to just skip the niceties and fuck already. He grinned broadly at how Sir Bruford was this /\ close to blowing his top (pun intended, you may laugh), pouting as he seethed (he was planning to bite him if he took more than 10 seconds longer).

Feeling sympathy (and maybe just a little fear) Sir Caineghis thought to throw him a bone (also intentional pun) running that tongue of his along the hard metal of Sir Bruford’s chestplate just to stir him up.

It worked because Sir Bruford’s face went beet-red and he looked away, embarrassed by his lack of standards in men (Sir Caineghis would have probably died of hepatitis with the blood that splattered the chestplate if he wasn’t a zombie-vampire).

“Doth thou know what my heart desires?~”

“Tell me.” Sir Bruford fervently took ahold of the man’s face, waiting impatiently for him to say the words.

Sir Caineghis dug his fingers in behind the chestplate as he leaned in to whisper.

“I want y██████████████~”

***Due to technical difficulties (my brother reading this) this foul language has been redacted. Apologies for any inconvenience***

“Yo, that’s kinda—”

“I will stab thee in thy dick.” Sir Caineghis threatened, arm stuck out behind him in Sir Eijkman’s direction, readying to throw the poisoned blade if █ interrupted again. 

“Thou must know I hathn’t one of those. I am four weasels in a human disguise.”

“Was ur mum a hamster?” Sir Tarkus joked, but Sir Eijkman did not understand his monty python reference because monty python does not exist yet and took offence.

“My mother was no such lady! She was a devout nun!”

“Wha-? Were did u come from then?!”

“I wath adopted. …And raised in a swamp.”

Back to thy gays:

“My sweet prince, hath thou known a man’s love more potent than mine~” his words were muffled by the kisses he pressed to Sir Bruford’s neck in between them.

“My father’s probably.” The dark knight answered frankly.

The fishnet man suddenly pulled away, putting his hand upon his own chest with great shock and momentarily losing his olde english way of speaking.

“Ew, sweetie, are you ok?? Wtf was wrong with him??”

He brought Sir Bruford so close as to squish him into the firm musculature of his embonpoint. “My prince doesn’t deserve such vile treatment!” He cried, petting that fluffy head.

Sir Bruford then realised his words had given off the wrong impression. “Oh! No, I didn’t mean he-”

Sir Caineghis interrupted him by shouting right next to his ear. “Fear not! My sweetheart wilt never hath to put up with such a thing ever again! For in all thine endeavours, I shall be thy most loyal knight~” Poor Sir Bruford was still being squished but he did not mind because he is a bottom.

Sir Tarkus and Sir Winzaleo would have awed but they were simply too manly. Sir Eijkman scrunched up █ nose, probably reciting prayers under █ breath.

“I’m glad I didn’t have a father.” Said Sir Winzaleo, stroking his beard in a manly fashion. Sir Tarkus agreed, also stoking the beard he did not actually have. “Me too.” 

A moment of silence passed until they both suddenly turned to one another. “…We are both fatherless!!!” They both hugged and shed manly tears together.

For the second time now, the two knights of the square table started kissing— this time Sir Bruford initiating it because he was sick of Sir Caineghis’ dramatic bullshit.

Sir Eijkman, Sir Winzaleo, Sir Tarkus (and to a lesser extent, him— Dio) were left to watch the meaningful, unrestrained, gay passion in awe.

Sir Eijkman was contemplating contemplatingly and soon had an epiphany. “I’m starting to think it’s not gay if it’s in a three way—”

“Good, cos I got most fatigued of thee repenting in the middle of our orgies.” Sir Winzaleo rolled his eyes, manily.

The gays fell over in their gay stupidity but because Sir Bruford grew up in the 1600s with no viable men to smooch (he was never that desperate as to kiss Sir Tarkus the walrus… ok maybe just once… alright maybe a few times) even being smacking against the ground could not stop his raging homosexuality. (Luckily for him he was straddling Sir Caineghis so he took most most of the impact instead of Sir Bruford’s own beautiful self.)

The dark knight was pinning his sparsely dressed boytoy down with both his arms and legs (so they kinda just looked like they were laying on top of each other like starfish). But realising that while Sir Caineghis couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t do anything either so he just decided sit on the fishnet man’s legs instead— like all the other femboys in this room he was also much heavier than he looked.

With grace he uncoiled the hair from his shoulders so might disrobe himself.

Oh, and Sir Tarkus and Sir Winzaleo are making out or something, very manly like, masc 4 masc— anyway-

“Oh, my swain! In front of all these people? You really are dirty~” Sir Caineghis snickered.

Having unhooked the straps of his armour it clunked against the floor and next, to Sir Caineghis’ delight, was that tunic of his— leaving Sir Bruford uncovered for all to see (at least above the waistline, he still had on those …shorts? …Underwear? Whatever it is in a lighter lilac).

With sweating hands he took ahold of Sir Caineghis’ hips, trying to unfasten his belt, only, he couldn’t find where it actually ended. It wasn’t at the back or anywhere near the gold plate or-

Sir Caineghis was too stupidly admiring Sir Bruford’s handsomeness to even realise the puzzle of a belt he was struggling with. He was so pretty despite being sheet white (they do not have sunlight in ye olde Scotland, only rain). With a grab of his hips that pulled him to sit  further up on… ok, fuck these damn titles. It was funny but now its just pissing me off— Caineghis’ chest, Bruford’s attention was diverted.

He looked down to see the lech (he is a big hypocrite for making me type that) was busy trying to shove his fingers down his shorts instead.

“An angel must have blessed me to keep this one eye to behold you with~”

Caineghis’ hands took great interest in the little tuft of hair that came up from beyond the veil that wath his knickers before he hooked his fingers under the upper edge of the fabric, tugging down his waistline.

Bruford stopped him right as he was seconds away from committing indecent exposure, having decided he now wanted to draw this out a bit more. He wrapped his thighs around Caineghis’ neck, on the verge of pressing just a little to hard for it not to come off like he was looking to kill him.

“Oh really? What would thou do to a heavenly gift such as me?”

Hands reluctantly retreating from what was may or may not have been underwear, Caineghis pulled his blade from where it was strapped to his hip.

“See this?”

“Go on—”

Blunt edge toward him, he dragged the flat of his tongue all the way along the blade, hilt to tip.

Bruford reeled. “Isn’t your scimitar infused with a poison?!”

“…Aw shit-” 

Caineghis’ head instantaneously hit the ground and he died (it is a profanity-activated poison).

Dio was fucking around tryna lift the bass drum off Erina’s corpse when the straggot started mumbling and praying on the floor. “MayGodstrikeusalldownforbeingcomplicitinsuch-”

But God is a prissy bitch and didn’t even let █ finish before they blew up the whole boat with a giant strike of lightning.

Unfortunately, god is secretly a fan of shitty ps2 games and so all the knights of the square table all lived. The boat didn’t though so now they are all sitting on top of Tarkus as he is half walrus and is physically unable to sink.

“My love shall keep you warm, my soaking wet prince~” 

Caineghis (he is not dead because i lied about the poison being profanity-activated) was still glued to Bruford— since the silly bugger had taken his shirt and chestplate off for the gay activities they got now lost in the wreckage, leaving him to have to cuddle up with the femboy like a penguin as to not freeze (them being sunk to the bottom of the ocean may or may not have been intentional).

However, Bruford did not answer because he had actually fallen asleep to the sound of hundreds drowning at sea (Winzaleo bit holes in all the lifeboats right after he finished headbutting all the children off the side of the boat).

They all sailed off into the distance with a song like swan lake suite, op. 20 sćene by Pyotr llyich Tchaikovsky playing in the background because it is 1889 and they did not yet have any good music like Lady Gaga (I am lying, I love that song because I watched too much little einsteins as a kid).

Two hours later Jonathan (Erina’s not-dead husband) woke up floating somewhere near the Bermuda Triangle, in a coffin, pregnant, holding someone else’s crying baby and thought to himself: ‘How the devil did i get here?…’

———

Yond title comes from the king themself (Dorian Electra)

The end :)

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