He tended to start wars in batches of five or six, so as to save time, and on one occasion even defeated the Faroe Islands singlehandedly, after the rest of his army starved to death during the boat crossing from Andalusia. Any battle involving him was, by definition, one-sided: he waded around Christendom in a permanent re-enactment of that bit from the start of Lord Of The Rings, where Sauron won’t stop monstering people with his huge spiky hammer. Gigaknight was, quite simply, a conquest machine. In fact, this is technically a Gigaknight reboot, as I made the character again and inflicted him on the world in the year 869AD, rather than 1066. King Gigaknight, as he appeared in his prime at the age of 16.įor those of you being introduced to the Gigaknight cinematic universe for the first time, this is a followup to my post from last month, in which I used CK3’s custom character builder to make a ruler with every setting turned up to the max, and then unleashed him on medieval Europe. Welcome, friends, to the Age of Witchfights. He has left behind an empire that girdles the western world, guarded by an army of one hundred thousand, as well as a treasure-hoard containing the majority of the world’s money.Īnd gathered around his cooling body are twenty-odd massive, superhuman witches, ready to kick the ever-living shit out of each other to get their hands on it. But the terrified physician can only nod, as the truth she bears is too vast to pass to pass mortal lips.Įmperor Gigaknight Excelsior - the winner of one hundred wars, the patriarch of three hundred lords, who forced a continent to venerate Olympus, and then lived long enough to reform his own church - is dead. They stare at her, down noses like the prows of the royal triremes, as they wait for the inevitable words. Even the shortest of them towers two heads above her, and they do not so much have facial features, as they have architecture. There are maybe two dozen of them, swathed in black wolf pelts, and they are giants. Trembling, she turns from the tennis-court-sized bed, and confronts the shadows gathered in a ring around it.
But it is only the memory of a fire the body is still. When at last she places her head against that hillside chest to listen for a heartbeat, she finds it still hot as a stovepipe from the residual fury of his metabolism. It is an hour before even the bravest of the royal physicians dares approach the body.
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