[ WP ] In the second coming of King Arthur , the sword in the stone has returned and thousands line up to take a turn . You step up to the stone , give a tug ... and the blade breaks .

I glanced mournfully at the peasant crowd, attempting, and succeeding in my opinion, at infatuating them with my smile. My ornate, blue tunic, emblazoned with silver strings, glimmered in the sunlight. 
 
 Striding as fast as possible towards the sword and the obsidian black rock that tightly hugged it, I turned my nose upward, making sure to flash my smile at the fawning maidens in the audience. 
 
 As slowly, delicately but as masculinely as possible, I curled my fingers around the black leather of the sword and felt myself gasp. 
 
 Billions of visions flashed in my mind, a billion warriors, each wielding some weapon, some knives, guns, bows, bombs, and innumerable weapons I had no name for. 
 
 Pain, suffering, sadness, lust, anger, greed, gluttony, all of those negative emotions bubbled scaldingly hot against by mind. Then, a calming, soothing flow of love, laughter, kindness, and happiness washed over me, almost removing the dredges of hatred the other emotions had provided. 
 
 I felt my knees shake, my body falling down to the earth, the unholy crack and cry of the stone sword shattering and a single message, emblazoned clearly in my word, glowing dangerous hot: 
 
 **YOU ARE NOT WORTHY** 
 
 And that was the beginning of the fall of Albion.
