I am a Peerless Hero without equal! (WC/Currently in FGO Part 1)

1836, Kensington Palace

The world was a grey and dreary place. Alexandrina Victoria looked out through her bedroom windows, which she shared with her mother, at the garden outside. It was a large garden, larger than a tennis court men would play in. Supposedly, it was full of colorful flowers, including roses, tulips, and more.

Alexandrina couldn't see it. She could see the shapes of the flowers without any issue, nor were the details gone from her eyes. What she couldn't see were the colors.

Where had the colors gone from her world? Where had all the wonderful, wonderful colors gone? Did they hate her mother as much as she did? How liberating then, how freeing for those colors who could escape while she is forced to suffer.

Alexandrina's passivity turned into a frown, a common occurrence nowadays.

She leaned on her hand and her stares swept across the horizon. Alexandrina's mind focused on the birds flying in the distance. The way they soar through the sky, moving without care for obstacles.

"Alexandrina."

Turning to face her mother, Alexandrina's frown turned back to passivity, "Yes mother?"

Her mother looked scorned. Her arms crossed. "Alexandrina, your Uncle Leopold is visiting today with Albert. Why are you still here instead of getting ready? You must look beautiful—as beautiful as a future queen should be."

"Yes, mother."

Several maids came from behind her mother. Alexandrina stood up from her seat and said nothing as the maids began to work on her as if she were a doll. She had no will left to fight, she willingly accepted what was to come like a broken slave.

Alexandrina felt her hair tugged as brushes swept through it, straightening it. She had to close her eyes lest the powder used to dust her face get in them. Even breathing was stopped for some time as perfume was used.

Alexandrina stared at her own reflection. She was beautiful no doubt, but it didn't feel like her own reflection. The one staring back at her in the mirror felt foreign, like someone else. It was like a doll who looked just like her staring back in the mirror, any second now Alexandrina thinks the doll in the mirror would start talking.

"It is done, Princess Victoria."

"Thank you, Beatrice."

The head maid responsible for doing much of her hair bowed.

Exiting out of the makeup room, Alexandrina found the repugnant Sir John Conroy waiting outside. If the restlessness of his feet and hands were any indication, Alexandrina figured John thought she took too long.

John was dressed in full black with bits of gold decoration. His military medals were pinned to his shirt, making it look as if he were about to have a self-portrait of himself done.

Alexandrina had to bite down on the frown about to appear on her face. John was a capable man who helped the royal finances, but he was too ambitious, seducing her mother so he could control Alexandrina, the future queen.

Alexandrina opted to look anywhere else as she raised a hand. John took it and began to walk her through the Palace to the front.

"Do you have any idea how much effort it took to get this meeting, you foolish girl?" John began, "It is not every day that the King of Belgium personally visits. It is not every day that over a dozen princes come. This is a once-in-a-generation event and here I find you only getting ready minutes before the first guests are due to arrive?"

Alexandrina knew he would have struck her had she not been the next queen. But there were other ways to punish her without using physical force, other ways to ensure this act of rebellion would not happen again.

The duo stopped at the top of a grand staircase. On the second floor, Alexandrina had a perfect view of the reception hall, which was filled with tables full of food. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, looming over the incoming guests like the Sword of Damocles.

John didn't bother bringing her to the base of the stairs, instead remaining at the top. Alexandrina knew this was to essentially tell all incoming princes that she was superior to them in status, represented by the height difference.

"Announcing His Majesty, King Leopold of Belgium and Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld."

Alexandrina wondered when colors suddenly seeped into the world as she gazed upon Prince Albert. When did they suddenly decide to return? Or were they always there, just hidden away like precious treasures, waiting for someone to dig them up?

Alexandrina dreamily muttered, "Prince Albert…"

______

1861

"...I hate you."

Here in the St George's Chapel Royal Vault, deep into the night, the Queen requested to be left alone with the body of her husband in the casket. As all funeral invitees left in accordance with her request, Victoria stood over Albert's lying form. She was dressed in all black, and all the masks she wore for royal duties were off.

He looked so peaceful. With the blanket covering him, Victoria could almost imagine him asleep rather than long departing this world onto the next.

"I hate you so much." Such truthful words hurt, and could only be said in private where none could see. It wouldn't do for her image if the Queen were to be seen cursing her recently departed husband.

"You gave me colors. You gave me life. You were the reason for my happiest days when I first gave birth. You were there for me throughout the worst of my days, when my mother died and I discovered how much she truly loved me." Victoria then whispered, "If only it weren't for the damnable Conroy and Lehzen, wickedly estranging me from her."

Victoria reached out, her black-gloved hands touching Albert's cheeks. Gently, as if Albert would fall apart in the next second if Victoria used just the tiniest bit more force. Victoria looked like she was about to break down, her mouth formed into a grimace as her vision blurred. It was a mess of colors.

In this instant, she wasn't a Queen but a grieving wife—a wife who loved her husband tremendously. It could be said that no other woman in England loved her husband as much as Victoria loved Albert.

"You gave me a fairy tale love. We were supposed to be each other's pillars. We were supposed to grow old together. We were supposed to see a Europe united under our family where there would be peace and where the wars of Napoleon would no longer happen. But now… you're gone, leaving me all alone. What am I supposed to do now, Albert? Dearest Albert, why must you leave me alone here? Why must you… go before I do? Why…? Why…? Why…? I am… all alone now…"

The light in her life has been snuffed out.

_______

Buckingham Palace

Queen Victoria sat by a set of highly ornate tables in her private bedroom. On it were a number of fine chinas decorated with gold trimmings and brushes of colors that resembled a flower. The stench of tea and the sound of laughter were strong in the air. The Queen wore a dress of gold decorated with trims, embroidery, beading, and jewelry. This dress was something a lower-class family couldn't afford even if they saved every penny they earned for a whole generation.

The laughter was interrupted by the noise of footsteps. The door to her room slammed open, revealing a man out of breath. Anyone looking at this man's clothing can tell he's an aristocrat, though some may second-guess given how much sweat was rolling down his face.

"Your Majesty! It's a disaster!"

"Prime Minister, what did I say about barging into my room?" The Queen responded with a gaze of annoyance. Her brows furrowed as her mouth adopted an ugly frown.

There was a clink as Queen Victoria placed her cup down to the plate.

"But your Majesty! The upper class is in an uproar because of the explosions! They're afraid, they're all lining up in front of Buckingham Palace! They're demanding answers, your Majesty."

Queen Victoria was unimpressed, "So give them an answer then, Prime Minister. Why must you disturb me when I was talking with my beloved Albert?"

The Queen lightly gestured at the seat in front of her, the one that held Queen Consort Albert, who had stayed silent this whole time. He always remained silent whenever matters of state came up after waking up from his rest.

The Prime Minister gawked at the sight of Albert sitting next to the Queen. As befitting of his birth and position, the man quickly took control of his emotions as a mask of neutrality descended upon his face.

"But your Majesty, they need an answer from you, from the Queen herself. You are our head of government. You are the head of the British Empire, the Empress of India. Your words carry far more weight than mine ever could. You haven't made a public appearance in months and the citizenry is growing restless. This latest disaster could be the ignition for the next rebellion!"

Queen Victoria rolled her eyes in exasperation, "Prime Minister, you always exaggerate about the smallest issue. But we shall have a banquet ball very well in a week. Send out the invites, tell everyone I shall make an appearance there."

_______

The Edge of the Slums

Father Benedict hummed to himself as he waited for the water to start boiling. When the whistling came, the priest took the kettle off the fire and poured it into a teapot that held leaves. Colors appeared within the clear water as it transformed into tea.

Pouring himself a cup, Benedict took a sip and sighed, feeling the warmth settle within his body. Now that the church was receiving far more donations, perhaps he should buy himself better tea.

Father Benedict shook his head, riding himself of such sinful thoughts. That money was better spent on church repairs, not worldly indulgences.

The man looked around at his environment. The church's soup kitchen was a poor place. Bare bricks lined the walls and constructed the stove, alongside which were large pots that could make soup for dozens at a time. The program was relatively new, having recently started thanks to the extra donation given to the church after the Angel's healing.

Father Benedict thanks the Lord daily for sending His Angels down to Earth. The Angel Raphael— even if she doesn't claim it— heals all who enter through the door of this church.

Thinking of the Angel, she hovered through the door to the kitchen and Father Benedict had to close his eyes and control his desires.

As pious as he tries, as much as he imitates the Son, he is just a man, and the Angel's beauty is beyond words. She was like a flower in the middle of a blood battlefield, a point of perfection in this undeserving world.

"Father Benedict," She spoke, her voice was something Benedict could listen to forever.

Father Benedict opened his eyes. He rose from his seat and bowed as deep as he could, for he did not deserve to be in the presence of such a celestial being—the Angel of Healing Raphael, even if she claimed the pseudonym of some pagan god.

"Greetings, o' Holy Angel, how may I help you? Would you like some tea?"

Father Benedict dared not look at the Angel's holy form.

He heard a sigh and wondered if he had somehow upset the Angel. The thought of that happening was so devastating Benedict was willing to throw himself off the highest roof in recompense.

"Why do you address me like that? And I told you to stop bowing all the time, please."

"Thank you, your most Angelic Holiness." Father Benedict raised his body up to a standing position. The man stared at the angel like he was hypnotized. Who wouldn't? With such a beauty?

"I need some advice for raising Zvezdnyy."

Ah, that girl, Father Benedict instantly knew who she was talking about. The girl, Zvezdnyy, was her name, and she must be the next savior. She must be another incarnation of the Son part of the Trinity since she displayed the power of Creation, an ability vested solely within the omnipotent domain of God Himself. Raphael would be her caretaker as she exits Heaven to walk on Earth.

Hearing the Angel asking Benedict for advice, the priest felt unworthy. Why was he, a mere mortal, worthy of advising someone who stood so far above him? Someone who ranks among the Archangels as one of God's foremost Messengers.

"It is a great honor, but I feel you shouldn't take advice from someone like me. Your wisdom far exceeds my own."

The Angel sighed while rubbing the bridge of her nose, "Just, tell me, please? How would you raise her to have good morals?"

Benedict thinks Raphael must be joking. The priest then concluded she must be talking about his own child, and how he raised him to be good and successful.

Thinking of his child, the man recalled the way he would give a crooked smile right before he was shipped to the Crimean War as one more body for the meat grinder.

"Children learn more from what they see than what they're told. Live the way you want your child to live, and she shall imitate you. Live by the guidance of truth, forgiveness, humility, and she shall do the same."

Raphael nodded, probably disappointed by how simple Benedict's advice was. He was limited, there was simply no way for a mere mortal like him to advise someone as transcendental as an Angel.

"That makes sense I guess."

Rather than seeming disappointed, the Angel appears satisfied. How kind and considerate for the Angel, to inflate an old man's ego.

Benedict then said, "I'm sure you heard this a lot from your patient, but I must restate it again: Thank you for appearing here, in this undeserving place. You have given hope to the hopeless, life to the lifeless, but most of all, you have renewed the people's faith in the Lord."

The Angel appeared extremely conflicted about something after Benedict's words. It was as though she wanted to refute something but decided it was best to let it slide, even if such an act weighed heavily on her morals.

"Anyway, I should probably get started on today's healing. I'll see you in a bit."

Just as she turned around, a loud bang sound came from the main door. As fast as Benedict's old bones could move him, it didn't compare to the speed the Angel moved. By the time he reached the main hall where people would gather to pray every Sunday, the priest found the Angel hovering before two young teens probably of upper class given the clothing the boy wore. An injured man rested on the back of the boy.

"Come on!" The boy yelled, "Hang on Willas, don't you want to spite god one more day? Hang on!"

"Ritsuka? Mash?"

The Angel recognizes them. While there is no mention of Saints with the names 'Ritsuka' or 'Mash', Benedict wonders if they are Saints under pseudonyms.

"Kuku! Please help him!" The boy asked as he stepped forward. The girl placed the man on a bench nearby.

Several men entered through the door. They were guards, gifted to the church after the Angel had healed a member of the aristocracy. They were there to enforce order, as the lines for being healed by the Angel were now so long city blocks measure them. It was such that even healing for a full day and night, the line just would not end.

"Alright get up, you gotta wait in line boy."

"Wait. I know them. Give me some privacy." The Angel said, halting the guards in their tracks. "Tell everyone I'll be starting later today."

They listened, nodding along before closing the door behind them.

There was a moment of silence. Stillness consumed the room like a fire to dry kindling. It was as though the two sides were in disbelief— disbelieving that this reunion between them was real and not a dream.

And then it was broken when the Angel moved first. Wrapping the boy in her arms, the Angel said, "Ritsuka, Mash, it's so good to see you."

Benedict was a bit jealous. But he suppressed such thoughts, for a man of God should not have such feelings.

"Ah!" The boy— Ritsuka— appeared out of breath as though squished, "It's— it's good to see you as well Kuku—lkan."

There's that name again. A name that appeared nowhere in the holy text. Perhaps Benedict should add it? Another name for the Angel Raphael: Kukulkan. The boy soon got out of the Angel's embrace.

"We need your help Kukulkan, please heal Willas!"

The Angel looked at the man lying on the bench, "I'll get to work."

She performed her miracle once more. With a simple touch on bare skin, the patient's wounds were healed, the damage rewinding.

Even after seeing this for the umpteenth time, Benedict still marvels at a holy miracle. Even if it's less visceral than seeing bones growing out of a man's shoulder stump, followed by muscles and then wrapped with skin to recreate a lost arm, Benedict still marveled at the ease with which the Angel mended the man's broken arms and bruises.

Ritsuka glanced at the slowly disappearing bruises, the way they receded before vanishing upset the teen. Benedict wondered why.

"Can I speak with you in private?" Ritsuka asked while the Angel continued healing Willas, "If… the priest doesn't mind."

Either the boy was used to the Angel healing or this conversation's urgency is beyond measure.

Without letting go of the man beside him, the Angel turned around to look at Benedict, "Can we have some privacy?"

The priest nodded to the Angel's request before quickly leaving the room.

Ritsuka looked at Willas, then back to Kuku.

He had only one question, one release for the feeling of injustice dwelling within him:

"Your powers… they're clearly not removed. So why are you here? Instead of being out there doing more?"

_____

AN: I'm kinda peeved FGO decided to go with Kukulcan instead of Kukulkan.