Galahad

“Set. Install.”

My first instinct was to reach for one of my invincible heroes, someone like Siegfried or Herakles or Achilles — heroes with Noble Phantasms based in some form of invincibility or ability to ignore damage. Even Gawain, if I used his Noble Phantasms right, would have worked just fine for that. Any one of them would have turned me into a walking tank.

However…

My body changed. The long hair that marked me as my mother’s daughter shrank back into my head and fanned out, turning silver. I shrank — only an inch. My face morphed and shifted. The clothes that formed my costume expanded, hardened, lengthened, and became a suit of armor, done in purple and deep, navy blues. At last, an enormous shield formed in my hand, so big and so heavy that its bottom rested against the floor.

…none of those heroes protected the precious friends who were standing with me.

I hefted the enormous shield in front of me, then slammed it home with the full weight of its incredible mass — all as though it was as light as a feather.

“Get behind me,” I ordered.

Lisa and Amy scrambled to their feet and huddled next to me behind the bulk of my shield, even as more bullets peppered our location — and bounced impotently off the surface of Lord Camelot without leaving so much as a scratch.

Of course. This was Lord Camelot, after all, the shield of Sir Galahad of the Round Table. It was an embodiment of that castle and its towering walls, built from the Round Table itself, and as long as the heart remained steadfast and true, it could never be broken. To imagine that mere bullets would be enough to even scuff it was laughable.