Welcome to King of Fear, also known as "what the fuck am I doing with my life". Gaze upon this product of one mans boredom and head full of ideas that should've probably been used for something different. No idea if this will be getting updated, maybe if people like it or something, I don't know. As for the title, I named this story that just because I was listening to the King of Fear album by Skelator while writing this, which I definetely recommend checking out. With all that said, let's get this shitshow started.
Cold, dark, empty.
For the longest time, those were the only things he could feel, see, use to describe himself and his surrounding, his existence. And then something changed. The cold remained, but the darkness and emptiness were gone, replaced by sound and smell. His thoughts became free, unrestricted, flowing freely and being remembered, instead of disappearing into the abyss.
Light touched his eyelids, and for the first time, he opened his eyes, took his first breath. He rose up, and explored his surrounding, what was present on his form. Loose fitting tattered pants, grey after whatever color they once was faded out. A black long sleeved shirt with holes in it, a rusted steel plate over it. A belt full of pouches, all of them empty. Worn-down brown gloves. A simple rapier at his side in a suprisingly good condition. And most importantly, a tattered worn-down blue cloak with a high collar. And after looking around the area he woke up in, he discovered a big wide brimmed beige hat on the floor, that simply felt correct to put on. The combination of the collar of the cloak and the wide brim of the hat, hiding his face in a shade.
He chose a direction and just went forward, no destination in mind. No memories to speak of, no memories of who he was, only echoes. Feeling of familiarity, things he might not remember, but his body does. He moved onwards, past forests, ruins of buildings, and empty battlefields. The sun and moon switching places time and again, until he came across something different.
He was moving through a forest, nearing a clearing, until he began to hear the sounds of clashing steel and shouts of battle. Moving towards the source of these sounds with haste, his gaze fell upon the sight of a battlefield.
On one side of the battle, knights clad in armor fighting alongside men fitted in loose open clothing, knights fighting with skill while the men making up for their lack of protection with fevor. On the other side of the conflict were monsters, giant orcs, devilish imps and devils, beastly wolfmen. The clash seeming to be in a stalemate, with neither side taking over the other. Memories of a battle long past fill his mind, setting his blood boiling, and before he even realizes what is happening, he has his rapier unsheathed and is charging towards the battle.
The first to notice his arrival is a wolfman, just done with butchering down a soldier with his claws, turning towards the newcomer his throat gets slashed by a rapier, falling down while clutching its throat, quickly being forgotten. Following the wolfman, many more monsters end up dead, slashed across their necks or chests and backs. The newcomers thoughts focusing on just one thing, cutting down the monsters infront of him.
During his rampage, dodging the enemies attacks and responding with his own, taking advantage of the openings left by the enemy. He can feel an energy in his body, a power, building up. Like a reflex, something as natural as breathing, he begins directing the energy into his free hand, feeling it build up, to the point of almost bursting. His presence now fully noticed by both sides, he points his free hand towards a giant orc making his way towards him. A lightning bolt flashes with a thundering boom, striking the orc and jumping from monster to monster until disappating. Leaving the monsters charred and smoking, in the case of the wolfmen on fire, and orcs falling down crushing the monsters behind them.
With the newcomers help, cutting down enemies with his rapier and shooting them down with lightning bolts and balls of fire, the tide of battle shifts in favor of the knights and mercenaries. The monsters falling down one by one, ones trying to flee being stopped by arrows and crossbow bolts of archers and crossbowmen behind the human lines. Before long, the battle is over, leaving behind the victors and survivors cheering in victory. Once the cheers of victory subside, the knights regard him with suspicion while mercenaries wander around the field, finishing off any surviving monsters and salvaging any gear and weaponry still in usable condition.
An air of tension forms between him and the knights, an air that gets broken by the arrival of a group of knights in gold ornate white armor riding on white steeds. A woman emerges from the group, riding in on a white horse, long beautiful blonde hair with a grass crown upon it, a generous busom and a body modestly covered by white cloth, her ears betraying her high elf heritage. Once his gaze fall upon her beauty, he alongside all the remaining knights fall to their knees and bow, him recognizing that he is in the presence of royalty, a monarch.
She rides towards him, getting off her steed once she is close enough and standing in front of him, her entourage moving to surround them incase the newcomer tries anything. She speaks with a melodic voice "Please, take off your hat. I wish to see the face of the hero of this battle."
No idea why he feels nervous, he takes off his hat. Revealing a young gaunt face, pale as snow, with a mop of raven black hair upon his head, no older then 17 she would wager. Slowly looking up, light yellow eyes meeting her green eyes. Her eyes study his face, taking in the details, before asking "What is your name?"
"I… I don't remember…" A voice responds, quiet and weak from not having been used in who knows how long. His gaze falling down to the ground, ashamed at his answer although he doesnt understand why.
"You don't remember?" She asks, curious at his strange answer, how could someone not remember their own name?
"I… I don't have one." He repeats, it was the truth, he has no recollection of his own name.
She studies him once more, this child compared to her dressed in ragged clothing, possessing exceptional magical skill according to the reports of the battle. Inviduals with magical skill like his were not common, there were plenty of knights and infantry men in her army, but mages were rare. Either too old to take part in a war such as this, or taught in the arts of healing magic and staying behind the lines fixing up wounded souldiers. After a moment of consideration, she makes her verdict.
"I wish to grant you a name, and make you a knight. Would that be alright with you?"
"I would be honored." He responds, the thought of having a name being a pleasant one.
"Very well." She outstreches her hand, a nearby knight hands her his blade. Wielding the blade in both hands, she lightly touches his shoulder with it "I, Celestine Lucullus, hereby make you a knight of the Order of Chivalry, and bestow upon you a name, wear it with pride." she proclaims moving the blade to his other shoulder and also lightly touching it. She hands the blade back to the knight who gave it to her. The boy slowly looks up at her once again.
"Rise, Vergil."
And thats that, feel free to review and tell me what you think, I enjoy reading and responding to reviews of any kind.