Beyond the frozen wastelands of the North, in a place still blackened with the fell magics that twisted reality itself, there once stood a structure of arcane designs. It was said that this tower was a nexus of ley lines, a place where great power could be amassed. What happened to this power when one with enough will reached the top of the place was the subject of various rumors and stories.
Some say it granted wishes. Others, riches. Still others, the very power stored within the stones which seemed to spring up from nowhere.
Whatever it granted, the Tower of Fate unleashed an unspeakable evil in the form of an amulet. The trinket, seemingly innocuous, held a terrible entity who sought freedom above all else, to exercise her will over all that lived. All that she needed was a host... and she'd found one.
But with the strength and conviction of a knight, she was struck down, once and for all.
This Tower, once mighty, lay in ruins. The perpetual rains, brought forth by the energies released, sought to wash the rubble away.
Perhaps one day, they could have succeeded.
But that day was not today.
Lightning flashed through the skies, twisted by the rending whims of chaos into a pallor of pale green. As the fires in the sky lit, the stones stood askew, inert of the life that once coursed through them. Another lightning strike, and the thunder knocked one of the stones from the pile, as if fleeing from the shockwave.
A third strike. More stones moved, and it was not due to thunder.
As the storm raged on, unabated, a sound akin to a beating heart thrummed, heavy and deep. Stones fled from the pile, fearful of more than just the rain, and a sickly purple glow rose from the ruins. The air shimmered and distorted, a ripple in time and space forming from deep within the earth below.
The glow faded seconds after it had appeared.
Lightning struck again, and this time it revealed an explosion of dirt and debris, the muddied remains of the tower scattered by a massive fist, sinewy and gnarled.
This was a place of power still, and the release of the energies when the amulet was destroyed... fed something. Awakened it.
It hungered for more.
A pair of cold grey eyes peered out from the slotted visor of a helm, black in color with red trim. Thus was the rest of his armor, marking him as an outsider. Yet his armor was more than just protection and statement combined. It was a conduit for the powers of Darkness, of things unspoken of.
Laced with forbidden rituals, forged by his own hand, the armor's sigils and runes glowed a fierce crimson, as if filled with his own blood. In truth, it was residual energy given to him from the Enchantress before his latest battle against his rival, just before the Tower collapsed. He was tempted to look behind him, at the wings that carried him aloft, the primaries tinged a fiery red while the rest of his wings remained their coal black hue.
They sickened him. Reminded him he was tainted.
Yet he still wore them, found a use for them. Right now they served him by giving him a wide view of the Blackened Lands, and the remains of the Tower of Fate. He chose to be the guardian of this domain, yet never choosing to rule over it. This was no-man's land, and he only sought to keep wanderers out... and keep the monsters in.
He'd sensed a growing presence, a menace that hung over these lands since the Tower fell. The air was still for days afterward, even though monsters were still born from the magic seeped into the earth. But now it hummed again, churned like the skies above.
His eyes narrowed. So the creature finally reared its ugly head. The game of hide and seek was over, and now he would stop this birthing before its completion.
The Black Knight angled his wings downward as an explosion rocked the ruins. He sliced through the air, wind parting before him, the rain pelting and battering him. .He ignored it, dove headfirst into the maelstrom. The Thing, he'd chosen to call it, climbed from the rubble, its silhouette massive against the green sky.
He dispersed his wings, still five feet in the air, and streamlined himself to ram toward the ground like a lance from the Gods. Black Knight righted himself at the last second and landed with a metallic clang. Sparks flew as he slid forward, stopping a stone's throw away from the dark Thing that towered above him.
He stood and stared upward. "So we meet, foul beast."
The silhouette reared its head back and roared, even as lightning flashed. Its draconian, scale-coated skin gleamed for that brief instant, and yellowed eyes glowed with madness and malice... and a cold, calculating intelligence.
The Knight stared back as if inspecting a speck of dirt, a bug that needed to be ground under his greaves. He reached his right hand out, channeling his will toward the extended fingers, and with a deep purple glow a shovel appeared, the tip of the spade sharpened to a keen edge capable of splitting stone, tearing through armor, and rending souls.
He called it Bereaver, for it was meant for nothing but destruction.
And here before him, was something to destroy.
Black Knight whirled the weapon over his head before settling into a combative stance. He couldn't help the grin that split his lips. "Come then. Let us dance into the abyss."
He did not hesitate, and neither did the Thing. The beast swung its massive right fist at him, and he leapt upward at the same time. The impact with the ground made his teeth rattle, even in mid air, yet he passed cleanly over the assault. The Knight landed on the limb and, with speed granted to him by the sigils in his armor, launched his way up toward its head, the grin replaced by a grimace borne of resolve and determination.
Lighting flashed, revealing the Knight as he soared through the air, Bereaver pointed toward one of the Thing's eyes.
The image would be seared on the eyes of the Gods for all time.
He slept, and dreamed.
She fell again, like always. Beasts came at him from all sides, seeking his blood, his blade, his very life. He fought them off, slashing at all sides, blood and gore coating his armor and his weapon. He almost slipped on the entrails of an armored something-or-other that refused to lay down and die, yet he continued his struggle.
They didn't matter. None of them mattered, because she was falling.
He saw her, there, rushing downward, a Valkyrie cast from the Heavens for some sin he could not name. Her shield weighed her down, yet she did not cast it aside, unconscious as she was.
The monsters kept coming, rushing him in a frenzy. They reached him at last, chewing into his armor, denting the metal that kept him alive and breathing. He cared not, for there she was, feet from the ground. He willed his strength, summoned every fiber of it, and leapt with his right arm held upward.
Time slowed to a crawl as they neared the point of no return. His eyes widened, knowing full well he would not make it.
They made contact with a ring of armor. He circled his right arm around her, grabbed on.
She slid through. The gore and blood coating his armor caused it.
With a soundless scream, he watched as she fell into the waiting jaws and blades of the enemy, his vision turning white as he lost every sense of direction, time, even his own self.
The fire still blazed when he awoke.
His vision returned to him, hazy and blurred, as his senses came to life one after another. With senses came thought, and with thought came the last thing he'd seen before everything turned to flame and the acrid smell of decay. His eyes widened, hands clenched into fists as the world around him resolved itself. He sucked in a breath, air rushing into his lungs for what felt like the first time in weeks.
How long had he been out? What of the Tower?
He tried to move, found he could not. A brief mental scan of his body confirmed that he wasn't paralyzed, just in severe pain. Pain was sometimes a good thing, because it informed one's brain that they were still alive, and in somewhat good health. But the pain left questions, the first of which was why he was unable to move.
He scanned his immediate surroundings.
The camp fire burned with a merry crackle and pop, in a pit crafted with a practiced hand. He didn't remember doing such a thing, which suggested someone carried him out. He looked up, and the stars were still out, a counterpoint to the circle of light he'd slumbered in. He'd have to use one of them to guide his way back to Pridemoor.
He looked down, and at last found a clue as to why he was immobilized.
A gauntlet, red in color and fitted to a matching arm guard with gold trim, draped across his chest plate. It held on for dear life, as if afraid of letting him go, fearing he may be lost again. He processed the sight for a moment, then forced himself to put the rest of the puzzle together. From the bracer, the rest of the armor seemed to form as if from a haze.
Pauldrons battered, still functional though. Dented and cracked in places. Wings on the helmet somehow stayed a pristine silver, though the head piece had seen better days. Chest plate needed severe repairs. It was all he could see before he finally focused on her face.
Eyes closed in peaceful repose, tufts of blond hair poking out from the rim of the helm. The gentle curve of her jaw line where he used to run his fingers across time and time again when he didn't think she noticed. He was tempted to do it again, but continued his examination. Dirtied by the rigors of battle, grime and soot in places, but her skin still had the flush of health.
He scoffed. "Another dream," he muttered. "Another cursed dream."
"Mmmm... if this is a dream, please don't speak so loudly. I don't want it to end..."
He smirked. "I can talk as much as I want, thank you very much. After all, I'm not awake yet." The smirk turned to a laugh. "Methinks I shan't wake up at all if the dream is this pleasant." He looked up at the stars again. "It's happened then. I've died, and have time enough to see you in my mind before I pass on to the Gods." He hissed in pain. "Death... is both as I thought it would be, and yet as painful."
"The dead do not speak, nor dream, nor feel pain. Surely you know this."
He laughed again. "How am I to know if I'm dead or not? I see you here..." He looked over and his eyes widened as he stared into hers, blue as the sky on a cloudless summer day, the sparkle of mirth in them even through her dirty features. "You. You're here."
She nodded, her smile a gleaming white. "I'm here."
His breath caught in his throat. "Then... it's over?"
She nodded. "It's over." A wince as she shifted in the wrong way. "Gods above! I almost wish I'd died!"
His features turned from shock to concern. Her armor hid her injuries, though he could smell no blood. Internal injury, ribs or some such. Maybe worse, he had no way to tell. They had to see the Troupple King, and quickly! "Can you move?"
She grimaced. "Now, in the middle of the night?" She scoffed. "Please, I know you aren't that dense. Do you have any Ichor?"
He shook his head. "I don't. Spent it all during the fight with that bloody amulet."
She huffed. "Can't be helped, then. We need to..." She yawned, blue eyes hidden for a moment. "We need to sleep some more. Just until morning, when we can actually place one foot in front of another in reliable fashion. I'll keep for now."
He grumbled of what a stubborn creature she still was before turning back toward the fire. Consternation turned to contentment as he stared into the flames. "When we get back..."
She snuggled into him as sleep took hold of them both. "Hush. No words."
Shovel Knight smiled. Of course not, they'd never needed any.
He slept, and dreamed no more.
Prologue: Creature
You. Yeah, you. You haven't played Shovel Knight yet? Then what the FUCK are you reading this for? Play it, then come back here.
This is my love letter to Yacht Club Games for their immense, hand-crafted labor of love. The plan is to create a sweeping epic of gargantuan proportions, the likes of which has never been seen before!
Well maybe it has, but not for this game. Take that how you will.
The story finishes when I say it does, at what chapter I choose. Reviews are appreciated, but will not drive this story forward. I will finish it, and if you want to read it, you can.
Inspirational Tracks: The Defender, Starlit Wilds, The Fateful Return
Oh, and Shovel Knight does not belong to me. Even if it did, I wouldn't change a goddamn thing about it!
This is your Slayer.