To Monkey999Boy: Congratulations, you accurately pointed out just what I wanted to show with the knights! You missed Plague Knight, though. His story is about his plaguemaster past and just how much he did for Mona. So, Tinker Knight left to show. Did you not enjoy Propeller's story? Anyway, thank you very much! The Liquid Samurai are quite cute here, yes, but remember they're still the bad guys that captured Shield Knight back in E is for eggs benedict. The Staff of Striking is especially useful for achieving Bomb Economy if you want to do that. I also use Sparkler+Impact against Propeller, but if you bash him with Staff of Striking he dies faster.
Sorry for 9,000+ word count.
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M is for makeover.
One of the most mundane but awesome perks of being a ghost was that he could change clothes and appearance at will, as well as temperature, but he didn't really feel like touching anyone. He remained ice-cold in his other form, and he liked how it was. He recalled the time he brushed a finger against a rebel leader's hand while she stopped to look at him, and let out a small deep chuckle.
Specter Knight had been feeling quite vain that day, and he immediately thought of improving on his human disguise's appearance. He thought of something less flashy but still fashionable enough to suit his tastes. Standing in front of a full-length mirror he found in a random house, he began combing his blond locks until his hair became more than silky soft and tied it back with a white band. Upon looking at his own reflection, his face looked charming and heart-racing, but it was marred with a deep scowl.
"I look too much like Propeller Knight." He growled, his thoughts plagued by the laughing face of the Frenchman, with his shoulder-length hair tied back. He ripped the ribbon off and started brushing his hair again. Part of him protested the entire ordeal of caring about his human appearance, but he shushed it.
He tied his hair back again, this time trying his old style, with some locks loose to frame his face. Not bad, he thought to himself. He tilted his head to the side, staring blankly at his wonderful reflection. He then plopped his scarlet hat back on his head. He slightly turned to the right, and then to the left, and then nodded thoughtfully to himself. Not half bad, he thought,settling on it as his actual final appearance. He left his deathly pale skin and red eyes alone.
He pulled at the new dark gray cravat on his neck, feeling up his throat with his gloved hands. His gloves were pearly gray with a silver bead sewn on it. He faintly remembered strong fingers wrapped around his neck and, with a frown, forced that memory out of his mind. He absent-mindedly pulled on the gray end of his right sleeve while trying to forget he ever thought about that time.
He smoothed his coat, which was shortened to just end before his knees, out of habit. He then glanced at his black pants. How about I change the color to white? Surely it would look better since the boots are bla-
"Freeze." A low female voice coldly said. "What is your business here, human?"
Specter Knight turned around and saw his personal assistant holding a rusty sword up at him, its sharp tip just an inch away from touching the tip of his nose. Her face was contorted in a threatening snarl, her teeth bared and eyes fiery. Her plain, sloppy hair was finally combed properly. Her bangs were neatly brushed away from the face. Her dress was even changed from a plain flowing dress with a black and white maid outfit, the skirt having a white frilly cloth over it and still reaching below her knees fading away. He blinked again, and recalled her 'resume' when she had first talked to him.
"I can entertain. I can fight, too, if you need someone to fight better than the skeletons. They're frankly mindless and brittle. You'd like some additional protection, right?"
She was serious that time, but her clothes… is she smart enough to realize no one wants to be killed by an innocent maid or does she simply have horrible taste? He thought for a short moment. She still held the sword up even as he moved his face even closer so that the tip rested between his eyes.
"I thought you were too innocent and pure to be unable to hold a sword, my dear servant." He spoke in his normal gravelly and otherworldly phantom voice, smirking. "Drive that sword into my head for me."
She blinked, losing the flames in her eyes. She then lowered her sword. "Oh, it's just you, master. Good day!"
"Yes, yes, good day." He inwardly scoffed at her eternally cheerful greetings, floated up, and changed back into his reaper form with a twirl. "I was improving on the look of my human disguise."
"It worked. I thought you were a true human!" She gladly commented, putting the sword down on the floor. "It's so real!"
He laughed in amusement at her comment. "I have used this form thrice before, and I am proud to say it was enough." He floated to a place beside her at a polite distance. "You saw me a while ago. Do you have any comment on how I can look better?" He asked, briefly forgetting that she was the one who put him in a banana costume many weeks before.
"Hmm." She wondered aloud. "You look great."
"I suppose I cannot ask the opinion of someone who seems unable to say anything bad of me. You are terrified of me."
"No, no. I have a few criticisms! Even if I think you look drop-dead gorgeous-"
"Servant!" He screeched, his hands glowing yellow and bolting out to wring her neck. "Was that a pun?!"
She jumped back, narrowly avoiding his claws. "N-no! A-absolutely not! I am sorry! Please forgive me!"
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M is for money.
"Hi, Anthony." The young boy, dressed in tattered rags, rubbed the fur of his puppy dog. Anthony awoke, and then licked the boy's face fondly, tail wagging. A happy grin found its way to the boy's face.
"Woof! Arf!" The dog happily barked, jumping around the boy and panting. The boy ruffled its furry head lovingly. The young dog wagged its tail happily while his owner and best friend played with its fur.
"Anthony, you're so happy today! Good morning."
As he ruffled the fur on his puppy's head even more, his stomach grumbled. He clutched his growling belly. "I'm going to find us something to eat, Anthony. Wait for me!"
"Arf!" The dog barked, and sat in place.
"Good boy." He smiled before turning around and walking out of the dark shade of his makeshift house. He looked all around him as he walked. Gentlemen strolled by with their fancy canes, and wealthy ladies and children rode their horse carriages to move about in the town. His lips pursed, looking at a baby girl who was being cuddled on the lap of a teenage girl, probably her sister. He recalled that his parents had resorted to begging on the street for spare change and food, and died in the streets without honorable graves. They starved to death with pockets inside out. They rotted in the pile of unknown men, women, and children, only covered with a white blanket and sprinkled with powder that prevented the stench of death from worsening.
I wish I was taken care of…
Before long, he chanced upon a shop selling meat and bread. His mouth immediately watered at the sight of cheesy and sugary pastries on display. Plain grain bread was in open baskets inside the shop, and he crept up to the building. He looked to the left, and then to the right. No guards roaming nearby. Only a man with an apron was inside, his back turned from the entrance of the shop and talking to a worker. The boy plotted. He would snatch a piece of meat lying on the table and steal a small basket of bread that was just by the door. He would do that as quiet as a mouse. With the thousands of times that he had stolen bread from various shops, he considered himself a little expert thief.
He tiptoed into the shop, took the meat, and then swiped the basket by the handle as he scurried out. However, the shopkeeper caught the movement of a small figure at the corner of his eye and turned his head to look. He briefly saw the little boy running out the door, and screamed for guards.
"Thief! Thief! Someone stole bread!" The man rushed out, fist up in the air. "Scoundrel didn't have money!"
The boy just ran away as fast as his legs could take him, cackling at the shop owner. "You bet I don't have money!"
Everything blurred around the boy as he dashed through ignorant passersby and swiftly turned corners and entered alleys. Just a little while later, the boy returned to his makeshift house of old wood and thick cloth, sweaty and heart racing so fast from all the running. He laid the meat down before his puppy dog.
"Here's your food!" He smiled as Anthony's tail wagged while munching on the tender meat. The boy put a piece of bread up to his mouth and wolfed it down. He ate one, and then another, and another, reveling in the taste of fresh bread so much that he didn't hear the heavy footsteps of the civil guard.
"Eating stolen bread, eh?" A gruff voice said. The boy paused, his eyes wide and his heart pounding suddenly. A strong hand grabbed at his emaciated arm, pulling him up.
"Let me go!" He yelled.
"You'll have to go to the precinct, boy!"
"I don't want to!" The boy tried to pry his arm off the painful hold of the guard.
"Well then, you should have the money to pay for the bread you stole. Do you have money to bail yourself out?"
"N-no. Let me go!"
"No, you have to come with us-"
Anthony jumped up and bit hard on the guard's wrist. The guard let out a pained yelp, clutching his bleeding hand up close to his chest.
"Kill that mutt!"
The other guards proceeded to beat their staffs on the little puppy dog. But Anthony wasn't fazed by danger. He dodged one blow and the other, jumping up and barking threateningly at its master's assailants. Yet, despite the puppy's light frame and swift actions, it couldn't hold its own against grown men with swords and sticks. Anthony was felled by a lucky swipe of a baton to his back.
"Anthony!" The little boy screamed. He ran to his best friend, scooped its broken body up, and bolted away from the civil guards, leaving behind a basket half-full of nourishing bread. The dog helplessly squealed in his embrace as he escaped the group of guards chasing them.
"Anthony, stay with me!" He muttered as he jumped over obstacles.
The puppy wheezed.
"Stay with me, buddy!" He yelled, running into a patch of trees, and running deeper into the cover of plants. But then, the puppy in his arms stopped moving and breathing. The little boy tightened his embrace around his best friend's body, tears beginning to form on his eyes.
Between trembling sobs, he only thought of one thing, the voice of the guardsman echoing in his mind.
If only I had the money.
The small boy put his dead puppy's bruised and wounded body in a small box he found by the bushes. He placed a small wild flower on his best friend, and, with a sob, closed the lid. He dug into the dirt with his filthy hands.
If I had the money, you'd still be alive by my side, Anthony.
When the pit was deep enough, he carefully placed the box into it.
If I had the money, I would be happy.
The boy gently tossed the dirt onto the box, covering the coffin of his only friend. He took some flat stones and built a small cairn on top with utmost care, and then crept back to the town. He picked up a large smooth pebble and bounced it up and down on one hand.
I'll get that money.
He chanced upon a single carriage, the footman nowhere to be seen. Not even a convoy of knights on horses was present. The carriage had purple and blue paint, with gold leaves decorating the outside. There were white curtains sheltering whoever was inside from the sunlight. The carriage's horses were standing idle.
The little boy stalked as quietly as he could to the carriage, looking around for anyone else. After assessing that no one else was nearby, he forced the carriage door open, his fingers bleeding from pushing his hands into tiny splinters and sharp corners. He was pretty sure a nail got torn off, but it wasn't important. There was an old man inside, dressed in a white and purple tunic. The little boy's eyes were locked on the box of gold within the man's hand and the loaf of bread on the other. He flicked his gaze up to the man.
"Surrender your money to me, old man."
But alas, the old man was unwise. "Coach-!"
The boy instantly bashed the pebble on the old man's skull, hitting him repeatedly until blood flowed out in continuous streams. Like a pump of fresh water, the boy snickered.
"I only said 'surrender your money to me'. You're so stupid."
The old man's glassy and dead eyes stared at the boy's dark grin. He hopped off the carriage, got up the front and sat on the chair, and then whipped the horses. The horses whinnied and took off.
/**/
Many long years have passed.
So many years have passed, and it was enough to etch a single message on a man's mind. A decade or so was enough to transform a small helpless boy into a merciless mercenary. Time and circumstance were among the most dangerous of forces.
And in that span of ten years or more or less, he became known as the Bounty Hunter. He became one of the richest mercenaries, if not the richest. He strolled by the town square with a bag of coins from his last bounty, and everyone cleared the way for him. People could still see the splotches of crimson on his gauntlet, and it stained the bag of silver he carried in his hand.
If only I was this feared before, right, Anthony? Maybe you would have died a peaceful death if things were this way for us back then.
The Hunter walked by a board, posters stuck to it and waiting for bounty hunters like him to take up the challenge. He scanned the posters, and mentally ignored the small-time thieves only worth 1000 gold, dead or alive. Useless scoundrels who were wanted but not worth the effort. His eyes fell on a large poster at the top of the board, stamped with the town's insignia and the margrave's coat of arms.
He paused in thought at the unusually large amount on the criminal, who was worth 2,000,000 gold, more than a million higher than the next person. This person, in fact, had the highest bounty placed on him, dead or alive, that the Hunter had seen in his life. He gazed into the drawing, memorizing the face of the man in case he wanted to chase this highly wanted fellow. This certain criminal had crimson red eyes, long blond hair, and quite the pale face. His description under the bounty price was 'tall and handsome, yet easily able to escape elite forces undetected. Exercise utmost caution, for his wit and deceit enable him to trick even the sharpest of royal soldiers. The majority of those who have fought him either died or could only barely live.'
What a challenge, the mercenary thought, you must have done something so bad your bounty is in the thousands of thousands. He left the poster board for a moment, his belly growling angrily at him in reminder.
He went to a fruit vendor, who was already sweating profusely in the Hunter's mere presence.
"W-what do you like, sir?"
The mercenary knight scanned the fruits in his stall, and without a word, held out his bag of silver pieces and dumped it on the unsuspecting hands of the vendor. "I'm buying them all."
The fruit seller was speechless. As he stammered his gratitude, the Hunter's attention was drawn to a squire and his mule riding down to his direction. The young lad on a pitifully small mule was carrying a scroll, quite a big one, by his hip, and stopped his steed by the bounty board. He watched as the squire tore down the poster he had been eyeing for a bit, and replaced it with a bigger poster. The Hunter almost gasped in sheer shock on what the replacement was.
It was still the same blond-haired and red-eyed man, but with three kingdoms' royal seals stamped on it, along with the coat of arms of the local margrave. The staggering amount of the current bounty on the man made his jaw drop to the ground. The price on his head could already liberate countries… and buy more nations' freedom. It could already sustain him for the rest of his life, and he could spend it on so much luxury!
200,000,000 gold, strictly dead only.
After all of the fruits were tossed into a sack, the Bounty Hunter returned to his Iron Whale, and immediately took off to find and kill this man. His minions scrambled to search for clues, trails, anything that could be linked to the man.
After all, money is the single most important thing in the world.
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M is for mask.
"Hss… a mask indeed. As befits a hollow, blustering fool!" Specter Knight harshly said, raising his scythe up. "You hide only from yourself!"
Plague Knight glared up at the phantom menace, eyes twitching and hands shaking. Coward? Bah! This spooky ghost is so…. UGH. "I'm going to prove you wrong!"
Specter Knight backpedaled as the small bird person bomb bursted towards him and pointed a finger at him. He could only utter the first thing that flashed in his mind. "This is unexpected. I already had a speech prepared."
"I'm going to MARCH back in the Potionarium, CONFESS to Mona, and SEE what happens!" Plague Knight screeched, barely containing the clusters of explosions in him. "I'm going to prove to you that I am NOT A COWARD!"
"Surprise me." Specter Knight replied flatly.
/*Flying Machine deck, some years later*/
"Plague Knight," The Bard boomed, gesturing to the hooded alchemist in a nice tux and vest, "do you accept Mona to be your wedded wife?"
"I do, hee!" Plague Knight grinned, looking at his French friend and best man.
Propeller Knight, dressed with an elegant suit and a rose in his breast pocket, clasped his hands together and wept shimmering tears of joy. "I'm so proud of you, mon ami."
"Mona," Shovel Knight gestured to Mona, "do you accept Plague Knight to be your wedded husband?"
"I do." Mona beamed.
"Through the power vested in me by me and the yacht gods, I now pronounce you man and wi-"
The wind suddenly blew too hard, taking with it several streamers and banners. Plague Knight protectively stood before Mona, arms outstretched and bombs in the ready. Fancy hairdos were destroyed, and hats flew away. Mister Hat screamed in horror and glee at the sight of flying hats everywhere, requiring both Baz and Reize to prepare to cannonball over him again.
There was a dark chuckle as blood-red smoke appeared out of thin air and swirled around to a specific spot in the aisle.
Everyone stiffened in alarmed shock. Shovel Knight whipped out his shovel from the inside of his hammerspace suit pocket. Shield Knight stayed behind her partner. Propeller Knight clapped, and an entire army of Hoverhafts appeared at his call, with one of them instantly assuming a spot by the captain, chucking a rapier at him, and saying 'was ist los'. Mole Knight ripped his fancy suit off of him and flaunted his sharp digging claws. Tinker Knight jumped up, ran like hell with a wrench held aloft, and tripped on a heavy chair's leg. Polar Knight and Black Knight shook their heads as Tinker Knight pushed himself up and tripped, again, this time on his own feet. Knights scrambled, picking up weapons hidden all over the deck, like under the wedding cake, stuck under a spectator's bench, and inside the wooden podium on which the Bard stood on. These random fighters formed a protective circle around the bride and groom, their sabers up and bows aimed at the mass of red in the aisle.
"I knew this would happen." A disembodied voice laughed, as thick clouds formed over to darken the skies. Lightning flashed and thunder roared like the usual entrance of a certain spooky ghost. Indeed, he appeared in the aisle, crimson smoke still swirling around him in a sinister manner. Specter Knight did not have his supernatural scythe, but did have a maid with him wielding a rusty sword.
Specter Knight put a hand up over where his mouth could be coyly. "It appears I am not so late for the wedding. I am glad."
"Why are you here, spooky ghost?!" Plague Knight bellowed, shoving the knights surrounding them out of his path.
"First, I came here to greet you congratulations."
"This is ridiculous. Oftentimes the villain comes to ruin a party." Shovel Knight said.
"I do not want to ruin the party." The phantom shook his head. "I came here to protest."
"YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH MONA?!" A random guest screamed. Come to think of it, this guest didn't have much of an eccentric line of thinking. Specter Knight appears in the wedding and comments about not being late to the occasion and coming to complain, so he must be protesting the wedding in general but is just really tardy, right? Right? Riiiight?
"I knew I shouldn't have let Mona go to the Lich Yard every month!" Plague Knight squawked, and was immediately held back by Propeller Knight and Albrecht. "What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO? Did you do anything other than just 'playing'? What the actual hell did you two play-"
The girl in the maid outfit glanced up to the reaper. "Master, when I wasn't around, did you do anything fish-"
"I am here to protest the choice of best man!" Specter Knight immediately quelled all assumptions of his sudden visit while pointing a sharp pitch black finger at Plague Knight. "Why am I not your best man?!"
Mona facepalmed.
"Because you are an unlovable, cunning, smelly, yucky, dead, edgy, evil ghost that comes to my wedding and ruins the vows!" Plague Knight yelled, fighting the iron grip the Frenchman and his lackey had on each of his arms. A bomb actually appeared from green smoke in his tiny hand. He managed to wriggle his arm out of Propeller Knight's hold, and prepared to chuck the bomb at the apparition.
"Non, mon ami! Do not do it!" The Frenchman screeched.
He did it anyway. "Eat this, spooky ghost!"
Specter Knight, having been trained for years in Mona's flask game, swatted the primed potion bomb away with his shriveled hand. The bomb exploded above the frightened crowd, the cluster powder mixing with nitrogen triiodide. When the phosphorus ignited, the extremely powerful explosion had a very big supercluster of chain combustions. Everyone except the two knights of death was affected by the boom.
"I am the one who convinced you to confess to Mona exactly four years, seven months, and one day ago!" The phantom argued back, pointing to himself. "I deserve to be at least invited!"
"Well then, hee, I have a poem for you! Roses are red, violets are blue. Boo hoo hoo. I don't like you!"
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M is for music.
Screams of pain and anger filled the dinner hall. Chairs and chicken were thrown all around the room. Alchemical bombs exploded, oversized blades were swung around, things got stabbed, and necks got strangled. The eight feuding knights all howled and whooped. It was probably one of the weirdest normal dinners in the history of the current incarnation of the Order of No Quarter.
The Bard magically appeared in the mess hall, accompanied by a swooning blue Liquid Samurai. The Bard, holding his holy lute, calmly walked to Polar Knight's tranquil corner. He pulled up an untouched chair before Mole Knight could pick it up and launch it at the blue shoveler at the other end of the table and then stood on the seat. He began to idly tune his instrument as the blue shifter happily pulled a piece of itself from its hand and willed that small piece to turn into a blue and black miniature piano. Once done, it pressed many of the lower keys. A very low and chaotic sound resounded from the piano, making the drunken warriors pause briefly.
"Good." Polar Knight muttered to himself. "Order comes."
The Bard cleared his throat, scanning the Order and the sole blue burrower. He then started to really play his 'magical orchestra lute', to which the blue thing played to.
"Listen well as I tell you what hell would be…" the minstrel sang in a baritone voice, "to start, the cook would be Tinker Knight! The face of the Order is Treasure Knight, the engineer is Polar Knight! The king is the tyrant King Knight! The lover is unfortunately Specter Knight (he's handsome though so if you dig that I can't complain), the properties guy is Plague Knight for he's also a hoarder, the head of finance is Mole Knight… and the slave chained to a wall is Propeller Knight!"
The song ended with two low piano notes of doom.
"What." Polar Knight flatly said, a chicken leg dangling in his fingers.
"Listen well as I tell you what heaven would be…" the Bard started to sing in a cheerful manner, followed by a series of power lute strumming, "the cook is either Propeller Knight or Plague Knight! The face of the Order is Polar Knight! The engineer is Tinker Knight, obviously! The king is the real king… but hey, Mole Knight makes for a great advisor! The lover would be Propeller Knight, the finance guy is Treasure Knight, the properties would go to Specter Knight… and the slave chained to the wall is naturally King Knight! Yahoo!"
The room went pitch black. This time, it wasn't a certain spooky ghost who turned off the lights. And when the lights went back on, both the Bard and the Liquid Samurai were gone. The sober ones, namely Polar Knight, Specter Knight, and Plague Knight all stared at the empty chair in disbelief.
"I… have no comment." Specter Knight shrugged. Hell is where I am the lover? Heaven is where I am the keeper? He sucked in air and expelling it like the living as he shook his head.
"Hee, that's my cue. Bye!" Plague Knight lied, laughed, and disappeared in a poof.
.
M is for meta.
The crowd was fidgety and excited for the results of the Dig the Vote election.
'Propeller Knight seems to be one of the frontrunners! Remember?'
'... in life he was Banana Knight, in death he is Specter Knight! Long undeath to our spoopy knight!'
'Banana? What the…?'
'King Knight rules!'
'I swear I will clobber you when you make another pun.'
"Alright, people, settle down now!" The Bard barked with charisma, pausing as the masses fell silent. "Thanks."
Shovel Knight awkwardly shifted in his seat as the Bard, someone who totally does not have supernatural power, unrolled the sheet of paper which contained the names of the knights he would most likely go adventuring with. He certainly wasn't looking forward to constantly seeing the evil and terrifying knights gathered before him, but if that was what the gods of the yacht wanted, he would be glad to serve.
There were three things he noticed odd in the crowd – King Knight looked more audacious and confident than he usually was, Propeller Knight wasn't wearing his odd but practical helmet, and Mole Knight seemed to be in clean, dirt-free armor for the first time in his life. How peculiar.
"Okay, people, the three knights Dug and Voted are the following." The Bard glanced at the paper for the first time, reeled back a bit, and finally spoke. "This one's weird as hell. Ballot stuffing…" he murmured, "third in place is King Knight."
Shovel Knight observed King Knight casually strut to the small chair to his left. He caught a glimpse of the malicious twinkle in the dandy's eye as he sat beside him. His instinctual gut screamed something awful about it, but as the problem with guts, they do not point out what and why exactly. He watched the other members of the Order hoping they'd make it in, except for Plague Knight, who appeared to be praying for the opposite fate.
The minstrel resumed after a half-hearted applause from the crowd. "Second is – drum roll please – our alchemist, Plague Knight!"
The tiny alchemist gasped in shock and terror at the mention of his name. He froze in his seat as the magical spotlight shined upon him, his heart beating faster and faster at the feel of everyone's gazes on him. He weakly stood up, walked to the stage desperately trying to avoid a heart attack, and sat on the chair to the left of King Knight. Shovel Knight readied his trusty shovel lest the poor frightful scientist abruptly lose it and make things explode.
Propeller Knight was smiling brightly, trying to encourage his shrinking bird friend, but it was already faltering as his chances were narrowing with each call. Plague Knight trudged awkwardly to the stage, fingers twiddling. He looked up and locked gazes with a certain tall woman on the balcony seats, and then felt a bit of confidence surge in him.
"Well, the first in place is somewhat unsurprising."
The crowd fell silent. Propeller Knight clasped his hands tighter the longer the silence ensued.
"First place is… a shoe-in, actually. It's Specter Knight!"
Propeller Knight's eyes widened in disbelief. Mole Knight, who was standing beside him, gasped audibly. Tinker Knight raised his arms up abruptly, as if to question the winners. Specter Knight gracefully floated up to the fabulous chair to the left of Plague Knight, sitting comfortably on it.
The fencer looked at King Knight, who only snickered at him.
"I burned your votes." The fraudster mouthed to him.
Propeller Knight felt a knife stabbed and buried deeply in his back, his mind recalling the fun things he'd do with King Knight. The time he was in a dress and chased him, the time they had this fashion competition… the contests meant for laughs between them had unknowingly turned sour and unhealthy.
"Propeller Knight was so close at fourth place." The Bard announced. "Next at fifth is…"
"Pourquoi…?" Genuine emotional tears threatened to flood the eyes of normally upbeat Frenchman.
"Oh, gods." Mole Knight cursed softly as he saw tears streaming down his carefree teammate's face. He patted his shoulder sympathetically as he glared at someone to hand the crying knight a handkerchief. His free hand shot up to catch the attention of the sobbing man's best friend, Albrecht. Tinker Knight pushed his mask up, revealing a tiny face contorted into a snarl at King Knight.
From the balcony overlooking the stadium, Albrecht noticed the archaeologist's claws raised upwards and waving. He could faintly see his superior beside Mole Knight. He flew off the balcony railings and hovered to the front carefully. As soon as he saw the Frenchman slightly tremble and his hands cupped over his face, he immediately dove to them.
"Hey." Albrecht frowned worriedly at his friend, and patted his back and shoulder. The only answers he heard were quiet sobs, and then he glared towards the knights immediately around him. "Vhat happened here? Vhat happened?!"
"I think King Knight cheated in the election." Mole Knight tactfully stated. But alas, the mere mention of it made Propeller Knight cry harder.
"C-can I just give up my place for Propeller Knight?" Plague Knight shyly raised a tiny hand. "He wants and deserves a place, hee."
King Knight almost bashed his scepter at the alchemist. If it weren't for the blue burrower's fast thinking, Plague Knight would need a new mask. Both the other knights tensed in the sudden display of hostility. Plague Knight jumped and summoned vats of explosive liquid to materialize all around him.
The Bard shook his head. "I'm sorry, but Ya-"
"I DON'T LIKE THIS!" Tinker Knight bellowed loudly, climbing up to the stage to the best of his ability. "IT'S FINE WITH YOU LOT," he gestured to the alchemist and the apparition, and then pointed an accusing finger at King Knight. "BUT YOU!"
"Leave him alone, mon ami." Propeller Knight softly said, wiping his tears away with his sleeves. He slouched in his posture. Before he turned away, he faced Albrecht with a forced smile and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Si'l vous plaît, be my representative for the night."
"Was?!"
"I know you can do it." He simply said, before slipping his hand off him and turned away.
The rest watched him quietly walk out of the hall. A feeling of dread befell most of the other knights, looking at their comrade, who was previously nigh-impossible to bring to any emotion like sadness, lifelessly walk out and away, periodically bringing his hands up to wipe his tearstained cheeks. The crowd separated to make way for him.
"I gotta go and ask what to do." The Bard quickly ran out.
"Don't you think I'm done with you!" Tinker Knight hopped onto the stage, wobbled a bit as he stood up, and jabbed a finger at King Knight's golden chestplate.
Albrecht felt a tap on his back. He tore his faze away from his superior's disappearing figure and looked at Mole Knight.
"Has this happened before?"
Albrecht sighed, recalling his first months as Propeller Knight's underling. He cringed at the memory. "Ja. It is never pleasant to see him like zhat."
.
M is for marriage.
"Come! Meet my family! Just for today!" Propeller Knight, dressed in elegant garb, grabbed Albrecht's wrist. The halberdier moaned in protest as he was dragged into a crowd of well-dressed gentlemen and beautiful ladies, feeling underdressed with only his everyday armor. Many scrutinizing gazes were drawn to him and his lightweight but strong halberd, and it only intensified when his boss stopped to gracefully pour champagne on a guest's glass. He did the hard 'thumb in punt of the bottle, fingers out' style of pouring!
Before any of that happened, the Flying Machine's captain had ordered the crew to set a course for his home. He had been happier than normal. The idea of coming back home after a long time out of France had made him very glad, and no second passed that he slipped out of high spirits. Every day meant another day closer to home.
And there they were. In a week, they were in France, welcomed by merry celebrations. This was one of the more extravagant celebrations, right inside the captain's family estate.
"Uh, sir-"
"No formalities now! You're meeting my family today! Don't be so shy! Think of it as practicing your French! I'm here. Trust me and stop worrying."
"But it is family! I cannot meet your family. I am only zhe German Kingdom's represe-"
"Zhat is exactly why you are coming to meet my family!" He pulled harder. "Come on! Everyone will be glad to meet you!"
Albrecht winced at the painful imaginary needles already poking at his hand. "Warum?"
"Zhey get to meet zhe best of zhe German army!" He beamed. "It's an honor for zhem! Trust me! Papa! Maman!"
Tschüss bis dann, meine Würde, the Hoverhaft thought as an old couple, both dressed in lovely white and green, turned to face Propeller Knight's calls.
"My son!" The old woman smiled and held her arms out wide open. With a happy smile, Propeller Knight embraced his maman closely. Albrecht sighed at his master.
"I missed you, maman, papa."
"We missed you, too, my little boy." The father grinned.
"I'm not a baby anymore. Oh! I have zhe kingdom of Germany's representative wizh me now!"
"Before that, let me show you to someone. I think you'd like her!" The mother sweetly smiled. Albrecht caught a certain glint in her eye, and his gut churned at the sight. He held her son by the wrist and led him across the hall. Albrecht was forced to follow, walking as dignified as he could with piercing stares from ladies and gentlemen. The group of four stopped before an elegant lady in a light blue evening gown. Her makeup was thin, and yet it only served to accentuate her beauty. Propeller Knight walked up, kissed the lady's hand, and crooned flirty phrases. Albrecht shook his head at his friend's unavoidable flirting.
"You look magnificent, my lady." He said, and blew a kiss to her. She giggled.
"I'm happy you two seem comfortable!" The mother suddenly interrupted, clasping their hands together. "I almost thought you wouldn't come together until the marriage!"
The girl only blushed. Propeller Knight frowned, eyes wide in surprise. Albrecht let out a quiet 'oh no'.
"Quoi?"
"We are marrying you off to the daughter of the duke, my son." The old man calmly replied. "Did you not know?"
"Pourquoi…?" The captain pulled his hand away from his mother's grasp and from the touch of the lady. "I assure you, belle, you are not zhe reason for everyzhing. I just do not agree wizh all zhis. I want to marry on my own volition, not by arrangements!"
"You are noblesse d'épée! We have raised you for this purpose, young man. Has the concept of liberal romance gone all the way to your head? Unacceptable! You are starting to forget your duties."
The young noble let his anger show. "I'm leaving." Propeller Knight announced, and turned away.
With a snap of the old man's fingers, the armed guards surrounded the young captain and his friend. The usually cheerful man's face darkened somewhat. When two guards grabbed his arms, he called out the name of the only one he knew would stand by him, (and was literally just a few steps from him, trudging his way to him in alarm) the name of his Hoverhaft friend.
"Albrecht!"
The guards holding him pushed his head and arms down and began pulling him away. He stumbled a bit, the force of the guards overwhelming his light body.
Albrecht, hearing his master's urgent shout, flew up with his weapon in the ready. The guests, noticing the hostile stance of the Hoverhaft, immediately moved away.
"Guten Abend, dummkӧpfe." He said coldly. He held his halberd up behind him and dashed forwards. The captain ducked low as the blunt edge of the pole weapon struck the helmets of his captors. They fell unconscious on the floor like ragdolls, and then Propeller Knight rubbed his arms as soon as the vice-like grips of the guards came off.
"Zhank you very much." Propeller Knight rubbed his arms.
"Behind me." Albrecht said. His master immediately moved to his back, grabbing his rapier and parrying dagger. More and more guards surrounded the two, ready to overwhelm them by the numbers.
The old man grimaced. "You forced this on me, my son. As embarrassing as this may be… capture him!"
The guards immediately lunged forward quickly. Albrecht then rushed to meet the incoming enemies head on, repulsing attacks fiercely. The gift of flight allowed him to move quicker and higher, disabling the guards effortlessly and cleanly, that all every guard did was to concentrate attacks on him. He sent many of their numbers to the ground with broken swords and dented armor just with quick swipes and aerial advantage. Reinforcements approached, and he was quickly becoming overwhelmed with the amount of sentries attacking at the same time. The tip of a sword grazed his exposed arm, drawing blood. He was already beginning to feel his arms going numb from so much swinging and thrusting. He zipped close by his master, who was already fighting on the ground, and kicked his assailants away. a
A plan to use his delegate status suddenly occurred in his mind. He landed before his master, propeller blades behind him turning around threateningly and planting his halberd on the ground.
"Ich bin der beste Krieger aus dem deutschen Reich!" Albrecht promptly shouted at the top of his lungs, stressing the name of his homeland. " Propeller Knight ist mein Meister. Ich werde ihn schützen bis ich sterbe! Vergesst nicht!"
The sudden announcement in the foreign language halted anyone from approaching. The parents even held their breath, staring at the halberdier, not realizing he was the German representative their son was proud of until he spoke.
"Albrecht, what are you doing?" Propeller Knight whispered.
He only gave him a short look that only said 'keep quiet' before facing the sentries again. "Hurt him and you vill have zhe German Iron Army at your gates."
The old man frowned. Putting a finger on his own son would endanger relations between the kingdoms of France and Germany. He then begrudgingly ordered his guards to retreat and let them go. The guards trickled away one by one, lowering their weapons, but keeping their sights on them. Propeller Knight cast one last glance at his parents and then turned away with a heavy heart. Guests in the party shot the two a mix of worried and disgusted glances. Albrecht placed an arm on his shoulder and patted it gently.
"Don't mind zhem. As long as I am here, no von vill harm you."
The captain didn't speak once after the entire thing. He only ordered the crew to fly immediately out of his parents' land and go anywhere, and then retired to his quarters. Albrecht felt the crew grasp the gravity of the situation, and while they wondered what bothered their captain so much his happiness disappeared, they just followed the orders and halfheartedly set their course back to the border between France and the German Kingdom. They asked the German as tactfully as they could on what happened, and he discreetly let them know.
The next day came about quite… unwell.
Albrecht and the rest of the crew eyed their boss closely, as if trying to memorize every tremble, every twitch he did. The captain kept up greeting everybody a good morning, even saying 'Guten Morgen' to the German halberdier. He still had this annoyingly sunny smile, but then it was different, like shadow had come to his bright life.
He stayed close to him, and that was when he noticed just how deep the wound on the captain's heart was.
Propeller Knight had been bringing his breakfast of tea and bread to his quarters. He was so occupied with haunting ghosts of the night before that he uncharacteristically bumped into a corner as he made a turn to his chambers' corridor. The expensive cup of tea was on the cold hard floor as broken porcelain with a pool of translucent green liquid.
Albrecht stared worriedly at Propeller Knight, whose brows furrowed slightly, fingers trembled, and hazel eyes glazed with tears.
.
M is for message.
To the gracious captain of the Flying Machine
Eight words written in lovely cursive script. That was all that was written on the intricate purple envelope. No return address, not even a name. Literally every other envelope had a woman's name on it, but this one stood out from the others. Albrecht did all sorts of odd things as he investigated this suspicious 'fan letter'. He held it up against the light, tried to peep into it, shook it, and even bent it. Amongst the things he learned were that it was basically sealed shut and the letter inside was short compared to the life stories on the others.
As if sensing the doubt in the atmosphere, Propeller Knight walked up to his lackey and looked over the latter's shoulder. "What are you doing?"
"Zhis is a suspicious letter." The German replied.
"How suspicious?"
"Does not have a name, a return address, and zhe message inside appears to be short… or just written the size of sand grains. And not to mention, it's impossible to open zhis."
"Give it to me." He half-snatched, half-took the purple envelope and tore the paper. He pulled the slip of paper out, quickly scanned its contents, and sighed. He handed the sheet of paper back to Albrecht.
"H-hey-"
"Albrecht." He mumbled. "Read it and tell me what you think."
Albrecht shot him a look of confusion before glancing down at the letter. He gathered his knowledge of French and read it to the best of his ability.
My son,
It has been years since we last saw you. We only heard of you again when your name was among those in the Order of No Quarter. News has reached France that you have joined, but you have no blood in your hands as a member. We hope you have not gone down the path of villainy.
France may not be the same place for you anymore if you come back at a later time. Everyone will think that you have chosen to become a member. So much will happen. You will lose your privilege and title. None of us, none of your friends still here believe that you have become a terror out of spite. We may have made the mistake to force love in you, and we are utterly sorry for what we have done to you, my son. I love you. I know you believe that love cannot be forced into others. It is hard to believe in such ideas for most of us, but I love you more than I love everything else.
I don't believe that you are now a spiteful man, a broken shell of the baby I know.
Please come back and prove you are still the same man.
Maman.
.
M is for mercy.
Specter Knight wanted to cackle at and berate King Knight that day. He was floating in the middle of Pridemoor's throneroom and yet the irony of the entire ordeal made him want to break out in cruel laughter at the usurper.
"I want you to assist me in crushing this rebellion." King Knight had begrudgingly said to the reaper, sinking into the cushion of his throne with each word he said. There had been not a time when he sought the help of any other member of the Order of no Quarter for anything directly involving his rightful kingdom. And since Specter Knight was one of the knights close to Pridemoor and that he would be both vital and instrumental to the immediate collapse of a well-organized revolt, he was so far the best bet, even if he hated the ghost and his peculiarity.
"I am not interested in aiding in its destruction." The phantom menace shook his head and turned to leave. "After all, the Enchantress has specifically ordered me to leave you to your own problems." At the corner of his eye, he spotted swift movement in the shadows. When he turned to actually look at it with his undeath's vision, he saw the telltale gleam of hidden blades and the billow of dark navy cloaks decorated with spears and swords crossed over gladiolus flowers. How ironic that the rebellion is actually here. He studied their faces in the shadows. Five was there, flanked by two other men. The young man on the right had amber eyes and dark hair, and the left one had silver hair and old brown eyes. He heard the whispered conversation between the three.
"Six, this is the throneroom. The prisoners are somewhere down here." The young man with the amber eyes said to the old fighter as the three moved behind the moving metal men standing guard for King Knight.
"Seven, where is the secret entrance?" The silver-haired man whispered.
"It's somewhere behind the throneroom."
Specter Knight projected himself behind King Knight, and nodded slightly to himself. There was a secret tunnel that opened behind the throneroom and extended steeply downwards.
"You do know well that me losing power over this kingdom spells the first stages of doom for the Enchantress, the Order, and you?" King Knight spoke clearly, half-surprising the reaper.
"The Lich Yard is mine, and mine truly." He emphasized his last word with a small gesture of the hand. He looked away from the rebels and split his attention to King Knight and to the stealthy insurgents. "I am only interested in protecting my territory, as well as happy to oblige to the Enchantress' orders."
King Knight almost wanted to claw his eyeballs out. He wanted to scream that he was desperate, he is king, and his word is law. "What do you want in exchange for helping me?"
Specter Knight felt the three move fluidly from the room itself to the back door. "I have no interest in such."
"What will make you interested?"
When you finally realize your enemy is right behind you, he almost snapped."When you become at least a thousand times less cunning as I am."
King Knight's jaw hung in confusion at what Specter Knight just said. He didn't hear the opening of a stone door and the pitter-patter of boots running down the tunnel, and right into an abandoned dungeon.
"Tell me," Specter Knight floated up and curled his legs as to appear to sit in air, "why do you think I can help you?"
King Knight sighed. "You are intelligent in war, and you know it very well yourself. You… are better than me."
The phantom wished he could say, 'you are kidding me'. The most narcissistic and arrogant knight in his team admitting he was better than his royal highness? He smirked. How easy it is to play with everyone like marionettes. I am the grand puppetmaster, and another doll joins my collection.
"You are desperate, King Knight." Three separate trains of thought started running in full steam in the reaper's mind as he said it. He paid attention to King Knight, felt the three descend down to a damp and dark dungeon quicker than he thought, and thought of how he had virtually everyone under his control.
"Don't tell anyone else."
He let out a dark laugh. "Predictable."
"What do you want in exchange for helping me?"
Specter Knight kicked his legs playfully just to spite the usurper. "I will do as I want."
"If you want their souls, then take them."
"Oh, yes I will." He 'stood up' and hovered closer to his teammate. "I will still honor the Enchantress' wishes to let you deal with your own problems. I will assist whenever and however I please. I will not send any forces to combat your little problem, but rest assured I might want to play with its leaders. In exchange… do not interfere with what I want to do."
"Sounds like one of the easier requests." He waved his wrist. "You have my word."
"If I may give you advice, lower their resolve first." He said as he turned to leave.
"I already did!" King Knight beamed, making the apparition pause. "Lower their morale, you say? I have dungeons right below."
Specter Knight shifted his full and undivided attention to the three rebel leaders, frowning slightly. They were staying still in one place as they planted things on the door. He scanned the area, and was immediately flooded with the presence of death and disease. "What did you do?"
"You might want to see. I'd think it will interest you."
He disappeared with a swirl of cloth and materialized just behind the three. He remained invisible to them. Souls of the restless immediately saw him, and scrambled to every nook and cranny that wasn't his general presence. They watched him and the three leaders in a mix of fear, sadness, and joy.
The amount of disquieted souls surprised him so much.
The three rebels suddenly ran from the door separating them from the room beyond, and then the small goo stuck to the door with makeshift fuses attached exploded quite loudly. The explosion blasted the door to oblivion, and when the dust settled, the three emerged from their cover and entered the dimly lit room. Five grabbed a torch from the wall and illuminated the dim room as they entered.
The sight that greeted them was like a small glimpse to hell.
Specter Knight got quite shocked that King Knight was able to do this. It was something he had seen and partaken in numerous times anyway, but he had never thought the gilded goob would actually be willing.
"Have mercy." An emaciated shell of a former man muttered frightfully at the light.
Five thrust the torch to Six and crouched down to the grimy sack of flesh and bones. She reached out a hand to the fearful face of the man as tactfully as she could, who whimpered and inched away from her.
"I'm not going to hurt you." She cupped the hollow cheeks of this man.
The man looked up at her. "Five? You're saving us?"
"Yes. We are saving you."
"Have mercy." He repeated, his voice filled with hope. He gestured to his feet, which had no skin on the underside. "Have mercy."
Six lifted the torch and lit the lamps in the room. With every lamp appeared dead and decomposing bodies with the gaunt faces of familiar soldiers. Every single one still alive was sickly pale with the plague of impending death. Pained moans could be heard every now and then. Limbs were either missing or necrotic. Gangrene* consumed the flesh of the breathing.
"But there's no one to save here." Six muttered to himself as he glanced at the hopeful yet hopeless eyes of their tortured soldiers.
"We will grant you mercy." Seven announced, unsheathing his sword. "Thank you all for your valuable service to the kingdom."
Up next: N is for night.
*Warning: If you don't know about gangrene, do not look up gangrene on the Net.
Translations and oh boy did I have so much fun that I never needed a dictionary this time:
Tschüss bis dann, meine Würde – 'til then, my dignity
Guten Abend, dummkӧpfe – good evening, idiots [lit. dumb-heads]
Ich bin der beste Krieger aus dem deutschen Reich! Propeller Knight ist mein Meister. Ich werde ihn schützen bis ich sterbe! Vergesst nicht! – I am the best warrior from the German Kingdom! Propeller Knight is my master. I will protect him until I die! Do not forget! (inspired by APH Prussia, I admit)
Noblesse d'épée – basically a noble of descent and sworn to loyalty to the king and serve in the military, but keep in mind that this fic does not parallel much with the real world.
Oh yeah, Specter Knight's handsome face was chosen to be the memorable poster boy of Bounty Prizes Magazine. I'll leave it up to you if he was actually killed by that.