To Monkey999Boy: I'm also speechless by the reactions to this chapter. I might have traumatized at least one reader for the rest of their Shovel Knight life, too. Thank you very much, dude c:
Sorry for updating quite late. I have 'summer' classes with very heavy workloads. Much of my free time from immediately after M was devoted to school-related duties. My blog for this also needed some serious content since I felt obligated to a new friend of mine.
And has anyone really noticed how I never mentioned any of the Knights' names in this AU? Should I at least give them the names I have running around in my head?
Also, I can't decide on the name of this AU – Alphabets AU sounds so apt and uncreative. Among the ideas I have are "Dolorous" (pertaining to the real nature of this series), "Forlorn" (ditto), "Feigned" (pertaining to how I made this 'fic look like a complete joke), and "Foundation" (since the source material is the 'foundation' and I built upon it to make this AU). Personally I like "Foundation" but give me ideas please.
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N is for noise.
How long had it been since the apparition had a good shut-eye moment? Apparently it had been ages since he did anything remotely close to sleep since that tragic day when he just wanted to go out and look for a friend-
"AAAAH!" A high-pitched screech belonging to a surprised king resonated through the hallways of the Tower of Fate.
"SHHH!" "Specter Knight seems to be sleeping you dumb oaf." "Respect the resting!" "Shh! Shut the fuck up!" "Watch your language!"
Specter Knight opened his eyes and started moving his head around. "What happened?"
Propeller Knight groaned. "Merde. That scream was enough to WAKE UP THE DEAD."
Six out of eight knights gasped in unison. King Knight put his hands up over his mouth. Mole Knight could only look away. Plague Knight stared in fright at the two knights sitting in the middle of the table, leaning backwards. Tinker Knight' arms shot up. Treasure Knight lifted his diving helmet up, revealing a face contorted horror and concern. Polar Knight stoically bit into a turkey leg and ripped the meat off the bone, watching Propeller Knight warily.
The Frenchman only shrugged the silence, and sipped his rosé wine. "Quoi?"
"Hrrrrrg." Specter Knight growled lowly. He began to float ever so slowly to his French seatmate, claws gradually going for the kill.
Propeller Knight tensed. "I… made a pun? Specter… Knight? Pun?"
He twitched his head to his left, only to be greeted by the sight of an enraged ghost that hated puns. He then put his hands up and inched away from the pissed apparition, hazel eyes wide.
"Je suis désolé! Désolé! Sorry, sorry!"
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N is for nightmare.
King Knight's sleepy eyes cracked open, then widened when he saw a figure looming over him. In the dim moonlight, he could see the silhouette's bright white eyes and teeth in a psychopathic smile. The figure's left appendage raised, and King Knight stared in horror at the sharp dagger gleaming ominously.
"Good night and sweet dreams in hell, your Majesty." A deep voice of a woman echoed from the being of shadows. A bead of cold sweat formed on the usurper's temple. "This is for my soldiers…"
"No, no, please don't kill me."
"Death comes for you," the figure vaguely gestured to his side, "and the queen."
The terror in King Knight's soul vanished abruptly. He furrowed his brows in confusion. "Queen? What queen?"
He saw the psychopathic smile on his assassin's 'face' disappear in the blink of an eye. She pointed her dagger at the thing beside the pretender. "Queen. There she is."
As if on cue, the person beside King Knight rose from the bed, the covers falling down. King Knight stared in abject horror at the sight of his 'queen'. His jaw fell off his face and his eyes as wide as pancakes. How the hell did this person get into his kingly room?
The queen was beautiful from behind, with silky and slightly disheveled long brown hair and emerald green clothing with gold hems.
"Argh… qui es-tu…" the 'queen' said, rubbing sleepy eyes.
"HOLY SHIP!" The monarch screeched.
Tired hazel eyes gazed into terrified golden orbs. Propeller Knight's glance then fell on the shadow woman instead, whose pitch-black hand was over where the mouth should be. A vague noise of stifled cackling could be heard from her as the Frenchman let out a high-pitched, girly scream. He even put his hands on either side of his face.
King Knight hollered with him.
And then he opened his eyes, screeching the holy boat's name. He bolted upright, fumbling around his king-sized bed for any Frenchman that might be under the covers.
No annoying Frenchman…
Good.
King Knight fell back in the covers and allowed sleep to retake its hold over him.
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N is for night.
Shield Knight, stripped of armor and dressed in a decent red gown, flashed a cheerful smile to the innkeeper. The latter had approached her and returned her warm grin with one of her own.
"Good evening!" The shield maiden waved. "I apologize on behalf of my partner. He still is quite ill from our last adventure. We might have to stay for more weeks." She gestured vaguely to the direction of the room where Shovel Knight snored loudly in his tiny cot.
The old woman waved her wrinkled wrist. "Do not worry, dear child. I know what you two did for the Valley. You deserve rest."
"Thank you!"
"Also, dear, you have a visitor. He wants to speak with you in private."
"Oh?" She raised her brows. "How does he look like?"
"He is a very small person, as far as I can see!" The innkeeper put her flat hand on the level of her waist. "That is how tall he is."
Shield Knight's memory clicked. An image of a certain knight Shovel Knight's size but with dark armor formed in her mind. "Oh. I think I know him. Where is he?"
The woman smiled as the knight excitedly hopped off her seat. "Outside, dear. The night is misty, do not wander too far!"
The lady of war waved in acknowledgement. She almost skipped to the door and went out. The outside lamps were burning extra bright, she noted. And what do you know, just below a lamp on the corner was a short person wrapped quite sloppily in a beige trench coat! The sleeves were rolled to fit his short, stubby arms. The end of the coat could have functioned as a really long gown if it wasn't hastily cut off. She giggled, and walked to the man with a pleasant smile.
"Black Knight. How good to see you!"
"SHH." The man's obsidian-covered hand shot up from a thick sleeve. "Don't let them hear it's me."
"Alright, alright." She chuckled. "Why did you want to talk to me?"
Suddenly, Black Knight's head, or at least what could be seen as his head, stared down at the cobble floor and shyly kicked a pebble. There was a pregnant pause between the two before Shield Knight muttered again.
"Hey."
Black Knight swayed in his place, pointing his foot up and swinging it idly. He looked at the stone floor, not glancing at the tall lady's face. "I just wanted to ask if you two would be coming home this autumn. For winter."
Shield Knight chuckled at him with a wistful smile. "I want to come home for winter."
"That's good." He huffed in a tone he would normally use. This only made her chuckle a bit louder.
"Tell Polar Knight that we'll be coming. I'll pull Shovel Knight along even if he doesn't want to!"
Black Knight shrugged and looked at the lamp, a sudden interest of how lamps burn filling his mind. "Well, if you say so… maybe we can have some better talks…"
"Hmm."
He flicked his gaze back at her. She held her arms out openly, a big smile plastered on her face.
"Thank you for saving Shovel Knight."
He huffed again and crossed his arms. "Anything you say is my command."
"Then come and give me a great big hug like when we were children!" She feigned a pout, her arms slightly dropping. "You never hugged since we were ten."
He groaned, but gave in to her request and gingerly stepped closer. Strong arms wrapped around his small frame and lifted him up in midair in a lovely and choking hug.
"Aren't you injured?" The smaller knight protested.
"Haha! You're light! No problem for me!" She laughed out loud. "Not hurt anymore!"
"Aren't you… hurt by the Enchantress?"
The smile on Shield Knight's face vanished. She slowly put him back down on the ground, a serious and despondent expression on her face. "What do you think?"
He gasped after a long moment of silence. "Shield Knight."
She wiped a tear on her eye with a finger, sniffing softly. "But seeing Shovel Knight, you… the letter you sent, the scarf… nothing makes me happier than you three. It hurts, but when I know you're around all the time for me, I don't feel alone." Suddenly she picked him back up again and then cried happy tears onto his thick ridiculous coat. "Not even the worst of demons can defeat love. Don't forget that ever, you adorable little man."
Black Knight sighed deeply, and then returned her embrace with a shy smile. "I'm happy as well. Polar Knight will be when I tell him you are well."
"Tell him I'll be coming home." Shield Knight plopped her friend back down on the ground. "I'll be wearing the scarf too. Tell him it looks wonderful! I love what he made for me."
"I will."
"Hugs for him, too."
"I'm… not sure if I can do that."
"I request you to."
"No."
"I order you to."
"Fine." He turned away. "I shall go."
"Hugs for everyone!"
"Alright, alright, gods. You're still the same." He waved his hand with a melancholic smile. "I must go. See you in the winter."
"See you soon."
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N is for notes.
"Give them back!" The tiny child jumped up and down, attempting to take his notebook from the hand of a bully. The latter only laughed as he watched the small kid pathetically trip.
"Hey, what do you have in your notebook, nerd?" The taller kid opened the worn notebook and flipped through its pages. Ideas, sketches, and prototype plans for machines were scribbled everywhere, with no apparent order. "This is just a bunch of junk no one understands!"
"I understand it!" The small child pounced when the notebook was lowered to a reachable height, only to fall face-down on the floor when the bully put it back up in a swift sweeping motion. Now, all those around the small one cackled at his clumsiness.
"You're just a parentless piece of crap." He grabbed a page and pulled the paper's edge. "No one would help you if this happens…"
"No! Stop! My research!"
"Who's going to help you, huh?" The larger kid just giggled as he tore more and more pages off the notebook. Paper fell to the ground, the scribbles detailing his passion for technology put out for the others to see.
The young inventor's eyes started to water. "Give it back! Do you know how much time I put into that notebook?"
"Shove off." The bully picked up the tiny child up by the collar of his shirt and then carried him outside, followed by a crowd of onlookers.
The little scientist could only sob to himself as the torment of his life put him on a high branch and abandoned him, snickering and smiling smugly with the crowd.
Didn't they see that science helps people live better and easier?
He had a recent idea about a wheel that could spin infinitely and produce enough energy to roast an entire fat wild pig in thirty minutes, and it was lost in the cruel play of an evil and narrow-minded boy.
Revenge for his lost work was inappropriate, however. He just grabbed some paper to start over, carefully avoiding the large metal canister of a highly volatile gas he accidentally discovered the previous night, and then began to draw a plan for a lamp that burned so brightly even in misty nights. That should show them all the wonders of engineering!
After all, science is about showing people… not forcing others.
He started smiling again, thoughts and ideas flooding into his brain. What substance could be used for fire to burn as bright as the sun? No, wait, that's too much. Maybe the moon could work better in analogy. Could my magnesium ribbons work the magic? How about my magnesium powder? Wait, even though that element could burn so brightly, it runs out so easily… so what could work? He thought of the glowing dead fish he saw in lying on the seashore so many nights ago. Fish with a blob for a head and thin, stinging tentacles protruding below the blob, were glowing a very soothing shade of blue. What about an object that never stops glowing?
He scribbled both of those ideas on the paper.
What about a-
There was a loud knocking on the door.
"Leave me alone!" He shouted for the millionth time in his life. Let it be known that a scientist was working! Why do people always barge in his research time? How could he finish his projects fast if everyone wanted to waste his time?
"Hey, nerd! Open up, so we can destroy your house!"
The young scientist stiffened.
It was the boy who destroyed his notebook. He quickly turned off his room's small burning lamp, and peeked outside of his window.
Two of his enemy's cohorts were already walking around his tiny shack, large and thick sticks in their hands. They brandished it around and grinned at each other. As if they knew how to properly wield a staff, the tinker thought.
"Come out, little bunny." One of them called out.
Fight or flight? Obviously flight wasn't an option. He was trapped in his own house, surrounded by people who want to harm him. To fight was the only option. What could he fight with? He wasn't so good with fighting. Even a wrench couldn't help him.
His eyes fell on the metal canister standing by the stack of empty paper, waiting ominously. His gaze then went to the bottle of magnesium powder by his workbench. Frowning, he grabbed the can (with all his utmost care) and tilted it to the direction of the door. He placed two wooden blocks on either side of it, and then sprinkled magnesium powder at the butt of the can. His heart skipped a beat when something hard hit the door, the worn old door' hinges rattling. He hurried up to light a match, and then placed it by the powder. He then dashed to his bed to hide behind it.
3… 2… 1.
Fwoom. The powder burned hotly under the canister. The young inventor squeezed his eyes shut and he put his hands over his ears.
The explosion is coming soon.
The flames licked at the outside of the canister. Inside, the gas swirled around, expanding as heat was fed to it.
The door came down, the door jambs breaking off from the hinges. Three ignorant boys entered with their large sticks at the ready.
"Come out now, your light show isn't-"
Boom.
The canister exploded, pieces of metal flying everywhere. The lid, still in one piece, was launched in high speed by the rapidly expanding gas, which then burned so brightly once it came into contact with both the magnesium's flame and the air. The metal cap hit the area between the upper lip and the nose of the boy at the center. Two small metal shrapnel embedded themselves in the chest of the boy to the right. The last one was blinded by the brilliant white light.
"Shit. Get away!" The last boy screamed, clutching at his eyes. "Get away!"
The young inventor tuned out the desperate shouts of his tormentors, and immediately set out to put out the flames currently raging in his workroom.
Good, he thought. More alone time for me.
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N is for notorious.
Of course, with all those years working mostly alone with only his subordinates to keep company, the engineer forgot things very frequently if it was not about what he loved the most.
The discoveries of groundbreaking technology excited him the most. His genius mind, given all the resources in the world and nourished by constant research, created the most inventive, creative, and outstanding machines known to humankind in his time.
A self-sustaining tower, requiring only the constant mechanical energy being infinitely cycling around it to power all other machines inside of it. Its gears and pendulums were intricately designed so that when one part couldn't function well, the entirety of the tower would still operate efficiently.
Small but powerful sparking rodents, designed to move around unpredictably and provide delay to any possible intruder.
Long, stretching platforms with a metal strip around it and gears moving inside used to carry heavy objects from one place to another without needing the use of strong men or horses.
A kettle that filters the salt and other impurities in seawater out and turn it into clean and sterilized drinking water.
Boomerang wrenches.
Carriages that can move without the need of healthy horses. Still in development, but looks promising.
Lamps that no longer need oil or wood to burn. It only needed the essences of the dead blob fishes that glowed so brightly. Add in some pure salt, the light turns blue. Sprinkle in dirt, and it burns yellow. Put in a gold nugget and it flashes red. Sprinkle gold powder and it becomes violet. So many colors, shades, and hues, all lovely to look at.
A giant machine that shot explosive rockets. He was also in the process of creating a smaller tank, built to be conveniently travel-sized for his mobility's sake. Maybe he could ride it like a carriage, but it can shoot powerful missiles everywhere.
The tinker had created so many breakthroughs that would aid in bettering the lives of men, women, children, horsemen, birdmen, everybody. Everything he made, he was sure as hell that they were useful in one way or another. He even mass produced his major inventions, excited for the townsfolk to notice it and admire the sciences that he was passionate for.
But today, he saw that all of his products were left rusting as a pile of scrap metal just outside of his Clockwork Tower.
He was fuming, his fists curled and brows knitted together. He was sucking in air through his teeth, hissing softly as he cursed the townspeople for leaving his precious machines to rot.
He was already storming to his workshop to plan his revenge when a memory came to mind.
"I can give you your time, your resources, and your funds to create all the fruits of your intelligent mind, Tinker Knight," her soothing and seductive voice crooned, her violet eyes twinkling and drawing him into her turbulent and evil soul, "and all you need to do is to join me in the Order of No Quarter."
That's right, the inventor thought. It's not the town's fault.
It's her fault for luring me into the Order of No Quarter. It's her fault for making my inventions 'evil'.
I should do something about it.
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N is for nickel.
Treasure Knight stared thoughtfully at the bag of nickel pieces plopped beside Anthony's cairn and thought for a moment. He pulled his diving helmet off and placed it on the bare earth beside him. He didn't feel a spirit puppy immediately hop on his large shoulder and start licking his cheek affectionately. It let out a silent bark, its broken tail wagging cheerfully in his presence, as if completely ignorant of the living knight's sorrow.
"Would you like a better resting place, buddy?"
It hopped off of his shoulder and barked happily.
Yes! Yes please! Arf!
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N is for never.*
Your life flashes before your eyes when you die.
That was what the man in dirty scarlet clothes could only think of. He started to believe in such a naïve superstition. Darkness surrounded him, and it was the kind of darkness that threatened his life and future. The leafy canopy of the forest he was forced to hide in cast a darker shadow than the overcast clouds.
It was so dark everywhere. Thunder was already roaring and the air smelled of a coming rainstorm. If it rains, he could not move fast, and if he didn't move fast, the men out for his blood would catch him, and then kill him. The thought of his enemies getting their revenge frightened him more than the prospect of capture.
As he crept through the dense greens and rotting logs, he thought of the previous life he left behind. He almost forgot the existence of old childhood friends, his mentors and teachers who taught him all he used in his field of work, his family, his home. Never did he miss the face of the girl with dark eyes and short brown hair that he shared a childhood 'romance' with more than ever. He was five at most at the time that he fondly recalled, and he remembered that he had gleefully and childishly declared that he'd 'mewwy her'. Nothing was really lost that time. He was a pint-sized child with cheerfulness bursting from his soul and heart.
That was so long ago.
"I wanna mewwy you when we gwow up!" His five year old self had beamed to his best friend. He had placed his tiny hands on his hips, a crooked yet big grin on his lips. His best friend, a girl whose brown hair had been cut short right above her shoulder and matching brown eyes giggled at his comment. She pulled him down on the sand pit she had been playing on as he declared his pledge of 'mewwage' to her, and then she had grabbed the green bucket-helmet on his head. He had started to laugh as she buried his feet under a mountain of sand. She emptied bucket after bucket of sand on his feet and laughed with him.
"What's 'mewwy'?" She had asked innocently, bright eyes looking to her older brother. The brother's steel gray eyes flooded with tears of amusement and embarrassment.
"It's when a boy and a girl wuv each other and wanna stay fowever!" The blond boy had answered with a bigger smile. "Mother said that I can mewwy you!"
"But do I wuv you?" The brunette had puckered her lips in thought.
"I wuv you!" He had jumped off his place, demolishing the magnificent sand hill she had made before. Before she had time to scowl at him for destroying her mound, he had smushed his lips over hers. Her older brother fell to his knees, laughing heartily at his little sister.
Understandably, this lasted for three seconds at most. She had pushed him off with her nose scrunched up in disgust.
"Ewwww!" She had stuck her tongue out.
"But when a boy and a girl wuv each other-"
"They kiss! EWWW! That's so disgusting I don't wanna wuv!"
"Alright, big girl," the big brother had chuckled as he wiped off his tears, "you marry when you turn sixteen."
"I DON'T WANNA BE SIXTEEN!"
"I do!" The boy had wrapped his friend in a tight hug. "Can we be fwends fowever? Fight together when we go big?"
His statement seemed to calm her fussy fit down a bit. "Okay!"
He had pointed his tiny pinky finger at her. She wrapped her own pinky around his with a smile.
"Hey, I wanna give this!" She had reached behind her and unclasped the hook of the golden chain around her neck. She then had held the blue and gold trinket out and dropped it into his waiting palm. "So that you'll remember we're fwends fowever! I'm weaving soon, and that sucks." She had pouted.
"Weaving? So soon? NO!"
She hugged him. "But at least, we are best fwends fowever!"
The monster laughed, bitter tears forming in his eyes.
It was admittedly one of the only times he was innocent and adorable. But what the hell. That child was a far cry from the man currently being chased into a forest of death. He was known as a living terror that could kill any man whether frail or strong with a piece of rope. That bubbly, angelic child no longer existed. He turned into a demon.
He recalled his old friends, his brothers-in-arms from his training days. He had been teased to have the most handsome looks in the entire army, and could attract as much women as he wanted. They marched as foot soldiers in a couple of wars or so and in many smaller skirmishes, but they all made it out alright.
One time, he was alone in a small, cramped, and stuffy tavern. They found him in there.
"Hey, banana knight!" A knight dressed in only his leg armor had called out from the tavern entrance. He had cropped black hair and ocean blue eyes. He had been flanked by two other men, who both looked alike with sculpted noses, very short light brown hair, and a shorter height than their companion. The twins had giggled at the young blond man, who had feigned annoyance at the nickname with a tiny and cute pout.
The banana knight motioned silently to the empty seats of his table. "Why are you here?" His tone had been lilting and buoyant, not like the harsh and cruel of his future personality.
"Didn't expect you to be so witty last week! Throwing bananas at the enemy squad as reinforcements were still coming? So creative!"
"Well, we were in a banana orchard-"
"You made the enemies slip on the bananas!" The first twin had punched him affectionately on the shoulder.
"Thank you-"
"I heard your bananas killed five of those bastards!" The second twin had grinned at his blond comrade. "Slipped and bopped their bloody heads! You were laughing like a maniac, too! You're a good one! Don't you think so, Leofstan?"
The first twin, Leofstan, snickered. "Aye, Lawrence."
"It was funny seeing them slip. That was part of the plan-"
"Really? Plan? You're kidding." Lawrence raised his brow.
"No, it is serious. I expected someone to slip and hinder their own forces, but I didn't entirely expect multiple kills-"
"If you ever get a title, they should dub you Banana Knight!" The half-armored knight had cackled loudly. "Your yellow hair matches the color, too!"
The blond had scowled darkly, this time truly irked. He placed his forehead comfortably within his palm. "Damn you, Harold."
Leofstan had noticed his grimace. "Hey, think of it as an intimidation factor! It's like you to frighten people. No one wants to be defeated by someone called 'Banana Knight', right?"
"They will not take me seriously."
Lawrence had wrapped a strong arm around his shoulder and then pulled him. He had shot out an arm to the ceiling, a look of wonder on his face. "See this. Name, then followed by 'dutifully and loyally fought and died against Banana Knight'. Isn't it so embarrassing that even after death this son of a bitch still gets humiliated by you?"
"I appreciate it a lot." He sardonically quipped, eyes rolling. He instead let his gaze fall on his half-armored friend romancing a tavern waitress.
"And something also is bothering me," Lawrence had said as he furrowed his brows, "with all that intelligence in your head," he tapped on his temple a couple of times with his knuckle, "and all those nice looks, where are the ladies sprawled all over you? Look at them! They like you!"
Oh great, another round of encouraging flirty advancements.
"No, please. I have reserved myself for one woman." He sank in his chair and quietly prayed. Please let it work, please let it work, please let it work…
"Eh?" The three chorused. "Who is this girl?" "Have we met her?" "How does she look like?"
The blond knight sighed in exasperation. "When will you ever stop this…"
The twins locked his arms in theirs and then dragged him out of the cramped tavern. He let out an uncharacteristic yelp of surprise when his black-haired buddy whooped and shouted out his name at the top of his lungs.
"Tall, blond, and handsome! He's the best-looking bachelor in the army! Also the smartest in the Royal Special Guard! Threw bananas when his staff broke! Everyone! Fall for him! Make us happy!"
"Unhand me, you muffins, as I can kill you with your own moustaches and a grape!" The blond had screeched. The twins only laughed and led him out to the open streets of the town. His kicking and struggling had only resulted into more jeers and laughs.
"He can kill me with my moustache and a grape!" Harold cackled. He raised his arms up and walked around, hollering to the giggling passersby. "His kisses are garlic-flavored because he loves garlic bread! Garlic bread is delicious, contrary to popular belief!"
"I can strangle you with my feet! I am serious about this. Stop it!"
"His dancing skills are so great he can strangle me with his toes! He's a really good dancer, too! Move your hips, pretty boy!"
"I do not like to dance!"
"Anyone who might make him more passionate for the romantic art of dancing wins his heart!"
"My heart is mine and MINE only!" Except for probably the brunette from when I was so young, he didn't add. I don't even know if I was serious that time!
"Everyone, we have an eligible man here! blond hair weaved from sunlight! Shiny eyes! Beautiful smile! Shy type! Ladies love it, certainly!"
Running out of insults and threats, he just had let out a dramatic scream of anguish.
Fire-forged friendships last forever, he knew, but with his infamous notoriety, would they even recognize him? Would they even treat him as a friend? Would they continue their lifelong vow to push him to the ladies and make him annoyed but cheerful?
Wait a moment.
He forgot.
All of his closest friends are dead.
He had stared at the obliterated camp grounds, the firewood and his trusty swordstaff long forgotten by his feet. The smell of burning grass and earth stung his nose and eyes. He could even see burnt body parts lying around scattered, much of them still burning. Tears began to form at the rims of his eyes as he fell to the ground on his knees. The only survivor…
How did one happy moment with him volunteering to get some dry branches from the woods turn into an absolute disaster? Harold had been dozing off on the lounge table while the twins ate their bread rations. No one seemed out of harmony. How did incendiary explosions engulf the entire camp-
His eyes widened. He grabbed his swordstaff and ran.
There must be an enemy among themselves, he had whispered to himself, running to the direction of the next camp. There's a mole, a traitor or an agent that killed everyone… I didn't see it coming…
He hadn't sense the presence of a pair of amber eyes watching him. Those eyes had burned with malice.
Hahaha… how tragic…
Drops of water started to fall down from the gray skies. He took a moment to stare at the small spots of darker crimson on his long sleeves, and then looked up. The tree canopies were scattered now, with patches of leaves here and there and big all around. He blinked when a drop of rain hit his cheek, and then he started to run again.
He started to miss the times he would be completely clueless when talking to a woman even with all his wits and mind-reading capabilities. He started to wish to rewind time and spend more copper pieces on beer and ale with his buddies. But death could not be reversed so simply. There was just no going back with odds against him, prodigal or not.
He recalled a time when he would sleep in a warm bed, with his favorite warm garlic bread and tea waiting for him by his bedside table, and wake up without a constant fear of getting caught and turned over to whatever margrave that wanted him in the dungeons. He couldn't rest his mind. He couldn't close his eyes without expecting an entire order of knights knocking on his door with orders to kill. He couldn't stop thinking of endless ways to murder his targets, whether for work or for his personal sake. When did it all start… ah, yes.
He had woken up from a deep, restful slumber. He had felt like shit, the memories of the explosion haunting his mind immediately after his eyes took in the pristine blue cloth of the physician's clinic. He had slipped the covers off of himself and had swung his legs to the side of the bed. He then grunted as he had pushed himself up from the comfortable medical mattress, successfully putting himself on an upright position. He had spared a quick glance to the bandages covering his arms. Out of habit, he had rubbed at the surface of the skin-colored cloth. His short blond hair had been shaggy and unkempt from a good night's sleep, and yet he had sighed dejectedly. He didn't deserve this rest with many of his comrades dead.
A commotion outside drew his attention. At first he had paid no heed to the argument outside until he heard his name being called.
"He has to be arrested and tried for his crimes!" A stranger's voice had shouted. "He is the prime suspect!"
"How can you even prove it? He is a member of the Royal Special Guard. Those men have been conditioned to be loyal to the ruler! And you are saying he is a traitor and rigged the explosion?" The knight commander barked, his voice almost cracking at the sheer volume of his words. "You dare accuse this righteous man of treason, you potato shite?"
"All men can be tempted! He may have been paid, or maybe he has unknown allegiance to the enemy! Remember, he is rumored to be an adopted child!"
"What you're saying is farfetched, you pompous fuckbucket!"
"Due process reigns!"
"And I say to hell with your so-called due process because what you're accusing this man is complete horse shit!"
"All suspects have to go through due process! He has to be investigated! The threat sent to the royal family was that a single man is a mole in the Special Guard!"
"And what if he's not the man you're speaking of?"
"Then he will be set free and allowed to continue service!"
There had been a loud 'hmph' before heavy footsteps trudged on dirt. Light had suddenly flooded in the tent, almost blinding the blond knight. A black-caped man with silver armor had marched in with a grimace in his face and had taken a seat beside the injured man.
"I heard my name." He quietly said. "What happened?"
"Eh. That bastard thinks you are the one who blew up your camp. Says a letter was sent that there was a traitor, just like what you said yesterday."
"They think it is me?"
"I don't believe that. I'll be attending your trial to testify for you. I'll help you get out of this knot."
"You do not have to do that."
"I'm the fucking commander of this camp, and we happen to be right next to yours. I'll be helping your sorry butt whether you like it or not."
"I appreciate it…"
"Come on. Let's go." The silver knight had held out a hand and had pulled the blond up. He had led him out of the tent and had given him a reassuring glance, and then had scowled at an amber-eyed man with shiny armor. The blond had felt his gut wrench when he saw a peculiar twinkle in the amber eyes of the stranger.
"I'll be having you." The amber-eyed man said blankly.
"I'll be sending three of my men to escort him." The commander pointed to the bandaged young man, and then had beckoned three nearby soldiers to him, all wielding halberds.
The survivor had almost sworn he saw the stranger's eyes widen.
"Fine."
He had cast a shy glance at the commander before nodding and walking to the stranger. The group of five had immediately taken to the cleared forest path as soon as rope was tied around the blond's wrists.
Nothing really happened as they had walked down the path. All of them had been silent. The amber-eyed man had snuck stolen gazes at the three escorts, causing the blond to furrow his brows in suspicion.
Without warning, the stranger had unsheathed his sword and brandished it around, slashing one of the halberdiers' arms off. The others had responded almost immediately, one of them cutting the ropes binding the prisoner's hands, and the other attacking the stranger.
Everything was a blur to the blond. Yells of charge and attack shortly fogged his perception. Memory failed.
Suddenly, his escorts were dead, and the assailant and he had been the only ones alive.
"Who are you?" He had growled when his thoughts had formed a rational string of logic.
"Someone whose interests fall in your incarceration." The stranger had placed the blade of his own sword on his cheek and then slashed. Fresh blood had trickled out of the deep cut. "There. That should help me."
"You are the traitor!" He had yelled, grabbing a fallen man's halberd.
"No. You are." A finger had been pointed at the blond just to spite him. "You're smart enough to know what happens if you get locked up in a dark cell." The enemy grinned. "I killed everyone in the camp, and it seems that you survived. But that is not important. Your kingdom would lose since I'm sabotaging it. "
"I will never allow that to happen!" He had raised the pole weapon up and, without thinking much, chopped his opponent's right hand. A part of him had gleefully laughed at the scream of pain, and another more quiet part had protested at the unnecessary cruelty. The amber-eyed cur had fallen to his knees on the ground, clutching his bleeding limb close to his stomach.
"So," the blond's eyes had burned with fury, "with this, I shall kill the enemy."
With one sweep of a sharp blade, blood poured into the earth. The blond had placed the halberd down and then had thought about revenge for his friends now done. He turned to walk, only for someone new to shout something.
"Dear gods…"
Three new knights had emerged from the trees, all staring in horror at the severed head on the ground. They then glanced at him, eyeing the insignia on his uniform armor and memorizing his face.
"Thank goodness you are here." The blond had sighed. "He was the traitor that obliterated my camp-"
"You bastard. That was our messenger!"
He had tilted his head, bewildered. "He was sent to arrest me. He was not a messenger at all-"
"He was sent to deliver the message to the other camps that the Third Camp has been obliterated by a group of moles, as warned in the threat letter!"
What threat letter? What message? What truly happened? What is happening now?
"And you intercepted the message! Even if you're a Special Guard, you must be one of the enemies! You, divulge his true identity to the royal court!"
"Yes, sire!"
"Call everyone in the convoy!"
"As you wish."
He had put his hands up, shaking his head and looking at them with wide, frightful eyes. "Wait, I think-"
The lead knight had lunged at him. "Die!"
Out of fear, he bolted away. He ran as far as he could, his heart beating so fast with shouts from multiple foes, not his enemies but everyone who was supposed to be fighting with.
Nothing had been on his mind but run, run, run, don't let them catch you, if they do the truth would be suppressed because what they saw is what they think they saw, what they think will judge you, you'll die if you let them catch you, run, they won't listen to you, run faster, hide, hide, please don't kill me.
It had seemed to be hours when he stopped running. He had found a small dark crevice under tree roots. He had entered his first home for his new life, hugging his knees and sobbing.
He liked to be a living ghost that was impossible to catch, so that he could continue on his vengeance. However, his wishes had great consequences. He was going to hell for his actions.
There was also one thing nagging at the back of his head. Something about detachment and sentiment…
The pain of being a wanted man everywhere he went had stabbed him in the heart, the knife twisting all the time in his very soul. Everyone had been met with shock and surprise when his name had been announced as the kingdom's public enemy. He had knocked on the door of his home when he suddenly thought about their safety.
That it was better to distance himself from the ones he loved. The metaphorical knife had just been buried a lot deeper into his heart.
An elder woman had opened the door, greeted by an empty doorstep. She had looked around in bewilderment before she shut the door again. She had sighed, wondering if her son was going to come home as her son and not the fugitive they all made him out to be. She wiped away a small tear from her eye, thinking about all the things she would do when he came knocking at the door, looking like he'd been trampled on. She would let him in his true home and nurture him, defend him from all his enemies with her heart and life. She had his favorite garlic bread in a small basket on her table, his favorite blanket, his lovely hat… she had begun to sob.
He had only been behind the hedge in the family garden, silently crying. His lips quivered as he caressed the locket in his palm, the only important thing he had. He huffed in anger at no particular thing, and crept away, tears staining his angelic face.
She would only be brought the news that the old and retired knights that used to be his mentors and teachers had been found with their feet tied to rope and hung upside down with several bloody stabs, all fingers and toes severed, and large blood pools below their corpses. She would deny to herself that her son had been the one to do it since an eyewitness had survived the cruel massacre and had described him in full detail. She would wail in her home, hugging his favorite coat and refusing to eat, until she too would be touched by sweet death.
It was true, though. When danger follows you, it is best to distance yourself from the people you love. But his self-exile was the one that killed his only family's hope of loving him… so what is my problem?
Years passed on, the infamy of his name had been worsening by the second. The blood that had been on his hands could fill oceans and the cruelty he had committed had transformed him into a monster. But was it cruelty if he was only following his oath of honor in his own little way?
He had laughed when the bounty on his head reached hundreds of millions. Countries clambered after him, promising all their riches just to eliminate him from the world of the living. As a pragmatic and vengeful man he wanted nothing but to obliterate entire empires on his own, and he only wanted to destroy one power.
Years went by and he got numerous names. La Terreur. Der Schnitter. Die Vernichtung. Der Todesbringer. La Muerte. The Specter. The Runaway. The Fallen.
The last one was fairly common… and surprisingly true.
Cozy in his safe house, he had abruptly snapped out of… something. Was it a trance, a spell? He never knew.
When he had been staring at his own bounty poster, he suddenly realized one thing. His actions ended the war between his country and another. The three insignias on his latest bounty poster were of his former kingdom, the enemy he had wanted to be banished to hell, and the one that had been caught in crossfire some time ago.
A part of him that had been dormant had spoken out with foreign gentleness.
'This was what you really wanted, you know.'
He had stared at his bounty poster. His kingdom was no longer at war, even in good ties with his nemesis.
And his actions have influenced it.
Out of habit, he had let his deft fingers glide on the surface of the pendant of the trinket around his neck. He thought, maybe it is time to settle down again. I have done good deeds after all.
But was it his destiny? To lose virtually everyone he loved in his life, to be sacrificed for the greater good? Didn't he have the right to love and be loved, to never feel alone? He angrily punched the wooden table's surface once, twice, until his skin had peeled off and blood on his fist and the wall. Was he going to die alone, deprived of the one human trait to love?
His eyes had stung with tears again.
Did he deserve love anymore?
The faces of his close friends, his mother, the traitor, the camp commander, everyone he knew, plagued his mind in full force after years of suppression. He almost screamed out in agony, until he remembered something.
The locket around his neck.
Her.
'Hey, I wanna give this! So that you'll remember we're fwends fowever!' her childish voice giggled in his mind.
He had looked at the locket again, his sight blurred by tears. He crossed his fingers and hoped his childhood friend would still recognize him. He had grabbed money, a thick coat, a red hat, and then combed his long hair to tie it back with a band.
I'm going out to look for her. Just one last chance.
He touched the cold surface of the gold and blue jewel hanging around his neck. He thought, maybe she would understand. I hope she remembers. She is my last resort.
When does someone cross the event horizon? How did he transform from a small chubby boy with no care in the world into a man straight from all men's nightmares? But still, a man could still love even if he turned into a demon, right?
…
I know the answer.
It is-
He stumbled upon a trap made for hunting deer but meant for killing him. The knotted rope swiftly tightened itself around his ankle and threw him up a hard surface. His back hit hard a hard wooden plank used for hunters' mobility in the forest. The wind was knocked out of his chest, and the force hit his lungs very hard. He then fell down several feet back down, landing on the ground with a crippling thud.
It seemed to attract the attention of the various men hunting him.
He coughed out crimson, pushing himself up with all his remaining strength. Breathing became a hard labor with his own blood drowning him and his back battered. Walking became a chore with a sprained foot and a hurt back. He picked up a long branch longer than him but thick enough to support him. His right arm seemed to have been broken by his high and bad fall. He stood up and brushed away the stray blond hairs on his face. He was suddenly pushed down to his front, only for cold metal to grab his temples and jerk him backward. He let out a choked yelp, feeling something on his back break.
He couldn't see the man who caught him, but he could make out his large silhouette. This man was more than thrice his size, unless his armor made him look so large. It was no doubt, though, that his assailant would bring forth his punishment. He found himself being dragged to a nearby tree, and he felt his entire body forced to sit on the tree trunk. Strong fingers found their way to his throat, and wrapped around his neck. The dying man choked out a small whimper when those fingers pressed his beating pulse. He weakly clawed at the metal-clad hand strangling him.
"Let me… go." He managed to croak out.
"I will when you're dead." The other man muttered, and promptly tightened his grip on him.
His world started to close in on him. Black started to form around the corners of his vision, and white dots littered his sight. He could no longer see his killer, the one who would end the flow of the river of blood in his name. His hands fell limp on his sides. His eyes watered with his last wishes.
"I want… to live again."
His last words were nothing more than a whisper, and became forever lost in the secrets of the shadows. One emotion started to flood in his mind, sparked by the dream that was formed too late. Rage poured into his soul even when the touch of death caressed him, the denial of a possible new life in peace inspiring anger to rise above all other emotions, like his love, his sadness, his joy. Enraged tears watered his eyes as wild ideas formed in his head.
Why was it that when you're already dead is when you start to wish for better things in life? How tragic, what an unjust life! Why did the world let you fall into the pit when you only stumbled on a stone, when you could have stood back up and brushed off the dust of failure? Fate pushed you into the flames of hell when you were at the wrong place at the wrong time! If this was my destiny, I should just have let someone else get the firewood! I should have just died with them as a good soldier! I could have been remembered fondly! I could have been given honor! Selfish, biased, unkind, and unreasonable providence must be! Damn it all!
I just want to live a good life!
Let me live!
I want to live!
Oh, how he wished to become darkness. He wished to embody the terror and rage he himself feared in these last moments of life.
He finally let out his last breath.
.
N is for name.
He wished for more sweet memories to think of and not just a long chain of horrible events that was his life.
Specter Knight kicked the dust as he rested his head on his hand. He desperately wanted to close his eyes and doze off to take a break from the terrors of his two lives, but a reaper doesn't do that. As if his mind was at peace enough to allow him sleep! He felt a nagging thought at the back of his head. Something about… this entire thing being not normal.
Yes. He wasn't supposed to relive his life in its entire duration.
He looked to his right and felt very wrong about seeing an empty space. Something should occupy that empty space, but just what-
Oh. It's my assistant. She's not here. He began to worry about his own personal wellbeing. What was he going to do if he lost the rambles and the admittedly interesting things she does? He wasn't going to return to an undeath of boredom! At least being plagued with headaches and being well-versed in the art of tuning out long sentences were infinitely better than having to wallow in self-pity.
He hovered off his perch on a thatch roof and looked around. "Servant? Where are you?"
He called her again and again, floating around aimlessly. The clumsy skeletons answered his interrogations with either a small rattle or a respectful shrug. She wasn't around.
"Servant?"
He arrived at the pond where the sinking soil was and called her again. Does she have a name I can use? He thought to himself. She never mentioned a name before-
"I promise I'd help you guys get out of there."
He turned to the voice and instantly found her kneeling on one sinking platform with her face close to the crimson soil.
"I'll somehow convince Master to let you back up someday. I'm scared of him, but if it's for you guys I'm okay with all that-"
"What are you doing?" He chimed in, hovering to her. He saw her stiffen in place and twitch as she stood, or floated back up and greet him with her usual cheerful manner.
How on this green earth does she admit she is scared of me and then happily talk to me in the next moment?
"Good day, sir!"
"Who were you talking to?" He eyed the souls below the soil surface. The stout guy with broken glasses and a pickelhaube and the young soul with buck teeth stared back up forlornly with gaunt faces. She made a small pointing motion to them with her lips pursed.
"My first friends in this life. They were the ones who found me!" She pointed to her 'feet'. "They helped chop off my legs!"
"That is an unusually happy statement."
"Well, I couldn't move away from the spot I died in with that iron ball chained to my feet! I had to remove them!"
"How insane are you?"
She didn't seem to hear his comment. "I really wanted to get out of that place. I couldn't really talk to my fishy friends since all they do is just swim around. I don't speak fish. Slimy slugs also freak me out a lot, but well, since I was dead and forced to float around on the sea floor, I managed. The corals looked so beautiful, though! The fish were colorful. Did you know there are fish that have large fins with spikes? Or fish that look like stones and could kill you if you stepped on them? Or flat fish that hide under the sand and eat crabs? Personally I found the blobs with long tentacles adorable, but if they didn't sting so much I could hug them forever. They also are immortal, some of those blobs. Ooh, there might just be a blob version of you, master! Hey, and did you know that corals are alive? And that fish live in corals? They just don't seem alive, but they are! It is a bit unnerving to think that your house is alive and breathing…"
Specter Knight exhaled air and let her words go into one ear and out through the other. Long, barely bearable minutes passed before she noticed him drifting away mentally.
"… and they dove in with a chef's knife and cut off my feet- Master? Are you alright?"
He snapped back from a trance of not listening at all to her but still managing to hear her. "I have a question for you."
"Yes?"
"How is it that you still are uncomfortably cheerful?"
"What do you mean?" She furrowed her brows and looked up at him.
"You clearly died horribly." He shrugged. "I can admit that I died a horrible death as well, but you remember things and speak of them as if everything is light to you."
A wistful smile appeared on her lips. "I know I was dropped there under the sea to die before I could get to have my dreams, but… things happen for a reason, right?" She shrugged. "If something goes wrong, I just hope for the best to come, and usually it does! I have good friends… you pushed them down there, by the way," she pointed to the blood-red ground with a shrug, "and I got you!"
He tilted his head, bewildered. "What do you mean you have me…?"
"Well, I work for you now. Nothing makes me happier than doing something for eternity even if it scares me so much. Well, at least, until I disappear I have something worth my while."
"I think you and I are so different." He muttered, glancing at the bubbling evil water. "However, I shall keep your insight in mind. I have another thing to ask of you."
"Anything."
"What is your name?" He spoke a little more softly than usual. "I am beginning to tire of calling you 'servant'."
"I thought you knew but you just don't want to use it?" She raised her brows. "It fits you to call me by whatever name you want. I thought you'd guess correctly…"
He shot her a glare. "Is your name Cornelia?"
"Nope."
"Cecilia?"
"No."
"Sunshine?"
"No."
"Angela?"
"Nope."
He grit his teeth. "Gertrude?"
"Nuh-uh."
"Antoinette?"
"Nope."
"And that," he crossed his arms, "is the proof that I cannot guess your name."
"If you really want…" she twiddled her fingers and bit her lip, "call me Mitzi… but it means 'rebel', which I really am not… I don't want to be one to you anyway."
Mitzi… It means 'rebel'… how fitting for someone whose life has been terrible but remains hopeful.
What evil fortune! Fate once again triumphs over me. How luckless...
I can never hope anymore.
"What a beautiful name." He commented softly, then turned around and went away.
Up next: O is for odd.
*Important note: A BIG problem I have is Specter's campaign. When it comes out, and it smashes the headcanon I had, I will probably edit N is for never, as well as other Specter snippets, to align more with canon. The Phase Locket's significance here would probably differ from the canon story, and I will tweak it when it happens. His story here is heavily based on the 'tragic fall from grace' idea back from Dig the Vote's days, which might be different from the final product as we have seen in Plague of Shadows.