To Monkey999Boy: You wanted hell for the insurgents? I have given them hell. Well, it's as if I totally didn't plan on letting them have a bad time. Cue evil laugh. Bad time? Sans? Hee hee.
To Saturdaylemon: Would you like some of my spare bleach?
And oh my yacht gods 13k+ words.
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S is for stranded.
/*Day 27, in a tropical island somewhere*/
During the early morning, Mole Knight had found enough stone for a shelter, and brought it up to the surface for the others. Their resident engineer immediately set on to work for plans to build a decent-sized house for them all, with restrictions such as no layer of adhesive and possible rainfall. King Knight then did his job of asking stupid questions, and accidentally caused the plans to be a little more efficient. More space was added for the monarch's comfort.
At midday, Plague Knight reappeared, and was welcomed with mixed reactions. Turned out he had teleported to the other side of the island with a bomb set off by the sun's intense heat. After some sleep, the alchemist worked on creating stone adhesive using sand, water, and alchemic transmutation fluid. The other knights had to let go of their only big pot for cooking and watch in doubt when the alchemist performed some things related to witchcraft and created the adhesive within minutes. Polar Knight and Treasure Knight carried the stone according to Tinker Knight's instructions without a complaint. In the meantime, Specter Knight sewed himself a new leaf umbrella to shield himself from a more powerful sun that could now burn him despite a strong resistance to such. A ray of sunlight had shined on his face through his visor and he had woke the others up, screaming for freshwater to extinguish the imaginary fire that burned his entire head. Banana plants started to become a little more tolerable. He twirled the new umbrella around and, when satisfied with its durability, set out to help build the house by slicing the stone into 'bricks' with his absurdly sharp scythe.
At afternoon, Treasure Knight displayed an uncanny control of his gigantic body. He was able to refill the seawater-to-drink device Tinker Knight made a few days before without toppling and breaking the vital invention in half. King Knight decided to stop walking to the shore to wash his cape and drink more water instead, and started complaining about a frog that had gotten in his cup. It took the entire Order to put Propeller Knight back to his calm self.
At twilight, the wind started to blow too harshly, and they started to build a fire behind the unfinished house, avoiding the sea breeze.
Polar Knight held the sleeping Frenchman in his arms, rocking him from side to side every now and then. Propeller Knight smiled in his sleep, mumbling softly about friends and family, hugging, and his home in France. The father knight dearly wanted to ruffle the younger knight's long hair, suddenly reminded of his poor little girl. The latter's helmet was being taken apart by Tinker Knight, who was beside the giant shoveller. Concentrating on not breaking the makeshift screwdriver he had, he separated the Heli-helmet's delicate parts and cleaned them of dust and sand. Specter Knight diligently placed the 'bricks' to finish the house's last wall, taking his time to make sure the stone were aligned properly. Treasure Knight arrived, bringing an armful of edible fruits. King Knight went to eat the only mango, pissing off the bounty hunter, who had taken the mango for himself. Fortunately he hid a mango in his armor, anyway. Plague Knight turned away to remove his mask and eat his star apple in peace and privacy. Mole Knight went for surprisingly sweet bananas.
It was a little too quiet.
"We aren't fighting too much now." Mole Knight chuckled. "I guess this would be the only time we agree immediately."
"Don't see to it much." Tinker Knight bitterly spoke.
"I wish we would all be this peaceful." Polar Knight muttered under his breath, rocking the lightweight man to deeper sleep. "Moments like this are rare in the Order of No Quarter."
Mole Knight rested his back against the wall. "Ah, yes. We all appreciate the little bits of silence."
"We'll be stranded here for a few more days." Tinker Knight pointed out. "So... more times like this?"
The others shrugged.
"That is alright for me." The Stalwart replied, and the others nodded in agreement.
It was a serene and beautiful night.
"Airship…" Propeller Knight happily mumbled in his sleep, dreaming of going home with all his crew. "Je vous aime tous…"
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S is for strength.
"Come on, Albrecht! We are just going to demonstrate the tango to petit ami here!" Propeller Knight insisted in front of his Hoverhaft friend. The latter's arms were crossed.
"No."
"Dance with me! Come on, you're off duty anyway!" The captain gestured to the lack of the fan blades on the halberdier's back and the missing helmet and outer armor as if to state the obvious. The German's eyes were glaring the stare of doom.
"Nein."
"Si'l te plaît!"
Albrecht responded swiftly with a very strong stomp to the Frenchman's foot, and the captain yelped out loud. He hopped on one foot and clutched the other, hissing and yowling. The halberdier stormed away, turning his back and half-striding to the view window. He cleared his throat and pulled at the collar of his shirt before going out of earshot.
"That's a little unfair." Propeller Knight complained, wiggling his toes and making sure no bones were broken. "Anyway, in tango, you may need to carry your chérie."
"How?"
The next thing the little alchemist knew, he was lifted up in Propeller Knight's arms like a baby. He flapped his arms around and almost screamed, if it weren't for the slight frown on the other knight's face.
"Petit ami, this doesn't look right."
"No shit." Plague Knight muttered as he was gently placed back on the floor. Propeller Knight spun around to have his back facing Plague Knight.
"Ami, I'll be falling backwards, so try to catch me!"
"Wait!" The alchemist gulped as the Frenchman allowed himself to fall backward.
Of course, Plague Knight only flinched in response. The Frenchman tumbled backward, eyes closed and expecting his friend to catch him.
When Albrecht glanced at them, he could not stop himself from letting out strange chortling noises at the sight of an utterly betrayed and teary Propeller Knight sprawled awkwardly on top of a squishy scientist.
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S is for salesman.
All was peaceful.
Birds were singing. Flowers were bloo-
"Hello, diver knight!"
Treasure Knight furiously twirled around on his foot, only to be greeted with a rugged man with unkempt hair, an unsettling grin, and suit and cloak. He eyed the man from head to toe, noting the traces of a five o'clock shadow and evidence of a few loose head screws judging from the mismatch between the utterly fabulous purple suit and the dirty cloak. A few tiny twigs and some leaves were caught in the cloak's threads. He warily clutched the small box and trowel in his large hands, protecting it with his life.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"I call myself Anart, diver! Would you like to buy some cloth from me?"
"I can buy, but I won't." The bounty hunter stepped aside, only for Anart to dash in front of him and wag his finger.
"Oh, no, no, no. You're going to be my first real customer in decades!"
"I won't be sharing my gold to you."
"Aha, but can you resist this?" Palms glowing bright gold, he waved his arms. A small white quilt with golden threads and bright yellow orchid designs materialized in his hand, a wicked smile on the salesman's face.
Treasure Knight stared at the gold. And then back to his puppy's coffin.
Cha-ching.
/*later, at the Fancy Hat Shop*/
"Do you think that, if I kill Specter Knight, I can be a ghostly reaper?" Baz wondered aloud.
Phantom Striker wanted to smack his head on a table. "Kill me and see if you will become a cyclonic menace."
"No, it doesn't work that way! If you kill King Knight, you'll be an assassin and not a king!" Reize Seatlan reasoned out. He then pointed at Mister Hat. "If you kill him none of his hats would work on you!"
"Still worth a try, though." Baz muttered sheepishly.
"There's an attempt on my life?" Mister Hat asked, ripping his gaze violently from Phantom Striker's spiky helmet.
"No, I was explaining why-"
A bright glimmering figure abruptly formed beside the Wandering Traveller's corner.
Mister Hat unsheathed his sword as soon as the woods-gentleman appeared in his shop in a flash of glitter and light. That cloak with that hood!
"Hat, do not do it!" Baz screamed, ready to cannonball on top of the hatman.
"HOOD!" Mister Hat pointed his sword at the sorcerer, who defensively raised his hands up.
"I'm only here to sell my cloth!"
"Hood lover!"
The sassy sorcerer put his hands on his hips and thrust his jaw out. "Well, what do you think sorcerers should wear? A horned headdress? That's reserved for practitioners of black magic! I'm certainly a gray magician! And those black sorcerers deserve to be crushed under a heel! An iron heel!"
"Fair point." A random bird customer chimed in.
"BUT THE POINT STILL STANDS THAT YOU ENTERED MY SHOP WITH DIRTY CLOTHES AND A HOOD!"
"HAT!" Reize pulled at his coat. "PLEASE, NO!"
Phantom Striker chuckled, leaning against his chair. "Let him be-"
"Encourage a fight again, Striker, and I'll break you in half!" Baz started cracking his knuckles.
The blood knight caressed the handle of his lightning rapier. "Let's see if you would overcome my power. Shall we test you abilities? Out in the fields. Let us duel."
Now Reize had to deal with three immature adults. Who's the kid now, he asked himself.
"Get out of my sight, hood lov-"
"But cloth can become hats!" Anart cackled, before pulling green felt from thin air. He swiftly twirled around and, at the drop of a hat, the green felt was turned into a well-crafted top hat. He strutted over to a peacock-person, plucked out a feather from his tail ("Why must you take away my power to seduce ladies?!"), and stuck it on the hat.
Mister Hat couldn't take his eyes off the majestic hat.
Cha-ching.
/*Pridemoor Keep balcony*/
King Knight happily turned around when he heard the whoosh behind him. He failed to notice that the little hum sounded a little more sparkly than the usual quiet whooshing he grew acquainted with.
"Ah, Specter Kni- OH MY GODS you look so alive! And… fabulous! Where did you get moisturizer? I'll pay even if it's undead magic!"
"I'm not Specter Knight, but I heard earlier in the hat shop that he's apparently dashing!" Anart thoughtfully cited. "And I use the fog and mist to keep my skin young and healthy!"
King Knight couldn't believe his ears. "How scandalous! How marvelous!"
"I know right? Anyway, I'm selling mink jackets-"
"I'll take seven!"
"One costs fifteen thousand gold pieces!"
"I'll just take from the treasury!"
"There's also a thirty-three percent increase in price per jacket!"
"I'm taking them!"
Anart's lips curled into a devilish grin. So gullible.
Cha-ching.
/*Tower of Fate, Enchantress' Lair*/
"Hey, Enchantress! You can't keep me forever in that forest!" Anart wiggled his butt in the direction of the unamused sorceress. "Hahaha! I defeat you once again! Eat my cake! It will come out of my ass any second now!"
The witch threw him an unsympathetic glance. "I see being contained there has destroyed your sanity and not your motivation."
"Aaaah! It's coming! Hang on."
"Before the poo comes out," a pulsating orb appeared over her palm and held it out to his direction, "I find it puzzling that you escaped. I shall send you back to your prison-"
"Oh wait, I'm still selling my works!"
She threw the orb at him in exasperation, putting in the entirety of her rage. Hellish flames surged from it as it travelled fast through the air, bright violet light flooding her chamber. With nothing else but an insane smile and fluid mastery of magic he brought his palm up to block her attack. As his eyes glowed an intense jade green, a flat and wide circle appeared before his hand, decorated by runes between concentric lines of rippling waves of water. His green magic blocked the intense purple inferno, pushing his physical body back. He looked back at his cloak, billowing at his back, and laughed at the sheer awesome of the scene. Some of the flames began to burn bright yellow.
He waved his other arm, and the yellow flames followed his palm. The purple fire in contact with the yellow started to lose its heated evil and went along, gradually becoming assimilated. And with one final mad cackle, the fire transmuted into clear and cool water.
She breathed in sharply to contain her anger, her lips pursed. "You have improved, mortal water mage."
His face instantly shifted from crazed glee to unfathomable rage. "Freezing me to death made me stronger, Enchantress! And now I'm more powerful than before! Ice, snow, mist, fog, clouds, even the water inside your bodies are mine, mine, mine!"
"And your fear… has gone away."
"You drained all the fear, and what's left in me is anger and happiness."
"Why did you come here?" She snapped.
"For you to kiss my butt! Later, bitch!" Anart let out an insane cackle before disappearing in a poof of glitter and sparkle. He briefly reappeared to throw a small dirty rag her way before teleporting away.
No cha-ching.
/*Propeller Knight's quarters, Flying Machine*/
Propeller Knight hummed his crew's song as he unbuttoned his jacket. It was a rough day, he just got back from an incredibly stuffy meeting room (especially that his seatmate was basically dead) concerning a large insurgent force. And he wanted to sleep for two weeks. He pulled off his green jacket, sat on his bed, and started kicking off his boots to remove his socks and pants when it came.
Whoosh.
"HELLO, PROPELLER KNIGHT, WOULD YOU LIKE TO BUY CLOTHES FROM ME?!"
"AAAH!" Came the girly shriek from the Frenchman, diving under the silk sheets of his bed to cover his half-naked body.
Anart immediately placed his palms over his eyes. "I AM SORRY, I DIDN'T KNOW YOU DIDN'T HAVE CLOTHES ON!"
"AAAAAAAH!"
"WAAAA!"
The door was kicked open with great force. Part of the knob was destroyed, and an entire battalion of Hoverhafts and Hover Meanies poured in the captain's room. Rapid and angry French and German was spoken. A sorcerer was tackled to the ground by a dozen crew members. Propeller fans were turned aggressively. There was more screaming.
/*after the dust settled*/
Propeller Knight hid under his sheets, his head poking out of the blankets and pillows. He held the edge of his blanket to his neck to hide his half-bare body. If he fumbled with his belt to fix his trousers he'd look rude and sexual. Nothing was socially acceptable in this!
He whistled to call the attention of Albrecht, standing by the bound intruder and toeing the line between simple questioning and cruel torture. The German dutifully marched to the bedside.
"Vhat?"
"Let him talk about why he teleported into my room."
Anart interrupted, the binds on his feet and wrists magically loosening. "I wanted to sell clothes! But it just so happened he didn't have clothes on."
Albrecht audibly gasped and then proceeded to gawk at Anart.
"I shall buy one handkerchief." The captain snapped.
Anart's gleeful smile faded away. "That… costs only one gold piece."
"I promise I will buy more." Please get out of my room because I'm honestly feeling very awkward here, he didn't say.
"Well, alright!"
Kind of a cha-ching.
/*Lich Yard, Specter Knight's bedroom-chamber of brooding*/
The meeting went… fine. Still boring, still a waste of time. He was surrounded by idiots, and he didn't like everyone even a little bit. The apparition mused to himself, even if he was immortal, he still cared about losing precious time. He absent-mindedly smoothed a pillow as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Under the shadows of his helmet, he felt a wicked grin, much darker than he had ever smiled before.
I am so powerful. I have a reflection on mirrors. I am very cool.
One of the traits of evil and darkness is vanity, a little voice in his head reasoned. He reached for the bedside drawer handle, pulled it, and carefully took out a blue box. He carefully removed the lid, and took out his locket. It glowed a weak yet ethereal blue, and his devilish grin turned soft and loving. My memories, what is left of my heart and soul. It radiated warmth and good, and he stroked it a little, thinking of it as a small and dainty ephemeral flower. So beautiful, and yet so easy to break and kill.
Just like how real flowers, in even a soft brush of his touch, would wilt and wither.
He intended for the moment to last, and for his spirit to be reminded of a small hope-
"You know, that's a very powerful trinket you have there."
Specter Knight perked up, grabbed the nearest pillow weapon to his left, and pushed it to the intruder's face.
He saw my locket!
"Who are you?!" The phantasm harshly growled, his claws going for the human's throat. He grabbed only some sparkles as the wizard teleported out. He just felt the back of his cloak get raised, and he angrily covered his backside with his twig hands.
"I'm selling cloth! You might need a lot of it!" Anart caressed the back of the cloak without touching the touchy-feely undead man. "So thin!"
"What do you have?"
"Gold cloth."
Chilly hands immediately covered the sorcerer's mouth. "No."
Anart eyed the apparition from head to toe, substituting the cloak's color to yellow.
Banana.
Anart calmly pried his dead hands off his face, stifling a giggle. "Would you like flowing red?" His expression immediately soured when the phantom slightly nodded. "Honestly that's so damn boring! You look like a corpse with liquid blood covering you and giving you billow thingies, and you want more blood?"
Specter Knight growled and just put his head in his thin hands.
"Isn't swimming in the stuff becoming a chore?"
"When did I ever say I-"
Anart inched towards the harassed specter and elbowed him with a salesman's smile. "So, here's my deal. You get some red cloth, tattered to your choice, for free! You also get three yards each of aqua blue, dark black, and dancing orange, for the price of one yard each! What do you say, eh?"
"Dancing orange?"
"Why, you don't want it?" He stood up and idly played with his magical glowing fingertips. "Too bad. I have some cloth for comfortable bedsheets. You know, for the worn mattresses."
Specter Knight glowered darkly at the sorcerer. "Out of my domain. Now."
"I heard you're deadly handsome, and I'm frankly appalled by the fact you don't have a- ooh. Are you celibate? Well, there's nothing wrong with that."
"I do not choose not to, thank you, and if you obnoxious roll cake-"
Anart laughed. "Roll cake?! Really, reaper? You look like Death incarnate and your worst insult is bread?!"
"OUT!"
"So you are not going to buy some cloth for your trinket? The way you were holding it earlier, it was intimate and oh so-"
"IF IT MAKES YOU GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, JUST TAKE SOME COINS OFF THE BODIES."
Cha-ching!
/*Stranded Ship, cliff*/
The aurora lights shimmered in the sky, and the Stalwart could not help but marvel at the beauty. He still couldn't find the energy to smile, when aurora lights were always bright green and yet he was seeing dark purple fire dance in the sky. It wasn't quite right.
He heard a loud fizzing sound to his side, and when he looked, he saw a cloaked and grimy man in a fancy suit, watching the sky with a soft smile.
"I haven't seen this all my life."
Polar Knight scanned the mysterious stranger from head to toe, noting for weapons. But his hands were clasped together on his lap. No reason to worry about sneak attacks-
"Do you see this every night?" The person gazed right into his shrouded eyes.
Polar Knight shrugged. "All the time. But they are not always purple."
"Well, I see." He put his right hand up to the sky. Polar Knight reeled back a tiny bit when the stranger's hand glowed green. He glanced back at the sky, and watched as the purple cleared away gradually and soft hues of green appeared in their rightful place in the sky.
"I trust you are a sorcerer." He spoke lowly, almost akin to a growl.
"The most powerful in my family line!" His grin widened. "And I can feel that hag's evil magic up there."
The Stalwart frowned a little.
"It still won't go away even with my negations. And, huh, I really hate the cold." He rubbed his hands together.
"Why do you dislike the cold?"
"Someone wanted me dead and threw me in the cold. Anyway! I am selling cloth!"
"Can you sew?"
He threw a disgusted look. "What do you think I am, a shoe shiner?"
"If you can, I would like to hire you one day to make some coats and dresses."
"Promise it to my hand." He put up his still glowing hand. "Just tell it what you want me to do."
Polar Knight repeated his statement.
"Well, you have made a magic oath, you can't break it or you'll break my heart." He cackled. "See you!"
And in the blink of an eye, what was left of the man was gray and green smoke.
He scoffed. "Wizard."
.
S is for sorcery.
There was the sound of a loud waterfall crashing on stone, accompanied by a human shape appearing in a flash of glimmer and twinkle.
"Ah, fuck!" The visitor cried before disappearing and reappearing. The entire room was covered with glistening particles by that point.
Siegfried raised his brow. Feliks, his partner in crime for the operation, looked at the sorcerer with mouth agape.
"I thought you are confined in the woods to the west?" Four inquired with a tone of wonder, to which Anart only chuckled. A small batch of minute glowing spheres appeared on his palm, and he blew the specks to their faces.
Before the leaders' eyes, a moving flickering image of Anart in his usual cloak collecting small pieces of paper from the mouths of moles. After taking each piece of paper, he then kneeled on the ground. He closed his eyes, and the animals shifted and dug back in their tunnels. The tiny pieces of paper began to rustle and tremble, until suddenly, they flew up, revolving quickly around an axis. There was a flashy yet tiny and harmless poof, and after the smoke dissipated, there was a floating piece of paper with neat yet tiny scribbles.
For a while all the sorcerer did in the moving picture was to read the letter, and after that, they could almost hear the ear-grating chuckling as he twirled around with his arms at shoulder level, shooting a barrage of bullet magic everywhere around him.
"... I was able to learn and detect a lot of holes in that wretched witch's magical barrier." Anart boasted with a dramatic pose. "She thinks she can outwit me, Anart, the most powerful sorcerer in the entire family line of the- hey, bitch, get your eyes and ears off me!" He jumped up and down towards a corner, shooting a steady stream of blue energy from his palm.
As Anart hollered verbal abuse at the sorceress watching him, Four sent a glance to One, who sent back an equally uncertain gaze. They had the same thought in mind.
Just what was this man doing? So weird… is the Enchantress even watching?
Both straightened their backs, reverting back to their formal mode. They watched the insane wizard flail around and kick air without any trace of emotion.
"... ack, go to hell, where you belong, you little shit, it was a mistake ever knowing you!"
One cleared his throat. "Anart, about the-"
"Hey, take care of what I made for you lot, because if you don't, I'll be disappointed!"
"You appear before us without an appointment. We are leaders, we are knights."
Anart ceased his relentless cursing and paused. He gasped for some reason, and his mischievous smile returned. A large glowing yellow circle appeared on the ground, looking like a portal to a different dimension with all the unnatural light coming out from it.
And suddenly, a mountain of gold and silver coins popped into existence before their very eyes. And as fast as it came, Anart fell to his knees, clutching his chest. He spat out blood on the floor and let out forced laughter. Siegfried and Feliks leapt to help the afflicted wizard up, putting his arms over their shoulders and intending to drag him out of the quarters. The wizard winced at the hot pain on his left arm when Feliks gripped it.
"Don't worry about me." He said between coughs, looking up at the startled gray-blue eyes of Siegfried. One crinkled his nose at the soft little smile on the face of someone usually maniacal. "So there's some more money for your cause. Extorted it out from the Order of No Quarter."
Before Siegfried could state a thing or two about accepting his help and before Feliks could say something about staying in the way of righteousness and not accepting help from deliberate deception, the sorcerer teleported away in a tiny humble puff of fragrant vapor.
.
S is for shovels and shields.
"Dammit, bastard!"
"I was born out of legal marriage! And even if I was that, it should have not affected my legendary status, anyway!"
"Stop taking it so literally!"
"Well, says the one who keeps grabbing my hand!"
"Well, excuse me, my hands are a little too large for the shield's handle!"
"We are carrying a large shield, why are you complaining so much? And your hands are as big as mine and you don't see me complai-"
"PUT IT UP, PUT IT UP, PUT IT UP!"
The blue burrower and the black digger heaved with a great grunt to pull the giant shield over their heads. Shield Knight, holding a red shovel to match her armor, jumped onto the shield with an energetic whoop and bounced off of it effortlessly, landing in front of a Blorb before slashing the sharp Shovel Blade at it.
"WELL, STUPID, LOOK AT HER, SHE'S USING THE THING VERY GOODLY-"
"Black Knight, your English!"
"LOOK AT POLAR KNIGHT!"
Polar Knight stood awkwardly in his spot, a large shield on his arm. He was effortlessly pushing off the Boneclangs attacking him by weakly bashing the shield at them. He was smiling at how a simple and gentle push to the skull already sent the undead warriors falling apart.
"WHY AREN'T WE DOING A GREAT JOB THEN?"
"WE ARE BOTH HALF THE SHIELD'S SIZE, YOU IDIOT."
A Boneclang dug itself out if the earth, and Black Knight shrieked.
"PUSH!"
"PUSH ALONG, DAMMIT!"
"I AM PUSHING IT!"
"THEN MAKE IT LOOK LIKE YOU ARE PUSHING ALONG!"
Shield Knight smiled at the two tiny knights. "So cute. They bicker all the time."
.
S is for sanctuary.
He walked away from the invisible barrier, nursing his badly burnt left hand. The barrier had sent a course of white-hot electric flame all over his arm, and it hurt, it hurt so badly. His cashmere clothes were ruined by the violet flames, and he bemoaned at the loss of such expensive cloth. He clenched his teeth and fought back the tears flooding in his eyes. That unseen wall enclosed a space of forest, and only he could not walk through it. Terrible beasts could.
The air was so cold. So, so cold. With nothing but clothes a little more than undergarments covering his body and a hooded woolen cloak, he had no choice. The cloth on him provided a bit of warmth, but it wasn't enough. He blew on his pale fingers, fearing frostbite and trying not to drop the dry twigs he held on his right. And there was fog. It didn't matter though, since he could see through the thick cloud covering the trees. A small magic spell gave him omniscience, and his gaze fell on a large rock overhang nearby. He trudged toward it, half-thanking the Enchantress for imprisoning him within a forest with none of the wretched tree roots jutting out of the earth.
The wind started blowing. Thunder roared in the sky. Curiously, the lightning did not even flash. He breathed a tiny gasp.
I don't want to freeze to death. She wants me to freeze to death, all alone.
He reached the overhang, and stared up at it. The rock above was more like a cliff with a cave at the bottom. A good hiding place.
He almost jumped out of his own skin at the howl of a wolf in the distance. With fear gripping his mind, he sprinted into the dark cave, careful to not disturb any imaginary hibernating ferocious beast inside, and sat down by the wall. He let the dry twigs tumble down to the ground, arranging them into a small pile with his foot. He let out a sad chuckle as he put his uninjured hand over the twigs, watching for the telltale signs of smoke and embers.
That feeling when you have to practice the magic opposite your natural element.
There were small sparks, and soon enough, the smouldering branches caught flame.
Heat.
He put his right hand over it, and sighed in relief at the small lifesaving warmth on his chilled fingers. He looked at the blistered skin on his left arm and winced.
Water source. Please, a water source.
While he warmed himself, he projected his soul around, his lips quivering in fear.
Water.
Even just a little bit? His heart pounded in his chest. There were no springs, rivers, creeks, or puddles nearby.
Another clap of thunder. He looked up, feeling a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Rain.
He almost whooped in joy when he noticed the drizzle, only to be stopped by more howling and animalistic roaring. He scrambled back, towards the pitch black part of the cave, eyes wide. Wolves could sniff him out and kill him. Putting some of his weight on his left arm stung, and he bit his lip to stop himself from crying out.
I don't want to die. Those wolves will catch me and kill me, I have nowhere else to go.
The tiny fire was flickering in its place near the cave's mouth. The drizzle slowly became a rainstorm, and he held out his hand to the opening of the cave. Raindrops stopped falling, and slowly floated over towards his outstretched palm. Beads of water swirled around his burnt arm, and when they touched his arm, he let out a pained gasp. The cool water engulfed his arm, and then glowed an ethereal white. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut at the stinging sensation. The soothing healing water worked on the inflamed skin, seeping in the upset physical injury and dissolving impure flaming pain. The burn soon washed away into a dull ache, and he sighed. The water splashed to the ground when he let go of its essence.
He cautiously crawled back to the fire, and then glanced at his healed arm. No more blisters, but there were dark scars zigzagging on his skin, like lightning.
A constant reminder of my coming doom.
The wolves howled again, and he flinched, covering his face. After a long moment, his wide and frightened eyes looked out of the cave. The showers of rain were growing into torrents. The nearby plants and trees swayed in the wind. No predators with sharp teeth.
There's nowhere for me to go. No roof above, no walls around, no edible food, no one to help. All alone, forever, in unknown land. And I deserve it for meeting her.
He put his hands down after a while, and then folded his knees up and curled into a ball. The fire crackled while he hid his face on his knees and started to weep.
.
S is for science.
"Why is your skin green? That's not normal!" The hoop girl asked out loud, drawing attention to the tall alchemist. All the nearby townsfolk glanced over at Mona, the same question in their minds.
Mona felt the awkward stares at her, and in particular, her skin color. The urge to chuck her bombs at everyone almost overtook her, and she bit her lip a little to regain a bit of control. She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes so hard that they would detach themselves from the sockets and roll on the floor. Duh, being a real alchemist and all that made skin green. But she couldn't spit that out. She and Plague Knight still had some world domination to do in secret. That was much more important than winning the town's affection, anyway. As if they would love alchemy and alchemists after the Alchemic Plague.
She knelt down to the small kid's height and put on a soft smile. "Great question. I had an accident when I was a little more than an infant. My guardians were never so attentive, and I fell into a vat of… bad stuff. I almost died. I lived, but I had to live with this. It sucks, I know."
The folk, upon hearing her lie, shrugged, and continued on with their daily routines of buying bread, eating bread, and baking bread. The child smiled at her innocently and hugged her.
"That's okay! Take care, Miss Mona!" And so she ran off with her playmate and started throwing her hoop around again. Mona stood back up, a tiny malicious grin on her face.
Children and village folk. So gullible.
She turned and walked to the ladder, slid down, and immediately headed to her game room. None of the bar regulars heeded her, and she sneered at them. When one day Plague Knight would rule the valley and the world, she will be right beside him, and they will fear her more, and follow her every beck and call.
Yes, fear me, world. Obey me, world!
She closed the door and sat back down on her stool in her game room, her smile wide and gleeful. The world would fall to its knees to alchemy. Alchemy, the art of scientific magic, frowned upon for tending to fall towards the dark arts of sorcery and necromancy. Alchemy studied both, although trying to replicate necromancy always resulted in disaster. Once in her teenage years, she experimented with minty green liquid and a decayed corpse, and she would never attempt that again. Flesh appeared on the mummified body and when its eyes opened, it spoke of no such thing as a soul.
It was her first engagement with the dark arts, and her first murder. A mercy kill was probably more like it. And it was her start of independence. No family to keep her, for they pushed her out. No one would help a lost, wandering child, let alone a travelling girl. Down with the patriarchy, too, she thought.
Sorcery was a little hard to replicate when it used supernatural force. Alchemy was purely physical. Watching the Magicist's cousin perform so many bizarre and amazing acts like turning the sun black for eleven minutes and allow water to dance along with his body's motion was incredibly exhilarating, yet it made her jealous. Alchemy was limited to make things go boom. He was still sane and reasonable a decade or so before. One day, the poor wizard did something worse than summoning the dead, and she never saw him in person again.
It was through this science that she was able to keep so much in a pocket dimension, once only exclusive to witches and wizards. It was why she was able to live with two faces. She was a liar. A very good one, too. If she wasn't, they would have discovered the Potionarium and have all of their bodies gibbeted on long spikes.
The sounds of the torque lifts being operated? Cover it up with 'test targets'. It was clearly an alchemical practice, but when one uses it for games and entertainment, it was not taboo at all. What the hell. People and their double standards made her hiss.
The sounds of Plague Knight testing out his new equipment and ending up fried for it? Cover it up by scattering broken glass on the floor and burning her own clothes while she was still in them.
Alchemy had limitations. Like her green skin, it could harm someone. But that wasn't a problem. Any kind of harm could be negated with using enough intelligence.
The problem was the stigma. And through ruling the land, it will no longer be discriminated. It will be a symbol of the strong and powerful.
She found herself cupping her cheek in her palm, closing her eyes, and sighing softly. Pink dusted her cheeks. All alone in the game room, waiting for him to arrive from the entrance above. Maybe he brought along some flowers he didn't know and wanted to ask her what their names are, and then give them to her simply because 'it suited her'.
"I-it's pretty… and, uh…" Plague Knight trembled as he extended his arm to her to give her the flowers, "they're nice and pretty, just like you- I mean, they suit you very well, I-I thought you'd like them."
Maybe he'll love me when people obey me.
.
S is for specter.
"Hello, master, would you like to see the iris flower in the gate?" The maidservant smiled up at the ghost, who, oddly, didn't snap at her. "It has two flowers now! I poured some evil water sprinkled with leaves and it didn't wilt! It has two flowers now!"
How redundant, and why would you water it with cursed water? "Alright, bring me to it."
"Oh wow, you aren't shouting at me now, sir! Has this day gone very well for you, master? If so I wish you more good days!" Mitzi clapped her hands and beamed at him. "What an improvement, I thought you'd be grumpy at me forever, and that sucks because I can't leave this place anymore!"
Oh no, he thought, it is the Phase Locket.
The small blue trinket hung around his neck, hidden below his cloak. The giver of warmth, the only real anchor to sanity and emotion, radiated its small uplifting love to where his heart once stayed. It kept his mind occupied by tranquility. Recently, he needed more ways to fight off disturbing thoughts in his mind. Images of the figures of his close family and friends in life shattering like stained glass before him plagued his sight. Voices of screams for his name and for help while his own voice laughs at them, relishing in their agony, haunted his hearing. Anger would simmer all of a sudden and someone would get harmed. While he could still hold his rationality, he would disappear for a long time in his quarters.
He started noticing it when the servant girl just stopped talking about stinging tentacle-fishes to him and couldn't say a coherent sentence.
Now she was dancing happily, her bubbliness returning as he almost too-kindly followed her.
Now she is talking about moray eels and squid-crabs and her friends I pushed down into the ground, he sarcastically commented to himself, but at least I have started to calm down again.
In no time, they were by the closed gates of the Lich Yard, and Mitzi zoomed to the miraculous iris plant, its lush blooms opened and lovely.
"I still don't know what the iris flower means, but it's so beautiful!"
Specter Knight could feel a little fuzzy feeling in his chest. The plant still continued to flourish, even with death surrounding it. It looked quite out of place in the village of death, but its sight was breathtaking and calming to the soul.
"N… nest?"
The reaper perked up. That name-
"Uuugh… nest…?"
Both specters looked to the gate. Just standing before the rusty gates were three souls. Their untimely death showed on their melted and blistered skin, and their faces were horribly deformed by hanging flaps and blackened complexion. Patches of hair were still on their heads. They still had their knight's armor on, and one of them only had his leg armor on it.
"N-nest!" They cried in unison, almost happily, lumbering towards the Apparition. Mitzi yelped and ran behind Specter Knight to hide in his cloak-tails.
"Master, I know I'm dead, but they scare me…"
"Hush, servant." He whispered, and then faced the trio. He lifted his scythe up menacingly. "Who dares enter my domain?"
The three spirits appeared to consult one another. After a moment, the one with half of his armor pointed to itself and spoke.
"H-Harold." It pointed to the other two. "Buddy. Muffin."
Harold?
He almost dropped his weapon.
Lawrence? Leofstan? Harold? No! Stay outside! You cannot be here in this village of death! You.. are too precious to me!
"... no, please stay outside." His voice was soft.
"... nest?"
"Stay out, I cannot have you here." He turned away. "I have too many souls. Please leave. Go somewhere safer."
.
S is for sorrows.
"Meeting dismissed." Polar Knight banged his makeshift gavel on the table, and so everyone stood up and went their way outside.
The bounty hunter was the last to go out before Polar Knight. So many thoughts ran around in the knight's mind, making a chaotic mess of side comments and mental notes.
Was it necessary?
Treasure Knight looked down in thought. The figurative blood on his hands stained his very person and soul, but the recent killings… felt empty and void of closure.
Vengeance, a dish best served cold, was supposed to make his heart become fulfilled. For decades, he had wanted nothing, nothing else but to grow large and powerful and rich and invulnerable. To have their pathetic heads in his hand, slowly closing to crush their miserable braincases and remove their faces from existence. To quarter their bodies, rip off their once muscled arms and legs, and feed them to his fishes. To let their blood wash away in the sea and dissolve away. To have their bones as the only traces of their lives, but they would never be found, for he would have thrown them in the depths of the ocean without remorse.
A merciless, brutish death for those that pushed him into a life of wrong.
But he had proceeded with only half the plan. He left their bloody and mutilated bodies back in the inn, for everyone else to gaze upon in abhorrence. The rusty smell of blood and the dreadful sight of mangled remains of once-whole humans would scar minds.
Was it all necessary?
He thought of the little dog, who served as his last and only friend in his darkest hours. One that kept his mind sane and in check. Anthony would have been disappointed in him, if he had a sapient mind.
The puppy's spirit barked at him, wagging its tail and jumping up and down. Its small paws tapped on his armored foot.
.
S is for secret.
Tinker Knight scribbled on the blue paper with a deep frown and a tongue out, following the diagonal folds of the paper. Every part enclosed in triangles had different scribbles and drawings, random symbols and numbers interrupting his chickenscratch. Doodles of cats and kittens littered the entire writing to throw off his potential enemies. Bows and arrows also spotted the blue paper, along with dotted lines of projectile motion. Extremely long formulae stood out in the tiny text, some of which are related to thermodynamics and the velocity of an unladen swallow.
"There you go." The engineer said out of habit, folding the paper randomly, then crumpling it into a very small ball, then unfolding it. He then stepped onto his workbench and pinned the large blueprint on his cork wall. He wiped the sweat off his brow and sighed in relief.
His encrypted battle plans were majestic. Segments of his plans were shuffled around in random order. Insignificant symbols and highlighted words served to delay the blueprint's decryption. It was like a puzzle, only that nothing would make sense to anyone else but him.
He smiled.
No one would ever know he was building the Destroyer.
.
S is for smoke.
"Keep at least ten sticks burning in different parts of the room." Mona instructed sternly. "Don't let the smoke of antimony get too close, or they'll be sicker. Don't let them too far, too. Will kill them."
"How is this as a distance?" Mole Knight pointed to the bedposts by the students' feet.
Mona put a hand under her chin and nodded after a moment. "Yep. Okay."
"So… when will they wake up?" The anthropologist nervously glanced at the sleeping teens, the blankets neatly pulled up to their chests. Their faces were clean and their clothes were neat and spotless. Mona smiled softly.
"Well, when you do it right, they'll recover." Mona stood up and turned to the door. "I still have some more antimony to deliver to the Flying Machine, Mole Knight. I'll be expecting payment in my game room, okay?"
"Yes, of course, Mona. Have the minions lead you to the surface, and they will escort you to the Flying Machine as well."
She simply nodded in response, and went out. She left the room, and the only adult inside fidgeted with his claws, impatient and anxious.
.
S is for sober.
"Monsieur." The Hover Meanie pointed to the lone person occupying the barstools. His beer stein jug, glazed white and blue and silver and embossed with eagles, was filled to the brim. Beer foam spilled over the jug and onto the polished table, and all he did was languidly wipe it away with his arm and palms. He drunkenly put his head on his arm.
"Töte mich." Albrecht murmured on his clothed arm, his sleeve darkened by beer and tears.
"How about no." Propeller Knight snapped, drawing his friend's bloodshot eyes to him. He waved away the Hover Meanie, who then gestured at everyone else to occupy the empty chairs and tables near the German. The captain brushed the stray strands of his hair back to look closely at the large spot of dark red on the halberdier's left upper arm, trying to blink away the fog of drowsiness in his eyes. When he made sure his eyes were as awake as he wanted them to be, he stared at the other's left arm, but Albrecht had hid it away from him. His hazel eyes glared up to his friend's flushed face, sending him a mental message that he wasn't exactly happy. He straightened his back. "You don't drink too much beer."
"Ahh, Bayern. Preu- Prussia hates Bavaria." Albrecht managed to choke out between hiccups. "We didn't like Oktoberfest."
He squinted, wondering why he mentioned that, but when he flopped over to the table and let out a small "ach", he shook his head. "Why are you drinking? You… said you never go drunk."
He shot up and banged his fist on the table. "Vhat am I supposed to do? Cry myself to sleep?"
The Frenchman tapped on the table, staring at the vague reflection of his face on the shiny wood. "Still, drowning your sorrows is not going to be the best way."
"I am going to die here." He lowered his head onto his arms. "Never going back home. I miss my sisters."
Propeller Knight gasped. "What makes you-"
"I'm vondering if aczepting zhe honor of 'Reichsritter' vas a gut schoice, since, now, I ended up in a hell falley. I'm schtuck here, zhere is nozhing I can do." He lifted his head up and then gulped down the beer. Much of it spilled on his shirt and pants. "Flüssiges Brot. Ja. Vant some?"
"Non."
"Good. More for me."
"Are you not even concerned for-"
Albrecht interrupted by putting his hands on either side of the Frenchman's face. His hazel eyes widened in shock as his friend pinched his cheeks hard.
"You look like a girl vhen I'm zhis intoxicated." He plastered a stupid smile on his face.
"No, Albrecht, I am not going to cut my hair. It's nice this way. What are you thinking?"
"I practice." He murmured, then let go of his face. "Vhen I die, my schpirit vill go home and I vill… tell my sisters I love zhem all a lot. Neffer mind my brozhers, I'll just punch zheir arms and zhey vill know I did zhat."
Propeller Knight winced and massaged his cheeks. "I was expecting a different outcome to that, honestly. I considered punching you cold and dragging you to your quarters."
"Vhat different outcome? Punch? So fiolent. Ah, fick. I'm going to die. My spirit vill go home anyvay. I vant to practice vhat to say to my sisters and my mozher." He coughed and hacked, covering his mouth with his palm.
"I promise, compagnon, you will not die here- ami? You're turning pale!"
The drunk warrior keeled over, leaning heavily on the table. He swatted away the Frenchman's hand, but couldn't hold him off for long. His lungs burned and twisted, and his breath was shallow and forced. He tried to stand when he felt warm liquid with metallic taste on the corners of his mouth. Albrecht tried to hide the blood, but alas, his superior could clearly see red between his fingers. He coughed, and he could hear the captain raise his voice. He didn't feel the rest of the room erupt in complete disarray. Some clambered outside to pilot a small ship to the Explodatorium for help. Others shuffled out to get water and medicine. His world was so dim and so red, shades of purple and green clouding his vision, and a dangerous feminine voice speaking incoherent things to him.
Shouts of his name, while pronounced incorrectly, were faint and soft to his ears. He snickered to himself. His name was still being mispronounced. The 'r' is not pronounced that way.
Tomorrow, he was going to punch him in the shoulder. It was funny. The woman's voice was loud in his head but still he could hear his friend say his name out loud. What a nice distraction from the terrible whispers.
.
S is for surgery.
The light-armored knight saluted and stood stiff in front of Roman, looking at the ground to not meet the Third Knight's gaze. "I am a runner from the western camp, Commander Three, and I have just started my duties."
"At ease, soldier. Runners need to rove the barrier lines to maintain it. Especially at this crucial time." Roman waved his hand, and the runner dropped his shoulders and started breathing in. He tilted his head in confusion when the runner did not suck in as much air as he could, but he was shining with sweat, and so he paid attention.
"Understood... sire."
"It's a full moon tonight. Enjoy the calm before the storm, runner."
The soldier's eyes flashed red briefly. "We are going to start soon."
He almost reeled back when his eyes turned red. What the hell? "Yes. Get your rest before your next round to the eastern camp. I shall have Five give you the token. And continue assuring the line is safe, alright?" Roman clapped a hand over the knight's shoulder before walking away to the biggest tent in the camp. He eyed the runner with a suspicious glare. The soldier watched him with a smile, and then went towards the mess area. Above a fire hung a large pot of stew, and a silver knight stood by it to scoop up some of the stew into his bowl.
"Hey, you! Runner! Get some of the best stuff before everyone else comes and eats all the good chicken parts!" A man with a funny apron and whiting hair gestured to a table with empty and clean bowls on it.
It is so much like back then, the runner's mind thought, and he sprinted to the table to grab a bowl. With a wide grin he grabbed the small dipper and looked into the bubbling soup.
"Really hungry, huh? Well, fill yourself before the boys do. This be lovely stuff. Better than having to eat soft bread. Stale bread's the best bread."
"We have different opinions on bread, but I do need my energy for later." He nonchalantly unscrewed a vial secured on his wrist and then discreetly poured its black contents into the bowl as he got some of his chicken soup-stew. The other knight failed to notice, and went on to ramble.
"Here in this land, you need bread with a hard crust to keep the freshness in. But I do appreciate soft food that won't turn my teeth into powder. Say what, let me get some more of that."
The runner almost laughed at the knight's dim wits. "I am afraid I will have to leave soon, so I shall not waste time. I still have a mission."
"Well, that's a given, young one. Don't screw up your job. You only have one job and that's to walk around the barrier line."
"I know. I shall leave this bowl somewhere."
"Eh, you know the boys. They can carve out new ones from the trees, which is all around us anyway, so don't worry. See you around."
Oh yes, you will see me. "Farewell."
The runner walked alone to a tent's post, sitting down on the ground against it and started to drink the bowl's contents. A small, terrified voice spoke out to him and him only.
Please don't kill me. Please, please. I don't want to die.
And he replied with a different voice, dangerous and alluring. Take it as a gift that you will die free. As a reward for your service of allowing me to borrow your warm body, I will let you go.
No. I don't want it.
He stopped answering and finished the bowl. He sat for a time with barely hidden malice, the throat, chest, and stomach retching and constricting and the first voice screaming horribly. Arms became numb and it felt like the body was on fire. And yet he sat calmly, waiting for the end of it.
Plague Knight's alchemical pestilence, aged seventeen years. The poison that killed hundreds. And Plague Knight himself was happy to give it to him.
And so the living marionette ceased to move on its own, and the puppeteer happily took the strings. And next, the other puppets. Soldiers started to line up for dinner.
It was just a matter of minutes before he can reveal himself and claim ownership to the souls he reaped.
The apparition lounged on the cushioned chair for him and him only, playing contently with a piece of red supernatural cloth. It followed his sharp digit, swirling and twirling in the air.
"Barriers." A military advisor scratched his balding head, and clenched his teeth. "They're trapping us here, keeping us from getting help from outside. They are trying to make us die here." He then pointed to the east of the keep, marked 'safe'. "I will not underestimate the insurgent leaders if I were you."
King Knight fidgeted at his scepter and cape, restlessly tapping on his throne's armrest. Specter Knight could feel the usurper's heartbeat go faster, and he could almost hear his contained breaths of rage.
"If they are fortifying the north, south, and west, and left the eastern village, it's a warning sign of an ambush. I think they are trying to make us stay here by making this eastern route obvious. There is a narrow pathway to the Lich Yard or the Explodatorium to the east, and I doubt we could ever make it out in one piece."
"You are telling me… we have to endure this siege with so little resources." King Knight's voice was low and quiet.
"I am afraid they have already won-"
He stood up in an instant, fists curled. "SILENCE, OR I WILL HAVE YOU MEET THE GUILLOTINE!"
The group went stiff and trembled. When he was angry, they couldn't fight him. The absolute monarch is never trumped by any mortal on earth. But wit and strength, maybe a bit of luck, overwhelms even tyrants.
Specter Knight could think of a million ways to crush an army, and he chuckled softly to himself. After all, that was what he had been doing in his final years alive, bringing kingdoms down on their knees before him. It was by chance he died, anyway. Twirling the floating cloth in a circle, he brought his legs up to rest on the cushioned pillow at the end of the long chair, just to catch attention.
"There might still be a good counter to it. A preemptive attack. Surgical incision, my liege."
The monarch's expression mellowed, and he turned an ear to the elderly advisor. "Tell us what we can do."
Specter Knight grabbed the wiggling piece of cloth and levitated upwards. "May I add more motives for this? For… asserting the Order of No Quarter's supremacy." Save for the fact you are utterly hopeless, your troops are outnumbered a thousand five hundred to one, he didn't say.
King Knight nodded, and spoke again. "Let us make them hopeless! I want them to feel the desperation I feel!"
"That would be easy… well, Specter Knight is here, my liege."
The reaper mocked a curtsy. "Do you know I happen to be perfect for the operation? Fear is my greatest weapon."
"That is obvious." King Knight nonchalantly shrugged. He walked down to the map-table as the phantom hovered over it, pointing his large blade at the drawn lines connecting the four camps. He made a slashing motion from north to south.
"Surgical incision. I take the north." He chuckled at the thought of the brother and sister, separated, one of them bound by the wrists and ankles and muzzled, the other free and desperate. "I will cause chaos in the west. Feel free to retake your captured armies at the south and poke at the east, but do not wipe them out."
The others gasped. "But what of the camp of the supreme commander of the enemy?"
"Your king wants him to feel as desperate as he you mortals are now? Dangle his greatest defeat in front of him."
"Act as my messenger for the meantime, Specter Knight." King Knight said, brandishing his scepter majestically. "I will see to it that we win this battle."
Irma emerged from her tent, Anart's light wand holstered by her left hip in place of her saber. The bladed weapon was instead placed on her right side. The men saluted her as she walked towards the dinner place. Tied around her right wrist was the wiggling red cloth from the garlic bread ghost. She looked down on it stoically, watching it try to worm its way out of the thick knot. It was like a little pet. When it wasn't knotted, it would just hang in the air, barely moving. When she approached it, it would just fall onto her palm. How cute. Hopefully it would be a small toy to destress with in the midst of the horrors of war.
Her serene thoughts were stopped short by a desperate shout from a young knight. A western camp runner. He was panting, eyes wide in utter panic. "Commander Five! We have trouble!"
"What is it?" She answered immediately.
"The food appears to have been poisoned! My company promised to eat at the same time. Some of us are instantly dying from the food! Others are-"
"Call the healers this instant! Alert Three as well!"
"Yes, my lord!" He saluted a little too stiffly and ran off. She frowned at the dinner area, and looked for the cook. She knew his face. An elderly warrior who had seen battle for most of his life. A kind man to his men.
But he had died. He couldn't have poisoned his own food, either. Five balled her fist. Someone else had poisoned the stew. And it was someone inside the camp. A saboteur had entered her lair. She simmered with fury.
"Men! Be wary! A traitor is in our midst!"
Meanwhile, the possessed runner stopped pretending to run for help once he had gotten out of the lady commander's sight, and crept towards the camp's headquarters, where his target was. His red and gray assassin's knife, a form of his supernatural scythe, materialized in his hand in a soft glow of black and purple. He gripped it fondly, reminded of the times he quietly moved in to kill his target, quietly but messily. He pushed the cloth entrance and walked in.
Indeed, Three was inside, his blade drawn.
"I knew it when your eyes became red." He growled at the opponent. "Who are you?"
The runner opened his mouth a little in shock. "Ooh. How observant of you. Usually, before I reap, I make a small gesture of warning. And I thought no one will notice... until you did."
Roman gasped, before grabbing his light wand and pointed it at the possessed warm body. "I never thought it would be you! Specter Knight!"
At the end of the end dark colored stick, a small but extremely bright sphere appeared. It was shot towards the specter in bullet speed, leaving a trail of shimmering glitter in its wake. Specter Knight was able to move aside, and the orb zoomed before his physical puppet's face. He briefly looked in the light, and he saw himself in it, limping away before his murderer appeared from behind and pushed him to a tree. He saw his own face as he watched his attacker wrap his large hands around his neck and gently crush him. The sensation of cold fingers pressing into his skin and throat made him suck in air, and he felt control slipping.
Death comes.
His fighting knife reverted into its original form, a scythe, and he emerged from the body in strips of dark energy. Roman bravely glared up to the angered apparition's visor, steadfastly holding his effective weapon in his hands.
"Three. You will pay for attempting to kill me."
"All men die." Roman fired again, this time aiming to blind the specter, and dashed out of the tent. I have to warn them, he thought.
But the phantasm swatted the orb away with a flaming palm, and pursued his target.
"I trust my sister." Siegfried answered in a simple tone. He beamed at the deposed king, who returned his gesture with a friendly pat to the shoulder.
"You must be confident." The rightful monarch commented. "Are you not afraid?"
One chuckled, putting down his glass of juice. "We grew up together. I know I'm getting old. She was a little baby while I had already come at marrying age. She was just this big," he moved his hands and showed the king an exaggerated small size, "and now she's… grown up."
"I can see you dote on her too much."
"Maybe. She was the only one who survived infancy after me."
"I see. You're not exactly peasantry, but in the lower nobility."
"Lowest nobility, perhaps!"
The king chuckled. "And why are you actually comfortable and optimistic? That she won't be harmed?"
"I have to come to terms with the fact that she is already an adult after years of being an adult. I taught her how to fight, my lord, and I believe I taught her the most effective strategies of war. She seems to be better than me, and I am so, so proud of my little baby sister."
"You might have forgotten that, in war, you need to fight for your country. There is no room for loved ones."
"I know. That's why I'm confident in her strength. Worrying would do me no good."
Five's voice has lowered, and her slight grimace at the sight of dead men who had writhed in pure pain and agony had been excruciating.
"Throw all the food away. Hunt for new game, for if one was poisoned, we must doubt all the others. Even the wine. Bury our dead now. They may not have died in battle, but we will have to honor their memory."
There was a long moment of silence. Forty-seven corpses on the ground and by the tables would haunt their memories. Their general refused to leave even as the knights began to approach their dead comrades. With heavy hearts, they began unfastening the straps holding their metal armor to their bodies. Some carried off their departed friends by putting their limp arms around their shoulders and heaving up.
It was different when the dead bodies grabbed at the sorrowful knights' hands when they touched their sheathed swords and daggers. Living dead then relentlessly attacked their former comrades, driving their knives into their unsuspecting victims, slicing off hands in the spur of the moment, and slashing their throats open. And with every new fallen knight was a new enemy, for as soon as their entire body touched the earth, their skin would become pale and their flesh would shrivel a little bit, and they would push themselves up to attack the living.
Five had never found herself hesitate so much before. Her hands were numb and the chaos of undead hacking at her men. What was happening? What am I supposed to do? She pulled her light wand out in the nick of time to fire at a victim about to drive its sword through a soldier's chest, and she bit her lip at the pathetic sight of a human body convulse violently and fall to the ground. The soldier dutifully stood up and grabbed his own claymore sword, before jumping into the fray and beheading the terrible undead.
"Don't let them get close to you!" Five barked. "Don't let anyone die!"
"Milady, behind you!
A corpse lunging towards the commander aimlessly brandished its weapon, and the tip of its blade made contact with the bottom of her eye down to her cheek, drawing blood. Hissing in pain, she pushed the tip of her wand to the body's jaw and willed it to fire.
She averted her gaze from the headless body, its neck blackened and smoking.
"Five." A soft voice called out, and she turned around.
It was Roman, his arms and body wounded with deep cuts. His armor was perforated, useless against the blade that harmed him greatly. He was barely able to stand, his body leaning against a tree trunk.
"Get away now. Save yourselves." Roman murmured, and his knees buckled. She approached him, carefully pulling his arm over her shoulder. Her right hand held her wand. She softened her voice, to reassure her fellow general. She breathed in, summoning her strength.
"We are. But we're taking everyone alive with-"
A pitch black hand suddenly grabbed her right wrist. Alarmed, she tried to pull away, but the reaper's grip was painful and strong. She turned her head, and went face to face with Specter Knight himself.
"This is mine." He wondered softly to himself, looking at the trembling cloth tied around her wrist.
She gasped, recalling the time the garlic bread ghost was running away, and he disappeared around a corner. She remembered the odd floating fabric, that when she grabbed it, it was all adorable and wiggly. Could it be?
"I'd have to drop you, Three." She whispered, and Roman weakly nodded. She grimaced, and twisted her arm and body to point her weapon to his face, Roman's body falling to the ground. "It does not matter. Die."
Specter Knight swiftly let go of her and hovered backward, avoiding another one of the fast-moving orbs of light. The fearful shock of her first attack did not leave him sooner, and his left shoulder suddenly felt a cold burning pain. His entire left arm trembled, and he dropped his scythe in reflex. He descended to the ground, falling on one knee. Biting his lip, he nursed his arm, and he looked away from it, and met her gaze.
Five stood before him, glowering down at him. "This is just retribution for what you have done tonight. One Order of No Quarter knight is now out of our way." She raised her wand and pointed it at his head, the end beginning to glow.
Fury filled his mind and soul, and so he dashed forward before she could fire, his good hand aiming to hold her throat. She tumbled backwards, the force of his push overpowering her. Specter Knight reversed their position, shoving his opponent down to the ground and tightening his hold.
"No. I will not depart tonight. Not again. And you, I will take you and your men with me. I will capture you all and you will have no power under me."
Eyes were trailed on his back. Mole Knight could feel it.
Everywhere he dug, everywhere he walked, and even in the recess place he rested in, there was the paranoia of being watched. Every twitch of his body felt like it was being noted carefully, and whenever he was in the big room with the students, he could feel the shiver in his spine become stronger. It was a suspicious sensation.
The children were stirring, and his heart skipped a beat. The next thing Mole Knight knew, he was at one bedside. The student's eyes opened, and she turned her head and scanned her surroundings.
Mole Knight lightly poked her face. "You are all safe."
"Lost City?" She muttered under her breath, looking at her side to see her classmate, still stuck in sleep.
"Yes. You have reached the Lost City. We found you."
She let out a soft groan, and faced the knight. "Are they okay?"
"Yes. You're all fine. Your teacher, though… we couldn't find him."
"He's dead." The student closed her eyes and relaxed on her bed. "Enchantress killed him."
He knit his brows together and breathed in sharply. So, she was involved in it, he internally growled. "I'll do something about it. Get well, alright?"
She nodded, and pulled her blanket up her chin. He turned around to go outside, and close the door softly. A Mole Minion stood guard outside, and the knight-archaeologist sternly gave his order.
"Let Specter Knight know we will take part in the war against the organized rebellion. I shall have my minions place bomb traps in pathways between the camps."
And oddly, that was when the apprehensive sense of being watched was lifted.
"Rally your men! Inform the other camps! The northern camp has been attacked and obliterated!" The knight cried out.
Six could not believe his ears. "Obliterated? What happened?"
"We have reports of undead attacking the minor camps between us!"
"Undead?!" Six felt around his belt for the hanging light wand, and pulled it out. "Arthur, have someone inform Two! You, send out orders for the knights to stay in their posts. Never let our defenses break!"
"King Knight is in need of your forces, Propeller Knight," Specter Knight thrust out the scroll containing the monarch's decree to the captain of the Order's air force, "and it is of urgency."
"Bordel." The Spin Controller snatched the paper from the apparition and scowled at the letter in it. It slightly unnerved the reaper, seeing a usually carefree man look so serious.
"It is for the day-long campaign against the rising opposition against us."
"I am not willing to help King Knight. Distance and the safety of my crew are not things I will easily forget. Not to mention, what he did to me."
"Distance is not an issue. I am here for that. Safety is also unneeded, for I only need equi-"
He snapped at him, his hand balled into a fist, ready to punch. "Typical of you to say, but I have living crew members. I will never risk their safety for something not involving us. We are not as numbered as everyone else is, so a war of attrition will not be considered. I will not participate in conflict." His speech was stern and hard it almost seemed like someone else was talking.
"It involves you, mortal! If King Knight falls, it becomes the start of our downfall. I was also going to mention sending only equipment, and not soldiers." Specter Knight floated around the Frenchman and looked down on the busy crewmen from the railing, some of them cleaning the floor, some scrubbing the dishes, others arranging their belongings. All droned about with smiles and chattering. "Think of them. If we fall, the Enchantress would lash out at us, something I do not wish to happen anytime soon. Until the right time."
Propeller Knight scoffed, and crossed his arms. "Rebelling against her, too?"
"How perceptive of you. It is a very quick observation."
"Never underestimate me."
"And you use 'too', there. Tell me, you are thinking of it as well."
"I have to bring them all home. I will never forgive myself if one dies here." His expression softened a little, and the apparition could see him relax and breathe deeper. "We all want to go home. I have had enough of this place."
"If you don't help out, what of them?"
"Don't try to guilt-trip me."
"Oh, trust me. I have something to protect as well." He idly palmed the locket hanging over his bosom. "You want to help them go back to France? I am afraid you will have to participate and play along, if you are as intelligent as you claim you are."
"I know, Specter Knight. I am incredibly worried for them. They are not pawns, they are my family."
"All of us have to do something against our heart's desire some days. Take it from a dead man who has died because of a series of life's cruelty and a false sliver of hope."
Propeller Knight stole a glance at the sentimental specter, and briefly wondered what exactly happened to him. What a cynical statement to say of life.
"And you have all the love and honor. I suggest you keep it and never let go of it until you, one day, die." He looked into the hazel eyes of his teammate. "Always remember, never let your emotion take too much hold on you."
"Typical of your manipulative and sneaky self." He commented with a mirthful laugh, and crossed his arms, the scroll dangling in his fingers. "I am willing to send out artillery instead of men, anyway. I have unused but maintained cannons in one of the cargo bays. Those can fire ammunition precisely at long ranges unseen before. I cannot send any of my ships there, however. It has to be manned by my engineers, and you know what I'm trying to do here. If what he says is true and the keep is surrounded by enemy forces, I'd not risk a ship getting shot down."
"That is enough help." He turned to leave out the exit. "It suffices. You do not have to risk anymore."
"What about you? You say you have something to protect, and I cannot even imagine you loving anyone."
Specter Knight slightly cocked his head. "Yes. I do. I cannot let the enemy take over too soon. I cannot afford to let them win too soon." He looked down at the general area of the blue and gold trinket. "Lest I have no time for unfinished business, and I will be forever unable to forgive myself for all I have done."
"By now, Specter Knight has taken control of the north and is attacking the west." King Knight mumbled to himself, peering through the telescope. His balcony faced east, and through the lens of his scope he could see no more movement in the northern camp. "Yes, I think he is on time."
"Shall we send our forces towards the south, now?" The general behind him, already dressed for battle, eagerly inquired, and King Knight pursed his lips. And then, when he put his telescope down, he nodded.
"Yes. Agreed. Send our most powerful forces. Wipe them out, and then retreat! Just as planned. We are winning." The pretended curled his fist in joy. "We are winning, and I can feel it!"
"What of our captured army?"
"Weed out the enemy, and execute all those loyal to their seven commanders."
The general saluted with zeal. "Yes, my lord!" He left the balcony in a brisk pace. King Knight stayed on his viewing balcony.
Minutes passed. The wind was getting cold, and storm clouds gathered in the moonlit sky. The reaper's power in the area was growing, and the Order of No Quarter could claim another victory.
The booming of cannons being fired from the keep's towers split the night's silence. Seconds went by, and King Knight watched as the incendiary cannonballs hit the southern camp from miles away. The distant glow of orange and yellow was satisfying, as it had always been for his eyes. Flames… so beautiful. The cannons stopped firing to reload, and afterwards, the southeast began to erupt in flames. The landmines were triggered.
Surely the noise of the cannons would rouse the east and west. They have been cut away from each other in surgical precision. King Knight sighed in relief. No one can challenge him in the throne of Pridemoor now.
And to the Tower in the north, a demoness was victorious.
Up next: T is for torture.
Je vous aime tous - I love you all
Töte mich. - Kill me.
Reichsritter - Imperial Knight (here I was aiming to give it as an honorific title instead of a group of knights of the same name in the Holy Roman Empire's history. The Holy Roman Empire's Imperial Knights served directly under the Emperor.)
Flüssiges Brot – literally liquid bread, but it's also figurative language for beer
Compagnon - companion/friend