Chapter Four: A Home For Krypt King
For centuries in Skylands, a wisp of darkness floated over the islands. It wasn't harmful to anyone. In fact, nobody noticed it- which was why it was a wisp.
The dark wisp was in fact a lonely spirit, long forgotten by the ages. His time period had faded from mortal memory long ago. The Underworld certainly remembered, but for some reason, he wasn't allowed down there, either. It had to be something important that the spirit had done in the past, but not even he could remember. And that was important, because the memory of who you were was important for manifesting as a ghost.
The spirit liked to think that he was a knight. Yes, he had been a valiant knight that had served his king greatly. Somehow he'd been dishonored, and had probably performed seppuku or something like that to get his honor back. Yes, he had been a knight!
But when the spirit looked down next, he was still simply a wisp. He didn't truly remember who he was. He'd only fabricated a story to make himself feel better. But, he would feel a lot better if he knew who he was.
He had no idea that one moment could change all of that.
One night, the spirit had flown several miles across an ancient island with no living people in sight. He was fatigued, the wisp sagging with his exhaustion. A basket would be preferable to hide in, but there were no baskets in sight. Well, that wasn't completely true. There were baskets in front of ancient tombs, but he'd rather not create another wisp by upsetting someone's ka. (The ka being a spirit's life energy in this part of Skylands.)
Eventually the spirit floated in front of a ruined building and collapsed into the shadow. He drifted into sleep, his dreams filled with fire and darkness as they always were. But tonight, the dreams held something else. The spirit saw a team of assorted creatures, all wearing the same T symbol, heading off to defend the peace. He saw a knight amongst them, wielding a large sword and joining his comrades with peace and safety in mind. Somehow, the spirit knew he wanted to join them, to be a part of something bigger that everyone could see.
The spirit then awoke to darkness. It wasn't the darkness of the shadow. No, he'd somehow ended up in the ruins of the building he'd collapsed by. He must've been sleepwalking again. The spirit never did this whenever he was in a basket. A basket was safe, and it made no purpose for an unintended movement.
Either way, he felt like he had intruded into this place. He sensed no ka nearby, nor were there wisps like him- not that he expected to see wisps like him. The spirit looked around, trying to find a way out of here. He saw no exit from where he came. How he'd managed to wander into the center of the ruin, the spirit had no clue.
So the spirit searched the ruin, looking for a way out. He went one way, then another, then the same place he'd gone before. All of the dead ends meant for grave robbers were exactly where the spirit was going. Great. Not only was the spirit forgotten, he was also lost. What a reputation, being a lost, forgotten spirit. Such a useless thing to be!
Nonetheless, he wandered around, looking for an exit. Eventually he found the treasure vault, the most useless room in the entire ruin for a wisp. What was he supposed to do with the glittery jewels and trinkets? The spirit's gaze lay on something that looked like a suit of armor. Sitting on a hill of gold, it looked beautiful, and it looked special. It had the shape of a sarcophagus, but was definitely made for a man. Without thinking, the spirit floated toward it. Maybe he could get inside of it? A suit of armor wouldn't be a terrible place for a lost, forgotten spirit to live.
So the spirit morphed inside, intending this place to be his home.
It wasn't a suitable home.
A sensation suddenly ripped through the wisp. This was a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time, and it wasn't a pleasant one. It spread all over him, his shadow screaming with it. This was a terrible sensation that had a name long forgotten to him. Was it...pain? Only the mortals felt pain. Pain wasn't for ghosts, let alone a forgotten wisp.
The sensation became worse and worse. The spirit was spreading across the suit, being pulled in directions he didn't know were possible for a wisp. If screaming were possible for a wisp, he would've done so gladly, because he really wanted to. He also wanted to cry, shed several tears, and beg for someone to come by and save him. That, of course, was impossible, but he nonetheless wanted that and an escape from the sensation.
Then the sensation stopped.
Everything stopped.
The spirit was left in suspended darkness. He wasn't aware of what was going on. Heck, he wasn't aware that anything had happened. It was like his senses had gone offline, and everything outside of him wasn't important. He only felt as if he were drifting in a black space, and didn't even have a sense to wonder if he would remain this way forever.
But his senses did return. The first one that did was his sense of hearing, and he heard some kind of siren going off. It was louder than heck, and it hurt his ears.
It hurt his ears? But wisps didn't have ears.
Wisps also didn't have eyes. But the spirit was opening those next. Everything looked blurry to the dazed spirit who felt like going back to sleep. Moving should wake him up. He tried floating- and found himself tumbling. He realized that he was hitting body parts- a head, a hand, a knee- on his way down. They all felt metal, and they all felt like a part of him.
The one thing that confirmed it was the loud groan he emitted.
Wisps couldn't speak, let alone groan.
The spirit moved a hand in front of his face. He looked down at feet. His feet, he realized. The suit of armor was him now. Somehow he'd bonded to it. He tried morphing out, but that only felt awkward.
But...why should he want to morph out? This was a body! His body! He was looking at his own two feet now! He hadn't had feet in centuries!
"She sells sea shells down by the sea shore..." the spirit spoke slowly, testing his voice. His voice! He had a voice now! The spirit continued, "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog...I can speak now!"
Probably not very well by mortal standards, the spirit figured. Probably not very well by ghost standards, either. But that didn't matter to him! He could finally speak, maybe even get someone's attention!
The spirit heard the clanking of metal coming toward the treasure room. The blaring alarms suddenly became aware to him again. Oh right, there were alarms going off. The spirit got up, stumbling a little in an attempt to get fully used to his body.
He looked at the entrance, and saw several ancient machines rush in, weapons up. They were looking around for a thief. Oh man, he'd stolen this suit of armor. Not only was this ruin built with several dead ends to keep thieves from stealing treasure, they also had fully armored guards to attack anyone who managed to find their way here. It didn't take long for the randomly-moving suit of armor to get noticed by the machines.
"Intruder alert!" a robotic voice said. "Drop the gold at once!"
"That sounds so generic," the spirit replied. "Why not say, 'Hey buddy, could you please put the gold down?' That would be so much nicer."
"Drop the gold at once!"
"I don't think I can. I'm bonded to this suit. I can't get out."
"Failure to cooperate. Target and destroy."
The machines didn't waver, and directly attacked him with large swords. The spirit jumped out of the way, landing hard on his knees behind a pile of treasure. There was no talking to these machines. They were completely generic in their programming, only suited to guarding this hoard of useless treasures and trinkets.
But there was something in the pile that the spirit was hiding behind. It looked like a handle. The spirit pulled it out, and found a large sword in his hands. The rattling he'd made alerted the machines, and they rushed over to where he was. The spirit swung the sword over his head, slicing at one of the machines. A head had been cut off of the victim robot, as well as a shoulder and arm attached. The rest of the machine fell to the ground.
Despite the loss of a comrade, the machines didn't stop attacking the spirit. They pressed on him harder and harder, making him block their attacks as well. Eventually they all fell to the might of the spirit's sword, but none of them counted for a fallen ally in the midst of battle before they fell. Robots were scary!
The spirit also found his way out of the ruin- by slicing a hole from the wall. He promptly stepped out after that was done. The spirit looked back toward the machines, and felt several pangs of guilt. He'd forced them to attack, to follow their programming. Keeping in mind that they'd also scared him with their lack of humanity. Even ghosts knew the difference between right and wrong.
He was free. He could do whatever he wanted. He could be noticed by everyone in the world now. The spirit had a handy sword to match. So he could also protect himself as well.
So...what was he supposed to do now? The spirit now had a defined purpose in this world. He had the ability to do something with this body and sword. But what exactly was he supposed to do?
The spirit walked on, traveling the path he'd been on before resting near the ruin. Gosh, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed. Usually he could tell by watching the trends of the mortals change. But there wasn't a mortal in sight! Perhaps if he kept walking, he could figure it out.
The walking continued for a while, and eventually the spirit reached a quarry. The edge of the island was straight ahead, far away but still clearly seen. The spirit turned toward the quarry instead. He kept walking, until he heard the sounds of a struggle. That was when he started running toward the source of the sound. The spirit made a sudden stop toward a clearing in the quarry, where it looked like a rockslide had occurred. Two people were holding a large slab of rock up. One of them would be best described as a mole person that was indigenous to the dephs of Mount Scorch. The other was a Metallanian robot, a feminine model to be specific. He could hear their arguing from over here.
"This is great, Gearshift!" the mole cheered. "You're doing great!"
"I'm doing EVERYTHING!" the robot yelled.
"Oh, don't be like that. I'm helping you hold the block up."
"And that is all you are doing. If you really wanted to help, you could duck under and grab the petrified kid out of there before I lose the strength in my servos."
"I wish I could. Neither of us is strong enough to hold the block up on our own. The minute one of us lets go is the minute we make a child pancake, and I don't want to do that."
"What are you talking about? You're the strongest person I know!"
"But this is a really heavy rock!"
There was a child underneath the rock? That was why they were arguing? The spirit started rushing over to their aid. He probably shouldn't stress his body so much. He literally just got it, and he'd just fought a bunch of generic robots to boot. Oh well, he was already by their side at this point, grabbing onto the side of the rock that the mole was holding up.
"I've got it! I've got it!" the spirit groaned. "You two looked like you needed aid."
"...Thanks," the mole said, although stumped at first. More cheerfully, he added, "Gearshift, you can let go and swipe the kid out now."
"Aw, that's sweet," the robot, Gearshift, said with dripping sarcasm. "You think I'm going to let a snot-nosed brat get her mitts on my new paint job."
"Oh fine, I'll do it!"
The mole turned toward the spirit. "You said you had it?" he asked.
"Pretty much..." the spirit replied, less sure of his abilities than before.
"Okay. I'm going to let go now. I want you- I need you- to hold this up with all of the strength in your body. Ready?"
"...Sure..."
The mole let go of the rock. During the weight shift, the spirit let the rock drop a little before picking it back up with full strength again. The kid underneath wasn't squished- she made her presence known with a squeal followed by muffled sobbing. The spirit felt guilty about torturing the child like that.
All the more reason to hold this thing up.
"Are you holding this thing up at all?" the spirit asked Gearshift.
"Don't you dare ask me that!" Gearshift yelled. "Of course I am! I've been holding this thing up for a solid ten minutes! If I seem cranky right now, it's solely because of that."
A cranky robot was better than a completely generic one. The spirit liked the fact that she had a personality.
But he didn't like the fact that this rock was as heavy as heck. Even with Gearshift's help, it was hard to keep the rock from falling. The spirit couldn't remember doing anything this hard, but it had been a long time since he'd had a body. No matter what he felt, he couldn't let his strength fail him.
The mole ducked underneath the rock. More sobs from the child could be heard, but the spirit could hear the mole consoling the frightened child. Slowly, they crawled out from under the rock. Only when the mole stood up, child in his arms, did Gearshift and the spirit drop the rock.
"That was harder than I'd hoped it would be," the mole sighed. "Thank you both for cooperating."
"Thank this stranger for coming when he did, Wallop," Gearshift insisted. "If he hadn't come, well..."
The spirit didn't answer. He looked over his body, relieved that he hadn't worn it out any more than he already had. He got up and started to walk away. But Gearshift ran over to him and blocked his path.
"I mean it," she said. "We really do thank you for helping out. If you hadn't come by, we really might've received a kid pancake."
"It wasn't anything special," the spirit insisted. "I just felt like I had to help."
"I can reassure you that this action was special. My friend Wallop and I had been scouting the area when we saw the girl get caught underneath a landslide. We rushed in and kept the slab of rock from falling on her. She would've died if you hadn't come over to help us."
"Thanks, I guess."
"What's your name?"
The spirit was taken aback. It had been a long time since someone had confirmed his existence, let alone asked him what his name was. He hadn't rehearsed the moment when he told someone his name, mainly because he couldn't remember it. Besides, what were the odds that anyone would've had the ability to see a forgotten wisp?
Thanks to this body, everyone could.
"I-I can't say," the spirit stammered.
"You can't say, or you can't remember?" Gearshift asked.
That was certainly a strange question.
"I've been around for centuries," the spirit replied. "If I had a name, I don't remember it."
"Why don't I call you Krypt King?" Gearshift decided.
"Where do you get that name from?"
"It was from a story that my teacher at the Skylanders Academy told me. Well, he stated it more like a prophecy than an actual story."
"What did he say?"
"He said that in a time of great peril, when the forces of evil composed of all eight Elements, a great team of Skylanders would come to set things right. An Undead Knight named Krypt King had been mentioned as one of those said Skylanders."
"I don't think I should take his name, then. I'm hardly worthy of bearing a name that's part of a prophecy, if your teacher is correct- and I'm sure he's correct. What would happen if the actual Krypt King came to fulfill the prophecy, and everyone got him confused for me?"
"The thing is..."
Wallop walked over to them, the child no longer in his arms and instead running toward a group of archaeologists that were of her species. "Gearshift, we have to go," he insisted. "There are archaeologists coming by that say they know the girl's parents. We should accompany them."
"I'm coming, but stay here a moment," Gearshift insisted. "Wallop, take a close look at this guy."
Wallop squinted at the spirit, and replied, "What do you see in him?"
"Wh-what do you mean by that?!" a flustered Gearshift gasped. The spirit knew that if she could blush, she'd be doing that right now.
"I mean, why is he suddenly so important? Sure, he helped us, but I don't see..."
Wallop didn't finish the sentence. He widened his eyes at the spirit, then continued, "You think he's part of the special story that your teacher told you? Gearshift, I didn't think you were one for prophecies."
"Just because I'm a robot, it doesn't mean I can't believe in a prophecy," Gearshift retorted. "He fits the same depiction that my teacher gave him. My teacher drew a bunch of pictures for me to analyze, and he fits the picture of the Undead knight from the prophecy."
"Oh no no no, I'm sure that knight could be anywhere," the spirit insisted, lifting his hands up to defend himself. All this talk of a prophecy scared him. Had he somehow stolen the knight's armor? Had the spirit of the kight left the armor for a quick moment, only to have it stolen by a wisp? Perhaps the knight had been a solid-formed ghoul, and had been able to leave the suit of armor as he pleased. In the spirit's lust for a body, he had completely ignored the idea that someone must still own the armor.
But why would someone leave their precious armor in such an old ruin? There were plenty of smart grave robbers that could've stolen it. The armor would've had a better hiding place in a more reliable area, like a bear trap for example. The spirit hadn't sensed another lingering ghost, or even the evidence of a lingering ghost. He hadn't sensed any evidence of a lingering ghost on the armor- but he might've had time for that if he hadn't been so stupid to bond with the armor.
"How are you so sure that you're not him?" Gearshift asked the spirit. "Unless you know a secret part of the prophecy that my teacher never told me."
"This is the first I'm hearing of a prophecy, but I can assure you that I'm not him," the spirit insisted, practically begging. "Didn't your friend say you should talk to the archaeologists?"
Gearshift looked somber. "I guess we should get going now," she sighed. "I hope we see each other later...Krypt King."
Please don't call me that.
Darkness fell, and the spirit had wandered into the farther parts of the quarry. He struggled to get out of the armor that he'd so foolishly bonded with. He didn't need to be accused of theft. He didn't want a body anymore. He didn't want people to notice him for something he wasn't. He didn't want a false destiny thrust on his shoulders, a destiny that he'd probably stolen from someone else.
The sword he'd acquired laid on a nearby rock. As the spirit struggled to get out of the armor, he slipped into the sword.
The sensation wasn't as drastic and horrible as the bond he'd forged with the armor. It was more of a quick, tingling sensation that only lasted for a couple seconds. After it was over, the feeling of the limbs he'd had all day were gone. Now he felt the handle and the blade of the giant sword. Plus, his sight had been replaced with a sixth sense that allowed him to feel the world around him.
Being in the sword was no better than being in the armor. The sword was definitely associated with the armor in the eyes of Gearshift and Wallop. And the spirit couldn't go far as an inanimate object. He tried to move, tried to get out of the sword and back to Undead life as a wisp. The sword moved with his effort, and the spirit was suddenly launched back into the armor with the horrible tingling sensation of a bond.
The sensation ceased immediately, and the spirit was back where he started. His sight had returned, as well as the feeling of the limbs. He gave a loud groan of frustration.
"What's wrong, Krypt King?" a familiar voice asked, making the spirit jump. He turned around to see Gearshift walking toward him. She held a flashlight in her hand, as well as some slips of paper.
"How long have you been standing there?" the spirit asked.
"Long enough to wonder if you were having a stroke."
"If that's the case, then why didn't you come down earlier?"
"I didn't want to embarrass you if that wasn't the case."
"I'm pretty embarrassed now."
"Sorry. But I'm glad you were just practicing your special powers, though. In the prophecy, the Undead knight was said to possess his sword and control it like that."
The spirit groaned. "That's not me!" he insisted. "Whoever you think that is, it's not me."
"Just take a look at this," Gearshift pleaded. She shoved the paper into the spirit's face. The paper had a picture depicting the knight wearing the armor that the spirit possessed, the giant sword hovering above the ground.
"Doesn't that look like you?" Gearshift asked.
It certainly did. "It doesn't mean anything," the spirit insisted. "People look alike to one another."
"Heck! Why are you so insistent on avoiding the fact that you're in this prophecy?"
"I know that's not me! I...I think I stole this armor."
Gearshift scoffed. "Oh, so you apprehended the Undead knight and stole his armor?" she asked sarcastically. She concluded with an even more sarcastic, "Oh no, we have a thief on the loose!"
"I'm a wisp," the spirit insisted. "I'm a forgotten remnant of a time far from even my memory. I was traveling around Skylands, and I happened upon a ruin that contained the sword and this suit of armor in the treasure room. I was going to hide inside the armor, but I bonded with it."
"You're afraid that the Undead knight from the prophecy left his armor there?"
Nod.
"If that's the case, then that's a stupid move on his part."
"But he's part of this special prophecy! I stole his armor."
"You're getting worked up over nothing. That armor was meant for you. You were meant to find it, to bond with it. I've run diagnostics in my head that prove this!"
Gearshift sighed. "Oh great, now I'm thinking like the robot I am just to get the point across to you."
"But you're human enough," the spirit insisted. "I saw a few other robots before I met you. they scared me by the way they acted so much like emotionless drones. I'm glad you have emotions."
"Emotions can be a pain. But if you're glad, then I know I'm grateful to have them. Krypt King, I know you're part of the prophecy. Why don't you come back with me to see the Skylanders? We could always use you in another pinch."
He was being offered a chance to be part of something. He was being offered a home. The spirit had always hoped to be a knight. He looked down, catching sight of his hands and legs. For once in centuries, he had actual limbs. The spirit recounted the dream about the team of creatures and the knight among them. Maybe that was the knight that Gearshift was talking about, the knight that he was supposed to be. If that was the case, then he couldn't run from destiny any longer.
"I would be honored," Krypt King decided. "Lead the way, Gearshift."