November 2023

The Knight

by E.D. Viau

Bleeding into the clouds like a butchered pig, the red sun conjured great tears in the
bloodshot eyes held within the man’s sockets. A daze drizzled on his head whilst congealed crimson pooled behind it. Survival would certainly not be guaranteed.

Hyperventilating, and attempting to perk up, the plate armored man exhausted himself into eternal damnation, realizing that death was soon upon him. For a third time, a vial’s cork flicked off. A red liquid trickled down his throat, he felt very little vitality brought back. For another fifteen minutes he laid bare, basking in the sun. Its celestial eminence undressed the solar body with glee, seducing the helmeted man. Then, with all his might, and after letting the potion do a little work-very little-he pushed himself up.

Limping and hardly standing, he checked himself thoroughly. His head wound was still very much open, however bleeding quite less. Looking around, all he found in this great savannah was a copse here and there regarding trees, great plains of grass and sand, and a mountainous horizon. Bewildered, and clearly having a memory concern due to the injuries, he stammered his own inner monologue whilst attempting to piece together a route to civilization. As the man battled a great battle of wits with himself, his eyes glazed over roughly on a set of tracks leading east. Ever so patted with blood, his face contracted a cocky grin behind his steel helm. He began trudging east.

Miles and miles and miles dissipated behind his dragging, steel boots. Terrain copious in character drove by his gait almost in absolute slow motion. The ground, plastered with water; porosity perishing. An almost barren wasteland, yet one that few can call home. Shimmering off the heat mirage, a moving picture showcasing a small hamlet summoned over yonder ahead of the man. The hamlet’s visual details were limited, but quite irrelevant, for a day-perhaps two-the armored figure permitted forward.

With a limited spark of hope gained, the steel boots accelerated their gait. In a day, perhaps half of one, wine would be on this one’s lips. Walking and trudging and tripping, this individual was enchanted with the will of both of sheer desire to live and absolute lust for vengeance. Perhaps not lust, but wrath instead. It is immaculate, the determination of such a creature. Wounds reopening, and nausea reeling its ugly head excruciatingly towards the armored individual, their boots took first steps in a hamlet in a long time.

Ciderbreeze, primarily a farming location, harvests many wonders of life. Mostly farmers trying to get along in life whilst feeding their families. The smell of apples and raw cider cooling the inhabitants around, and brewing a ravenous hunger. Very quickly, apples upon apples upon apples were taken off the orchards and consumed cantankerously. Rejuvenation is one hell of a thing after battling massive blood loss and lack of water and food.

A farmer, ornery for good reason, came to the plants’ rescue. However, very hastily assuaged himself oppositely after seeing the man covered in blood and a massive head wound festering with mystery. The farmer recognized the man’s emblem engraved into his breastplate. A red dragon’s head wreathed in white flame. This armored individual was a knight; a special knight. A knight this one was, and a knight that looked up at the farmer inquisitively. A noise was heard, a familiar one at that. In the tavern, only ten yards away. Ever so slowly, and ever so horrifically, the plated figure tilted his head with equal glee and violent intention. He once more, began walking to a waypoint.

The joyous nature of laughter and ecstasy driven fervor that is summoned by inebriation was heard. Four mercenaries sat at a table and conjured the most heinous uproar any waiter could endure. The barkeep and associates looked on with absolute disgust. Brigandine armor, donned by the individuals, told a tale of villainy. The damage the unkept suits showcased was appalling to even the most inept of blacksmiths. Loud, noisy, and indefinitely obnoxious, the mercs continued on with their verbal capers.

Until, a knight walked through the doors. Silence enveloped all within. Tension built like an explosion powering up to exude destruction. After a while, the knight walked over to their table, and sat. Silence, deftly hanging on like a diminished chord revealed in horror. The knight looked at all of them. Then to the one at the far end of the table. He was a man of late twenties, blonde hair with a dapper haircut, emerald green eyes that showed no compassion, and one ear that was missing.

“You. You are supposed to be dead,” the man stated with an amalgamation of nervousness and wrath. His voice grilled like a high-pitched child. “How are you alive?”

The knight tilted his head once more, inquisitive as ever, and patient with potential. His grey eyes stared with anguish right into the soul of the one eared man.

“I am alive because I have willed it. I am alive because you and I have unfinished business,” the knight spoke with a voice deep enough to vibrate the tavern in an earthquake. The hearts of everyone in the room gave in, either be it from fear, or admiration.

“We can come to an accord,” the blonde-haired man stated, borderline begged. The knight leaned in, and exhaled like a dragon s breath, before saying one last line. “Your accord is not with me, but with the afterlife.”

Before any further statements, the knight drew a dagger from his wrist guard, and slit the throats of the two mercs next to him. One Ear jumped away reflexively and the last other merc, a large man, engaged the knight with his massive warhammer. He swung it down at a vertical angle, causing a gush of air to expel outwards. The knight dodged it expertly and drew his claymore after throwing his dagger the merc had; it did not pierce the armor.

The merc swung and swung at the man yet nothing hit. The knight twirled the hammer’s hilt in the hand of the merc with the claymore, forcing the merc to drop the hammer. Before he could retrieve it, the claymore decapitated him with ease. He fell over, lifeless, nameless.

“You big, dumb warrior, you know nothing about why we had to do it. We had orders, and we wanted your cut, you can understand can’t ya?” the green-eyed man nervously hollered. “I ain’t gonna run from yous, I ain’t scared, and I ain’t gonna be a pushover. I ain’t scared of you!”
“Then you will die braver than most,” the knight exclaimed.

Rushing the man, he kicked the right knee of One Ear and twisted his body into a battle formation akin to a centurion. Blow after blow, the swords clanged between the men. One Ear lunged at the neck of the knight as the man slapped it away with the flat side of the blade. The man then swung the sword horizontally leaving his guard down.

Seeing an opening, the knight did a riposte maneuver, forcing the blade down as the knight twisted the blade around his own head and thrust its slicing nature diagonally. Without a blade up, One Ear had no chance of survival. The knight’s blade cut the man’s arm off, right through the armor and the bone. Before a scream from One Ear could prolong two seconds, the knight twirled the blade once more and cut the man’s throat halfway through.

The workers in the bar looked astonished. After a few moments of the knight standing over the body of the man, the barkeep ran over and demanded he leave.

“How could you have killed these innocent men?” the waitress yelled in distress.

“With my sword obviously,” the knight stated. “They were not innocent…and I decide when they are truly dead.” He then shot a thin fiery beam at the corpses and fire engulfed their being. Ash clouds exorcized the room. After a few moments, devilish beings climbed out of the ash pools belonging to the mercs. Reptilian and evil, they began tearing down the walls.

“You may keep the change,” the knight said pointing at the coins given to the to the innkeeper. The knight looked around for a few moments and said a line of haunting implications as the creatures began ransacking the village. “Finally I am home.”