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Sebastian, now free of the Warlock's spells and nightmares, proceeded through the Warlock's den and up a cleaner set of stairs than he expected. As a knight he was stronger than most, but the Warlock proved to be far more taxing than expected. His mind was still damaged, if not tormented as it once was.
To the knight, it was time to accept the inevitable, the voices would never truly leave him, even now the whispers could be heard murmuring at the back of his mind. The voices chanted his demise, but his focus was great, so they would not bother him on his quest. With that said, the voices chanted secrets that would aid him in his journey.
"The prince stands taller than the rest, indeed, but his sword's edge is far greater than his height," one voice whispered.
"The cursed teeth pierce his lips, ready to gnash the words from fetid lips," the other added.
"The knight is weak, weaker than he let's most believe."
"Courage will not carry you, strength will leave you."
"Turn back now, enjoy your sleep free of nightmares."
"Turn back, yes, turn back."
"This is not your world!"
The knight ignored them effortlessly and was soon once more bathed in the meek light of the weak sun that shone through the deathly clouds. The world seemed a little brighter, but light felt poisoned. Weakened by centuries of darkness in this dark kingdom. The Prince's tower stood at the top of the Shattered Kingdom, a tremendous view of the horror below. The knight knew that the Prince reveled in the destruction and climbed faster to end the Prince's twisted grin once and for all.
The stairs were clean, but not empty. Standing in the knight's way were sets of armour, corroded by time and entangled in pale roots. The armour the knights wore were light where it was not rusted, with a wonderful detail to mark them as the King's guard, now corrupted not only by the kingdom, but by their betrayal of the King to the Prince.
The royal guard still lived within their armour, ready to smite all those who appose their new ruler. Of course, the knight would not flee now, but instead he raised his sword and readied it knowingly, for these were the kind of enemies he knew how to fight better than any other. There were seven guards in total and each charged forward, the dying faces hidden in cruel helms as they brought their weapons down upon the courageous knight.
Within moments the knight had parried the first barrage, weaving amongst the knights carefully to avoid the terrible blades. With the sharp arcs avoided the knight distributed his own strikes, aiming for weak chinks in their armour. The guards were spliced by these attacks, lumps and chunks of their being removed with righteous effort from the knight. However, their undead bodies would not quit and together they shambled towards the knight, still swinging their weapons without fault, despite a lack of an arm or a large portion of their torso.
Sebastian felt their dark intentions and continued his impeccable defense, cutting through them carefully, as the royal guard was well trained, far above that of any normal undead. Distancing himself away from the dead men the knight watched as they gathered themselves now split into so many pieces. It was almost pitiful to see the guards in such a state, but they would not quit. Smashing heads or crushing rotted hearts would not kill the guards, their pieces returning to their original state, pulled together by dark tendrils.
Knowing this to be a fight that he would lose as he tired, the knight decided to finish it with dishonour, for he could not fight such abominations until his body grew too tired to lift the sword. The dead did not tire and with this in mind the knight began fighting with a very single intention. He pushed the knights back with slower swings, kicking at their breast plates and even bashing at them like a berserker. The guards had no clue that in doing so the knight had pushed them towards the edge of the stairs, looking down at the kingdom below.
The fall was large and would most likely not kill the guards, but it would remove them from the picture allowing the knight to continue his ascent towards the Prince. With seven more blows the guards toppled off the stairs towards the kingdom below. Their armor was brutalized by the rocks and the impacts were tremendous, breaking their bodies into pieces, launching them into all directions as if they were made of glass.
The knight watched their fall for only moment before marching up the stairs. He collected himself as best he could. Should he need rest, it would require him to find safety in the most dangerous part of the kingdom. It was a risk that he could not take till he was sure he wouldn't be surprised by more undead ready to end his journey. Still, his silent prayers were answered when he reached the entrance to the Prince's throne room. The doors stood tall and wide, built by fine carpenters and blacksmiths. The detailing was intricate, telling the history of the kingdom in better times.
Of course, it mattered not to the knight, what did matter was the section of ground that was wide enough for him to rest with a good view of all that surrounded him. Making his way to it's center he knelt down and eased himself into a relaxing position. His muscles moaned their gratefulness and the knight breathed a ragged breath. The challenges were hard, his armour scathed from fierce battles, but he still breathed with a lively heart.
In his moment of reprieve the voices could not be ignored and the knight listened to them closely.
"So much death, so many graves, but one remains empty."
"Yes, an empty grave for a foolish knight."
"There is now hope for him, or for us."
"We will die with him, we will die with our saviour."
"We cannot live on without him, but soon he won't be able to live on with us."
"All things shall come to an end."
"This world is not his, we must be freed."
"Why do you give us hope?"
"Give in, give in with us, in peace we will be free."
"You must fall, Sebastian, you must fall, brother!"
Sebastian recognized the voice and shut it out of his mind. He could not let the voice of his sister plague him now.
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