The Cold Prince

​The knight climbed to his feet one more, his armour feeling heavier than it ever has. The thoughts of his past family were a plague, but one that he had learned to ignore. He knew full well that resting would only weaken him, but his body longed for a reprieve. The knight collected his will and used it to push him onwards. He would rest once the Shattered Kingdom was no more, but any sooner would be his undoing.

​Drawing his sword once more the knight centred the large doors in his vision and stalked towards them. Channelling aggression that he had long since held back. It would be the Prince’s head rolling on the floor or he would die like all those before, like all those people that now made up the kingdom into this mountain of corpses and debris. Doors jolted open at his approach revealing the splendid thrown room.
Red carpets and banners were decaying, stained with a dark liquid and moth eaten. The stone that once gleamed with a pale warmness now exuded a dark, frigid aura that sent a chill down the knight’s spine. At the end of the throne room was the seat that certainly fitted a king, but not the Prince that sat upon it. The chair had changed with the kingdom, grown to a huge degree that it would seat the doors to the throne room.
The Prince was clothed in thin, dark armour with a face blackened to match the stones of the throne room. The only sign of his living was the dust on the floor being blown away every time he exhaled only to be called back with an inhale. In the Prince’s hands was a crown similar to the one he wore, although it was larger. The crown of a king that would sit on the throne, but not his broken son.
The knight had no mercy in his heart for such a monster. The Prince raised his deathly face to stare out at the knight with empty sockets. The grimace of sharp teeth that pierced his white lips only made him seem more demonic. The knight tightened his grip on the sword and walked up the red carpet towards his enemy. The Prince did not react wildly to the knight’s approach, but he too found himself focusing his aggression on the intruder. The Prince stood up on slender legs, a bony body that had the height of two men, unlike the Warlock. The Prince had more power however, raising the sword, gripping it tight with both hands and separating it into twin blades.
The knight prepared himself for a flurry of attacks, but the Prince only struck forward with one attack after another. The strikes were lazy, making them easy for the knight to block, however the strength was great. Each strike clashed with the knight’s sturdy sword sending sparks and an echo of metal grinding throughout the throne room.
The Prince did not speak as they battled, his aggression was only translated through movements that became faster as his memory of battle returned. The knight noticed that the longer the battle went on the more used to the fight the Prince became and soon the knight would be straining to keep up.
Realizing this hit pushed his body a little further to get the edge on the Prince, cutting to one side avoiding the swords which flew past him in unison. The knight pointing the tip of his sword towards the Prince and sprung forward, ready to drive it into the stomach of rotted royalty. The Prince knocked the sword with a swing and kicked out at the knight, sending him backwards.
It was a battle that soon became evenly matched and the knight felt the dregs of cold worry began to seep into his mind making it difficult for him to find the heart to continue. The Prince only grew stronger and as he did, his smile with spread across his dead face, the flesh breaking into strands as the teeth cut into them. The horror of this cursed child bolstered the knight, for only through such terrible circumstance did his heart grow stronger and thus his ingenuous in battle.
The knight swung one more in a basic attack which the Prince blocked expertly with both his swords, but this was to be expected. The Prince did not notice the knight released the sword with his right hand as the sword fell so by the time the knight returned to view all the Prince saw was right hook which connected sharply with the broken mouth. The strength behind the metal gauntlet broke the Prince’s teeth, shattering and splintering the bone into a gruesome pulp.
Staggered now, the Prince was at the knight’s mercy, each attack that followed connected with the Prince’s armour. Denting it at first, but noticing this the knight put more effort behind his swings, cutting into the metal and cutting into the body of the knight’s foe. Unlike the undead creatures from before the Prince groaned and cried in pain as he was being killed. The knight did not hesitate in his slaughter, knowing if he did the Prince would use that time to recover and fight back with such ferocity that he would be dead in moments
The Prince could see the knight knew this and realized his fate. With one more sure strike the head of the Prince was cleaved from his shoulders. It landed not too far away from the crumpled body, still alive the Prince’s eyes came to rest on the crown that would never fit him. His hunger for power would have only led him to this moment and in the instant the knight’s boot crushed his head, the Prince accepted what he was; a foolish child.
The bone cracked against the throne room floor and silence fell over the Shattered Kingdom. The knight stood, breathing heavily over the corpse. He could feel the kingdom beneath his feet begin to crumble and he fell to his knees. The voices at the back of his head silent now. Sebastian was wounded and broken by his journey, but he was victorious. He lay down on the dark stone and fell with the dark magic mountain.