Once a story was told, upon a battlefield so cold.
The battlefield was silent.
Not with peace, but with the kind of silence that comes after countless cries have already been swallowed by the earth.
By the time this catasthrope was overloaded with echoes of trauma and cries of never ending sorrow, they've come across eachother. One as a mouth, one as a brain.
Stream recognize the mask, and yet the glooming aura that surrounded him feels as if he was the one with his mask, silent...
"So.. you're the quiet kid i've been hearing about."
With harsh words, prime just glared at him through the mask... Unshaken by his words.
But then they both sensed something.
Prime and Stream tracked the disturbance deep within a ruined city — one that reeked of corruption. The air was heavy with smoke, and the streets looked like the skeletons of what once was civilization. Prime stepped carefully through the rubble, his masked face turning left and right, scanning. Stream moved beside him, his armor glinting faintly, his trident shard humming at his side.
But then — a faint, rhythmic sound cut through the stillness.
Clang. Step. Clang. Step.
Out of the haze emerged a figure of gold. His armor was battered but still gleamed with an otherworldly shine, each plate molded with purpose, sharp edges designed not just for battle but for endurance. His helm bore the infamous circular hole at the front, a hollow opening that stared ahead like an unblinking eye. And beneath the chestplate, a dim glow pulsed faintly through a second hollow opening in his chest — as if his very life-force were exposed to the world.
Prime halted. Stream tightened his grip on the shard.
The knight did not raise his weapon. He simply stood, one gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of his blade, and let his voice carry.
"I am Omega. The last wall that stands when all else has fallen."
His voice was deep, resonant, carrying the weight of centuries of struggle.
Before Stream could respond, the ground shook. The corruption lurking in the ruins had finally awakened to the presence of intruders. Twisted monstrosities, blackened forms that were once men, women, and beasts, crawled from the shattered buildings. Their eyes glowed a sickly green. Their mouths stretched into silent screams.
Stream stepped forward instinctively. "More wretches… hey, let m—"
But Omega raised his sword. Not to Prime or Stream, but to the horde.
"This city," Omega said, voice low, steady, "fell because its people forgot their will to fight. I will not let their memory be devoured."
And then, without hesitation, he charged.
---
The knight's golden form was a blazing beacon in the fog of decay. Each swing of his sword was precise, deliberate — not flashy like Stream's swift strikes, nor ruthless like Prime's efficient cuts. Omega fought like a man who had long since accepted that he would die one day, and yet refused to let that day be today.
A creature leapt for his exposed helm, aiming for the hole in the mask — the one weakness in his design. Omega twisted, letting the claws scrape across his armor, and drove his blade upward through the beast's jaw. "I have designed this in such way for me to be an easy target, but easy target is a word not suited for me". Another clawed monster lunged from his blindside, but the glow in his chest suddenly flared, and with an iron grip Omega caught the creature's arm barehanded, snapping it clean.
Prime and Stream joined in the fight, but even as they struck down their enemies, their eyes kept pulling back to the knight. He never wavered. Never slowed.
And then the wave hit.
A towering abomination, stitched together from dozens of bodies, rose above the ruins. Its roar rattled stone and steel alike, and its massive arms crashed down upon the golden knight like a hammer.
Omega stood his ground.
The first blow struck his shield, sending cracks of energy spiraling through his gauntlets. The second slammed into his chest, right where the glowing hole was exposed. He fell to one knee, coughing blood inside the helmet.
Stream shouted. "He can't take another hit—!"
But Prime raised a hand. "…Wait."
Because Omega did not fall.
His head tilted downward, shoulders trembling, but then the glow in his chest surged — brighter, hotter, a light that refused to be extinguished.
With both hands he pressed against the monster's weight, forcing it upward inch by inch. His sword clattered to the ground, but he did not need it.
He was willpower made flesh.
"I… will not yield."
The words weren't a shout, but a vow. They resounded deeper than the battlefield, echoing in Prime's mind, in Stream's heart, in the very ruins themselves.
With a guttural roar, Omega pushed back the abomination. He clenched his gauntleted fist and drove it into the creature's chest. Light burst from the impact, tearing through corruption like fire through parchment. The towering beast collapsed into dust and silence.
Omega staggered, chestlight dimming again, but he did not fall. He retrieved his sword, planted it into the ground, and used it to steady himself.
Prime stepped forward at last, mask gleaming with faint silver patterns.
"…Omega, the knight in glowing armor. You fight not just with your strength, but with your will. Join us. With you, the world stands a chance."
Stream nodded, wiping blood from his mask. "I've seen knights before… but you? You're the last one left. We need you."
Omega's head tilted slightly, as if the hollow eyes of his helm studied them both. His chest flickered again, faint but steady.
"…Very well."
And with those words, the knight in gold took his place at their side.
Not as a warrior who sought glory.
Not as a man who sought power.
But as Omega — the will unbroken.
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