Roosters, bells, and a white sunrise.
Was the battle really so lost he couldn't remember?
If only the screams of his majesty's guard were forgotten, and he woke with a numb chest thinking of both knights, letting the glory of a cursed bastardized woods claim them.
With all his strength, what difference did it make?
Surely it made some difference in his past life, as he'd learned about it first before anything else. It stayed with him, from the moment he crawled out of the ground within that festering swamp. No matter how far he'd traveled it was his strength that separated him from everyone he encountered.
Yet it mattered not in those woods, the first real challenge he was faced with since clawing himself from beneath the earth.
It was silent outside, a few whispers within the inn.
An almost empty dining area, the bar without a single drinker. More room for himself he supposed, and he grumbled at the innkeeper who wished him another weary traveler's welcome.
A few minutes into enjoying his morning rounds, someone sat next to him. They were silent at first, but he could hear their trembling breath.
"Sire?" The lad stuttered, and he gave a side glance to look at a pale young man with a scar over his left eye. "I owe you my life."
He took a long chug of ale, then belched. "You're welcome."
Again, an awkward silence, which was fine as he never enjoyed company.
"Sire," the lad mumbled, pulling out a coin purse with a royal flame insignia, "I'll pay for your rounds. I was part of his majesty's escort into those cursed woods."
He scowled the lad, who fidgeted with a hefty coin velvet silk purse.
"Very well," he agreed, stroking his ale-stained beard with a grin.
Until sunset, he drank the lad's coin purse dry. It was packed, the bar filled with in goers from one end to another, and the dining area was full as well. The lad squeaked something to him, though he was far too drunk to understand nor care. He slapped the boys back a few times, thanked him for the rounds, and parted the crowd heading for his room.
Someone kept tugging his arm, probably the poor guard with an empty purse, but it may as well have been a toddler.
He collapsed in his bed, armor still on, and woke up to the noon bell and a cloudy muggy sky.
A night's rest followed by a headache made it easier to approach the next day, more so haven cost many lives at the hands of the graves. At a table within a corner, he enjoyed a duck with fresh bread, a tall mug as well of course, and the bright-haired ranger who's name he almost forgot sat across him.
"Did you take a quest for his majesty?" She asked, looting a piece of bread from him, though he didn't mind as he was in a merciful mood.
He shook his head, and she frowned.
"The whole town knows, along with the Elfstone Guild," Allison said, him recalling her name at last. "For your sake, it's best Carl Pyr's known for being a drunken fool, otherwise there may have been a holy noose with your name on it."
He shrugged. "What's it matter?"
"The only surviving guard was blamed for the massacre within the woods. Pyr left with a pair of escorts from the Elfstone Guild, and the guard was excommunicated from the church as well as banished from ever returning to the capital, under punishment of death."
"Wonderful," he snorted.
She rolled her eyes. "Well, the poor lad was asking about you all morning. He wants to squire for you."
He almost choked on his ale, coughing while pounding his breastplate. "Do I look like a fuckin' knight?"
"That's what I said," she replied, breaking off another piece of bread. "Surprised a solemn bastard like you went out of your way to take a quest, much less from House Pyr."
He growled, but said nothing, finishing his ale before leaving the rest of the bread with her.
"Good day to you, Sir Brute!" She teased, then took the bread over to her table of hooligans.
Outside the inn door, drizzle pinging his armor, the lad from the king's guard was flopped against the wall, turning to him with heavy eyes.
While scrambling up, the lad dusted himself off, wearing a heavy brown cloak covering his scared face.
"Sire! If you would, I'd like you to accept my service…."
He headed for the woods before listening to anything else, and maybe the lad would take the hint and stay away from the cursed grounds of death.
Against his wishes, once he crossed into the woods, the stumbling boy was still behind him, and he turned to scowl him.
"Are you blind?" He asked, looming overhead.
"No, sire," the boy answered.
"Then you saw what happened two nights ago. Death, bones, blood, guts, is that really how you want to spend your last moment?"
"I saw you sire," the lad said, kneeling, "kill an army of the undead like one would swat flies. His majesty fell unconscious, but I caught glimpses of your battle with the Champion of the Graves just before the ring of fire consumed you both."
"He's no champion," he spat, slamming his flail into the ground. "Another battle, maybe two, and I'll wear his bones like a crown."
Puzzled, the boy examined him, eyes widening. "It all makes sense! You're one of the Soulless!"
He raised an eyebrow.
"You're not of this world, but somewhere long forgotten, or somewhere yet to be. You've no memory of your past life, and you crawled out of the ground as an undead."
He lifted the boy up with one hand, then dusted him off. "I'm not taking a squire. Now go, boy."
"How many times have you died in these woods? It must be dozens, no, hundreds!"
He growled, steam emitting from his breath, and the lad cowered with waving hands.
"I meant no offense sire!"
"Stop calling me sire."
"Then, what can I call you, s-er…"
"I don't know."
"Er, right. Of course," the lad said, shaking his head. "Well, I am Nathan, son of Nordwell. My family's been in the service of House Pyr for over a century, and I must avenge my fallen brethren, even if it's the last thing I do."
Nathan, in spite of his rapid beating heart every quick glance he took towards the woods, was determined if nothing else. Yet there was no glory, it was a fool's game, as death and destruction cared little for honor, surnames, or any amount of gold.
He left Nathan at the wood line, but the stubborn kings guard without even a dull blade kept following him. He sighed, turning around, and picked up Nathan with one hand and slung him over his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" Nathan asked, struggling to get free.
All the way back to town, he carried the pale disgraced bastard to the nearest barn. After tying him with rope, and gagging him with a wet towel, he shoved him into a pile of hay. A few onlookers stared, but one glare from him sent them scurrying down the road. Nathan muffled something, probably more nonsense about his precious family name, as he finally left town beneath the late afternoon sun.
The sky was red by the time he arrived in the graves, and the bone wheels rolled round him. Up trees and across branches, they dove overhead, but a knock of his shield turned them to pieces.
Hordes took up shield walls, hundreds at each row, and giants stood within the rear banging giant axes against shields. To call it wall was an insult to even the moldiest hut within a village without a pot. He cleared every line, skeletons cackling and jittering away as he made the woods rain with marrow and dust. Giants fell at one swing, his flail breaking shins and femurs apart like toothpicks.
Though they fled into the woods, what sounded to be thunder broke them apart, ribs and skulls rolling within the darkness.
He tightened his flail hand, the sound of swift steel hammers destroying everything in their path. Hundred-meter-high oaks collapsed, skeleton crushed by the dozens beneath them. A lantern ignited, and his nemesis stood clad in steel.
At least two heads above him, the Nemesis' armor was pristine, his hammers were broad as a doorway, and his helm had not so much as a scratch with a golden trim along the brow.
Hammers pointed his way, and he hit his shield with his flail.
He swung first, trying to gauge his reach. The Nemesis dashed to the side, then darted forward. One shoulder charge knocked him backwards, and he stumbled trying to stay on his feet. Hammers dented his shield, though he squared his feet absorbing the blows. Hips down he drove forward, feet driving into skulls and ash. No more than few inches, and the Nemesis locked him in with a hammer behind his back.
"You've gotten soft!" The Nemesis growled, a one toothed smile flickering by lantern light.
Off his feet, he held his flail tight.
The Nemesis hip tossed him dozens of paces through the air. On top of a fallen oak, his back slammed down, and he cursed upon his spine cracking. On top of him with just a few strides, the Nemesis' hammers rained down. He rolled out the way, though caught a one to his shield, breaking his forearm.
Shield still up, in spite of sharp bones protruding from his arm, he slammed as hard as he could, knocking the Nemesis down.
While laying back, the Nemesis threw a hammer.
It dented his breastplate, sending him to his back again, and though he recovered fast blood croaked up his throat.
One hammer in hand, the Nemesis swung wild. Flail spinning, he kept him at bay, the Nemesis stalking side to side anticipating when to strike. He whipped the flail forward, made him flinch, then swung back down as the Nemesis did as well.
All hundreds of kilograms crashed onto the nemesis' head, crushing his face into a blood spurting chunk.
He kept swinging, bashing the Nemesis' armor until it was nothing but crumbled red steel dents.
Blood swelled within his chest.
Moonlight peaked within the woods, and he cursed to himself, raising his shield. Fire engulfed the woods, winds swayed trees, and the champion's caw was like a thousand birds blood curling with flames.
"Still here?" The champion taunted, perched on a high branch, covered by both wings, eye bright like a star. "Pathetic. You're not as strong as you think, persistent warrior!"
Shield dropped, he raised his flail.
All the gods, he cursed them, screaming whatever came to mind. The champion laughed, leaping down, and he couldn't even manage a swing before being severed in two.
Before his eyes closed the champion hoisted him up, giving a blazing stare until darkness ensued.
"You failed your nemesis….you failed for good…."