Sezel blinked, his vision swimming through a haze of black ichor and exhaustion, straining his eyes to discern the savior who had plucked him out of the jaw's of death.
But unlike his expectations, Yet, as clarity pierced the fog, a shiver coiled down his spine as he caught a glimpse of the thing that had killed the Night crawler like it was nothing.
Before him loomed a figure resembling a knight. A walking armor, completely black like a shadow, a silhouette that drank the faint purple glow of Spirit Essence, even the sword it held was as black as void. Sezel's blood chilled as he scanned the creature, its faceless helm revealing no eyes, no intent—only an abyss that mirrored the Spirit Realm's starless sky.
From one nightmare to the next. This place really knows how to welcome guests.
It stood besides him like a guard.
His gaze darted around. Rilli stood petrified before an identical Black Knight. Arty, the leader, and his remaining crony were similarly flanked.
The ground was littered with the corpses of the Night Crawlers, some chopped in half, others beheaded with brutal efficiency. Their saviors had arrived, and they were infinitely more terrifying than the monsters they had replaced.
These knights in jet black armor were no saviors but another way to advance towards doom.
Sezel swallowed, his throat dry as ash, and pushed himself upright, legs trembling against the ground, His dislocated arm dangled useless. He studied the knight beside him, it stood still like a statue carved from void.
What are these things? His mind reeled. Whatever they are, they're not friendly.
He edged backward, cautious as a cornered rat. If it stands idle, perhaps I can run. One step, then another. The creature remained unmoving. Hope, fragile as a dying ember, ignited.
In a flash, the Black Knight stirred. Its void-blade sliced through the air, stopping a hair's breadth from Sezel's throat. The motion was impossibly swift, a shadow given life.
He stumbled back, collapsing in a heap, his hand flying to his neck. That sword... it just slit my throat, didn't it?
His mind was in a chaos, he felt the sword slitting his throat but he was alright, from this he deduced, 'It was just an illusion,' but that made his heart wrench even more.
How could this thing make illusion with just a flick of its sword? he had never heard of such Spirit beast existing.
Everyone else was mostly in the same situation, they tried to run but were caught up mid way by the Black Knight's sword or accurately said, its illusion.
A minute passed in oppressive silence. Then, as one, the knights turned their faceless helms.
What now?
The knight beside Sezel pointed its void-blade toward the center of the clearing. Sezel followed its gaze. The other knights were doing the same, their silent gestures creating an undeniable focal point.
They want us to move. He looked at the knight, a silent question in his eyes. The knight responded by raising its blade to his throat once more. No words were needed. The threat was universal.
Sezel complied, joining the others in a ragged line, their steps heavy with resignation.
The Knight's too followed, three of them lined up in the front, the other three in the rear. It was like they were escorting some special guests or a procession of captives in a macabre parade.
The Black Knight's in the front moved first, taking a step forward in unison like an army march, But stopped abruptly. Sezel wondered why did they stop, their overall behavior was suspicious.
Could it be? Are they waiting for us?
His pupils shrank as he realized the truth. He turned just in time to see the knight at the rear raise its leg. Sezel, being the last in line, was the intended target. He threw himself to the side as the kick slammed into the leader's back, sending them all toppling like dominoes.
"What was that for?" the leader screamed, but his voice died as his eyes met the Black Knight's impassive helm.
They rose, chastened, a silent understanding passing between them. They were no longer a group of desperate survivors. They were slaves.
The march resumed, slow and silent, each step a surrender to an unknown fate.
They passed through the dreadful forest, Sezel looked around every chance he got to.
The forest seemed like any other normal forest, trees and bushes flourished, but was it normal? There was no sun in the sky, no breeze, only the oppressive stillness of a realm divorced from life and the eerie purple glow from the spirit essence that grew like grass out of the ground.
This place is not real at all. How can these plant's even grow without sunlight?
He saw other beasts on their journey—some like primal, twisted animals, others like shambling, zombified horrors. None of them dared approach. They watched from a distance, a palpable fear in their glowing eyes.
A hierarchy, then. He frowned. These knights are high on the food chain. But are the others mindless? Doesn't seem like it.
The march ended in a vast clearing, the forest parting like a wound. At its heart stood a throne of jagged stone, its surface etched with incomprehensible runes, pulsing faintly with Spirit Essence. The Black Knights fanned out to the sidelines, each dropping to one knee in a synchronized bow, as if awaiting the king's descent.