K.J. followed closely behind Oliver as they moved down the narrow corridor of the ship, the dim lantern light casting long shadows along the wooden walls. As they neared the main mast, an uneasy feeling washed over him—a sensation thick and oppressive, settling in his chest like a weight. He froze, his breath catching as a chill raced down his spine. The feeling was familiar, a dark echo of the terror he'd felt when the Possessed Viperia had emerged, yet this was different—more potent, sharper, like an icy hand clutching his heart.
K.J. reached out instinctively, stopping Oliver with a firm grip on his shoulder. Oliver turned quickly, his eyes meeting K.J.'s with immediate concern as he took in the fear flickering in his gaze. "K.J.?" Oliver asked, his tone a mixture of worry and urgency. He placed a warm hand on K.J.'s elbow, a grounding touch, his fingers gentle yet steady, as if he were trying to shield him from whatever unseen force haunted him.
Before they could say more, Captain Rek, who was just at the doorway leading to the deck, turned back to face them. The worry etched into K.J.'s face must have been clear, because Rek's expression grew serious, his brows knitting with concern. "Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice low, wary.
K.J.'s throat tightened, and he forced himself to speak, though his voice trembled slightly. "Is...is there a Black Knight nearby?"
Rek's eyes widened, a flash of shock lighting up his face. "How do you know?" he replied, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"That feeling... I know it," K.J. whispered, struggling to keep his voice steady. "It fills the air with something cold, something that twists inside you. It's a terror that sits heavy, like it's reaching for you." His gaze drifted, distant, haunted. "That night...with my mother..." His voice faltered, and he shuddered, memories of that night resurfacing in painful clarity—his mother's frightened face, the hurried escape, the relentless darkness that had followed them.
Captain Rek exchanged a grim look with Oliver before nodding. "The Black Knights are in Westreach Port," he explained, his tone hushed yet tense. "They're tearing through everything, searching for someone—or something. They're relentless."
Oliver's grip on K.J.'s elbow tightened, his gaze softening with concern as he turned back to face K.J. "K.J.," he murmured, his voice dipping into a warmth laced with worry. Turning back to Rek, he said, "Can you give us a moment?"
Rek nodded, casting them one last look before stepping through the door, leaving them alone in the dim corridor.
Oliver turned back to K.J., stepping closer, his face filled with compassion as he reached out, his hand settling on K.J.'s shoulder. "Hey..." he whispered, coaxing K.J. to look at him.
K.J. took a shaky breath, his eyes distant, glazed with fear. "I...I can't shake it, Oliver," he stammered, his voice tight. "I mean, I felt it before, but never like this. This...this feels darker, more...angry. More powerful." His voice trembled, and he wrapped his arms around himself, as though trying to fend off the memories clawing at him. "It's like the evil's grown, as if it's feeding on something."
His hands shook slightly as he recalled the terror of that night—the way the darkness had seemed to follow him, thick and suffocating. It was the same darkness he felt now, but stronger, sharper, as though it had taken on a life of its own.
Oliver's eyes softened, his expression one of deep empathy. "K.J.," he murmured, his voice a steady reassurance. "You don't have to face this alone."
K.J. nodded in silent agreement, his resolve firm despite the undercurrent of fear thrumming through him.
As he and Oliver stepped onto the deck, the grim reality of the situation came into full view. They were anchored about two hundred yards from Westreach Port, close enough to see the chaos unfolding along the shore. Dark, wraith-like figures, their forms encased in shadowy black armor, swept through the town with brutal efficiency. The twisted shapes moved with unnatural speed, cutting through the crowd mercilessly, their weapons gleaming under the dim light. Swords flashed, striking down anyone in their path, while a few wielded bows, their arrows whistling as they sought targets indiscriminately, indifferent to age or innocence.
"They're looking for you, I'm guessing," Captain Rek muttered, his face grim as he surveyed the carnage. "They're relentless."
Oliver's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he observed the sinister figures with mounting concern. "Do you know who they are?" he asked, his voice low, a note of urgency beneath the calm.
Rek shook his head. "No. They're nameless, faceless, appearing only when they hunt their mark. But after what happened with Viperia...whoever commands them is clearly terrified of you."
Before Oliver could respond, a shout rang out from above. "Sir!" one of the crewmen cried, his voice urgent as he pointed down at the docks from the crow's nest.
Rek spun around, looking up, then followed the crewman's outstretched arm. Oliver and K.J. turned as well, their gazes landing on a lone figure standing on the dock. Clad in black armor that seemed to shimmer with an unnatural aura, the figure stared directly at them, its gaze fixed on K.J. with an unyielding intensity.
The figure raised a sword, a glint of dark steel catching the light, and pointed it directly at K.J. Instinctively, Oliver's hand shot out, gripping K.J.'s side firmly as he pulled him behind, positioning himself between K.J. and the threat. K.J. felt his heart race, fear climbing up his spine as the figure let out a piercing, otherworldly roar. The sound echoed across the water, halting every dark-armored figure in the town as they turned, one by one, to face in their direction.
K.J. watched in horror as the figure on the dock—a commander, he realized with a sickening certainty—faded from view, only to reappear in a swirl of dark mist on the ship, standing twenty feet away on the bow. Within moments, other shadowy forms began materializing around them, their bodies made not of flesh, but of thick, black smoke that twisted and billowed, barely contained by the dark armor they wore.
The commander's eyes—or where eyes should have been—glowed with a deep, malevolent light. It lifted a smoky, clawed finger, pointing directly at K.J., who felt his entire body begin to tremble. "You..." the commander hissed, its voice sharp and laced with venom. "You are an abomination. You must be cleansed from this world!"
K.J. swallowed, paralyzed by the weight of those words. His body went cold, a primal fear tightening his chest, but before he could react, he saw one of the wraiths notching an arrow, aiming it directly at him, waiting for the commander's signal. Another dark figure swept up to Oliver's side, grabbing his arm and wrenching him away from K.J. Oliver struggled, gritting his teeth as he fought against the iron grip of the shadow, his eyes darting back to K.J. with a desperate determination.
"K.J.!" Oliver shouted, his voice filled with equal parts warning and desperation as he struggled against the unyielding grasp.
The commander's minions closed in, five shadowy figures now standing on the deck, each one radiating an unnatural darkness that seemed to drain the very light around them. One of them stepped forward, raising its sword high before bringing it down with a deadly arc. K.J.'s instincts kicked in, and he sidestepped just in time, the blade slicing through the air inches from his face.
Before he could catch his breath, another armored figure swept in from behind, aiming to slash across his back. K.J. dropped into a roll, feeling the blade miss him by a hair's breadth, his muscles tightening as he sprang back to his feet. The moment he regained his footing, a third figure swung its sword down in a powerful, cleaving motion, but K.J. twisted, evading the strike by mere inches.
The attacks came relentlessly, an unceasing storm of shadow and steel as each knight moved with a deadly, unnatural speed, their forms blurring in dark, smoke-like wisps. The edges of their blackened armor shimmered with an eerie light, shifting between solid and insubstantial as they struck out, only to swirl back into mist with every evasion. K.J. could feel the chill radiating from them, an oppressive cold that seemed to sap the very warmth from the air around him, filling his lungs with a biting, icy dread.
He barely had time to process each movement, his mind consumed by the instinct to survive. His body reacted as if it were moving of its own accord, guided by a primal awareness, ducking just as a blade sliced through the space he'd occupied a heartbeat before, rolling away only to feel another blade slice down mere inches from his shoulder. Every fiber of his being was alive, muscles taut and senses sharpened as he threw himself into dodge after dodge, his heart pounding so loudly he could hear it over the clash of metal.
A searing slice of wind brushed his cheek as a blade cut too close, leaving a thin line of stinging pain. His pulse quickened, and he clenched his fists, each nerve attuned to the shifting air, to the subtle changes in pressure that signaled the next attack. Another shadow lunged forward, its blade arcing in a low sweep aimed at his legs. He leapt back, just in time, feeling the rush of cold air as the weapon missed him by a whisper.
Sweat beaded on his brow, but he forced himself to ignore it, his breaths coming quick and shallow. His vision blurred slightly from the exertion, but he pushed himself onward, moving, dodging, his mind locked in survival mode. He felt the stinging ache of every near-miss, the weight of every close call, his heart racing as he willed his body to keep up with the relentless assault.
And yet, with each successful dodge, the knights only seemed to grow more furious, their movements quicker, more precise. They moved in perfect synchrony, as if guided by a single malevolent will, each one anticipating his steps, cutting off his escape routes. K.J. could feel the walls closing in, the weight of their hatred bearing down on him like a tangible force, pressing him into an ever-shrinking space with nowhere to run.
He could barely catch his breath, his chest heaving as he dodged a brutal downswing, feeling the rush of air as it narrowly missed his head. His instincts screamed at him to keep moving, to keep evading, but exhaustion was creeping in, a dull ache spreading through his limbs. Desperation clawed at him as he realized he couldn't keep this pace forever.
Oliver, still held back by one of the shadowed knights, called out desperately, his voice raw with fear for K.J. "K.J., hold on! Don't give up!"
K.J. felt a surge of determination in Oliver's voice, something that cut through his fear, fueling him. He sidestepped another deadly swing, his heart pounding as he searched for an opening, a way to escape or fight back against the relentless assault. But with every dodge, he felt the weight of their hatred pressing down on him, as if these shadows bore not just a mission, but a personal vendetta against him.
Finally, one of the shadowy figures took aim, its form a dark wisp solidifying around the bow as it notched an arrow with deadly precision. K.J. was too consumed by the relentless attacks around him to notice the archer taking position, its glowing eyes fixed intently on him. In a single, fluid motion, the figure released the arrow, the air hissing as it sliced through the space between them. K.J. twisted to dodge yet another sword, only to feel a searing, explosive pain as the arrow struck him square in the chest.
The world seemed to slow to a crawl, every heartbeat stretching out as if time itself were thickening around him. K.J. felt his body freeze, his limbs growing impossibly heavy as shock overtook him, rooting him to the spot. His mind struggled to catch up with the reality of what had happened, his eyes widening in disbelief as the pain blossomed, searing through his chest with a fierce, unyielding heat. It spread outward like fire, each wave of agony radiating from the arrow's impact, reaching through muscle, bone, and skin, until every nerve felt alight with pain.
He stumbled back, his legs weakening beneath him as the strength seemed to drain from his body. His knees gave way, hitting the wooden deck with a dull thud that resonated through his entire being. The impact jolted the arrow embedded in his chest, sending a fresh spike of pain surging through him. His hand moved instinctively, trembling as it reached up, fingers wrapping around the cold, unyielding shaft of the arrow. The wood felt foreign and wrong under his touch, an invader lodged within him, claiming territory it had no right to hold.
As he knelt there, vulnerable and defenseless, the shadowy figures surrounding him came to an abrupt halt. Their swords were poised mid-swing, blades glinting under the muted light as if frozen in anticipation. They stood motionless, their forms swathed in darkness, their eyes—if they had eyes—fixed on him with a twisted satisfaction, savoring the sight of his collapse. K.J. could feel their gaze like a weight pressing down on him, an oppressive, malicious presence that relished his suffering, feeding off his pain as if it were a silent, invisible feast.
His breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps, each inhale sending jagged shards of agony through his chest. He could feel the warmth of his own blood beginning to seep around the wound, spreading across his tunic and staining his fingertips. His senses sharpened, hyper-aware of every pulse of pain, every slow drip of blood, every frigid gust of wind that seemed to pierce through him, mingling with the fire in his chest. The edges of his vision began to blur, a darkness creeping in as his body struggled to keep him conscious, to keep him present, even as the pain threatened to pull him under.
The shadowed figures remained still, like specters of death, their forms shrouded in smoke and darkness, waiting. There was no rush in their stance, no urgency. They were content to watch him suffer, to let him feel the weight of his own mortality settling over him, as if he were some offering laid bare before them.
In the silence, K.J. could hear the faint echo of Oliver's voice, distant yet filled with a raw desperation, calling his name. But even that sound felt far away, slipping further from his grasp as his senses dulled, the world around him narrowing until all he could feel was the pain and the cold and the sickening weight of the shadowed eyes upon him.
He could do nothing but kneel, helpless, as his strength ebbed away, leaving him trapped between breaths, between heartbeats, between life and whatever lay beyond.
Everything blurred at the edges, sounds muffled as if he were underwater. K.J. became painfully aware of the arrow lodged just between his lung and his heart, a thin line between survival and death. He could feel each shallow beat of his heart reverberating around the foreign object, the pain intensifying with every beat. His breaths became labored, each inhale a desperate gasp that barely filled his lungs, as though the air itself refused to reach him.
Through his fading vision, K.J. turned his head, his eyes finding Oliver, who was fighting desperately against the dark figure restraining him. Oliver's mouth opened in a scream, but K.J. could only hear it in fractured, broken syllables as if the sound were slowing in his mind. He watched, helpless, as fear overtook Oliver's face, his eyes wide with anguish and glistening with tears that spilled freely down his cheeks.
"K.J.!" Oliver's voice, hoarse and desperate, tore through the silence, breaking K.J.'s heart as he fought against the hands holding him back. Oliver struggled with every ounce of his strength, his voice filled with a despair that echoed in K.J.'s mind, cutting through the pain and exhaustion like a knife.
K.J. lowered his gaze, looking down at his chest, where the arrow stuck out, its dark shaft smeared with blood that was slowly seeping through his tunic. His hand trembled as he reached up, brushing his fingers over the wound, a mixture of disbelief and horror overtaking him as he felt the cold, unyielding wood beneath his touch. His breathing grew more shallow, his chest tightening as the pain intensified, each breath like knives twisting deeper into him.
The shadowed commander watched K.J.'s agony with an eerie, silent satisfaction, his dark form looming like a specter of death. He raised his sword high, the blade glinting ominously, readying for the final, perfect strike that would end K.J. in one swift motion. The commander's movements were slow, deliberate, savoring the terror reflected in K.J.'s eyes.
K.J. could feel his strength slipping away, his vision dimming at the edges as he looked up, helpless, to face his impending fate. Every instinct told him to move, to fight, but his body betrayed him, too weakened, too wracked with pain to respond. He was left kneeling, vulnerable, his heart pounding painfully against the arrow, each beat a reminder of how fragile his life had become.
His mind filled with a desperate, racing question—Is this how it ends? Is this my fate?
As he watched the commander's sword rise above him, poised to deliver the final blow, K.J. closed his eyes, his thoughts swirling between fear, regret, and the faint, aching memory of Oliver's touch—the warmth, the safety, the promise he'd wanted to believe in. He clung to that feeling, letting it wash over him, even as he prepared to face whatever came next.
