The knighthood fell when creatures from the cosmos invaded the land of humans. They brought mutations and monstrosities with them. What was once a world thriving with life was reduced to a battlefield where blood was shed without end.
Humans mutated into abominations. Their guardian knights were twisted into puppets. No one was spared.
With humanity on the verge of extinction, a king from an unknown origin appeared. He saved the remaining humans and erected a protective barrier around them, a sanctuary where they have survived to this day.
Oscar still remembered the last time he attacked the sanctuary, and how he was killed by the holy knights guarding its entrance.
But strangely, that was what saved him. At the moment of death, he managed to separate his own consciousness from the demonic one.
"I need to grow stronger again… I should avoid the Void Ranges for now," he said inwardly.
The demonic voice did not respond.
Looks like it's still asleep. Good.
During his long hibernation before revival, he had discovered something: his demon was surprisingly lazy. It did not crave destruction like the others of its kind. It rarely showed violent desires at all.
That alone made Oscar feel almost relieved.
He shifted his course and angled himself north. His flight grew slower, closer to the ground. The higher winds were growing fierce, striking against his wings hard enough to rattle his balance. He descended a little, letting the colder air brush against his armor like needles.
For now, north was the only path.
He planned to move toward the Frost Grail of Knight Kingsley. A relic of a fallen knight, and once a pillar of the Round Table.
Oscar hoped that somewhere within its frozen halls, he could gather more information about the old order. If he was to rebuild the Round Table, he needed knowledge, history, and perhaps the lingering echoes of knighthood long lost.
But it was more than that.
He wanted to reclaim whatever humanity remained inside him. To peel back the monstrous shell, to break free from the cosmic puppeteer that had seized his soul.
To be a knight again.
And so, wings humming with crimson light, Oscar pushed north through the cold winds, chasing a relic of a forgotten age.
The shimmering water beneath him hid creatures of all kinds. Oscar did not dare fly any lower meeting any of them would be a death wish. He kept himself high enough that the ordinary beasts could not reach him. Even then, he remained cautious. There were special creatures out here, the kind that could leap skyward. One wrong moment, and something might pounce on him.
Then he noticed it, the shadow beneath him was growing. Wider. Longer.
'A leviathan?!' said Oscar cursing his luck inwardly.
"Demon! Wake up. We have some company!"
He rose slightly, trying to maintain as much distance as possible.
The water below began to part, rippling outward as something massive pushed against the surface. Slowly, the shadow took form.
A mast broke the waves first, then the rotted deck, and finally the full body of a ship rising from the depths. A ghostly vessel.
Wraiths and hollow spirits drifted across its planks, their bodies flickering like dying embers. They sang a lullaby, soft and mournful, as the ship climbed out of the sea and hovered upon the surface like a memory of some forgotten adventure that refused to drown.
"Ahh… go back to sleep, demon. It's just dead sailors."
Oscar kept his distance, maintaining his flight far above the drifting ship. He angled his wings to stay out of their line of sight, doing everything he could to avoid drawing the attention of the wraiths below.
But one of the spirits noticed him. The ship's cannons twisted toward Oscar, their hollow barrels glowing as they loaded. A moment later, they fired, launching a volley straight at him.
But in the sky, Oscar was king. He slipped between the slow projectiles with effortless grace, each dodge a smooth arc through the air. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a sword of shadow and swung it downward.
A dark projectile burst from the blade, screaming through the air before crashing into the water beside the ship. The impact sent violent shockwaves across the sea, nearly tipping the ghost vessel onto its side.
The ghost ship steadied itself, its mast groaning as the spirits aboard rose in a chorus of wails. Translucent figures drifted upward, their hollow eyes flickering like dying embers. The largest among them, a captain with chains wrapped around his ribcage, pointed a bony finger at Oscar.
A raspy wail.
The cannons roared again.
Oscar dove, wings slicing through the air. Cannonfire streaked past him like burning stars. He twisted once, twice, then surged upward and met the captain's gaze with a smirk.
"It's not the night now!"
A dozen spirits lunged, shrieking. Their claws left trails of cold mist as they swarmed him. Oscar swung his sword, the dark edge carving a crescent through the sky. The slash tore three spirits apart, their bodies scattering like smoke in a storm.
But more came.
One spirit latched onto his leg, freezing it numb. Another wrapped cold arms around his throat. Oscar coughed, wings faltering. The ship's mast creaked, preparing another volley.
"I shouldn't be struggling."
He whiffed, "That's not like me."
His wings burst open in a flare of crimson, metal plates splitting and reshaping. A shockwave blasted outward, shredding the spirits clinging to him. With that burst of freedom, he shot forward, descending in a flash.
His sword pulsed once, then he slammed it down toward the ship.
A dark wave erupted, tearing across the sea. The ghost ship heaved violently, its spectral crew screaming as the shadows ate into its hull. The mast snapped, crashing onto the deck.
When the mist settled, Oscar hovered above the wreck, panting lightly.
"I said… go back to sleep."
The ship groaned, the spirits retreating into the deep once more. Oscar turned north and resumed his flight, leaving the haunted waves behind.