XXV
The sun's glow was a radiant intensity the following day. A black mark on the land had been vanquished, so there was much to glow about, and soon, the ilk of the shadow realm would all retreat to where it belonged–in the stomach of the shadow. The sun simply pulsed, releasing a bit more heat–allowing the disgusting corpses of both innocent and cultist alike to melt them to nothing at a faster rate while Guidance took their souls to where they belong–in either the fire or the light. The sun sees all on the surface of the plain of the mortal realm–and the great travesties of man were finally being rewritten. The end was coming.
The knight was still sprawled on the ground well past the sun's ascension marking the next day. There was much to think about with the small links of information given to the knight from the pillars–and Soven himself. There was a bigger image to it all, but there was so much missing–key pieces that would weave it all together seamlessly. There was a certain calling to connect the past, and the knight found it rather compelling, so he went along with it. In his theory crafting, he came up with an astronomical amount of theories–some more plausible than others–but nothing was truly impossible in this world, so nothing could be ruled out.
The one he found to be most convincing was that The Guidance wasn't always called The Guidance–one of the first things he had deduced from the history inside of the chest cavity of Soven's now dead body. That place had probably collapsed by now–though he likely would've felt the earthquake of something of that scale collapsing, so maybe it was still kicking. Back on track, the knight considered the big question that gnawed at his mind: Why did Death create death, and what was the concept that was created through his birth? Was it even a concept? He said that he 'forged' death, so maybe Death was a blacksmith? It added up with why he was large, even among his race. It was a fun way to pass the time while he let his body recover from the speeds that he had used without any precaution, speed which grew even more after his victory with Soven–likley some boost in power given to him by Death as some form of payment for his work, why he needed so much power to fight creatures on the butterflies level was beyond him, though maybe the colorful freak had grown in power over the years–yeah that had to be it.
His sword was laid next to him, detached from his waist as it was getting uncomfortable to sprawl out on the no longer red grass when it was sticking out so much. The bubbling, slightly smelly, conjelling mass of something akin to the look of a murky gelatinous substance had disappeared at some point. The knight was so busy in his thoughts that he ignored the instantaneous disappearance of all remains of the forest–leaving an empty, shattered landscape that would soon become a thriving ecosystem again–well, maybe soon was a bit of an overestimate–eventually, was a better word suited to the situation, The knight thought to himself, as he sat up from his starfish-adjacent form. As he sat, he felt the breeze through his armor, the pleasant chill of the whispering tides of the sky had eluded him for a very long time, but now, through the armor, he felt it all again. It was weird, like the armor was a second skin, he could feel stuff through it. It may have made his skin tingle beneath the still dingy red armor, but it felt nice. He welcomed the chill. He welcomed the feel of the grass in between both his armored and shadowed hand–wait a minute. The knight froze a second in his revelry of the world and its wonderful expression of love to realize something important: He could feel with his arm of darkness–he had never been able to sense anything with the arm–as it never had any sensory capabilities, but now–here he was, able to feel and understand things through his armor, and able to experience things through his other hand again–something that he had longed to since the moment he lost the appendage to his father.
He stared at the black hand with amazement for a little while longer, which he had raised to his guarded face, but was now being returned to its place, roaming the grass-covered grounds surrounding him. The smell of melting flesh had been melted away after a short period after the numerous, reeking piles of mass had been removed from the now open plain. Black hand grabbed a fist full of the lifeless grass, and yanked it upward, feeling the soil smush in his grip. Tossing the grass aside, the knight placed the arm of ink into the small hole and grabbed a fist full of loose, muddy dirt. The way it rolled on his palm was almost ticklish as he rubbed it between his fingers. It was both messy, yet contained–not once falling into his lap, or anywhere, just sticking to the light-absorbing arm. He let it stay for a moment as he relished in the sensation of the boggy, warm material suctioning onto his skin. He used his thumb to spread it around his thumb, as he silently played with the blood soaked earth. When the small droplets of red escaped the small handful of mud and traveled across the knight's hand, he simply juiced the mud of all the blood that was still lingering in the mud and let it cascade like a small waterfall back down to the surface, before once again going to back to playing with the substance in his dark hand, his shock still not one hundred percent gone.
Eventually, he let the slightly saturated dirt go, letting the quiet impact consume his hearing. It had been a long time since he felt soil in his hands, and the feeling really seemed to solidify the world to the knight. He was free. The breeze, the hum of the midday sun, the recovering land, were all sensations the knight had never appreciated before, and hadn't had the opportunity to experience the small things since his cage malfunctioned–the first blessing he'd received since years before his imprisonment, but now, it was so perfect.
Scanning his surroundings, his eyes stopped and lingered on a small flower some few feet away from the knight. Its petals were a vivid violet, with a viridian stem far more lush than anything else in the open meadow of dying life. The flower was a sign to the knight as it danced in the small breeze that blew through the land. It twisted a vague dance as the equally green petals across the short stem swayed in the wing. It had a rather strong aroma which the knight could detail even from the distance between him and the small blossom.
It was somewhere between sweet and tasteless. The aroma almost made his nose tickle, but it lingering right under that level. It was akin to himself, really. A bloomed flower that had no reason being where it was, lost and a great distance from where home was when he lived a mortal life, and now they were united in the lovely wind of the day, on a dying land soon to recover, two healthy beings. Two aberrant fixtures placed next to one another on a meadow that was equally aberrant. There was a peace in being an inanimate thing, that the knight had always wondered about. Things held no mind, or consciousness, and they did not move, it was a life so foreign to him, yet resonated with him so much. The flower held no restraints, yet there was equal lack of freedom. He stared at the flower as it tossed in a glancing breeze, with equal wonder and pity. His life had never been his to care about, which is how he liked it in his younger years, yet it was that fact that he found himself pitying the flower in front of him. Did this flower value itself? Probably not, since it held no mind of peace or chaos, it was simply as it was. Does that really mark it as a living creature? They were a pair of differences in a strange land–pieces of a jigsaw that belonged to separate puzzles, yet there was such a difference between the flower–a thoughtless being, and the knight–a guilt-ridden disgrace to his people.
The knight smiled to himself, and leaned back, not giving the swirling philosophical questions of the flower any further thought, and choosing instead to be at peace with the fact, and enjoy the day instead. His legs were still recovering from the exertion and bruises that the knight had from his likely two day long run up the stairs. The wind felt nice on his hair through the layer of metal skin, then a thought struck–could the knight simply will the helmet off? He had willed his armor to morph into his current form–so maybe his will could remove the helmet? He failed. He tried just about anything he could think could possibly morph the armor to what he needed, yet it remained resilient against his will. Perhaps it had something to do with the great spike in emotional trauma that wriggled its way to his heart like a tape worm.
Sighing, the knight let his mind wander away from the creeping headache and found his attention being grabbed by the distant, yet still massive plateau that he arrived in this place with. The head of the necromancer still hung from the vast–yet still shallow in comparison to the remaining plateau it had not managed to dig itself into–trench in the stone. The slightly yellow bones of the serpent laid limply like a center piece in a masterclass painting that would've once sold for more than his services as a royal guard member a year. Its atrociously large ribs were not swayed by the wind's whispers of happiness, and simply remained statutory, just as unfeeling as the beautiful flower that bloomed next to him. Its once glisteningly dangerous fangs were stained with a dull red from the short time the corpse had been in contact with the anatomy of the flesh forest, similarly to the rest of the wall of stone. Blood was painted onto the barrier from edge to edge. The swaying leaves covered in blood left their final mark on the land with the image they left in their last moments of life.
The knight tore his gaze away from the plateau, and surveyed the landscape for the umpteenth time, before sighing and getting back to his feet. It was time to move forward to the next place the wind took him, and if his eagle-like vision was saying anything, then it was closer than he would have expected. At the edge of his vision, he saw the inconspicuous visages of long, naked, pine-like trees and the faint, yet distinct sweat of heat, coming for a converging breeze coming from the direction of the far off forest.