In the faint light of the grand hall, the knight stared at the mountain of flesh, unsure of what exactly was going to happen in the imminent future. The dead organ was starting to shudder from the immense blows of the creature held in the heart of the heart. As blood pooled around on the black glass surface and inched towards the knight, the knight took an inch back. He couldn't help but grimace behind the helmet from the great blasts of pure power that now radiated from each blow to the outer shell of the heart, which the creature had just arrived at.
He tightened his stance instinctually and sharpened his mind; he had half a mind to dash towards the blood to sharpen Rising Tide, but it was far too close to the coming enemy to try for it. He just had to pray that his physical strength would be enough to pierce the enemy. Then, it happened. Crimson fluid spewed straight outward with a bloody gauntlet while particles of red stretched much farther than any before, in fact, he heard a dot of blood land on his helmet; it left him on edge.
Quickly after the first fist, the second fist punched through the outer layer, then retreated both fists back into the tunnel the creature created, and momentarily, there was only silence. Then the arms reemerged, fist to fist before grabbing the outside of the heart and pulling the durable shell apart as if it was paper to tear in the knight's hand. Darkness covered the bored tunnel and the one that carved it. It was real now.
When a single armor clad human-like foot stepped out of the organ and onto the lake of blood atop the obsidian ground, the knight somehow tensed even further. He looked far more akin to a statue than a person as the rest of the figure emerged from the powerful darkness with shudders racking its body every few moments. The knight looked at the now revealed black knight sharply. Its armor clung to its skin and churned against its skin beneath the black metal painted in more red than the knight whose armor was literally red. The pair stood frozen at the sight of each other, creating a sort of awkward silence only interrupted by the constant dripping of blood off of the black knight's armor.
The black knight was of even greater stature than even the mighty knight from the bottom of the sea, being a few heads taller than him. It was crouched down to duck its head to fit out of its exit from its prison. The armor the humanoid creature wore was somehow darker in color than the far reaching walls of the cavernous room. The flood the pair were standing on, and the dark tunnel it dug out. After a few moments of staring at one another, the black knight emerged completely from the heart while shaking off the thick layers of blood across its body revealing its slightly disproportionate arms. Across the black steel were numerous wounds, fixed with patch work smithing done by an amateur yet seemingly integrating perfectly into the suit of armor that had likely seen more battles than even the self-repairing tapestry. One of the creature's spindly arms reached back into the place it had just come from and quickly grabbed something from the depths of the darkness.
Right as the black knight went to bring the thing outside into the dimly lit room, a grand screeching could be heard as the tip of a blade just as black as the armor was left dragging across the great expanse of void they walked on. There was no scabbard, and the sword itself had no great distinctions outside of the fact the blade, guard, and grip were all the same shade of black. It looked familiar.
The wandering knight blinked behind his helmet as he recognized the blade as a far more matured version of the very same blade he had used in his battle against the skeleton army some time prior. It confused him; then, it spoke: "...What is a human touched by my elder cousin, yet banished from his embrace doing here… Or perhaps how and why does one such as yourself exist despite being so dichomatic?" The voice, like death's own voice, emerged from all across the great expanse of the room, yet unlike death, this voice was quite pleasing to the knight's ears. It was akin to the sounds of the rain, or maybe the slow rhythms of the big-time jazz groups in the heart of the city of music. He couldn't hear it, but there was anger held not far from the surface of the voice, but despite the negative emotion, it still made his eyes droopy, and his mind faltered. He could feel his consciousness slowly fade, but he was quickly shaken by the second figure's appearance.
The pair of knights stared at one another in silence. Now that the knight had thought about it, there were many things about the creature imitating a knight that were similar to the dystopian, all encompassing, and eclipsing visage of death he had met, but at the same time so vastly different. Death held a much finer control over its vast reservoirs of power yet somehow there was still no leakage in the creatures presence–at least no leakage that was without its own will. There was a tensionous moment held between the muscle-binding silence, until the black knight looked away from the man and instead looked to the far right of the pair, if the knight couldn't feel the anger in the creatures voice before, he could definitely feel the tangible disgust, laced with copious amounts of envy and wrath blended together to create a fountain of never-ending negativity.
"Not only has a champion of violence met me in my domain after so long of reassembly, but the one who blessed him is here too.." The black knight said in its buttery sweet sweet voice that contrasted its tone so vividly.
Flinching, the knight mechanically looked in the same direction as the black knight was and trembled lightly at the appearance of the Guidance in the mortal plain. Just what was going on? There were too many questions to ask, and not enough answers to give, so he remained silent.
The gaunt, short figure was currently sitting on a long, black leather bench in front of a sea of white and black keys that wrapped around the Guidance till it was akin to that of a one hundred and eighty degree angle. The white and black keys were double layered, while numerous pipes jutting outward from behind the keys, their battered silver hue gleaming terribly in the small amount of light that escaped past the large marble pillars. The creator of death was sitting in front of an instrument that was somewhere in between a piano and an organ with far too many keys for a single person to play at once that could likely play a palette of soothing sounds far greater than he had heard perhaps in all his entire immortal life. A pair of spindly, thin blue arms were placed in on the oddly and unevenly cut keys of the piano. The Guidance did not acknowledge the pair of nights, and instead unfurled a second pair of equally thin, twitching blue arms from his cloak billowing a wind created on its own and started to play a tune on the dilapidated instrument.
As the four hands wandered across the piano keys, the black knight of old fell to his exponentially growing anger. A nearly tangible cloud of hazy white mist erupted from the crevices of the armor and entered into the larger room and spread fast with its anger.
"You…you who opened the metaphorical Pandora's Box dares to show that ghoulish face in the realm of the living again… you have grown both bolder and far more desprate–are you perhaps growing weary–or better yet, you're growing lonely without that witches touch." The Guidance pause in his playing of the apparatus, leaving his fingers hanging on the keys, creating a blaring sound that spoke for the withered being. It was a warning, but in a few moments, it stopped, and the creator of death continued playing only this time there was something different about it, and it wasn't just that this song was quite a bit darker; hostile, even.
The knight of red stared blankly as the first key was pressed, a dark tone that exuded a pressure of its own making the black knight flinch and take a step back in fear, a fear of death. An omen had been said, and it seemed that only the black knight and pianist understood it. The black knight simply stared blankly at the back of its cousin, fear rooting the envious and reciprocally sympathetic knight to the same spot it had emerged from, until the second key was played slowly, it was a deep sound that resonated for a moment before launching the knight far off into the abyssal darkness that stretched for far longer than the room actually extended to. Loud booms echoed a few short moments after, signifying the strength of the force that propelled the black knight away, breaking the sound barrier a few times in his unending forced bunk. There was no crash of impact, only a still silence until an earth shattering shriek erupted from the darkness the warrior of old before the knight reappeared in a moment.
Its armor was shattered in a few spots, showing healthy dark skin beneath the obsidian shield that covered its body. It was limping, and small dribbles of bright, ethereal blood dripped to the floor, creating a pool of blood lighting up what seemed to be the entire room. The royal guard member looked curiously at the pillar directly behind the dark knight that had been revealed in its entirety from the light. It depicted a battlefield, or more like a massacre, legions all bearing different sigils on their plated armor stood in a single formation against a single black knight holding a blade of darkness. Just looking at the nondescript sword made his head hurt. This knight was an enemy of this land a long time ago–not as long since his time–but a great deal of time nonetheless, how had he ended up here? Glancing across the room, he ignored the still recovering black knight and the indifferent Death and observed a few more pillars from the distance.
The knight was a ruthless killer, and what he thought to be some type of myth who craved blood and battle more than food and water, and that is why the grand battle he had seen first took place, though it seemed like they lost anyway–but then something changed the painted carvings. If he had to try and place it it was a slight change in the depiction of the knight. His shoulders were slightly slumped, and even ever so slightly tremble in the left hand of every depiction after the battle. Was it guilt? Was it sympathy? Was the knight incapable of it before? The knight was pulled out of his rather ridiculous questioning to the knight in question, it had fully recovered.
Its midnight gauntlet clasped the grip of the sword, while the room continued to fog with the release of the knight's inherent flame of power. It thereafter charged, full speed towards death, there was no shout of exertion, just a cold, ugly, and painfully clear intent to end the avatar of death incarnate, just to be shoved back with another equally loud sound erupting from the slightly grungy pipes as the slightly cadaverous top left hand's index finger lightly pressed against the uneven key. The knight would've been amused by the sight if it wasn't for the dribble of blood that left his left ear because of the single key played. The nauseating feeling that bloomed from the bottom of gut was another thing that lurched his mind away from the giggle that nearly sprung from his slightly dropped jaw. The creature forged in the heart of a sleeping giant was being toyed with by the first murderer. It made sense, but that didn't stop him from being astonished–even if only slightly.
The black knight reemerged from the darkness again, just to strike once again, and get pushed back to the wall of the cavern once again. The knight gazed at the scene as the warrior continued to recklessly try to charge at the musician over and over again. If the knight was being honest with himself–this whole thing became repetitive at least 5 attempts ago, until Death decided to play a different key. The black knight looked disheveled, and slightly exhausted from his continued failure to reach the one whom he hated above all overs. Cracks were spread across the tight pieces of armor like trenches in a warzone, slowly being mended at a much slower pace than they were appearing. A growl left the knight's mouth at the rather stupid situation it found itself in, before preparing itself to charge once again, only to freeze completely at the lovely sound that echoed out of the pipes behind the machine. It was a smooth, almost bright sound that came from a collection of keys played at the same time. Slowly, the bottom left hand extended outward, pointing a single finger to the knight in red, still stuck in his defensive stance, as if shewing the excruciatingly powerful being away. Not once did its eyes ever land on either of the armor-clad individuals in the room, it only continued playing its instrument in silence, allowing the melancholic sound fill the room and the two occupants in it.
As if coming out of a trance, the black knight turned slowly, almost imperceptively, towards its observer. They both stared blankly at one another, unsure what to do, do they fight? The knight would've scratched the back of his head if he could, but sadly, he couldn't. The tension-filled silence was shredded by the clear, and beautiful voice from beneath the inconspicuous helmet, far more composed than it had been a few moments prior while looking at deaths back, "I see. Though you are a curious existence, and even more curious is why you fight for death, but that is not what needs to be discussed. I am the giant of slumber and dreams, Soven. You entered my tomb, and stepped into my dying body to see my rebirth, but It would seem as if you were guided here by that thing. I see the restlessness and the continuous and unlimited sleepless nights you've held in your immortal life, sickening truly, the clambering, yet strong dreams you hold to you, so, champion of death, what is your dream; what do you wish for?" The inquisition was mocking, almost patronizing, the knight was sure of that much, yet it was still something he wasn't expecting. This creature was the very thing that he had been walking through for a week straight. The bone, the flesh, even shudders in the tunnel. He had witnessed this being take its last breath, and start anew in a new body. He was silent for a few moments, deciding if it was worth replying to such an antagonizing creature at the base of the world.
"My dream is death."