The Reaper Cometh

[Specter Knight]

Specter Knight Prologue

“The Reaper Cometh”

Again, it was another night like this.

That familiar silver crescent hung in the blackened sky once more, mockingly watching the Order’s Valley from above and illuminating the plains with it’s baleful glow. At this hour, the warmth of day had completely vanished alongside the sunlight, ushering in a frigid air that weaved in and out between the silent, crumbling cottages erected across the now-dead village that many knew as the Lich Yard. The disembodied voices of souls that once frolicked in the bright village rose from the cracks and seams that weaved along a porous cobblestone path through the center of the yard. Fences of rotting iron stood erect along sections of the yard, blocking off segments of tombstones and ruined buildings that stood bleakly in the moonlight.

But, when that moonlight touched the graves in particular, the earth would begin to crack beneath the movement of yard’s undying inhabitants. Living corpses clambered from their stupor and let out guttural cries that evoked all that ailed them - the need for flesh, the need for peace. Skeletons burst from silent piles of bones, clutching rusted blades and scrabbling along to begin their meaningless patrols. The milky blue lights that hovered in the air above the silent graves coalesced into the shape of wraiths, ghosts and cursed souls who would begin to pointlessly drift through buildings and walls, without much complaint.

It was then that the sorrowful specter’s domain would awaken - a prison in which he played both warden and prisoner.

Specter Knight loomed in the same place as always - the open yard just past a pair of marble arches. It was the most serene area in the Lich Yard, given that it was devoid from the screams and rattling sounds of it’s undead prisoners. The revenant himself sat atop one of the marble arches and gazed upward at the moon, letting it’s nourishing light seep between the grates in his mask.

It’d been. . .well, who knows how long? The concept of time has since then been completely lost on the knight. The days, months or even years that passed since he left the Tower of Fate were of no importance, because the idea of looming in this yard for an eternity was enough to banish any hope of being released. The most exciting things that have happened since then are those brief moments when Specter Knight affirms that he can still think - but he doesn’t think about much after that;

Memories playing on repeat. The cauldron of grief bubbling. Brief streaks of emotion trying to see some sunlight but failing to do so. Thoughts about how sharp his scythe is.

The epitome of torment. Tragedy given an avatar.

Thinking about the noise, too.

That noise of the yard, horrible, horrible. . .noise?

Wait, noise. There’s more noise than usual.

“. . .Hm.”

The shrieks of the undead echoed in the distance, but the frequency ramped up at an exponentially rate, as well as the volume - something was getting closer. Having been imprisoned in the yard for what felt like an eternity-in-progress, even the slightest discrepancy in it’s usual monotony was enough to prompt the knight to reach his left hand out.

The air sharply whistled, before a massive crimson scythe materialized within the reaper’s left hand. Concurrently, a diminutive skeletal servant scrambled into the knight’s sanctuary, looking around for it’s master. Specter Knight rose from his sitting position atop the marble arch, scythe in hand, and took a step forward off the arch. The crimson cloak he wore flared outward and gently carried him down to the ground in front of the meek Boneclang, who instinctively cowered from the towering Specter Knight.

“Speak, servant. What do you have to tell me?” Specter Knight glowered, wasting no effort in looking directly at the servant and instead looking in the direction from which the commotion approached from.

The servant immediately kneeled. “O-oh, Lord Specter Knight! Reaper of the Land, Specter of Torment, Master of the Undead, Sorrowful Warden of the Lich Ya—”

Specter Knight directly looked at the skeleton.

“U-UH! I-I mean, there is an intruder! A living soul walks the Lich Yard!” the servant clambered, fearfully stepping away from the knight.

Specter Knight’s grip on the scythe tightened as he looked upward at the noise once more. Another adventurer chasing after riches, perhaps? Or is it just him, coming to put a stake in the knight’s already-dead heart once more? The thought of the latter pushed the dead lord into urgency. “Tell me, who is this intruder? Is it just a boy?”

“. . .I. . .I, uh, don’t quite know, m’lord! I-I-I’ve never been outside of the Yard, of course! But, I’ve heard about this one from the others, yes, yes! He’s. . .uh, the. . .uh!!,” the servant nervously snapped it’s bony fingers. Specter Knight took a single step forward. The noise continued to approach.

“He. Him. Who is he?”

“An adventurer, I know! A popular one! He’s been. . .throwing things!” the skeleton sensed it’s masters bubbling rage, continuing to slowly back away. The sound was getting louder.

Throwing things. A boomerang. No, no, no, not now. Why is he coming back? What does he want? Specter Knight’s grip on his scythe tightened even further.

“Hss. . .I need to know. . .WHO HE IS, you walking pile of refuse. So, I will ask once more.” Specter Knight hissed and began to raise the massive scythe over his head. “Who. Is. This. Intruder?”

“I-It’s. . .It’s. . .uh. . .uh, UH!!! OH, I KNOW! HE’S SH—”

CLANG!

The skeleton did not manage to finish it’s statement, as it’s head was already sailing towards Specter Knight after being struck by some concussive force from behind. The knight reacted effortlessly, swinging it’s scythe downwards from where he was raising it and cleaving the rotted bone in two. Specter Knight swiftly kicked off the ground and halted in the air, hanging above the ground as his cloak flared from the force of his levitation. He looked past the crumbling bones that was once the undead servant, baring his scythe in the presence of his intruder.

“Specter Knight!”

Shovel Knight stood beneath the towering arch that guided him to Specter Knight’s lair, his bright-cerulean plate armor sticking out like a sore thumb among the dark-maroon stonework surrounding him. True to his name, the knight stuck his trusty Shovel Blade into the dirt, leaving it there as he walked forward and tilted his helmet-clad head upward to meet eyes with his target.

A  tasteless mix of relief and aggression pooled in the rotting face behind Specter Knight’s mask. Soon enough, aggression took control, for he knew who this blue burrower was. After a moment of sharing gazes, Specter Knight crooned.

“This is no place for the living, mortal. You shall be summoned when it is your time.”

“I have no time to waste on you, vile apparition! There is a purpose to why I’m here! I must get to the Tower of Fate, and you’ve gone and made yourself an obstacle.” Shovel Knight boasted, jutting a finger up at his undead adversary.

Specter Knight seemed to hesitate with his retort. “The Tower of Fate isn’t a place for your ilk. Whatever quarrel you have with the Enchantress is minute compared to her power.”

“You speak so highly of her only because you are her bootlick!”

“I speak. . .from experience. You don’t know what game you’ve entered, naive wanderer,” Specter Knight hissed, but then let out a chilling laugh. “Everyone has a time. . .as we’ve seen if your beloved Shield Knight. What do you think she was doing before she died, hm?”

“Enough! You won’t stray me from my path, phantom. I’ll cast you down if need be!” Shovel Knight roared, leaping back and gripping the handle of the planted Shovel Blade, drawing it from from the ground and pointing the spade towards the scythe-wielding fiend.

“Hss. . .you don’t know who she really is, do you? No matter. You’ll die never knowing the truth.” Specter Knight hissed, brandishing the Specter Scythe. Yet, to his own surprise, his claws sunk into the wood of the scythe further than he may have intended.

His rotting teeth were clenched and baring beneath the mask, and the will binding his bones together flared with fury that he had not felt in years.

Is this anger? This cathartic release of energy. True rage.

I’ll end this. I’ll end him now, and remind myself that Shield Knight will never have him.

If there is any piece of her left, she will live in eternal sorrow and grief.

Every piece of her humanity, I shall cleave away.

This is the last piece of enjoyment I’ll have. Then I can sit for the rest of eternity and know that the past is dead.

The cycle ends here.

But, it never came to pass.

[Specter Knight]

Pounding at the door, yet there may never be an answer.


Playing the puppet of every game.

No, the cycle will continue.

What was supposed to be a battle was shredded into hazy scraps of thought for the lonely specter. It felt as if the battle didn’t happen at all, but then again, the sensation of existence hadn’t dawned. An incessant buzzing plagued his mind, coupled with the feeling of pins, needles and numbness creeping up and along his bones. He could not move, because he couldn’t feel his limbs, and he could not speak for his voice could not be heard. A bright white light shone through the grates in his mask, but there wasn’t anything behind it.

And then, the buzzing began to subside. In its place; a voice.

“My name is Omni. This is not the world you know. This is the Omniverse. You interest me, so I have made you part of it. The Omniverse is a place that reflects the wishes of those who are part of it. But! There are rules. I will explain them only once, so listen carefully.”

Specter Knight’s clawed gauntlets clenched as the feeling in his hands returned to him. His own inner voice overtook that of Omni, shrieking in defiance. It wasn’t anything coherent - just mindless defiance, panic and confusion against the threat of becoming another god’s plaything. Yet, when Specter Knight opened his claws to do some act of resistance, he felt as if he was suddenly holding something. Initially, the knight believed it to be his scythe returning to him, but it was instead something round, squishy, and very warm.

“This is Omnilium. It’s what ties the Omniverse together. Without it, you are nothing. With it, anything you desire can be yours. But you will need more than this. If you desire it enough, you will find it. You will find that using it comes naturally. Just think of what you desire most.

Specter Knight let his claws run along the surface of the Omnilium orb, feeling it’s warmth touch the cold pads of his decayed fingers. It felt as if it was a ball of raw, unformed potential - at least, that was what Specter Knight thought it to be. The knight remained staring at the grinning visage in the shadows.

“You will not be alone in the Omniverse. There are others. Of course, they, too desire Omnilium. Do not fear death. For as long as you interest me, you will be reborn.

The first few drops of realization began to pool in Specter Knight’s mind. Wait. . .wait, am I. . .?

“That’s all you need to know right now. You’ll figure out the rest soon enough. I’ll be watching … and waiting.”

The revenant reached his other hand outward on account of instinct. There wasn’t any response from Omni, as Specter Knight felt the world around him shift once more. The numbness within his dead skin subsided, allowing him to feel the hard surface he was now lying upon. The thundering echo of Omni’s voice left Specter Knight’s senses alone, leaving him to hear nought but the soft sound of running water just behind him.

The dead warrior pushed himself off the solid white floor, sitting up and looking out at the vast, empty field of nothingness. A sterile canvas looked back, with no discernable sky or horizon.. It was not hot, but it was not chilly either, yet it felt like both at the same time. The barren white wasteland was more or less undisturbed by any color, save for the faint shapes erected far in the distance, equally spread out in every direction.

. . .What is this. . .what is this. . .place? Where are my Curios?

It was a rather disgusting hodgepodge of emotions that coursed through long-dead veins in the ghoul’s body. The monotonous cycle of guilt playing on repeat within his mind stopped, supplanted with utter confusion and realization.

More trickery, more confusion. . .yet no answers. Why am I always the plaything? The knight thought. He tilted his head around to look at the source of the running water; a tall, ornate fountain spewing fresh water from atop it’s spout. Specter Knight approached the edge of the fountain, looking down at the water pooling within it’s base. It was completely clean, and a reflection of a ghoulish revenant stared back up at Specter Knight from its surface.

“She can’t reach me here, can she?” he asked nobody aloud. The knight dipped a single claw into the fountain, feeling the chill of real, rushing water. It seemed as if the accursed hallucination was beginning to trick him into thinking it’s real, but a rumbling laughter escaped the revenant’s rusted mask.

It is best I find the answers I seek anywhere else but this place.

There is no sense to this world. But, I’ll entertain myself.

I think I deserve it.

I’ll explore the depths. . .of my own imagination. Something that she never let me do.

Specter Knight felt a spark of. . .motivation? Is that what this was? Who knows. It was a feeling that made his necrotic tissue feel more alive than it’s ever felt before. He reached down with one hand, gripping the wooden shaft of his scythe and giving it a few spins, heaving it over his shoulder. With the other hand, Specter Knight held his claw high in the air and opened it, letting the rainbow-colored orb in his hand spiral outwards and coalesce into a large bubble, gazing in the direction of one of the distant gates as he did this.

Yes. . .yes, I think I’ll understand this soon enough. The cycle has only begun.

The time has come for the Reaper to pursue his quarry.