He ran.
The field of reeds blurred past him in waves of green and gold, the wind howling around his helm.
Each step pounded into the soft soil.
Each breath echoed against the inside of his armor.
Behind him—a storm of limbs.
Hundreds of them.
Twisted, deformed beasts crashed through the grass in a nightmarish stampede. Each one a tangle of legs, claws, and black, spiraling weapons shaped like daggers. Their mismatched bodies jerked and lunged with unnatural speed.
The knight carved through the reeds with every swing, the shadow-forged sword humming in his grip. Blades of grass flew into the air like confetti. Bloodless corpses littered his trail.
One came too close.
He turned mid-run, slicing through the beast's arms with a clean arc. Another lunged. Its crooked blade scraped across his pauldron. He twisted, parried, drove his sword through its chest.
No blood. Just that black mist they all seemed to carry.
Another scream pierced the air.
A beast leapt overhead, daggers aimed downward. The knight stopped in his tracks and raised his blade overhead.
CLANG.
Sparks scattered across the dark grass. The clash shook his arms. But he held steady.
With a roar, he threw the beast off balance and drove his sword through the thing's hand-covered face. It writhed. Then stilled.
"WEGREYYYYHHHH!!!"
The horde screamed in response. An unnatural, guttural screech that echoed across the sky.
The knight turned on his heel and ran faster.
He hacked through the reeds like a reaper.
Slash—stab—parry.
Block—stab—slash—dodge—stab!
Again and again.
He jumped high, slamming his sword into a beast's head as he landed. No blood. Just silence.
He kept going.
Stab. Slash. Cut.
He wasn't killing them all. He didn't have to. He just needed to slow them down—throw them off. Break their rhythm.
He burst from the field at last, the wall of reeds parting behind him.
But he didn't stop.
He ran.
And ran.
And only when he felt the weight of pursuit lift from his back did he glance over his shoulder.
The horde had stopped.
Dozens of twisted monsters now stood motionless at the field's edge—held back by something unseen. Something that wasn't him.
"…Why are they trapped?" he muttered.
No answer came. As always.
He turned forward.
And saw it.
A mansion.
Towering. Elegant. Impossibly pristine.
It sat like a relic from a different world—walls of white stone, high-arched windows, and banners he didn't recognize. The place radiated nobility. Clean. Untouched.
Unnatural.
He stepped forward.
Then stopped.
What if they're the ones who made the beasts?
The thought settled like a weight in his stomach. He was still breathing heavily. The sword was still in his hand.
He was about to turn away.
Then—a voice.
"Hello!!"
A man was running toward him. Heavy-set, dressed in a perfectly pressed suit. Hair slicked back. Smile far too wide.
The knight tensed.
But something in the old man's voice—not his words, but the way he said them—eased the edge of his blade.
The man stopped a few paces away and gave a deep, formal bow.
"Greetings, honorable knight! Welcome to the Lalaurie Mansion!"
The knight said nothing. He stared.
"…Um," he muttered eventually. He wasn't used to conversation. He wasn't sure he even remembered how to have one.
"A quiet sort? I see," the man chuckled warmly. Then he glanced back toward the reed field.
"I suppose you have questions. The Lord will answer them."
The knight shook his head slightly. "I don't need answers. Just show me the way to the nearest city."
Silence.
The old man's smile faltered.
"…Sir Knight," he said more slowly. "The master of Lalaurie Mansion is a noble. A very patient noble. But even his patience has limits."
His voice darkened—not in volume, but in intent.
From behind the old man, armored figures stepped out. Quiet. Controlled. Eyes hidden behind polished visors. Weapons drawn. Encircling.
A quiet threat.
The knight gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.
But he thought for a moment.
Then slowly, he lowered it.
"…Lead the way."
The old man's smile returned like a mask sliding back into place.
"Wonderful," he said, turning on his heel. "Right this way, good knight. The Master is most eager to meet you."
The gates of the mansion creaked open ahead.
And the knight walked forward.
Into something more unknown than the dead monsters he left behind.
The gates closed behind him with a deep, echoing clang.
The knight walked in silence, his steel boots tapping against white marble tiles laced with golden trim. The path toward the mansion was lined with statues—knights in proud poses, swords buried tip-first into stone, their faces covered by smooth, featureless helms.
Too smooth.
The old man walked ahead at a casual pace, hands behind his back. The other armored figures followed quietly from a distance, like shadows given form.
The closer he got, the more he noticed it.
The air.
It didn't feel natural.
No birdsong. Not a single petal or weed out of place.
Everything was clean.
Too clean.
The double doors of the mansion opened before them on their own—tall, pristine, carved with emblems of lilies and roses. The old man stepped aside, gesturing inward with an exaggerated flourish.
"Please. The master awaits in his study."
The knight hesitated. But only for a moment. Then stepped inside