The black swamp radiates a foul smell.

Owin stands just on the border of the dark swamps shallow water, if one can even call it that. The thick brown liquid that should be water seems more like a thick paste of gooey mud. Traces of decayed plants, smashed rocks and dead bugs litter across its pungent surface. The trees don’t carry a single leaf on their willowed branches. A black mist covers the air like a dense fog, keeping visibility to a minimum. Sound seems to avoid this area like the plague, complete silence, even the sound of passing wind is vacant. Owin stares into the abyss.

“...Its got one hell of a personality, ill give it that.” He speaks out loudly to himself.

“Nigel was right about the dark and infested part.”

He takes a deep breath, looking at his feet to prepare himself. That's when he notices something.

The brown sludge has crept up ever so slightly.

“Its moving…”

The smell becomes ever more present as the goo slowly shimmies closer.

“Guess im not gonna get used to the odour anytime soon… This… muck, its expanding.”

Owin can’t help but feel at the very least, slightly repulsed by the swamp. He turns back and walks into the forest. Once he gets a good distance away, he drops his bag and covers it with leaves. Out of the bag he takes only a pair of small yellow crystal shards. He taps the tips lighty together and they both begin to glow. He puts one of them back into the bag, the other he stuffs under his armour.

“Just in case I lose ya,” He says out loud to himself again.

Then, he returns to the swamp. His face contorts as he’s hit with the foul smell for a second time.

“God be damned… I’d rather take deadly beasts over this terrible stench”

He slowly dips a foot into the mud. It sinks up to his knee. Restlessly, he pushes forward, trying his best not to be bothered by the impediment.

The slushing of his forced march is the only noise around.

“Lucky this stuff is so thick, would hate for it to get under my armour…”

His march continues. Soon enough the dark mist becomes so disorienting that he might’ve already lost himself.

“I hope this swamp isn’t too big. Nigel didn’t really give me any specifics on this old house of his… or that tomb”

Owin puts his hand on his forehead subconsciously.

“He better give me a good reward. Whatever he wants from here is probably worth its weight in gold. Ugh…” The Knight begins to irritate himself over the brown goo as the going gets tough.

“Seriously, Im gonna demand double the price for this. He owes me big time… Owes… Owen… heh. He owes Owen. Heheh.” The Knight chuckles at himself stupidly. Suddenly something clicks in his head as he laughs at himself.

“Wait. Price? I never wanted a reward. How could I even ask such a thing?! What dishonor… I should be ashamed for even thinking that. Agh!” He groans out of nowhere, gripping his head tightly as he becomes dizzy.

“What's with this headache…” The smell becomes his scent. The darkness becomes his vision. His hearing starts to become void.

“This is… not right…”

Owin starts to wobble in obscure ways, almost falling over.

“...ngh…”, he groans. This head thuds like the beating of a drum.

The muck around the ground starts to stick to his legs. It begins to climb past his knees. Slowly trudging up his armour.

“This… is magic”

He tries to steady himself and looks down at his legs again, noticing the goo growing as his breathing becomes laboured. He grits his teeth. Concentrating as best he can, his left palm glows a light blue and then he clenches it.

Immediately, the muck is shot off him, the goo around his legs covering the ground is shoved away, the dark mist and stench are also pushed away as a new light blue bubble surrounds the knight like a shield. The blue ball around him acts as a barrier, its power source coming from his clenched palm. Owin starts to take deep and irregular breaths, panting as he gets to experience the closest thing to fresh air he’s had in a while.

“Ghaa!... hoof… so… these are all magical effects?... Even the Goo?”

He stomps his foot against the ground, happy to be standing on firm soil without any drag.

“If this is all magic, there must be a source somewhere. Unless this place is mystical in some way.” He glances around curiously.

“Doubt that, this looks more like an infestation than a god-gifted landscape.”

His search continues, though now much less impeded by the surrounding environment.

“I wish I could see through this smog. I might be here for days at this rate.”

Darkness impedes his vision, reducing it to just a few meters. He does his best to keep a steady pace. The ground, though now void of the goo with his barrier constantly shoving it aside, is still littered with dislodged plant roots, as if they had been torn from the ground and fed off by parasites. A small part of the muck behind Owin begins to tremble, reverberating, as if boiling. The knight continues unaware of the body that now starts to climb out of the mud behind him. An almost rotten looking corpse starts to emerge, its body that of an elf woman. Her tattered cloak is pulled from the goo as she rises to stand properly. Her blond hair and long face, unlike the rest of her body, looks fresh, almost alive. The rest of her is covered in vines, dirt, bits of slime and blood. Her left thigh has a broken, bent bone sticking out of it, yet she stands unhindered. Her face is void of expression, eyes greyed out, without a hint of colour or life.

She bends over lazily, her limbs moving as if attached to strings, not a muscle in her body functioning. Pounding her hands into the goo, she draws out a longbow, carved with purple wood and inscriptions written in red ink, as well as a similarly styled quiver filled with arrows, tipped in some sort of pink powder. “Boy, I hope the sunshine manages to break through the clouds at some point.” Owin murmurs to himself.

The elf archer strains her longbow, pulling back an arrow taking aim. Owin hears a sudden distant cackling from within the darkness of the swamp, echoing from all directions.

“...Is someone there? I’m looking for something!” He yells, trying to attract attention.

The string of the bow is released, an arrow is let loose with immense power and accuracy straight at the blissful knight's head. It soars through the air, a definite killing blow. It strikes the blue bubble, sparks shooting off as they collide. The tip of the arrow stays true as the wood bends and snaps in two, both pieces ricocheting into the muck.

Own immediately turns around, seeing the snapped arrow then looking at the elf. His confusion turns into a smile. The cackling around them stopped as suddenly as it started. “Oh good, could you help me out?” He asks the lifeless archer.

The two stare at each other in silence.

“Um… are you alright? You look a little-” His question interrupted by the elf quickly stringing and shooting another arrow, it hitting and snapping on the barrier as before with even less of an effort this time.

“... Im sorry but that's not going to-” He is interrupted for a second time by another arrow smacking and cracking on his bubble.

Owin looks around and then waits for a second before continuing, checking if she would shoot again. “Done?... This barrier protects me from projectiles and magical effects. You won’t be breaking through with a bow like that.”

The body of the woman doesn't react, only ever moving to fire arrows but is otherwise still and void. Owin stares at her awkwardly.

“Could we be civil about this?”

The darkness echoes with a voice again. This time not just cackling, but rather a deep and deluded groan. “How vexatious”

The knight glances around, hoping to catch a glimpse of this man in the void. “I don't know the meaning of the word”

“I thought Knights were supposed to be intelligent. Not obtuse minute cretins”

“Are you going to just spit nonsense words all day or talk like a regular person”

The voice begins to cackle again. The goo rattles around Owin, shaking and reverberating across the ground.

“Fine. Hide then. I am not a Knight for the fancy talk, but one for the fight, the honour of defending those who can’t defend themselves. If you want to sit in your infectious swamp then that's fine by me. But if you keep harming that which lays around you and refuse to negotiate. I will take action.”

“You are not the only one who thought that way”

The elf archers' soulless eyes stare straight into Owins. Goo drips from her sockets down her cheeks. His clenching hand grows firmer at the sight.

“You have some nerve, Sorcerer”

In mere moments, the muck behind Owin rises, horns poking out of the top as a covered bulky figure towers over the Knight. He turns around as the slime clears off it, a decaying minotaur easily 2 meters in height. Its skin green and rotting, eyes hanging from its sockets connected by strands of goo. It raises a giant two-sided battle axe from the ground and swings it above its head.

Owin glares at it, not moving until its axe comes crashing down. Quickly jumping out of the way, it smashes into the ground, crushing the rock and vines below with its rough edge.

“So. That barrier can’t protect you from everything”

Only now does he draw his sword, holding it in front of him defensively. “What have you done with them?” He says with a slight shiver in his voice, fearing the worst. “Mutilated them. They were all aspiring heroes and questers. Such confident people. Such Stupid people”

“...Now you want to use words I understand?”

“How else are you going to fear me? You haven’t yet realised your fate is to die. None of them ever did. Only ever noticed their demise when it finally came. That's true dread, but only for short moments. Suffering should be made as long as possible.”

“But why… Do you feed off of it like some sort of demon?”

“Demons should fear my power. I take the dead and make better use of them. I will have an army, I will control all who ever have been and are!”

Owin observes the fluid and lifeless movements of the Minotaur man carefully.

He can see its strength clearly in the hole it carved into the ground. These puppets seem to move unimpeded in the gooey muck.

“You’re quite the coward”

“My strength comes in its ability to dominate. You dare enter my domain and call me a coward. Your demise will come down to your ignorance”

The minotaur charges at the knight, its axe raised again. This time Owin stay put, raising his blade and blocks the blow. Steel smiting steel, the clang rings through the air and vibrates through the knights’ arms. The sheer force sends him to his knee and reflexively grips the hilt of his blade with both hands to not be crushed, the blue bubble surrounding him disappearing. Growls emit from the minotaur’s throat without moving its mouth. Owin grunts, his arms shaking, “Ngh… S-stronger than I thought...”

His headache returns with the mist engulfing him and his senses. The goo springs into action, covering his lower body, sticking to him tightly and begins to pull him down. The minotaur backs away, seeing the knights’ arms beings restrained by slime and muck.

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“W-well, tsk- guess I have to, Enhancement Strength!”, with those two words, his body glows a faint yellow. He quickly gets up to his feet, ripping the slime off him without any effort and holds his blade, trying to steady his blurry vision and shaking hands. He jumps at the beast taking a swing at it from the side with glowing pride. The minotaur guards with the broadside of its axe, but with newfound power, the knights attack pushes it back, not managing to break the steel, but throwing the beast into the ground and muck with pure brute force.

“So you have some more worthwhile magic? Such a shame it was all for nothing”

“If you’re not going to face me you can at least be quiet”

Following the attack, the yellow glow dissipates, and an arrow pierces the knight’s leg, going straight through his armor from behind. “Agh! Crap!”

He bends down, clenches his left fist again quickly, bringing back the bubble, pushing the toxic smog away. Looking back, he sees the elf woman with another arrow drawn, ready to fire the second his shield goes down again. His leg tingles and stings in pain as it bleeds, but moreover, it begins to feel limp. He looks down and sees it turning to stone, along with his armor. Luckily, the infecting arrow stops after his thigh, leaving only his entire right leg in stone. “That’s going to be an issue.”

The minotaur gets up and immediately charges at him again, the growls from its throat intensifying. It raises its axe for a third time. Owin glances at his leg.

“Guess Im not going anywhere, Empowerment Strength!” He glows yellow yet again and blocks the blow singlehandedly. The beast begins to swing at him erratically, with the knight parrying every blow. At the final one, the yellow glow disappears, running out its time limit.

“Die then!” The voice shrills. The minotaur swings at Owins head. Owin ducks last second and with a frown, thrusts his blade into the beast’s stomach, piercing straight through and making it growl loudly, its body limping over and folding into the muck.

“Sorry about that” the knight says sincerely, looking down at the corpse. He turns to the elf, who is still standing perfectly still with her bow drawn. Owin lifts his palm, pointing it at her. A blast of force hits the elf out of thin air, sending her flying.

“How many spells do you have?!”

“Just one more healing spell. Don’t think it can turn my leg back though.”

Owin bends down to inspect the arrow, still stuck through his leg. “Kinda counterproductive for an arrow. The wound is completely closed, you should try using sharp darts or something”

“Don’t lecture me, puny hero”

“Listen, I’m still open to compromise maybe-”

Owin swallow his words as the minotaur’s growls hover just above his head. He whips around swinging but barely gets to glance behind him before the beasts axe is plunged into his shoulder, its steel buries itself deep into his flesh, almost going straight through. “AARRGH!” He screams in colossal pain. His hand reflexively opens and reaches for his shoulder, he’s lost all sense or control in his other hand and arm, his sword slipping out from it to the ground with a quiet clang. The bubble vanishes. His breaths become ragged and laboured, trying to handle the intense burning in his muscles and body. His mind however wanders in confusion as to how he’s even alive, his head should’ve been cut from his body. The muck sticks to him and starts to pull him under. “AGH!.. E-enhance-” He doesn’t get to finish his words before the slime wraps around his mouth, silencing his grunts and pulling him under. His armor is covered in blood and his head throbs achingly. Again, to his utter confusion, the muck begins to cover his bleeding after what feels like several minutes of blood loss and although being pulled under, completely covered, he isn’t suffocating. It could mean something… He thinks.

Deciding not to act, he instead does his best to stay conscious. The mind-numbing pain and toxic air make it an impossibly difficult task. Every second is lost on him, perception of time quickly becomes unimportant in face of the agonizing burning and head trauma. He can feel his blood pulsating in his whole body. His hand is close to his shoulder. He begins to struggle, little by little pushing his palm closer to his wounded shoulder. Its all numb, no feeling left in the skin around his injured side. He only manages to confirm the location by the pain getting worse the closer his hand gets. To confirm, he plunges his finger forwards and manages to hit the large gaping wound. As his finger slides in, his entire body shakes and struggles from instinct, as if he’s hit every nerve in his being. The screams muffled through the muck, he can’t hear anything, but he knows his voice still works due to the vibrations of his yelling in the slime.

With confirmation, his palm begins to glow green, finally, he casts healing. At first, nothing much happens, and he contemplates checking for his wound again. Then he begins to scream again as feeling returns to his body. Insufferable pain radiates through him. He endures it for multiple minutes, dozens possibly, when it finally starts becoming soothing. After another few minutes, he’s done all he can. Quiet, now again wondering what to do. He sees no harm in waiting a bit more, now more comfortable still fighting the constant

headache.

His body starts being moved. The muck tightens around his body and begins to raise him upwards. Owin closes hit eyes and controls his breaths. He is emerged, his head is cleared of the muck, leaving everything above and with his neck exposed. Fingers start to trace across his forehead, then his cheek. They are warm and animated. Something alive. The sound of a blade being unsheathed rings in his ears. Its time.

His eyes shoot open, quickly taking in the scene in front of him.

A ragged young man with an overgrown gruffy beard and hair holds a rusty knife, dressed in tattered clothes. Dark eyes and pale complexion. He winces and staggers back in utter disbelief. “WHAT?!” He screams, the fear coming out in his shaky voice. It’s the same voice without the dark echo. He raises his arms and two figures start growing from the muck in front of him. “ENHANCEMENT STRENGTH!” Owin shouts as fast as he can. He glows and breaks out of the slime. The sorcerer tries to turn and run. Owin leaps in desperation, using whatever strength he has left to drag his stoned leg with him. The minotaur rises and reaches for him. Owin jumps and grabs the sorcerers digusting robe, pulling him towards him. The sorcerer turns and glances Owin in the eyes as his yellow glow fades. His eyes filled with anger and pure determination. He clenches his fist and takes a swing, smashing the man across the face.

Immediately the minotaur and elf archer bend over and collapse as the mans body goes limp. Owin collapses onto him. He takes a moment to breathe. His leg tingles, the rock begins to break off and his foot becomes flesh once more. A glance down at the man makes it clear that he’s been knocked unconscious, nose broken and bleeding. The knight breathes a sigh of relief. “It’s the least you deserve”

Taking a moment to calm down, he ponders. “So my guess was right. You can’t control the dead. Liar. You need to kill your victims with your own hands to puppet them around. No wonder you only have two minions and focus on disarming and manipulating.”

Owin can’t help but look at the minotaur and elf. “Poor warriors. They didn’t deserve this”

He gets up and pulls the arrow from his leg, healing the wound and then walking around, searching for his blade. Once found, he returns to the corpses. With a heavy heart, the plunges the sword into them, cutting their limps apart, mutilating them. He constantly looks away during the process but forces himself to continue. When done, he walks back to the knocked-out sorcerer. Taking a final look back at his fallen fellows, he honours “May your bodies rest in peace… or in pieces at least. No one can abuse them anymore.”

he coughs and wheezes slightly. Stamina and mana low, the smog still continues to impede his breathing, but its less severe now. He rips up some strong roots and vines from the ground and ties the unconscious sorcerers arms and legs together, then sits down next to him, taking a well-deserved break.

Nialuc wanders around the forests for a bit longer. Deciding its best to move away from the dangerous river, he finds a nearby open field. At this point, the morning sun has risen into midday. He begins to wonder if pillaging an ancient ruin was a smart idea, concerned for haunting spirits and deadly curses. As he gets further from the tranquillic waterfall, the feelings begin rushing back. His heart starts to pound loudly, its close. He steps out into the middle of the vast field, revealed, but isolated. His eyes wander the treeline, dense vegetation hides the insides. His spear clenched in his hand. He closes his eyes and focuses. The air rushes, leaves rustling and each blade of grass shimmers. They all fade away into silence. Small instruments can be heard everywhere in the forest, a light tune of a harp there… a rhythmic guitar string here… They are void. One stands out, a distant light clang of a thin gong. Its beats come once a second, they get louder and begin to echo more and more. He can hear it coming closer behind him. Each hit of the gong firmer and more independent. Slowly more instruments emit from the same source.

A shinobue flute picks up, Taiko drums lay down a constant beating with the final strings of a Koto providing a sincere melody.

Nialuc stops listening. He opens his eyes and turns around. There he faces him, just a few meters apart. Hiterito. A young-looking man, expressionless, calm and soft face. Slightly squinted eyes with purple robes, a kimono. His hair is black and reaches to his shoulders but are tied up into a bun. He is wearing Getas and has a katana seethed around his waist. It has a simple yet elegant hilt, slightly curved, wrapped in silk bandages made of golden linen.

“Hiterito”

“Nialuc”, His voice is just as his face. Calm, still, emotionless but soft. “Im surprised you’re not smiling. Not excited?” He asks genuinely.

“Please, I can’t go yet, I need more time.”

The warriors face turns in confusion, then back to seriousness. “You know I don’t make the rules.”

“Please Hito! Just a few weeks at least!”

“Again. I don’t make the deci-”

“We do! You can just let me walk away! please.”

Both warriors stare at each other, one is tense, determined and desperate. The other cool, unimpressed and focused. “I can’t Nialuc”

The Lancers heart sinks, just as his head. “I beg you…”

“Our god is already unhappy. Especially with me.”

“…”

Hiteritos face turns slightly sympathetic. His voice drops the formal tone down to his lighter personal voice. “Im sure we will be back soon”

“A decade minimum. We were just reborn again…”

“About that. Our patron also said that we’re changing the term to resummoning”

The lancers expression turns to anger, then immediate sadness at the thought of Tabris.

“God… fucking damnit…”

“Did you meet someone? You’ve never been this… sentimental. I was hoping we could enjoy this fight again since-”

“You got the fight you wanted in the tournament. And yes, I did meet someone. I found my family.”

“…I’m sorry” the warrior bows, then moves back slightly, getting into a fighting stance, slowly drawing his blade. “I won’t enjoy this”

“… Hell no. I’m not letting you kill me.” Nialuc grounds himself in his own footing.

“That’s not how this works”

“I don’t care! Today is the day! I will break the curse if I must!”

“Are you really going to try? After centuries of our companionship, you’d try to kill me for someone you just met?”

“They’re worth it. THIS STRUGGLE ENDS HERE!” He proclaims with teary eyes.

“… So be it. Then you’ll fall struggling. Hmpf.. But that’s what you want right?”

The two stand, ready to take on the other, neither yet making the first move.