Nephel pressed herself against the hills, fighting against the Lord of Down Under. The ground seethed in trembling fury, and even as quaking earth buffeted Knight's footing, he could feel the coarse soot cement into tuff. Unable to stay upright, Knight kneeled, his bones rattling in his armor. Knight knew not if hatred or love brought forth the Lord while Nephel reigned, only that the God did not attempt to encroach on the sky under the vigil of any other God -- rare as the attempts ever were.
The kneel turned into a squat, and finally a tentative wide stance as Knight placed one foot in front of the other.
Step.
Step.
Long began Knight's pilgrimage, and long still it would remain. The wind brought sharp, pungent, but not unpleasant scents of grass, dew, and petrichor. Whispers followed the scents, forever out of reach, their closeness igniting long departed madness.
If it weren't for the wind.
If it weren't for the rumbling.
He might have been able to hear the whispers.
A falsehood, but one still injecting bitterness in his shriveled veins.
Still, the whisperers sang to him. Calling him. His shoulder felt heavy, breaking him from a stupor he had not known he was in. He pointed towards the whispers, and he understood himself.
Yes, Knight. We will go.
Step.
Step.
Laughter. Wicked and vile, its volume grows with the smells of life. Knight's shin caught on something soft and supple. He reached down, grabbed, and felt the resistance give way to mush with a hard squeeze. Sharp pain came soon after, and fumbling in the dark, Knight found the hardened spike that had sheared through his gauntlet into his flesh.
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He pulled and felt the flesh underneath grow tendrils of muscle, and blindly bat against the opposite side of the wound. Eventually, the tendrils found another, and the Divine Comedy -- two becoming one -- blessed his body once more.
Knight could not even begin stepping over the obstacle when the laughter stopped right next to his ear, replaced by a sharp inhalation.
"You," a soft, almost shrill voice accused. "Vile fiend, why art thou here? Thou hast done enough harm, this one believes. How brazen art thou? To walk unmolested after such foul treachery that slaughtered my kin."
Brief memories brushed against Knight's consciousness, but they were as fleeting as the whispers. It took some time for Knight to find his voice. It had been so long since he used it.
It came out harsh, tinny, and scratchy, muffled by the still quaking earth. His thoughts came faster than the words, the cadence slow and plodding. "No, I know not of that which you speak. Treasured child of Nephel, perhaps it is another you seek."
"Deceiver." The voice denied. "Many, many cycles ago, yet it is you. You claimed the mantle of man. Encased in this same shell you came. From this very shell, we plucked you and feasted until naught remained, all but I -- too slow to act. Lost and born by Nephel thrice, we were before we knew you again. You writhed in our bellies, pushed at our flesh and will. Dragged us unwilling to one another. Two becoming one. Two becoming one. Over and over again. You dragged yourself together again, piece by piece. Anything that was you returning to you even though it was ours!"
The voice grew, words slurring, and icy wet spittle dripped into Knight's visor.
"Even that which was not yours you took and took until it was only you and nothing of them. You carry my kin within you, usurper. Deciever. You, who would falsely claim the mantle of man, but oh, how you are back now. A being stolen, a debt incurred. You must be back to pay in full, else claim that you are kin, and repay in time instead."
It sounded almost hopeful, pleading to Knight's ears.
"No. I claim no debt nor crime. I take nothing and claim nothing except that which is mine."
"Foolish. Foolish. I dub you what you are. If thou wilt not return what thou has stolen I will reclaim it. Thy blood. Thy bones. Thy soul. Cobbled monstrosity, I will have my kin returned."
Knight took a breath and drew his blade.

