The Holy Knights vs The Dark Elven Bandit King

I skipped through the trees, my feet light against the thick branches. The small deer swung in my grip, its lifeless weight foreign but exciting. My first kill. My first hunt. I couldn't wait to show them.

The treetops stretched endlessly, a thick canopy of green dusted by golden sunlight. I knew this path well. Every twist, every sturdy branch. I climbed higher, slipping between the thick foliage before my village came into view.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

But I thought nothing of it. Maybe they were preparing for a feast. Maybe they were waiting for me.

I grinned, my breath quick with excitement as I sprinted toward my home. "I caught one! My first prey!" I shouted, my voice carrying through the still air. I barely stopped as I reached the door, shoving it open with one hand, holding up the deer with the other.

And then I saw him.

A lone figure stood in the middle of the room, his back to me. The golden light that radiated off him cast long shadows against the walls.

And at his feet…

Mother. Father. My brothers. My sisters.

All of them.

Lifeless. Unmoving. Blood pooled around their bodies, dark and thick.

The deer slipped from my grip. My breath caught in my throat. My legs locked in place, refusing to move.

The man turned.

Silver armor gleamed in the dim light, a golden dragon embroidered on his chestplate. His hair, long and shining like threads of sunlight, cascaded over his shoulders. His eyes—two orbs of molten gold—met mine. Warm, bright, almost welcoming.

But I couldn't breathe.

I fell backward, hitting the floor hard. My hands trembled, my body shivered. The warmth of my own urine spread across my legs, but I barely noticed.

Footsteps.

Many of them.

I turned my head.

Behind me, ten knights stood in rigid formation. They wore the same armor, though their faces lacked the warmth of the man before me. Stern. Unforgiving.

One by one, they unsheathed their swords.

A golden aura pulsed through the air, engulfing them all.

"Wait," the man said.

The knights halted.

He stepped forward, his armor gleaming lightly. His golden eyes never left mine. Then, he knelt.

The air around him shifted. Heavy. Suffocating.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't breathe.

This was no man.

This was something else.

A dragon disguised in human skin.

A deep, amused chuckle rumbled from him as he studied me.

Behind me, one of the knights spoke. He had thick black hair and dark red eyes, however, contrary to his rugged appearance, his voice was smooth, and his words sharp. "What shall we do with this one, Your Majesty? Study him?"

The golden-eyed man ignored him. His gaze burned through me. My vision blurred, twisting at the edges, warping into a swirling mess of gold and white.

"He had no choice to be born a Demon," the man finally said. "I am a forgiving one. Repent for being born such an evil thing, boy. Live on for good rather than evil."

His words drilled into my skull.

Evil?

I wasn't evil.

I had never hurt anyone. Never done anything wrong.

Even the deer I killed—I prayed for its soul, just as I was taught.

But I couldn't speak. I couldn't even think. The weight of his presence pressed down on me, and before I could fight it, the world went dark.

When I woke up I was alone.

Only the dead remained.

Their bodies lay as they had before, untouched. The air was thick with the scent of blood and death.

I crawled toward them.

"Mother…" My voice cracked. "Father…"

I reached for them, shaking their lifeless hands, their still shoulders.

They didn't wake up.

They didn't move.

I shook harder.

"Sis… wake up…" My fingers dug into her arm. "Wake up, please."

But she was cold.

They were all cold.

I gasped. The air wouldn't reach my lungs. A scream tore through my throat, but it didn't sound like me. It was raw. Broken. I clutched my mother's body, my tears soaking into her dress as I screamed until my voice gave out.

I don't know how long I cried.

Hours, maybe.

At some point, my body gave in. Exhausted, I lay on the wooden floor, staring at nothing.

I sniffled, my breath shaky.

Empty.

Numb.

Until something moved.

A squirming, writhing motion from the corner of my eye.

I turned my head sluggishly.

The deer I had brought home. Its stomach bulged, wriggling unnaturally. Then—

It burst.

A dark-gray grub slithered out from the torn flesh, its body thick and glossy like it had been dipped in lead.

I barely reacted.

It crawled toward me, its movements slow, almost grotesque. Then, all at once, dozens of tiny eyes opened across its body.

And they all turned to me.

A woman's voice entered my mind. Smooth. Silvery.

"Do you want to get revenge, child?"

I didn't answer.

But I knew. I knew it came from the thing before me.

"Do you want to kill those who did this to your family?"

My heartbeat thudded in my ears. My breath came slow, deep.

I knew the answer before I even spoke.

"Yes."

… 

(Present Day)

(Back on the battlefield)

The Holy Knights moved in unison, each step precise, their formation shifting subtly with every attack. They circled the Dark Elven Bandit King, cutting off his angles, pressing him further into a tight corner of the battlefield. Every strike forced him back another inch, limiting his space.

The Dark Elf struck fast, his longsword carving the air with insane speed. He parried, countered, and weaved through the storm of blades, but the Holy Knights never overcommitted. They struck and withdrew, forcing him to expend energy each time he retaliated. Every motion drained him, bit by bit, his stamina being chipped away.

Then, an opening.

A sword flashed toward his side. He twisted to avoid it, but another knight stepped in, blade cutting deep into his right calf. The Bandit King's stance faltered. His balance wavered. His leg, already wounded, buckled slightly under the pressure.

"YOU FUCKING HOLY PESTS!" His voice roared across the battlefield.

Then, the air shifted.

A visible wave of magnetism exploded from his body. The Holy Knights appeared to brace, feet digging into the dirt, but the force yanked them forward, dragging them straight toward him. At a glance, it seemed like they had been caught, helpless against his pull.

It only appeared that way.

At the exact moment the wave surged outward, all seven knights hopped—just enough to lose traction, just enough to be drawn in at an angle they could control. The moment their bodies shot forward, the Bandit King's armor rippled, seven jagged spikes protruding outward like sudden fangs of steel.

The knights twisted midair.

One turned his sword, slamming the flat of the blade against the ground to angle himself away. Another spun, letting the spike graze his shoulder instead of piercing his gut. The rest adjusted just as fast, armor scraping, skin barely nicked as they shifted past the deadly protrusions.

Then, their weapons came down.

Steel descended from all sides, seven blades aimed to carve into the Dark Elf.

His eyes narrowed.

Another pulse.

This time, the magnetism reversed.

The Holy Knights were launched back, their attacks missing by inches as they were flung across the battlefield. Some landed on their feet, skidding back, while others rolled against the dirt before springing up once more.

The Bandit King straightened, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Blood dripped down his calf, on the same leg as his prior leg wound, staining the ground. 

The Holy Knights reformed their stance. They had been repelled, but not deterred.

Their encirclement had barely loosened.

Alexandra was first. Her longsword flashed in a clean, precise arc aimed for the Bandit King's throat. He raised his sword to parry, but before their blades met, Captain Edwin lunged in from the side, shield leading. His charge forced the Dark Elf to shift his stance, blocking the impact with his free arm. The moment their bodies collided, the magnetism flared.

Edwin's shield wrenched forward as though yanked by an unseen hand, nearly pulling him off balance. He gritted his teeth, adjusting his footing just in time to see Alexandra twist mid-strike. She wasn't stopping—she was using the force of the Bandit King's pull to increase the speed of her next swing.

The Dark Elf ducked low, the longsword whistling past his head. Before Alexandra's momentum could carry her forward, the twin-shortsword wielder leapt onto her back, vaulting off her shoulder to gain height. As he soared above the Bandit King, both blades came down in a downward cross-slash.

The Bandit King raised his left hand.

A sudden burst of magnetism struck the airborne knight, flipping his body unnaturally. His attack, once aimed at the Dark Elf's head, now slashed harmlessly through empty space. But before the Bandit King could press the advantage, the lance-wielding knight lunged from below.

Feet barely touching the ground, the lancer slid in, aiming a precise thrust toward the Dark Elf's ribs. The Bandit King flicked his fingers—metal groaned as his armor rippled. The plates along his side pulled together, tightening like a second skin. The lance struck, but instead of piercing through, the reinforced armor deflected the attack just enough to redirect the force.

The lancer staggered—just a split-second opening.

The Bandit King seized it.

His free hand snapped out, fingers curling around the lancer's wrist. Magnetism surged between them, locking the knight's weapon in place. With a powerful twist, the Dark Elf flung the lancer sideways, sending him flying toward the mace-and-shield knight.

Instead of stepping aside, the mace-wielder planted his feet and angled his shield, letting his comrade crash into him. The impact sent both knights rolling, but instead of sprawling, they turned it into a synchronized recovery—using the momentum to reposition without breaking formation.

The battle axe wielder stepped in next. Shield raised, axe high, he swung in a downward cleave, aiming to split the Bandit King's shoulder. The Dark Elf spun his sword in his grip, angling it just right—his blade caught the axe mid-swing, and with another precise pulse of magnetism, he locked the two weapons together.

For a brief moment, their weapons held firm, neither able to pull back. The Dark Elf's lips curled.

Then, the Holy Knight did the unexpected.

Instead of fighting against the force, he let go of his axe entirely. His shield came up in the same motion, slamming forward with brutal strength. The Dark Elf wrenched his head back just in time to avoid a direct hit, but the edge of the shield still clipped his jaw.

He staggered.

A flash of steel.

Alexandra was already there, longsword striking from the side. The Bandit King caught the attack, but his balance was off. Captain Edwin pressed the advantage, shield bashing toward his ribs. At the same time, the twin-shortsword knight returned, sliding low to sweep at the Dark Elf's legs.

Magnetism surged.

Edwin's shield twisted midair, veering off course just enough for the Bandit King to pivot. The twin-shortsword knight suddenly felt his own weapons pull against each other—his momentum betrayed him, forcing him into an awkward tumble instead of a clean attack.

But the knights adapted faster than he expected.

The lancer had already returned. With a powerful burst, he leapt off the twin-shortsword knight's back, using his partner as a springboard. The lance thrust downward mid-air, forcing the Bandit King to block high.

At that exact moment, the mace-wielder lunged in from the side, shield smashing toward the Dark Elf's ribs once more. The Bandit King twisted his torso, barely avoiding the blow, but it was a distraction—just enough time for the battle axe knight to retrieve his weapon and swing upward in one clean arc.

Magnetism flared again.

This time, the Dark Elf didn't repel. He reversed the polarity.

The Holy Knights suddenly found themselves dragged toward him, their armor and weapons betraying them. It was an unseen force pulling them all into his orbit.

And he was ready.

His longsword cut through the air in a brutal, sweeping arc, aiming to catch them all mid-motion.

The Holy Knights adjusted instantly.

As they were pulled forward, Captain Edwin raised his shield above his head—just as Alexandra stepped onto it. Without hesitation, Edwin launched her upward, propelling her over the Dark Elf's deadly swing.

She twisted midair. The twin-shortsword knight, also caught in the pull, used his momentum to dive past the strike instead of resisting it. The lancer kicked off the ground, spinning out of range. The battle axe knight ducked low, his shield angled just right to catch the grazing edge of the sword.

The Bandit King's blade passed through nothing but air.

Soon, the man was going to run out of mana, and in that moment, he heard a voice.

"Want some help?"

It was a woman's voice, but it wasn't the parasite now implanted in his mind. 

It was a voice that came from… behind him?

The air thickened.

The Bandit King felt it before he saw her—an unnatural stillness, a shift in presence, like the wintry battlefield itself had coiled behind him. He turned.

She stood just outside the chaos of battle, her figure draped in a dusky robe that swallowed the dim light. Black hair, long and sleek, cascaded past her shoulders, adorned with delicate gold ornaments that caught the faintest glimmers of the battlefield's glow. 

Her skin was an auburn brown like polished wood, a nice pair to the dark fabric wrapping her form. The golden cuffs at her throat and wrists gleamed, intricate and regal as if she had once belonged to something far greater than the bloodstained earth she now walked upon.

But it was her eyes that devoured the world.

Blood-red, deep and endless, burning with an unnatural hunger. They did not flicker with the raw fury of war or the cold calculation of a predator. No—these eyes held something older. Something patient.

And then, she smiled.

Her lips curled, revealing a pair of fangs—sharp, terrifying, as if to confirm what he already knew.

A vampire.

In fact, Mabbel caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of her eye amongst the carnage of the front lines… and yes, it was the very one the Gloomtaurs had captured.

Somehow, she had escaped.

Her voice slithered through the battlefield, low and amused. "Ophelia is as slimy as ever, huh?"

Across the field, amongst her many soldiers, Ophelia's silver eyes widened. Just for a moment. A flicker of recognition. Then, for the first time since the war began, her expression shifted into something darker.

Even more serious.

Even more cold.

She had come to a realization confirmed by her eyes.

Even those who were dead at the time of her own death… could regress as well.

.

[You have encountered another Candidate] 

[Slay them for a hefty reward]