In the frozen silence of the forgotten cave, in this dark lair where only shadows dared to move, a whisper of dark energy seeped into the veins of the stone.
Slowly, a form emerged from the darkness—an imposing figure draped in ebony armor, worn by time and stained with filth, taking on an ancient appearance, with markings engraved in letters of doubtful meaning.
It was him, the newborn of death, still stammering in his mastery of dark energy and in the control of his body.
Before him stood another dead being, revived through his power—a living corpse that did not seem to struggle as he did, as if, in life, he had been well-versed in practices requiring the use of negative energy.
Their gazes met in an electrifying tension, a prelude to an inevitable duel.
Yet, the ritual of combat did not take place. The undead, in a strange reverence, knelt before the newborn of death, as if recognizing in him an authority greater than any he could have hoped to challenge.
After all, if he could once again tread the earth of this world, it was thanks to the being standing before him.
This gesture, as unexpected as it was inexplicable, suspended the moment in an almost sacred atmosphere.
"You have inherited all my skills... Who would have thought we would share this kind of relationship? Fate is cruel indeed. I can understand what binds you to this world. I have answered your call—let me complete your work."
The Death Knight, still a novice and bewildered by the extent of his powers, found himself unable to use dark energy to form even a single word.
"I see... So that's how it is. It seems even your memories have been altered in the process."
"You must be disoriented—you have a purpose but do not know what it is. And you are incapable of perfectly controlling your own body. I presume even my abilities were used by you unconsciously."
In his distress, he called upon incantations of unknown origin—spells bursting forth from his being without him fully understanding their mechanism.
To everyone's surprise, these invocations, powerful and uncontrolled, immediately mobilized like the forces of the dead. Every skeletal and wandering being, except for the shaman still kneeling, converged toward him, silently joining the shadow he cast.
"Then let me offer you a suggestion, Death Knight—you who have lost everything and returned from the other world."
The Death Knight, who had not moved until now, saw the flames in his eyes flare up, as if fuel had been thrown onto them, intrigued by what was about to unfold.
"Now that you no longer remember who you were, nor what you are, let me prepare what you need to fulfill your purpose. As for you—go and explore this world. Call me when you are ready."
After saying this, the undead vanished, leaving only the Death Knight alone in the cave.
The light in his eyes dimmed.
Driven by an irresistible need to understand what he had become and the purpose that had called him back to existence, the Knight left the relative safety of the cave to confront the outside world.
Each step he took on the cold, rough ground echoed like the sound of an inexorable fate, leaving behind a trail of miasma.
The night draped the landscape in a veil of mystery, and the darkness, allies to his newborn nature, seemed to whisper secrets of a world far beyond the reach of light. Yet, to his undead perception, everything appeared dull, as if the world existed only in black and white—everything was white.
His wandering soon led him to the edge of a forest. Instinctively, he skirted around it. With each step, he felt guided, as if what he needed was amassed in a single place. If the forest held two gold ingots, then the place he was heading toward contained ten—and naturally, he followed the path that led to more.
Eventually, he reached his first village—a haven of life where humans, still untouched by the dark influence of the abyss, carried on their existence in blissful ignorance.
But the arrival of the Death Knight was anything but a blessing.
The moment he stepped within the village's boundaries, his ominous silhouette, draped in a grim aura, sent a shockwave through the townspeople.
"Oh, goddess! What is that? Demons!"
"The demons are attacking! Run!"
Screams of horror and despair filled the air as villagers pressed against the walls of their homes, seeking refuge behind makeshift barricades.
That day, the young men assigned as watchmen had failed to perform their duties properly. By the time he was noticed, it was already too late.
Faces that had first held astonishment quickly twisted into expressions of pure terror.
Furtive glances, frantic movements, and even whispered prayers in the night all bore witness to the panic seizing them.
The Knight, observing their reactions with cold indifference, felt an odd dissonance within himself.
Though he possessed terrifying power and command over the dead, he remained unable to express his purpose through speech.
These humans, who seemed to him like insects he could crush at will, had something—something he lacked. His instinct urged him to take it from them.
The presence of the Death Knight, as much as it fascinated, spread fear and confusion.
But more than that, these worms who fled before him needed to learn their place. They did not understand the value of what they possessed, and even if they did, he was the one who needed it the most—always more, ever more.
His first contact with the world of the living marked the beginning of a long journey. The negative energy exuding from his body clouded his senses and distorted his thoughts.
As the Death Knight advanced deeper into the village, all he left behind was a town plunged into chaos.
He embarked on a silent quest—seeking to piece together the fragments of an identity still shrouded in uncertainty, to understand the origins of the dark energy that pulsed within him, and most importantly, to grasp the reason he had been called back from the abyss.
Each step, each clumsy incantation, and each encounter was another clue in the puzzle of his existence.
The Death Knight, still searching for his true nature, now moved through a world that, despite its apparent beauty, offered him nothing but the sinister echoes of an inescapable fate.
The fear of men, the power of the occult forces, and the unfathomable mystery of his own being intertwined to shape the outline of a future as dark as it was terrifying.
The world had really screwed up.
Somewhere in the distance, a certain undead with shamanic powers watched the Death Knight.
"Exploring the world, huh? As if you were human."
He burst into laughter.
"But well, I'll keep my promise."
"As an undead, wandering the human world means becoming a target to be eliminated."
"In any case, if you die, then that's all you were worth—and at least you'll have entertained me a little. I wonder… what would the humans to whom you once devoted your life think if you were the one to take theirs in the end? And how will you feel, as an undead, when you finally regain your memories? I can't wait to see."
With those words, he vanished into the night.