With the sudden Incursion by darkness, the Empire was plunged into chaos, nobles retreated back to their territory, civilians ran from the city, the Imperial Family took shelter in the Imperial Palace with the entirety of the Imperial Knights stationed around the Palace to ensure no beasts could make it in the Palace.
The captain of the knightly order, Captain Aiken De Chelsea, known for his hubris and lack of skill, he only managed to obtain such a position with the help of his family, as he rallied the knights he stood Captain Aiken stood atop a hastily constructed platform, his gilded armor gleaming under the pale sun. He thrust his sword into the air, his voice ringing out across the courtyard where the remaining knights gathered.
"Knights of the Kaizen Empire! Today, we stand as the shield against this so-called 'darkness.' These beasts are nothing more than a test of our mettle! Follow me, and together we shall purge this filth from our city!"
The knights exchanged uneasy glances. They had seen the horrors unleashed upon Emberfall. No words of bravado could erase the image of noblemen devoured whole or streets littered with the mangled remains of commoners. But Aiken's family influence and their oaths bound them to his command. While Aiken basks in his imagined glory, the knights quietly mutter among themselves. Some doubt his leadership, others fear what awaits them, but they reluctantly follow orders.
With Captain Aiken commanding a portion of them, they marched The knights marched in tight formation, their boots echoing against the cracked cobblestones. Smoke filled the air, the acrid scent of burning flesh stinging their nostrils. Shadows flickered in the alleyways, too quick to follow, yet always watching.
"Eyes up! Stay in formation!"
Aiken barked, his voice brimming with false confidence.
The knights encounter a small group of shadow-beasts. While the more experienced knights prepare for battle, Aiken charges recklessly, seeking glory.
From the mist emerged a creature unlike anything they had faced before—a hulking, misshapen beast, its blackened flesh steaming in the cold air. Its eyes glowed like embers, and its claws gleamed with unnatural sharpness.
"A single beast?"
Aiken sneered, drawing his sword.
"Is this all the darkness has to offer?"
Without waiting for his men, he charged forward, shouting,
"For the Empire!"
Aiken's blade struck the beast's hide, but it barely left a scratch. The creature roared, swiping its massive claws at him. His shield splintered, and he stumbled back, his face pale with fear.
"Help me!"
he screamed, his earlier bravado gone. The knights surged forward, their swords flashing, cutting into the beast while Aiken scrambled to safety. Despite defeating the initial beast, more demons begin to appear, overwhelming the knights. The encounter was akin to waves of pure dark hitting against sand, with each surge the less knights that still lives.
The knights fought with the desperation of men who knew they were doomed. Shields locked and blades flashing, they pushed back against the endless tide of shadow-beasts, but for every creature felled, two more emerged from the swirling mists. Blood pooled beneath their boots, turning the cobblestones into slick, treacherous ground.
"Hold the line!"
one knight roared, his voice cracking with strain. His shield arm trembled under the weight of a monstrous claw that raked against it, sparks flying as the steel buckled. Behind him, another knight fell with a scream, his chest ripped open by jagged teeth.
"We can't hold much longer!"
shouted another, his voice hoarse. Yet he did not waver, standing firm as a beast lunged toward him, its claws scraping harmlessly against his battered armor.
"Hold the line I said!"
Aiken bellowed, retreating further into the formation. The knights, though trained, began to falter as the demons swarmed them, claws and teeth tearing through armor and flesh. The screams of dying men filled the air. Some knights fight valiantly, trying to protect each other, while others begin to panic. Aiken, instead of rallying them, focuses solely on his own survival, further sowing chaos.
"Captain, give us an order!"
a knight shouted, his helmet knocked askew as he parried a blow. Aiken glanced back from where he stood near the rear, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles were white. His voice was shrill as he yelled,
"Keep fighting! Do your duty!"
"What duty?"
another knight spat, his tone bitter.
"Dying while he hides behind us?"
Aiken's face flushed with anger, but he made no effort to refute the accusation. Instead, he took another step back, his gaze darting toward the alley behind him—a possible escape route.
"We need to fall back!"
shouted one knight, blood streaming from a gash across his face.
"We're outnumbered!"
"Retreat, and you'll face my blade!"
Aiken snarled, though his voice wavered. He made no move to lead the charge or provide aid. As the battle turns hopeless, Aiken abandons his men, retreating to save himself. Aiken still commands them to hold the line while he himself, ran as fast as he could away from the carnage looking only to save his own skin.
The demons' roars grew louder, their hulking forms surging forward in a wave of shadow and malice. The line of knights, battered and bloodied, finally broke, their formation collapsing under the relentless onslaught. Aiken took one last look at the carnage, his breath shallow and ragged. He saw men he'd known for years—men who had trained beside him, laughed with him—falling beneath the claws of the beasts. Yet instead of steel-hard resolve, all he felt was fear.
"There's no point in all of us dying here,"
he muttered under his breath, his voice shaking. He turned and ran, shoving past a wounded knight who reached out to him. The man's gauntleted hand fell limply to the ground as Aiken disappeared into the alley. Minutes later, the streets of Emberfall grew quiet. The clang of steel and the cries of the wounded were gone, replaced by the low, guttural growls of shadow-beasts feasting on the fallen. The cobblestones, once a proud symbol of the Empire's might, were slick with blood and viscera.
The last knight—a young man barely old enough to wield a blade—lay gasping for breath. His helmet was gone, and blood trickled from a deep wound on his side. He stared up at the sky, his lips moving as if in prayer, though no words escaped. His eyes widened briefly as a hulking beast loomed over him. Then the shadows swallowed him whole.
After minutes of mindless running, Aiken stumbled into a narrow alleyway. He collapsed against a wall, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. The echoes of battle still rang in his ears—the clash of steel, the screams of dying men—but here, in the quiet shadows, he was safe. A twisted smile spread across his face as he leaned his head back, his gilded armor catching the faint light of the moon.
He leaned heavily against the crumbling stone wall, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The gaudy decorations on his gilded armor now hung askew, splattered with grime and blood that wasn't his own. The once-pristine emblem of the Kaizen Empire on his chest plate was smeared with ash, its golden sheen dulled. But despite this, a twisted smile played on his lips.
"I made it,"
Aiken whispered to himself, his voice trembling with relief.
"Those fools... they were too weak. Too slow. But I survived. I'm still here."
He straightened up, brushing off the dust clinging to his armor, as if shaking off the shame of his retreat. In his mind, he was already rewriting the narrative of his escape.
"I'll tell them the knights fell too quickly,"
he muttered, pacing now, his hands gesturing wildly as if addressing an unseen crowd. "Yes... yes, I'll say I was the last one standing, that I fought to the very end but was forced to retreat to warn the Empire. They'll believe me. They'll have to."
His laughter echoed through the empty alleyway, hollow and brittle. He was so caught up in his self-rationalizing that he didn't notice the low growl behind him, a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver through the air.
A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision. He froze, his breath hitching. Slowly, he turned his head, his armor creaking with the motion. There, emerging from the darkness, was a beast. Its form was hunched and grotesque, its blackened flesh steaming in the cool night air. Glowing red eyes locked onto him, and its maw opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth dripping with saliva.
Aiken's legs buckled beneath him, and he fell backward, his sword clattering uselessly to the ground. For the first time in his life, the bravado that usually coated his words failed him entirely. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
"N-no..."
he finally stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Stay back. Stay... stay away!"
The beast crouched, its muscles coiling like a spring. It lunged in a blur of motion, and before Aiken could even scream, claws raked across his chest. The fragile plates of his ornate armor shattered like glass, and blood sprayed across the alley walls. He hit the ground hard, gasping for air, but the beast gave him no reprieve.
It tore into him, ripping through flesh and bone with savage glee. His screams were short-lived, muffled by the beast's jaws as it tore at his throat. The alley was soon silent again, save for the wet, sickening sounds of the beast feasting on what remained of him.
In the moments after his death, the alleyway was eerily still, save for the beast slinking back into the shadows, leaving behind a mangled corpse. Aiken's lifeless eyes stared upward, unseeing, as the faint moonlight reflected off the golden fragments of his broken armor.
How ironic, the silence seemed to whisper. He had been given a choice—to die with his knights and be remembered as a hero, a valiant last stand for the Empire. Instead, he chose the coward's path, abandoning them to their deaths. And for what? To die pitifully in a forgotten alleyway, his name destined to be spat on in shame rather than sung in glory.
The very thing he sought to escape—death—had claimed him anyway. And in the end, Aiken De Chelsea was no captain, no knight. Just a man consumed by his own fear, whose life ended not with a noble stand, but with a whimper.