The Ruined Death Knight Novels & Stories

Kaelus clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white, a dangerous wrath flaring deep in his chest. The snow had already fallen there, while he was still stuck wasting time in this place. "Take care of them," Kaelus commanded his trusted vanguard, his tone clipped as he turned on his heel and walked out without a backward glance. The following morning, near the Capital’s central fountain, a baker gasped as he stumbled upon a body dumped behind the bushes of the pool. The dead man wore the uniform of a D'Arest knight, his throat slashed so deeply it was nearly severed. His face was completely unrecognizable.

He buckled in on himself, his arms wrapping around his midsection as he sank to the ground, and I rolled my eyes at how pitiful he truly was. The light was fading fast, but I’d seen enough already to know this guy was high as hell right now. I didn’t have any idea what kind of drug had him acting this way, but he was endangering Rune and her children by being here while his mind was in an altered state. I clenched my jaw, keeping one eye on Damian who’d curled up into a ball on the rough ground, the shards of glass from the window glimmering in the low light, while simultaneously risking a glance up at the window.

The silk soaked up most of the stain, and what was left was a dim mark, blending into the fabric—hardly noticeable without direct lighting. I sighed in relief, grateful to the stranger—but I refused to be distracted. I made my way back to the gala. They took my legacy, my life, and worst of all, the life of my unborn baby. It would take more than a spilled drink to deter me from executing my revenge. I stepped back into the hall with my head held high. My re-entry was less grand than my initial appearance, but I was unfazed as I scanned the room for signs of Walter. Finally, my eyes settled on him—surrounded by other CEOs, already deep in discussion with my father.

I didn't want to seem ungrateful as he had given them to me to protect me. “Loretta would be able to handle this. According to your words Kaiden, this is an anomaly.” The man stroked his chin. “Oh, pardon my manners. I'm Vincent, the lead sorcerer for the annihilation of the army of the dead.” “Army of the dead?” I repeated. “Yes. Haven't you heard of them? They're heading north and we have to be on guard.” He said. “I certainly know of them.” I replied. When did all of this happen?

She vanished, her form dissolving into shadows. Elena stood in the empty tower, her chest heaving. The dark runes had faded, their power broken. The tower was silent, save for the distant sounds of battle below. She descended the spiral staircase, her heart pounding. The sanctuary was crumbling, its walls giving way, its towers falling. The darkness that had sustained it was gone, replaced by chaos and destruction. Elena fought her way through the ruins, her eyes searching for Kaelen. She found him in the courtyard, Morgana at his side, the chains finally broken. His body was covered in wounds, his face pale, but his eyes were alive.

He slowly began to wrap them in fresh, stark-white athletic tape, pulling the fabric taut over his bruised knuckles. He was preparing for his second night in the Crucible. For the last twenty-four hours, the Bastion’s mind had been a war zone of conflicting tactical data. Varkas had given him the explanation: the Death Game was not a slaughterhouse, but a quarantine. The 'Wild' men generated too much volatile kinetic mana. The 'Red Rust' infected their minds, turning them into rabid, violent monsters. The only cure was to bleed the kinetic energy out through brutal, physical combat.

Mira whispered, “A deathknight.” Kaelen’s grip tightened. The blade hummed, the runes whispering. He had heard of them in stories—warriors bound by blood oaths to guard the darkest secrets. Not living, not dead, but chained. The soldiers steadied behind their champion, confidence renewed. The deathknight lowered his greatblade and pointed it at Kaelen. “Chosen,” it said, voice hollow as a tomb. “You walk no further.” Aric growled low, hackles raised.

he smiled sinisterly. They both laughed after that. An ordinary person would be mortified if they knew these two but since I was not any better I Iet a cold smile grow on my face. While we passed time going to the rendezvous. They chose to chit chat on this topic It was a memory I remember quite well. The death of the Dark knights’ gang's leader, Leonardo. He let his power get to his head and actually thought he stood a chance against me… well long story short… he died the worst possible death ever.

They'd stolen his faith, his honour, his very identity. Time to show them what grew in the ashes of their cruelty. As if in answer to his resolution, footsteps approached through darkness. Multiple figures, trying for stealth but lacking professional training. Bandits, perhaps. Or desperate locals who'd turned to robbery. Kaelen gripped the stolen knife, positioning himself in shadow. The old knight would have called out warning, offered peaceful resolution. That man was dead. Three figures entered the ruins, weapons drawn but held uncertainly. Not bandits: their clothes, while rough, showed careful maintenance. Rebels of some sort, or scouts for a larger group.

“But you tense up every time I mention the past. Why is that, Elena? What are you carrying that makes you look at me like I’m the villain in your story?” “I look at you like that because you are a villain to a lot of people,” I replied, forcing a small laugh. “You don’t exactly have a reputation for being gentle. Tell me, Damien, do you ever regret the deals that destroyed families? Or is it all just collateral damage in your rise to the top?” He didn’t flinch. “I regret not seeing the trap sooner. Someone used me as a scapegoat. The Hart collapse, the others—there was more going on behind the scenes. I’ve been trying to prove it.”