[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/LawfbCn.png[/img][/center] Volume 1 - Beggar Knight [right]Stand with Honour[/right] [hr] Duncan stood still for a moment, his pulse slowing but the power from the armour still thrumming, pulling at him. The Elder Ghul lay dead at his feet, their immense bodies sprawled across the chamber floor, and yet the hunger inside the living armour was not sated. It demanded more, more blood, more death, more chaos. Omar and Mehdi exchanged nervous glances, uncertain how to react to their companion, who no longer seemed entirely human. They had seen Duncan fight before, but this was different. He moved like a predator, like something ancient and terrifying that had been awoken deep within him. The three stood in silence, Duncan's friends not quite sure what to say or do in his terrifying presence. "We need to go." Duncan said, his voice a strange mixture of his own and something far more primal. His eyes behind his helmet were wild, burning with a savage intensity. "The camp needs us." Without waiting for a response, Duncan turned and led them back through the corridor. His strides were swift and purposeful, the cursed armour carrying him with unnatural ease. Omar and Mehdi followed, keeping their distance, still unsure of the creature that now wore their friend's face. As they climbed back up the spiral staircase, the eerie hum from the chamber below faded. But the tension didn't. Duncan's chest still ached, the shard of the Ebony Blade embedded in his heart pulsing with each step, reminding him of the cost of this power. They emerged from the subterranean ruins to find the camp in chaos. The Ghul had mounted a massive assault in their absence, the campfires flickering wildly as soldiers fought to repel the vicious creatures. Screams filled the air, mingled with the clash of steel and the guttural growls of the Ghul. Duncan barely paused. He charged forward, his mace in hand, the living armour propelling him into battle with terrifying speed. He crashed into the nearest Ghul, swinging his mace with bone shattering force. The beast was sent flying, its skull crushed, but Duncan didn't stop. The armour's hunger was insatiable. It guided him through the battlefield like a storm, tearing through the Ghul with ruthless efficiency. Mehdi and Omar fought valiantly, but they couldn't keep up with Duncan. He was a force of nature, moving faster and hitting harder than any man should be capable of. The Ghul fell before him like wheat before a scythe, their monstrous forms crumbling under his assault. Blood sprayed the sands, and Duncan felt a dark satisfaction rising within him. The armour wanted more. Demanded more. But with each kill, the armour grew tighter, more suffocating. The line between Duncan and the beast within the metal blurred. His chest burned, the shard of the Ebony Blade flaring with dark energy, feeding the curse. He felt it then, the armour trying to take control. The line between the movements he chose to do, and the ones it was making him do began to blur. The battlefield faded from his vision, replaced by a swirling void of darkness and blood. The primal roar of the beast within the armour echoed in his mind, calling him to surrender, to give in to the power, to let it consume him completely. No! Duncan fought back, gritting his teeth. He couldn't lose himself. Not now. Not after everything. His friends, his mission, they still needed him. But the armour tightened around his body, its influence pressing harder. His limbs felt heavier, his movements more violent. He was losing the battle for control. His shrouded vision spun as he whipped his head around and watched as the last of the Ghul fell. But rather than cheers of victory the people of the camp were almost silent, many of them casting worried glances or flat out staring at Duncan. He looked down at his bloodied metal hands, like a beasts claws curling up towards him and then back to the people of the camp. He shook his head violently, regaining just enough control to turn and pounce like a wildcat, scrambling on all fours at a speed far greater than he could run back towards the cliff that overlooked the camp Mehdi had shown him before. He could feel the armour's will. It didn't just want to kill the Ghul, it wanted to kill anyone in its path. He could feel it trying to draw him to the camp, to satiate its thirst for blood. He had to resist. He began clawing at the armour, trying to peel it off and toss it away, but it was like trying to peel off your own skin. Every time he tried to tear at it his skin felt like it was burning. He could feel the armour resisting, solidifying itself as part of him moer and more as he struggled. He gripped the helmet in his hands, shutting his eyes tight as he shook his head, trying to fight against the thoughts telling him to let go of control. And then a glimmer of hope, a vision of times long gone. [hider=Memory 3]Duncan's ears were filled with the chaotic clamor of battle. Screams of pain, the clang of steel, and the thunderous gallop of horses crashed against his senses. He was small, too small for the battlefield, barely more than a child, yet here he was a conscript in a mercenary band, fighting for coin and survival. The weight of the rusty shortsword in his trembling hands felt like a mockery of the carnage surrounding him. The battlefield was a vast plain, its rolling hills dotted with the bodies of fallen men and horses. Smoke rose in thick plumes from distant fires, the acrid scent of blood and burning flesh stinging his nose. Duncan's heart raced. He could barely keep his wits about him. He had been taught to fight, to survive, but no training had prepared him for this, a real war. He darted through the chaos, ducking under wild swings and avoiding the trampling hooves of warhorses. His mercenary band was outnumbered, hired to fight for a cause they didn’t believe in, just coin in their pockets. Duncan had been pushed to the front lines, and now he was alone. He had lost sight of his comrades, and his small frame made him a target. A shadow loomed over him. He spun around to see a massive knight bearing down on him, clad in dark, jagged armour that looked as though it had been forged from his nightmares. The knight's visor was down, but the cold, soulless gaze of his eyes gleamed from behind it. Duncan froze, unable to move, as the knight raised a wicked sword high above his head, ready to bring it down and end the boy's life. Fear seized Duncan, his legs refusing to respond to his desperate desire to flee. He raised his flimsy sword in a futile attempt to block the blow, but he knew it would shatter against the knight's steel. Time seemed to slow as the sword descended toward him, and Duncan felt his heart stop. And then, in a blinding flash of gold and steel, a figure burst between him and the knight, intercepting the deadly blow with a shield that gleamed like the sun. It was him. The man who claimed to be the rightful king of Albion, Arthur. Duncan was supposed to be fighting against him, and yet here he was, being saved by him. The king's presence was larger than life, his armor shining with a brilliance that seemed to drive back the darkness of the battlefield. His golden helm reflected the light of the burning fires, and Excalibur, his legendary sword, shone with an ethereal glow. The sheer force of his presence sent shockwaves across the field, and the knight who had nearly killed Duncan was momentarily stunned, as if fearing the king's wrath. Arthur didn't speak as he effortlessly parried the knight's next attack, his movements swift and precise. With a single stroke, Arthur cleaved through the dark knight’s armor, sending him crashing to the ground in a heap of broken metal and flesh. Duncan stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest, unable to comprehend what had just happened. His sword slipped from his fingers, falling uselessly to the ground. He was just a child in the presence of a legend. King Arthur turned to him, his gaze calm and reassuring. Behind the visor of his helm, his eyes were kind, filled with a quiet wisdom and strength that soothed Duncan's terror. He pulled his visor up, revealing his sharp, handsome features and blonde hair. "Young one." Arthur said, his voice deep but gentle. "This is no place for you." Duncan could only stare, his body shaking with the adrenaline of his near death experience. He opened his mouth to speak but found no words. Arthur knelt before Duncan, lowering his sword. He placed a gauntleted hand on the boy's trembling shoulder, his touch firm but comforting. "Do not be afraid. You are not meant for this life. Not yet." Duncan looked up at him, his lips quivering. "W-why...why did you save me?" Arthur smiled, a warmth spreading across his face. "Because even in the midst of darkness, there are those worth saving. You have a path ahead of you, young one, a light within you that cannot be extinguished." Duncan felt a surge of emotion rise in his chest. This man, this king, had seen something in him, something worth saving. He felt the tears sting his eyes, but he blinked them back, nodding quickly, trying to steady himself. Arthur rose to his full height, his golden armor gleaming in the sunlight. "Remember this day." he said softly, "and remember that you are never alone in battle. Stand with honour, and you will never be defeated." He took one last look at Duncan. "Come and find me after the battle, boy, Albion needs brave warriors like you." And with that, Arthur turned and charged back into the fray, his sword raised high as he rallied his men to victory. Duncan stood there, watching the legendary king vanish into the chaos, his heart still racing but filled with a strange sense of peace.[/hider] As the memory faded, Duncan found himself back on the cliff overlooking the camp, the cursed armour loosening its hold. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his fingers gripping the helm as he tore it free from his head. The air was cool against his sweat-slicked skin, and the weight of the armour seemed to lessen. Arthur's words echoed in his mind, grounding him. Stand with honour. With one final, violent effort, Duncan ripped the cursed armour from his body, it retreating back into its liquid form and disappearing down the shoulders of his robes. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, but he was free, at least for now. He could still feel it there, part of him. But at least he had control over it for the moment. The memory of Arthur's light had saved him once again. Now, it was time to find Merlin.