Awakening from an over 500 year sleep, Sychar, an ancient European man, wakes up in Teutonic Germany, the world vastly different to what he remembered. Trying to find his way, he must decide whether his fate must stay in darkness or find it's way into the light.

A group of knights dressed in the white and gold garb of the Teutonic order walked through a cramped tunnel, stony faced and brandishing their swords in their right hands, the typical superstition. The tunnel was carved straight out of the earth, barely anything supporting the stone as a wind whistled through the cave.

After walking for what felt like an age to him, one of the knights muttered about why they were investigating rumours of a centuries old corpse, only to be told by another that it hadn’t been affected by time. That shut him up and quickened his pace.

The 5 knights eventually came to a tomb set into the stone, carved with unnerving scenes of death and destruction as well as ancient writing in Latin script, reminding the knights of German. They guessed it was old German, recognizing some of their own language. A door of stone was left open, exposing a man inside.

The man had grey-ish skin, but was otherwise perfectly intact. He was at rest leaning back in a box with glass separating him and the knights. He had hair a shade between copper and blood, almost reaching his shoulders. The knights were stunned at the fact there was no signs of being dead besides the man’s greying skin.

After consorting with each other, one of the knights carefully opened the front of the box, watching the corpse with cautious eyes. The corpse was draped in black, leather-like armour with sections of mail visible in some places. The armour itself was definitely aged, fading clear in the leather.

“Uhhhh” the corpse groaned, shifting to the point it fell to the ground with a heavy thud at the feet of the knight. Its eyes opened with a flutter, trying to focus on its surroundings. The knights starred in abysmal silence as the corpse picked itself up and looked at them dazedly. It, he, asked them something in old German, looking at them curiously once he got up.

“You’re coming with us.” The knight who opened the cabinet told the walking dead man, cockily seizing him by the arm roughly. No sooner was the man sullen faced with death in his bright green eyes, twisting the knight’s arm and body to use him as a shield against the other knights.

The man asked something else; unsheathing the held knight’s sword before the knight himself could and tossing it behind him. It had a dual effect, telling the knights that he either didn’t want to fight or didn’t need a weapon. Asking the same thing once more, the man seemed to relax and then closed his eyes, though his arm was still tight around the knight’s neck.

The free knights tried to help their comrade be talking to the man, but to no avail. He only understood a few of their words and he, theirs. Not soon after, a sickening crack came from the captured knight’s neck before the grey-skinned man pushed him forward with a blank look.

“Tot.” He murmured, sweeping up dust from the floor as one knight, face twisted with anguish, rushed at him, getting a face full of the stuff and completely missing the stab he was attempting. Oddly, the man seemed surprised by something, like something was wrong or off.

He hummed in a thoughtful monotone for a moment before twisting out of the way of a slash from a great blade about 4 feet long, his cold emerald eyes surveying every detail of his attacker before he spied a short sword at his attacker’s hip. He twirled around the knight, stealing the blade from its sheath before bringing it around to slice at the knight’s armored face. He was clearly perplexed by something and having put barely any force into it, as the impact only slightly moved the knight’s head back with a slight ring.

In reaction, the knight swung his sword around, the long blade completely missing the ducking man who proceeded to move in front of then slice at the knight’s shoulder with such force that the short sword cracked and the armor dented, followed up with a kick to the chest that would have broken ribs, denting the armor as well. The act scared one knight from even beginning to attack.

One of the knights came in to support their ally, just grazing the phenomenally strong man who turned out of the way to slam the hilt of the short sword into the knight’s face. A sickening crunch beneath the denting armor was a brutal confirmation that the man was greater than the knights could handle without working together properly.

Staying back, the knights surveyed their deadly opponent, looking better at him. He looked gaunt, pale and definitely hadn’t eaten for a while, although he looked athletic instead of the typical weak look of such a person.

The End

0 comments about this story Feed