Chapter Text
“Have you truly no honor anymore?”
Phainon slung his sword’s blade to the side - eyes watching the amount of grim that messily flung off and onto the floor. Leaving behind specks of dirt and blood on that floor, just as he always did when he had to fight this man.
His eyes moved to look at the person he was speaking to - always attempting to reach out to his humanity, but what humanity did that fallen prince even have left to speak of?
Every single time they met and Phainon made these attempts, hand outstretched, the dishonored prince would roll his own eyes a little.
“Honor does nothing when the other does not play fair - nor do they value it.” That robed man countered, and even with that hood up - Phainon could always see it.
That unbridled rage in golden amber eyes, looking as if he wanted to scorch the world and tear it all down - fitting for the things he now did in his life. Golden hair that now seemed completely dyed red with the blood of innocents that he had killed peaking through his hood and exposing how long and ungroomed it had become.
It was a shame, considering Phainon could remember the time when this man was an upstanding prince who would politely attend courtly meetings with his family. And now?
Now he was here in full black and shoddy apparel, no kingdom behind him to speak for - and the reason why was quite obvious to Phainon now.
This man had killed all of them, plagued his entire kingdom and bloodline, forced their history and lives to crumble so quickly; all to satisfy his necromancy fantasy of control.
“That’s a lesson you’ll learn eventually, little knight,” That necromancer told him with an edge of rigidness to his tone, so blunt that Phainon found himself shuffling his weight a little. If anything, from that man’s lips it was a horrible promise or curse.
Nothing Phainon wanted to find out about fully as he stared at that figure in the moonlight - eyes tracing up and down the other’s weapon in minute fascination towards that sword.
It had always been odd to Phainon how this spellcaster seemed to carry a sword with him and preferred fighting his battles himself - but no matter how much of the Kremnoan legacy he had torn down with his own hands, the blood in his veins still bound him to some things; Phainon supposed, at least.
“I refuse,” Was Phainon rather snippy reply, borderline spat out of his mouth as he instead dashed forward again - anything to try to overwhelm that man and plunge his blade through his chest.
Every movement was a dance, an elegant display of both of their feet sliding in the dirt and mud - never being caught off guard or balance. Always perfectly glancing a blow from the other with sparks of steel lighting up the area around them from the impact - all to give off screeches of metal as that necromancer blocked his attacks again and again.
This was what Phainon never fully understood about that man - all of his intentions should be killing him, trying to raise more undead..
Yet he never counterattacked, never made a move to stab Phainon through his own chest and make him into a mindless undead to join his army. Never once used the moments where Phainon was slightly defenseless to land a single blow.
.. Never used his presumed army of the dead, either.
He should have plenty from his time at Kremnos, slaughtering everyone and making that entire civilization fall - but it never happened. Again and again it was just the two of them, and that fallen prince never seemed to actually have any bloodlust.
Not towards Phainon, at least.
Whatever the case for this man’s reasoning, it never stuck with Phainon - all questions he had, he merely threw out. There was no use arguing or trying to convince the insane, let alone a man who spoke with the dead.
All Phainon could do was lunge forward, leather gloves tight and straining as he lashed his claymore up once more - just barely missing that agile man.
.. For how big the necromancer was, his agility was something Phainon had looked over many times. Always forgetting that this was not a blundering oaf, but someone more akin to a fierce lion, able to dodge and parry his attacks with practiced ease.
“It’s a shame you’ve gone this route,” Phainon growled as he stepped away just a few feet, sliding a muddied boot against the floor as he watched that man only keenly watching him - studying his every move in order to aptly defend himself from the next attack.
Only, Phainon moved slightly, standing up straight - the opposite of how that scum was positioned, lower to the floor and appearing more feral.
And Phainon could only shake his head at how far that prince had fallen - not longer paraded by his own knights, and now battling in the middle of the night with someone desperately trying to defend their kingdom; “What did your kingdom ever do to wrong their crown prince so badly, Mydeimos?”
Phainon never understood, gripping his sword’s hilt as tight as he could while he shook his head; “You were treasured, even I from a differing kingdom remember the parades done in your honor. Yet, you would go such a path to dishonor them all?”
“You speak a lot for someone who knows nothing about that topic,” Mydeimos muttered back, sounding less convinced of his own words as well.
But Phainon had to chuckle over that, slamming his blade into the mushy dirt as he leaned onto it a bit lazily to his side - staring at that necromancer that never attacked first only remained there. Waiting for Phainon, just like always.
“I know plenty!” Phainon cheerfully told him, basking in the way Mydeimos seemed to take a slight step back at that - caught off guard, assuredly, “I know they sang songs of praise for how dazzling your mother’s smile was as you were shown to her after your birth! Unknowing that you would take-”
“There’s a lot of lies that spew from your mouth, but accusing me of harming my mother will not be one of them,” Mydeimos for once interrupted, making Phainon jerk his head back a little - staring at the way he could plainly see the beginnings of a heavy frown under that hood he was wearing.
Odd, but humorous considering Mydeimos had never given in to Phainon’s spurring and heckling. Phainon had to cock his head to the side at that.
“Now the disgraced prince thinks he can have a say in what rumors are spun about him?” Phainon asked in an amused tone, unable to keep his laughter to himself as he let a few huffs of it slip out - shaking his head over the fallen prince’s rage, “Mydeimos, you aren’t exactly someone who qualifies for respect anymore. Not after the slaughter that has happened at your hands.”
Mydeimos made quite the loud scoffing noise over that - as if he couldn’t believe he was being scolded by Phainon before he moved to put a hand on his hip rather sassily and a bit awkwardly while holding his own blade.
“A knight who obeys every demand given to him by a false king has no right to judge who may give out respect, either.”
.. Phainon found himself rolling his eyes over that - fighting back a laugh over the way Mydeimos’s one dig that he could conjure up was over Phainon’s loyalty. Something Mydeimos lacked even the tiniest hair of, apparently.
“False king? Ironic, coming from you of all people,” Phainon shook his head slowly, laughing a little before he quickly drew his sword again. Watching keenly as Mydeimos seemed equally prepared for that - already returning to his own fighting posture to receive Phainon’s attack.
And that dance began again as Phainon grit his teeth and snarled at that man, the clinking of their swords meeting blaring in his ears as he leaned towards Mydeimos, “The king of nothing but corpses of your own people!”
“I would rather have those titles than remain a mindless zombie who is still alive like you are,” Mydeimos grumbled right back at him with a rather powerful slash to shake Phainon away from him - forcing him just a few breaths off, but that was enough.
Phainon shook his head at that, moving just a step away from Mydeimos with a wave of his hand - sighing softly over the lackluster insults Mydeimos always used, “‘Mindless zombie’? Are you truly in any position to judge people like that, considering those are the only friends you have anymore?”
Mydeimos didn’t appear to have a good reply at that, instead moving a foot away as well - desiring distance between them both. But that was fine. After all, it had all been driving Phainon insane. So many times this man and himself had fought, only to get nowhere and loop back to their petty little arguments.
“Nothing to say to that? Don’t you think it’s ironic?” Phainon found himself laughing yet again over that refusal from Mydeimos to say anything - feeling his lips quirk in the silence between them both, “I’m not even from the same kingdom as you, and I still know of how highly your people thought of you and adored you. Lining the streets with gold and jewels when you returned home, wrote songs of your triumphs, of your beauty..”
He remembered it well, hearing about the victories and accomplishments of their beloved crown prince; someone who seemed to bring only fortune to his people and was loved by all of them.
“And now you’re nothing more than a low-life who grovels in the slums,” Phainon scoffed as he spoke, discarding those memories away before biting against his own tongue as his eyes narrowed towards that man; fully aware now of what was a secret little button that seemed to anger that necromancer; “Filthy, and forever unable to scrub clean your own mother’s blood from your hands.”
Mydeimos was achingly silent over that - a silence that stretched between the both of them before Mydeimos slowly shook his head. His feet moving a few feet backwards, to which Phainon found himself gritting his teeth over.
“My mother.. Did not die to my own hands,” Mydeimos mumbled out, sounding less and less convincing or well.. Perhaps a bit.. Solemn in his words? As if they were wrought in his own woe before he turned on heel away from Phainon, “See you, little knight.”
“I’m not done with you yet,” Phainon hissed out before lunging forward with his blade extended- only to find himself stumbling as a hand grasped at his leg from the ground. Every time it was like this, Mydeimos would decide he had enough and finally make the undead do something.
It never got any less frustrated for Phainon as he yanked his leg out from that deathgrip - not phased at all by the creaking of joints and bones rising from the forest around him in the mist of night.
Everywhere his eyes looked were more of the undead approaching him so languidly, just like always. Bodies frayed and decaying, years of being buried and resting peacefully - only to have that rest ruined by Mydeimos.
Disgusting abominations of nature, and yet..
They never actually meant to harm Phainon, he knew that much with how every time they actually caught him they merely.. Held onto him before crumbling away into nothing after a few minutes.
Stalling.
They were always just tools for Mydeimos to abscond and leave Phainon alone - always overwhelming him and delaying him, but never wanting his life. It was almost as if the necromancer was an odd pacifist if Phainon ignored the way he had genocided his own kingdom.
And Phainon could only groan as he used his claymore to swipe them away easily - flesh carved into nothing from the years of rot seeped into it and making their bodies borderline goo. All before giving up on that due to the sheer number of them with a heavy exhale leaving his lounge - gritting his teeth into near nothingness over this situation.
“Mydeimos! Don’t run from your fate,” Phainon growled out, moving to look at where that man had quickly vanished off to - only to sigh loudly over the way he could feel it yet again.
Gentleness.
Hands that didn’t fit the angry dead and restless souls were grabbing onto him, soft and kind - hands of decaying zombies and yet they were not demanding. Not holding him down - only merely begging him silently; Stay.
A word spoken to him every time by gestures, and even if his eyes roamed their grotesque features and found himself disgusted by them - bile threatening to ride into his throat.. They still seemed as if they were somehow aware, more calm than anything he had ever expected a necromancer to send after him and it was only doing wonders to enrage him every time.
Not at them; but at Mydeimos.
Was this truly all just some kind of game for him? Was that why he never focused on their fight? Never went for the killing blow?
The dead should rest easily, and yet Phainon stood there now in the moonlight staring after Mydei - hands of the dead only gently pressed onto him and holding his arms and joints but never pulling. He could get away.
He should get away.
Rip their sinews apart and shred them, yet.. He couldn’t. They seemed too.. Human. Too conscious still - as if Mydeimos was using that against Phainon, making pleas on his humanity for people that were already dead. And it was Phainon’s own weakness that it worked every time they had these battles.
All until they withered into nothingness around him - as if their allotted time in this world had come to an end.
Just to leave Phainon alone in the moonlight as he hung his sword slowly, letting it click to the floor with a heavy sigh.
Alone, and a failure once more. He really needed to stop bickering with that man and start fighting more.
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“My king,” Phainon began, feeling breathless as he kneeled there before the lavish amount of stairs leading up to the person he served to his dying moment. His hand clenched against his chest as he closed his eyes behind his helmet, taking a moment to digest his thoughts before blinking upwards at that man sitting atop his throne, “The necromancer appears to be moving south towards the outer reach.”
“Failure, Is what you’re reporting to me then?” The king instantly asked without missing a single heartbeat between the gap of silence - making Phainon hang his head dejectedly.
“Yes, my lord.”
Again.
Again and again he had failed to kill Mydeimos, failed to stab a blade through that man’s spine and made sure he never breathed again or ruined another kingdom.
His king had so much faith in him, enough to continuously send him to deal with the necromancer - and what good was it? What good was he when he continued to fail and fail, coming back to his king with his head low and shame burning in his guts every single time this happened.
“My failures do nothing but tarnish your name, I will forever attempt to atone for these sins of mine,” Phainon started, feeling hot beneath all of his armor - not uncommon, but always odd when he burned from shame and nervousness instead of the heat of battle riling him up and making his bones feel alive.
This…
This was just a mockery of himself, kneeling down and having to repent before the man he had sworn an oath to serve until his death.
“I agree,” That king replied to him in a cold tone, making him glance upwards and stare at the man he had sworn his life to, “How will you attempt to right this wrong you have served unto me yet again?”
That was a question that had been asked of him so many times, one that made his mind race and try to figure out a decent reply. A reply that fit his king’s wants and satisfied him, even though Phainon was quite sure there was no decent answer. Not when he merely continued to flounder and fail at the missions he was mercifully given, time and time again.
“I..” Phainon trailed off before sucking in a cold breath of air through his teeth - gritting them a little as he stared at that white haired king, crown skewed and his face borderline sneering downwards at Phainon for his failures, “I will not rest until I have slain him, I’ve vowed this again and again.”
“So I may witness your foolish endeavors to attempt to slay someone who clearly out skills you repeatedly?” His king asked with a huff of laughter - a harsh and burning sound to Phainon’s ears as he trailed his eyes down to the carpet once again as shame riddled his entire body.
“I..”
“In another life, you would have served me just as well as a jester,” His king told him in a tone that made Phainon hang his head just a bit lower - feeling the full weight of his failure crashing down onto him now, “Ignoring your buffoonery. How interesting is that the necromancer is heading south.. I wonder what he assumes he may uncover there?”
For once, one of the stationed guards spoke up; “Would you like for us to assemble a team to -”
“Nonsense. My dedicated knight has just vowed to me he will kill that pesky man before his plagues run rampant in our kingdom,” Kephale explained, all before sighing, “I trust in him to do so.”
Phainon found himself looking up at his king - peering through the slits of his helmet to bask just a little in the way his king’s kindness always shined down upon him. Even now as that man stared at him with distrust and mute amusement lingering in his features.
“Can you handle that, or will you fail me, yet again?” Kephale asked, and Phainon didn’t need even more than a heartbeat of thought on it.
“I can handle it, my king.”
“I’m sure,” Kephale mumbled, all before waving his hand boredly to shoo Phainon off; “Get out of my sight.”
Phainon could say nothing to that - merely rising his feet slowly to give a small bow, hand over his heart as he formally obeyed his king. Not in the slightest daring to refuse or disrespect him again - eyes barely glancing at the guards who always stood watch in his throne room before he turned away from his kind.
Every step felt agonizingly heavy as he slowly moved towards his lodging - body feeling as if it had aged another one hundred years from his failure once more. And who would he even blame but himself?
.. He really needed to stop talking to that necromancer and start slicing his spine with his blade more, or something.
Whatever the answer was to all of his questions, the most obvious solution was to slay Mydeimos. End it all and cut the disease out through the root of it - slice Mydeimos and end his schemes forever, and no longer linger on the ‘why’s when he met that man on the battlefields.
And now he merely had to continue to his bedroom and close the door after him - spending such an egregious amount of time removing his armor with a heavy and shaky sigh escaping him and he settled it neatly to the side of his bedroom. Eyes only dancing around as he stripped before moving into his bathroom area, nothing fancy - but enough to draw a cold bath.
Only to stop when it was barely full - pausing as he stared into that brown wooden tub with a heavy sigh as he moved to his knees once more.
Moving to that cold water to splash onto his face as he tried to scrub the grime of the day off of himself - staring into the water of his baths as he puzzled over it again and again. Every single time he couldn’t help but replay that word in his mind; again.. And again.
‘False king’.
.. Why on earth would Mydeimos be saying something like that towards his king? Surely he didn’t think he was the rightful king of Aedes Elysiae..? If not him, then who was he implying to be the true king, anyway?
Phainon had to sigh, shaking off beads of water from his locks of hair with a shake of his head as he let the water out - deciding he would bathe more before bed all before he moved away with a sigh. Trying to figure out what kind of gibberish a necromancer was spewing would get him absolutely nowhere. Phainon moved to put on his normal clothes a bit lazily - eyes moving to his discarded armor in his room with a heavy sigh escaping him.
Hands moving to once again wipe at his face slowly - feeling the tackiness there of water still drying, along with his thoughts that still continuously returned to Mydeimos.
His job was to slay that necromancer - yet every time he failed to do that task, he found himself only thinking more and more on how odd he truly was. Not at all like how the stories and warnings portrayed necromancers - the undead that haunted him weren’t feral and gnashing, yet as gentle as the breeze and seemed to beg Phainon for that kindness to be returned to them.
.. Why? Wouldn’t you as a dead person be enraged that you had to return from the dead to serve someone without even having a choice? To be mindless and controlled by that man?
It made no sense to Phainon - thus, the most logical explanation was that Mydeimos for some sick reason had commanded his undead to act like that.
Probably went hand in hand with the way he seemed to be upset towards the topic of his mother - some kind of deep rooted mental issue. But considering Mydeimos was a necromancer, Phainon was sure he had quite a lot of those.
Regardless, Phainon had to huff out a sigh with his thoughts as he moved into his bedroom while grabbing his sword and putting that sheath at his side as always. He felt restless, but as he stood in that rather empty and unfurnished room. He desperately needed to get into hobbies or something, but for now all he could do was wallow in his own defeat.
.. Again.
A thought that made him groan as he moved into that hallway languidly instead of staying in his stuffy room - pacing almost as he walked the barrack halls.
It had been so.. Quiet, lately.
Gone were the days of people sparring and laughing, cheering. Now if he looked to the sparring area he would find no one, not a single soul except from himself - and he couldn’t blame them at all. Not when he understood the stress everyone was under over the fallen prince of Kremnos coming for their kingdom next.
Despicable - it made Phainon’s blood boil every single time he remembered it all was that man’s fault.
.. And his own.
Phainon’s own failures and lack of ability to end his crimes.
He could only breathe out a heavy exhale as he moved to trace his fingers along the wall of marble that he had always adored - feeling the cold chill of it against his skin as he walked. He didn’t even know where he was walking to, but he didn’t quite understand what Mydeimos’s goals were. He didn’t appear to constantly have an army of the dead behind him, not like he should have if he raised all of Kremnos to serve him.
So.. Was the slaughter of Kremnos just a game to him? Were his own people not even worth enough of his attention to make them serve him in undeath?
.. He should at the least get himself some food now that he had made a fool of himself - slowly moving towards that mess hall he knew so well before picking up voices. Unfamiliar ones, and they sounded much too serious - graven, almost, to where..
Phainon’s feet stopped - not daring to move another breath as he stood there before the entrance way. Ears pricking as he heard rather hearty chuckles - mocking things considering what followed right after.
“.. To aid in the plagues spread, the most efficient..”
Phainon had to blink over the quiet words he was hearing - doing his best to presume that they were discussing countermeasures against the necromancer threat.. Yet he couldn’t help but knit his brows, moving a bit closer to peer around that corner and into that great hall.
Empty, just two lone men talking amongst each other - a mess of papers between them with their food and drink. Late night working in the kingdom, Phainon had to assume, nodding over the way he recognized the duo as some of the kings’ trusted advisors as well.
“The grain?” The other asked after a few bites of his own food, laughing a little as he asked that question - as if it was the most humorous thing in the world, but Phainon couldn’t quite understand anything that was funny about that at all.
“Simpletons will eat anything given to them,” One explained in an almost bored tone - as if this topic was mundane to him somehow, “Even if it spells their demise.”
Just to make the second laugh over that in return; “All who perish become fuel for the..”
Phainon found his hand twitching over that, over the way he couldn’t quite hear the ending of that thought - but he didn’t think he needed to as he remained standing against that corner. Hands ghosting over his sword as he repeated those words again and again in his head.
Nothing about them was warm, remorseful, nor sorrowful - they were mocking, spat out as if the people who would die were nothing more than a waste of valuable time anyway. And that, that was what Phainon couldn’t quite solve the puzzle of, hands twitching against the hilt of his sword at his side.
He wanted to lash out, to discover what those papers said, and yet he couldn’t. These were trusted people close to the king; he had to play his cards right, didn’t he? If he attacked them for no reason, it could become horrific, especially if he had nothing to prove his worries lest it become hearsay.
“I’ll need permission from the lord to begin preparations,” The original man grumbled out once more, sounding more than just a little tired as he spoke but Phainon found himself moving to press his back against the wall. Head against it as he stared at nothing, just the wall across from him and the flickering lantern barely illuminating the hallway.
His eyes only watched to make sure no one was morning, and that neither of those men noticed him - not yet, at least.
“Our king would never decline a plague, it’s much too humorous for him to watch people struggle to find cures,” One argued with a grunt leaving him as he seemed to scoop more food into his mouth - at least, Phainon was assuming based off the scraping of plates and spoons together that made his ears ache and writhe.
King.
It made sense that Mydeimos would make people call him king; it must have been a requirement since he killed all of his kingdom . Though, if Phainon had to guess - It seemed almost likely that these people were from Mydeimos’s kingdom, sent here to be spies for him years ago.
Laughable that the man was still petty enough to want people to call him their king, even going so far as to make cultists call him such a thing..
“Like rats in a maze,” The other laughed as he spoke - as if the idea of comparing sick humans to rats was amusing to him.
“I would argue the rats would do better at finding their goals,” The both of them chuckled at that, sounding more and more like pigs in Phainon’s eyes as he could hear the food in their mouths disgustingly through it all.
This truly was just a game for Mydeimos, then? Going so far as to plant people into the council for his king and leading them all to their downfall?
Phainon had to grit his teeth over that. These words were most certainly not for the betterment of their people - nor were they anything in line with their beliefs. Where did Mydeimos’s influence end..?
A terrifying thought that Phainon found himself unable to sit with, not as they continued with their conversation of mocking the civilians who trusted the kingdom to take care of them; just as Kremnos had once done with their own royals and now.. Mydeimos merely wanted another one.
Phainon couldn’t allow that to happen, instead turning on his heel to return to that throne room he knew so well - every step echoing as he walked down those corridors and towards that daunting hall.
Every step was heavy and precise as he tried to conjure his thoughts together - even if he had no proof, he had to warn his king. At least, enough to make sure Kephale would be wary - not to trust every single word uttered to him and.. That was his own thought he continued to tell himself as he opened that throne room once more.
Not daring to look his king in the eyes before he immediately fell into his normal posture - knee to the ground as he kneeled before his king at the foot of those steps. Aware of the way he was assuredly being watched by that king, and he could only pray it was with genuine worry of why his most loyal knight had dared to return after a day of failures.
“My king,” Phainon began, voice low and heavy in his seriousness - brows knitted together as he focused on that floor he had set his gaze on so many times before, “There are conspirators in the royal court working alongside the necromancer.”
Every word that he spoke felt like molten lava on his tongue - threatening to burn him if he was somehow wrong about this but.. There was no way he could have acted on his own without his king’s permission. To kill some of his advisors without fully explaining himself was as if he were to write his own suicide note in the sand.
He knew that, thus - all he could do was make a plea for his king to listen to what a lowly knight had heard. Even if it was treason, even if his tongue must be seared, he would do anything to protect the man he had sworn his loyalty to - unwavering, and fully committed to his knightly oath.
“Is that so?”
Kephale sounded amused, almost, in a way that made Phainon’s stomach churn uncomfortably but what position was he to judge him? If his king found him foolish for this, so be it, but perhaps Kephale could also see the severity of it for Phainon to speak his mind on such a dire topic.
At least, that was what Phainon prayed as his teeth bit into his gums hard enough to make sure they bled in his anxious riddled state.
Phainon found himself clenching his fists, doing his best to remain headstrong in his message that needed to be delivered; “.. Forgive me for my arrogance, but I overheard them speaking of his plans whilst I was attempting to prepare myself for my next attempt on his life.”
“Oh? And my knight did not launch an attack on them right there?”
“I..” Phainon trailed off - his eyesight shaky as he lifted his head just a little. Just enough to see the heavy frown on Kephale’s face, the way his eyes were burning into Phainon’s skin even with all of his armor on, and the way he was so clearly disapproving of Phainon’s choice of action.
Phainon had to hang his head low once more, cursing himself silently in his head for his lack of action. He also desperately wished he still had his armor on - something, at least, to cover his face and his shame towards this topic now.
Kephale only heavily sighed over his lack of words however; “You cannot kill the necromancer, nor can you even protect me fully.. Can I trust you at all, truly?”
Trust..?
Phainon had never once even considered that his loyalty could be questioned - that was enough to make him feel as though he needed to lose his lunch for a while. Lay on the floor and let the chill of it calm his sudden sickness, yet all he was allowed to do was remain there with his head hung low and awaiting the words of his king who did not seem convinced of his warnings at all.
“I.. Of course, my king.” Phainon breathed out, doing his best to sound as sincere as possible - after all, if his king would not heed his warnings; he would merely have to defend him himself at all costs and keep a strict eye on the betrayers.
“I wonder about that,” Kephale said after a few moments with a few sounds of cloth following suit - and then the footsteps of a man descending stairs. Sounds that made Phainon swallow as he formed his hands into hard fists hearing his king near him, “A nosy knight who won’t even prove his loyalty to me and slay that necromancer? Who is to say you’re even the one being honest now?”
Phainon found himself gritting his teeth over that - so hard that he feared they could chip and break apart. But nonetheless, he stayed kneeling to Kephale; “I would do anything for you, my king.”
“Is that so..?” Kephale asked as he slowly made his way dangerously close to Phainon, moving to his side to apparently fumble at Phainon’s belt and he easily would have presented his blade to Kephale - but it didn’t seem the king wanted that formality.
This was a shaming, if anything.
Every step was haunting to Phainon as he heard the heels of his king meet that soft red carpet floor - echoing in his mind even though they were muffled. Every breath he took felt as if it was burning his lungs, cursed and bitter.
All while Kephale remained silent for a few heartbeats too long, too uncomfortable, too daunting.
“Remain kneeling before your king and repent,” Kephale told him, and Phainon didn’t dare disobey - keeping his head bowed even as he felt his king removing his blade from its sheath at his side, “This blade.. Is it dear to you? It seems specially made.”
Phainon’s ears pricked and strained to listen to the way Kephale seemed to be sizing the blade up, patting it between his hands with a quiet hum leaving his throat.
“.. It was a gift, your grace.” Phainon explained simply, knowing fully well the fact it was a gift from his sister was something that didn’t need to be said or explained in depth.
“Its smithing is flawless; a gorgeous display of skill,” Kephale began, his voice as stern and solid as ever as his feet paused behind Phainon, just enough to make Phainon feel almost unsettled. A feeling that only felt worse as that familiar blade instantly was plunged into his back with a foot on his spine - forcing him down as he was speared into the floor easily, “Something you seem to lack when you need it most.”
The scream that tore from his throat was guttural, unbridled and not withheld at all - one of pure anguish as the pain flared up through all of his bones and tissue as his sinew was sliced into by that blade that only seemed to sink deeper. Completely pinning him to the floor as he sank into the marble beneath that familiar carpet of the throne room.
Phainon’s eyes could only try to understand what was happening - moving quickly to the guards in that room who.. Remained unbothered. Not even casting a single look at Phainon, almost appearing made out of stone instead of humans.
Phainon could barely even wrap his mind around the pain as that king slowly rounded to the front of him with a little mocking laugh - one that Phainon had to assume was laughing at how agonized Phainon was. Laughing at his anguish and suffering.
“Attacking.. Someone with their own sword while their back is turned..” Phainon attempted to say, eyes burning with his pain and tears burning as it reached deeper into his core, “Have you no shame..?”
He had no hopes of getting up from this, not as he tried his best to look at that man and glare heavily at him - trying to show his race but it felt hopeless when that man only stared down at him with a sickening smile dancing on his lips.
As if he was staring downwards at a broken toy.
“I only play to win,” Kephale sighed out, shaking his head slowly as if he couldn’t believe the foolishness of his knight, “And you barely compete at all.”
.. Play? Competing? Phainon had no idea what those words had to do with anything - creasing his brows as he grit his teeth more and more. Trying to stop the pain that was screeching through his bones and gnawing into him every time he dared to gulp down more air into his lungs. An action that did nothing but caused him more agony each time he dared.
“Regardless, I do like to watch humans squirm,” Kephale explained flippantly, sounding almost bored as he spoke out those words, “It’s the most enjoyable part of taking so long to lay the seeds of deceit and ruination. You’ve merely reached your limits of amusing me now, I fear.”
Limits.. To amusing him?
Phainon didn’t even know how to process those words, feeling his mouth open and close - all while his mind kept racing to that sword in his back. His own beloved sword that he didn’t dare glance out now, only able to imagine how it was piercing through him like nothing and pinning him there to listen to Kephale.
Amuse him how? Were his failures too much and this was his repentance? All he had wanted to do was warn the king he served whole heartedly, and yet..
“Tell me, Phainon, my loyal knight,” Kephale’s tone was soft, one that played at Phainon’s heart strings and made him blink at that man - trying to understand why this was happening as he felt the warmth of his own blood pooling under him in a slow ooze, “What is it like to swear your life to a man, and being completely unable to even tell the man named ‘Kephale’ was killed by my hands weeks ago - and now a skin walker sits atop his throne comfortably, all while you continue to grovel and serve him?”
Phainon found his breath stopping his throat - cloying and heavy as he tried to race through his mind over those words.
Kephale.. Was dead?
This man was not his king, but the very thing who had killed him - the person who had been making a mockery of Phainon assuredly.
Phainon didn’t know whether to laugh or cry over that - or if he had the strength to do either anymore, really. Barely even able to digest the fact his king was dead and that he should have been in mourning.
“I truly meant it when I said you would be more useful to me as a jester than a knight,” The man who was parading around as ‘Kephale’ laughed a bit quietly as he seemed to wiggle that sword a little inside of Phainon - enough to cause another burst of electric pain into Phainon as he spoke, yet he never lowered himself to the floor even the tiniest of bits, “Since after all, you were one for the rest of your days under my boot jingling your bells every time you came home and kneeled to the man you hated most.”
Phainon couldn't even think of what to say - not as he found himself struggling to suck down air and deal with the pain he was being dealt. His mind slowly comprehending that he was being tortured, that much was obvious as he hung his head low and saw the blood beneath himself - tasting metallic in his own mouth from his saliva and blood mixing from organs being torn into assuredly.
.. He was going to die here, wasn’t he?
“A necromancer named Mydeimos..? Never met him personally, but he was a lovely alibi for blaming everything on while I poisoned everyone you ever loved,” ‘Kephale’ only continued on - making Phainon blink at the carpet as he tried to understand those words.
Mydeimos..?
“You’re both a pair fit for each other, a prince who watched his kingdom die to my hands. And a knight who protected me while I killed the kingdom he loved,” ‘Kephale’ rattled onwards with a chuckle yet again.
Phainon could only wheeze out another labored and painful breath - clenching his fist as his sight slowly became hazy. Blurry, and he was unsure if it was due to his own burning tears or the blood loss by now, his mind racing over what a fool he had been.
This was what Mydeimos meant, wasn’t it?
A false king, one that had replaced the loving king he knew and trusted - and Phainon had never even noticed, not even before Mydeimos had..
How had he ended up being such a failure..?
That man he fought almost nightly, battled with, argued with, threw insults at.. Was innocent..? Was he even truly a necromancer at all, or a man who was being blamed for all of those crimes?
.. The worst of it all that made Phainon sputter out more blood as he fought back his burning and agonizing tears was how he would never see how this unraveled. Never see why or what Mydeimos was snooping around for, if it was nothing malicious towards his kingdom.. Then why was Mydeimos here? Was it due to this man admitting to causing the fall of Kremnos..?
Phainon could only focus on how he had failed his kingdom, and now they would fall to rot and perish - and all Phainon had the strength to do was pathetically draw a trail of his own blood with his fingernails. Languishing over the despair that was clawing into him - so many people he loved. So many civilians..
And they all would die like Kremnos, wouldn’t they?
“Not to worry..” ‘Kephale’ finally lowered himself, squatting just a little as Phainon dared to look him in the eyes, “You love serving your king, don’t you? You’ll serve me even after you die.”
That was enough to make fear claw into Phainon - an emotion he didn’t have towards death itself. But that..
“No..” Phainon barely managed, feeling himself choking on liquid lava blood in his mouth as he attempted it.
“Do not tell your king ‘no’.”
Agony was what was rewarded to Phainon for his disobedience with those words, the twisting of a blade in his guts to easily make him cry out in his pain. Unable to even hold back his wail as it only seemed to carve into new places - a horrible and torturous way to teach him a lesson.
And useless.
Phainon was going to die anyway, he knew that much - like hell he would bite his tongue now, not when he was already bleeding out on the very same floor he had always found himself kneeling against. That long ruby carpet that he had walked so many times to tell his king what became of the missions he sent him on.
A king that was gone, an usurper on his throne - and a foolish knight who had served both of them with every single fiber in his body unquestioningly.
Phainon could only feel himself easily coughing up more of his own blood - eyes narrowing as he blinked at that man who only seemed so painfully happy over this situation. Eyes beaming as he stared downwards at Phainon, a hand still on his blade that was wedged into Phainon’s back - all with a giddy and almost maniac smile on his twisted face.
“Don’t.. Not that..” Phainon hissed, but never begged.
He would not beg this man for anything - he couldn’t allow him that satisfaction, not when he knew his fate was sealed. Not when he knew he had nothing to offer to barter with the insane genocidal man - not when he was merely another pawn in his twisted game of ruining people’s lives.
Just another toy to be discarded as that false sovereign only chuckled at his weak attempts of trying to maintain his dignity.
“Your life is fading away, and the last moments of it you spent begging from your king. A pathetic jester, to the very end.” That man laughed at him, a sneer on his features - a haunting cacophony in Phainon’s ears that burned and burned.
Phainon wasn’t begging. Even if his mind was becoming hazier - foggier, he knew he hadn’t begged. Yet.. This man wanted to make him feel ashamed even in his last moments alive, even as remembering his last words became harder and harder.
But it didn’t matter, did it?
Of course it didn’t. Not anymore.
Not as Phainon sucked in a gulp of air, painful - screeching and agonizing as it burned his lungs, all before he realized.. He didn’t need that anymore. And somehow he felt more and more numb to it all - barely even acknowledging the way his fingers weren’t moving anymore. Even if he pleaded for them to listen to him.
Nothing in his body seemed to respond to his wishes.
Not even as the entire world was plunged into a suffocating abyss and his head lulled limply.
──────────────
Awake.
He was awake.
That was the first thing that Phainon noted as he slowly dragged himself into a sitting position, doing his best to steady himself with how shaky his entire body was.
Silence was the second thing he took note of.
The air was silent and humid, no noises around him - not even the soft life of the town that he had always found to be so comforting. Just aching silence that stretched so painfully long.
Darkness was the third, only barely lit with the small embers of candles and lanterns - enough to allow Phainon sight over his surroundings, but not much else. Wherever he was, it was assuredly missing out on sunlight - that much was obvious as Phainon attempted to pull himself out of that unknown bed.
Dragging the blankets off of himself before slowly swaying his feet off the bed was the easy part, the hard part was actually putting weight onto his body. Doing his best to stand on his own two feet.
But that didn’t last, not as he tried to take a step and fully stand up, only to immediately cling to the closest furniture he could find his hands latching onto tightly.
Phainon couldn’t stop the shake in his hands either - not as he moved and knocked yet another thing over off that rather clean surface. He was doing his best, really, he didn’t want to alert whoever was housing him, but he couldn’t help it as he attempted to prop himself up using that nightstand weakly. At least, he was pretty sure it was a nightstand, though.. He felt more puzzled as he blinked at a mirror in front of him.
Every breath was labored and slow as he tried to understand his situation.
.. Where was he?
What was the last thing he was doing?
His eyes stared into the vanity’s mirror blankly - eyes trailing over how oddly.. Pale he was? How long had he been bedridden and staying inside? Had he been in some sort of coma? What of the issues surrounding their kingdom..?
These clothes didn’t quite fit him.. Black as night, loose around his upper half and making him take note of how much weight he seemed to have lost as well.
He could only pray that Aedes Elysiae had not withered nearly as much as he seemed to have as he gritted his teeth and leaned onto that slick wood. All before pushing away from it a little - eyes roaming the room he was in to take note of how truly dark it was and lacking a window.
Eerie.
“You’re finally awake?”
Phainon jerked his head to the side at that, staring dumbfoundedly over the pristine looking man that was staring right back at him.
He had such a curious look on his face - amused looking, all while he seemed to be drying off his hair languidly.
.. Was this his home?
“My.. Deimos?” Phainon attempted, yet it came out as little more than a weak rasp - as if he hadn’t spoken in weeks, maybe even months. Trying his best to sound stable, but floundering easily as Mydeimos gave him a small smile - a pitying one that didn’t sit right in Phainon’s core.
Not when they were enemies..
Mydeimos didn’t seem to mind however, tilting his head to the side before dropping his towel a bit.
“Oh, so you remember me? That’s surprising, brain fog for being under that long usually wipes out most memories..” Mydeimos mumbled, sounding more like he was curious about that than anything, moving even just a bit closely to seemingly inspect Phainon, “You must be quite vengeful to remember me.”
Vengeful.
.. And Phainon couldn’t remember the last thing he was doing.
“You.. What did you do to me?” Phainon growled out his words, doing his best to try to wrack his mind of what had last happened - only for nothing to come up. His hands were empty, and every time he looked at that blond haired man who now wasn’t even wearing his once shoddy ripped attire but looked as if he was living a normal life only angered him more.
Mydeimos, however, waved his hands in mock surrender, shaking his head over that accusation but Phainon found that more than merely idiotic considering the way Mydeimos had everything pointing to him.
“Me? Nothing really, your ‘king’ did everything, I just..” Mydeimos trailed off - appearing as if he needed to think over his words before standing off to the side of the entrance of that room. Making Phainon now very aware of how everything seemed to be poorly lit by just lanterns and candles as more light leaked into the room now, “Stole you, I guess.”
Those words were only more and more confusing to Phainon as he tilted his head to the side - trying to figure out what this man meant by that phrasing; “Stole.. Me?”
Mydeimos didn’t seem to answer over that - instead allowing the dim lighting to cover most of his face and block Phainon’s view.
But that was fine.
Phainon didn’t feel as if he was in any physical shape to fight the man, not when they were constantly always on equal footing even when he did feel at his peak. No, there were other things he needed to handle first.
“I need.. To see my kingdom.. What did you do to them?” Phainon inquired, his voice sounding like a hoarse plea as he spoke those words - aching and raw in his throat as he forced himself to interrogate that necromancer.
Who, somehow, must have felt almost guilty as he shook his head in the dark lighting and spoke remarkably quietly.
“Nothing,” Mydei told him, all before Phainon shoved away from that vanity with a heavy groan leaving his lips over how weighed down his feet felt. Only able to approach that man at such a languid pace, anguished and slow - just for Mydeimos to nod his head a certain way, “The exit is that way and Aedes Elysiae is to the north, but are you sure yo-”
“I’m leaving.” Phainon growled as he passed that man - feeling a bit stunned over the area he was in. He had first assumed it was a small but quaint house - only now he knew that wasn’t the case at all.
This was certainly a necromancer’s den. Areas full of shelves with vials and boxes of items Phainon couldn’t name (or thought he would lose his lunch if he attempted, if he had even eaten recently, that is.). Rows upon rows of books that seemed much too ancient and torn thrown about - some sort of organization was going on with them, but Phainon couldn’t tell what it was as he moved his hand to clutch at his chest.
.. Was he actually even breathing? His chest was moving up and down, and he was functioning as if he had lungs that needed air and yet..
He wasn’t sure if he could feel his heart anymore, but he didn’t dare ponder or think about that too deeply. Whatever the case was - he needed to see his people, to make sure Mydeimos had done nothing wrong to them while he was in his slumber.
To make sure they all were okay, safe, and at peace.
Phainon slowly made his way - cursing a little under his breath every time he almost felt too unsteady to stand on the somewhat slick feeling rock beneath his feet. Every step was harrowing, haunting, agonizingly slow as he peered at that shoddily made wooden door that was sealing this cave off from the world.
Light barely peaked through the cracks of wood to illuminate the way Phainon needed to go while every single footstep felt agonizing to him. Every single step made his body feel as if he was weighed down by an anchor.
And all he could hear was how he was only mocked by the faked kindness of the man speaking from behind him.
“.. Alright, I’ll be here if you decide to come back. You can borrow some of my shoes by the door.”