Ascension of the Overlord

I sat in the throne room, staring at my hands. My gauntlets still felt heavy, though I knew the blood wasn't there anymore. It had been wiped clean—at least physically.

The memory of that fight played on repeat in my mind. Their faces. The screams. The sound of my sword cutting through flesh like paper. I didn't want it to happen, but it didn't matter now. It had happened, and no amount of guilt was going to change that.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Is this how it's going to be?" I muttered, my voice echoing faintly in the empty hall. "Every time someone sees me, it's just fight or die?"

I gripped my sword tighter, the cold weight of the blade grounding me. My chest felt tight, but not in the way it should have. I didn't feel panic—not really. It was like trying to grab water. The fear, the guilt—it was all there, but I couldn't hold onto it.

"Undead," I muttered under my breath. "So this is what it's like."

I stood, the sound of my armor groaning louder than I wanted. The fortress was quiet, suffocatingly so. Every banner on the wall, every trophy on display, felt like it was mocking me. What was the point of all these victories now? They weren't going to help me here.

I started pacing, my boots echoing in the cavernous room. "I can't keep doing this," I muttered. "If every person I meet tries to kill me…" I shook my head. "No. There has to be a way to fix this. To stop this from happening again."

My mind raced. I couldn't change what I looked like. This armor was me now. But maybe… maybe I could hide it.

The fortress was silent as I paced through the main hall, my thoughts churning like a storm. The weight of what had just happened hung over me, but I couldn't afford to dwell on it. If I kept looking like this—like some kind of cursed monster—then every encounter would end the same way.

I stopped in front of one of the trophies lining the walls: an ornate shield, chipped and scarred from a fight I barely remembered. My reflection stared back at me, distorted and glowing faintly through the mist that constantly seeped from my armor.

"What am I even supposed to do with this?" I muttered, staring at the cracks running through the plating. The glow wasn't something I could turn off, and the mist followed me like a shadow.

I ran a gauntleted hand across my chestplate, feeling the cold, smooth metal beneath my fingers. The answer hit me like a stray arrow. I couldn't change what I was, but I could cover it up.

The vault was dark and cluttered, filled with relics I'd barely looked at since I'd collected them. I shoved past old weapons and forgotten trinkets, searching for anything that might help.

It wasn't long before I found it: a pile of plain, mismatched armor pieces—shoulder guards, breastplates, greaves. Most of them were old loot from low-level PvP matches, barely worth selling but cool enough to keep for nostalgia. Now, they were going to be my disguise.

I grabbed the first chestplate I saw, a heavy slab of steel with nothing special about it. It was scratched and dull, the kind of thing a mid-tier knight would wear. I held it up against my own armor, gauging the fit.

"This might work," I muttered. It wouldn't hide my size, but at least it would cover the glowing cracks and make me look more… normal.

It took time—more time than I wanted. The armor pieces weren't made to fit over something like this, and I had to force them into place, piece by piece. The plain steel groaned against my spectral plating, the sound grating on my nerves.

When I was finally done, I stepped back to inspect the results. My reflection stared back at me from the polished surface of a shield propped against the wall. The mist was gone, hidden beneath layers of dull, mismatched metal. The glow of my cracks was barely visible, reduced to faint slivers peeking through the gaps.

I adjusted the oversized shoulder guard, feeling the added weight press down on me. "Not exactly subtle," I muttered, rolling my shoulders, "but it'll do."

I grabbed my sword from where it leaned against the wall, its massive blade still streaked with faint traces of blood. It was the one thing I couldn't hide—too big, too distinct. But that didn't matter. If anyone got close enough to recognize it, I'd already be in trouble.

I turned back toward the main hall, my footsteps echoing through the fortress. The mismatched armor felt heavy, awkward, but it was better than walking out there as a glowing, eight-foot monster.

"This is temporary," I told myself. "Just until I figure out a better way."

I pushed open the fortress gates and stepped into the forest. The air was cool, the night quiet except for the faint rustling of leaves. Somewhere out there, the world was already beginning to notice me.

"Let's see how long this lasts," I muttered, gripping my sword tighter as I disappeared into the trees.

The Boy and His Group

The campfire crackled weakly in the clearing, its flickering light doing little to push back the oppressive darkness of the forest. The boy sat hunched near the edge of the fire, his head in his hands, while the others spoke in hushed, urgent tones.

"He's shaken to the core," the archer muttered, her voice low but tense. "I don't think we're getting anything else out of him tonight."

The grizzled swordsman, seated cross-legged by the fire, stared into the flames, his scarred face unreadable. "We've heard enough. Two of his group dead, and whatever did it let him run. That doesn't sound like a mindless undead."

"You think it's intelligent?" the archer asked, glancing warily into the surrounding darkness.

"I think we're dealing with something worse than we expected." The swordsman shifted his gaze to the boy. "He said it talked, didn't he?"

The boy flinched, his wide eyes darting up. "I-I told you, it wasn't human," he stammered, his voice cracking. "It… it looked at me like it knew what I was going to do before I even moved. It's not just some cursed armor—it's alive."

The archer swore under her breath and tightened her grip on her bow. "Alive or not, it's dangerous. We can't just sit here and wait for it to find us."

The swordsman leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "If it wanted to find us, it already would've. Something that big doesn't just disappear."

The boy shook his head violently. "No. You don't get it. It's not just big—it's fast. Strong. We didn't even touch it, and it cut through us like… like we were nothing."

The group fell into a heavy silence. The fire popped, sending a small shower of embers into the air.

Finally, the swordsman stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. "We can't just leave it out there. If it's smart, it'll head for the nearest settlement. We'll take a small group and track it. Find out what it wants."

"And if it attacks us?" the archer asked, her voice edged with doubt.

"Then we do what we have to," the swordsman said, his expression grim.

Cut to Zarathos

The forest thinned as I walked, the towering trees giving way to smaller groves and scattered clearings. The cool night air carried a faint breeze, rustling the leaves and whispering through the cracks in my armor.

I adjusted the makeshift plating I'd strapped to myself earlier, feeling its weight press down on me. The extra armor was awkward and clunky, but it served its purpose. The glow of my spectral energy was mostly hidden now, and the mist barely seeped through the seams.

"Normal enough," I muttered to myself, though the words rang hollow. No one was going to mistake me for a regular knight, not at my size, but maybe—just maybe—it would be enough to make people hesitate.

I'd been walking for what felt like hours when I saw it: a faint glow in the distance, flickering against the darkness. A village.

I stopped, gripping the hilt of my sword as I stared at the lights. The thought of walking into a place full of people—of being seen—made something twist in my gut. They'd look at me and see a monster. I knew that. But I had to start somewhere.

"Just keep your head down," I muttered, taking a slow step forward. "Get in, get answers, and get out. Simple."

The closer I got, the clearer the village became. A handful of wooden buildings clustered around a central square, their windows glowing faintly with candlelight. A well stood in the center, its stone base worn smooth by years of use.

I hesitated at the edge of the tree line, my massive frame hidden in the shadows. I couldn't just walk in there. Not yet. I needed to figure out how people here reacted to strangers.

Then I heard it. Voices. Familiar ones.

My head turned sharply toward the sound, my grip on my sword tightening. The boy. I recognized his voice immediately, trembling and frantic, but louder than before. He wasn't alone.

I moved closer, keeping to the shadows. They were just ahead, standing in a small clearing near the village's edge. The boy's group was there, huddled together, their backs turned to me.

"You're sure it's heading this way?" one of them said, their tone tense.

"I'm telling you, it has to be!" the boy said, his voice shaking. "It's smart—it knows where people are!"

My chest felt tight—or at least, it should have. I didn't know if it was fear, anger, or something in between. Either way, I knew one thing for sure.

They were waiting for me.