The iron tasted of rust and old blood, a familiar sensation. Sir Drystan's gauntleted hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, the metal cold against his skin.
One moment he had been on the precipice of battle, the screams of the dying filling the sky. Now he was not.
It was replaced by the bright glare of a sun unlike any he had known, reflecting off hard, smooth surfaces that lacked the familiar roughness of stone and earth.
He took in his surroundings, trying to discern some meaning to this strange vista. He stood upon a road paved with a strange, black stone, the material reflecting the sky in a way that reminded him of a frozen pond.
Around him were towering structures, reaching toward the heavens, their faces composed of what seemed to be shimmering crystal, not unlike a mage's trinkets.
It felt foreign to the touch. Drystan had not always been a figure of violence, but years of brutal combat, the ceaseless grind of war, and the growing void that lived within him, changed that.
He was once a noble warrior but was slowly twisted and turned by some sort of unseen malevolence that he was never really fully cognizant of, but it certainly altered the fiber of his being.
Now he simply existed in it, unable to break the invisible fetters. A mechanical beast with glowing eyes careened toward him, its passage heralded by a cacophony of noise.
Drystan did not flinch. Instead, his eyes followed its trajectory. The machine screeched, barely avoiding the knight.
A cacophony of curses erupted from the interior. Drystan gave it no thought, his mind focused on trying to decipher where he was, and what new atrocities awaited.
A man emerged, screaming something about the need for space to make maneuvers, about traffic and the road. Drystan watched, the cacophony and fury causing a strange satisfaction, for something stirred in the dead expanse of his heart, the slightest twitch of it made its presence known.
It was as if he could actually feel the malice churning within him. The man, a being with garments of unusual shades, continued with his torrent of yelling, and for the first time, the knight's mind turned his direction to him.
He looked over at this modern man. "What in God's name do you think you are doing? Get out of the road, are you daft?"
The man's anger seemed meaningless to Drystan. "Where am I?" Drystan's words carried a deep rasp, his voice gravelly from years of screaming in battles and ordering troops into the abyss.
The man did not comprehend the words, thinking it a bizarre language, some new type of theatrical trick for money. But what did come off the man's body, despite not speaking a familiar word, was the palpable dread and sense of unease that emanated out from him.
Drystan had seen men consumed by the grip of dread. So he looked deeper.
What he saw wasn't of flesh and bone. This man's aura had a taint to it, like rancid meat, festering within a wound.
His senses had grown, not sharper, but different, since his supposed banishment to this plane. The man fumbled with an oddly shaped handheld item, mumbling about authorities and help, as his eyes grew larger with some strange fright, fear of something he did not understand, did not yet see.
He reached into the weird contraption and pressed down, the click making the knight pause for a second. Drystan's hand was quicker, the sword sliding free.
The man, face contorted, slumped to the pavement. Not another thought was expended on this modern man, no sense of loss or gain.
It was but a moment. Another mere insect removed. A high pitched noise screeched across the road as multiple mechanical beasts approached the knight, they sounded agitated and aggravated.
He stared them down, feeling some sort of challenge forming inside of him. He was ready to accept that offer.
People spilled out of their metallic prisons, the strange devices within their grasp suddenly appearing, clicking and pointing at him.
His mail-clad body did not provide a good look. Their devices ejected smaller projectiles, the sting of which made the knight curious, the minor inconveniences and abrasions did not slow the malice burning inside of his core, growing more intense by the second.
He smiled to himself. His blade spun and weaved between their fire.
No longer just a warrior of flesh and blood, some arcane power drove his sword, turning each slice and parry into a maelstrom of carnage.
These things could wound, they could make a scratch, but they lacked the ability to cause any severe trauma or real danger to his enchanted being. They were but simple flies to the slaughter, much like he once thought he was so many years ago before the corruption fully took over.
The bodies fell, limp and broken, leaving dark puddles upon the road, the blood intermingling with strange liquids. Drystan strode on, the weight of his armor feeling lighter now.
He moved without hesitation, moving deeper into this odd new area. This land would soon bear his name, be forged into what his heart desired.
He came to another intersection. More of these beasts idled around, the men and women within looked up with fear in their eyes.
The knight gave a wicked grin. He didn't bother talking or making conversation anymore.
It simply took away from his craft and what he was truly built to do, a very specific purpose, which is the source of the wicked and delicious smile upon his features. A few more were lost, the sharp edge making short work of these feeble individuals.
The air crackled, and Drystan's movements became smoother, fueled by some dark current. Every strike, a brutal dance, every victim an offering.
The knight began to find a perverse joy in it, something akin to peace in this storm of carnage. The void grew less severe, its ravenous pull dulled.
The strange creatures began making other sounds now, not just from their machines. He could discern more specific words this time.
Shouts of fear and calls for more of their kind. More metal beasts raced towards the site, their screeches now a form of music.
The knight did not deter, feeling his true nature begin to express itself with full force. Drystan found that some of the odd contraptions began making much larger sounds, deafening roars like the spells of some powerful sorcerer he encountered in years gone past.
The concussive force barely phased the knight's shield and it just bounced off his steel plated form. Some of them became a bit smarter too, taking a further distance, using the large roaring machines, yet it provided him not any great level of challenge either.
He watched as more people continued to rush to their death in droves, feeling a small swell of self worth growing stronger. The scene became a torrent of bloodshed.
These small devices began becoming useless, more individuals, their clothing vibrant, attempted a frontal assault with some sort of metal bar, trying to hit and impede him.
He let them approach. They looked so courageous yet naive. What an endearing mix to bear witness to.
The screams filled the space, the clash of steel mixing with the sickening wet sound of tearing flesh. More and more piled up into grotesque mountains.
Still more arrived, more brave fools. He laughed into the night sky.
Drystan moved with terrifying precision. He barely noticed the minor injuries on his being as he cut down scores of foes without any change in heart or disposition.
He marched forward as these smaller insects continued to come and attempt to slow him down. He was more like a tidal wave of violence.
Nothing but pure and complete slaughter. There wasn't a person to speak of that could match what he has grown to be.
They could make dents but those small indents would become irrelevant soon. Deeper he went, farther he moved, never did he feel any level of true danger or struggle.
Just a beautiful array of death as he grew more confident by the second. The very core of his essence began to be laid bare for all to see and the result of that exposure, is the many men, women, and children laying before him.
A true masterpiece of carnage. The city began to resemble something far different.
Something more appropriate for him. He continued his deadly waltz and a different feeling grew on him.
Not simply bloodlust, not merely violence, not just anger or madness. It was something more… complete.
Drystan stopped at an edge overlooking the city, smoke rising, the buildings alight. From here it appeared he'd broken down civilization to its core.
Like he, that core is a dark festering pool of corruption. His armor began to shine like never before, each plated scale reflecting the burning of the city like miniature crimson suns, glowing like a demonic signal for what's to come.
He breathed it in, relishing in his handiwork, feeling… satisfied. For the briefest of seconds, his madness began to recede slightly.
It began to show him what had been there before. A long and arduous life of struggle, conflict and strife.
That's when the darkness truly broke free and engulfed him. He no longer could even sense the traces of his true nature from beyond.
The corrupted part became the entire being. A final change was had. A sudden tremor ran through the ground, as Drystan observed.
The source of it appeared within his line of sight, his attention taken by the shifting terrain of the surrounding area. The dark stones below gave way as more came up.
As he focused more, these pillars grew in size, made from an obsidian-like material. They twisted into horrific spires that extended towards the night sky, resembling something less earthly than demonic.
Each structure pulsed with a terrible power. Drystan felt his own essence change along with this horrific display, as it grew darker, his eyes lost all humanity as his soul took on an abyss.
A figure manifested from the darkest parts, something born from nightmare itself. This wasn't some God or demon, or anything truly defined within any sort of proper parameter of being.
It stood, taller than the highest tower, its presence corrupting all around it. A low growl sounded forth as the thing gazed upon Drystan.
He had now reached his apex of corruption, where he himself had been broken free and had a proper moment of reflection on his life, the creature saw an equal that needed a push.
Its form flickered between multiple visages, both familiar and completely bizarre. The more the knight looked, the more confusing and unnerving it got.
Its eyes held entire realms of suffering, a true testament to what it had always been, pure concentrated evil. The thing's dark eyes burned, burning the very essence of his soul as Drystan took notice that there was a deeper understanding now.
Drystan understood he did not actually reach a state of perfection or completion. His destruction of a single city was merely an ant hill of true corruption, the start of something much, much more massive.
This being would take his creation and spread it across the many other realms that he was completely blind to. This single earth he tore down to the ground was nothing in its sight.
And he knew then that the fight against what was always beyond, will never stop, and what he believed he reached is not it at all. The creature lifted an enormous appendage, its long, razor-sharp claws glowing like dark, cosmic embers.
Drystan felt a mix of horror and… something else. It wasn't respect but recognition, like being seen through the surface. A powerful force of some ungodly design hit Drystan, his vision becoming distorted and strange as he went to fight back, his sword feeling flimsy and small.
Like trying to hurt a volcano with a mere stick. All of that newfound feeling he was experiencing mere moments ago were now gone, lost in a tidal wave of true fear and the dread of knowing he has no chance, that he's an ant to this being and all the lives he had taken in the city below was inconsequential in the face of this.
His enchanted steel armor crumbled to pieces as it burned like paper, exposing raw, red flesh and a grotesque version of who he once was. As his body disintegrated piece by piece, being reduced down to the very smallest of forms and shapes as all matter and life force was stripped from it, all Drystan could think was how hollow it all was.
All the chaos. All the power.
It was just nothing now, not any grand show for all the see. His fight was completely in vain and it was merely all… sad.
The void closed on his eyes, not in a dark or empty place, but filled with that very thing he created from his very being. It began anew and this time it would grow even bigger, bigger and more horrendous and nothing could ever stop it.