During The Fell Knight’s apprenticeship in becoming a fully-fledged swordsman, he was trained by a number of seasoned warriors and dukes. The art of combat, of chivalry, of true knighthood- to serve the kingdom, its people and their rulers; the nobility and royal class which governed and provided for the land. There was one supposed expert which The Fell Knight recalls. One which took advantage of his naivete and eagerness to learn. He misled The Fell Knight when he was younger, thinking this man was a master of great cunning and skill. Charging an arm and a leg for his “services”, his underlying tactic was to purposely mis-train all the young apprentice knights, so that he could live within his insecurity of never training or being good enough to hold his own in battle against actual warriors. After paying this farce knight a great deal of his earnings, our young apprentice embarrassed himself tremendously during his first duel. From the poor quality weapons he was sold which broke upon contact in battle, to the ill-received tactics of swordsmanship which cost him credibility.
There he was still, years later. Aged and still delusional. No, he wasn’t delusional. He knew exactly the manipulation he had chosen to inflict upon those who would confide in him. In simply wanting to better themselves and others, this pitiful slug. Today was the day The Fell Knight would properly thank his former “master”.
The bastard had sanctioned a tournament to decide whom the season’s mightiest warrior would be this harvest. Naturally, the admission was costly, but presented as “an invaluable opportunity”. A true circus leader. What others were not privy to was that this charlatan had pre-paid the “competitors” which were ringers he had hired to act out and purposefully lose the battle to him. This would further glorify this scrap-iron knight’s reputation and add a false continuity to the “legacy” he had claimed.
“Another death defying defeat by The One and Only Black Iron Knight!” proclaimed the tournament announcer. Meanwhile, the one who “lost” had feigned falling down upon being struck by the backhand of his enemy’s sword. Though not an authentic battle, certainly it was the performance of a lifetime! “Bravo!” Jeered The Fell Knight as he arrogantly approached the field. “We should all applaud as loud and as fiercely at your unmatched pedigree, Iron Knight!” The crowd stopped clapping and turned their attention to the rude interruption.
The false knight looked troubled. He began sweating, for this was not part of his act. He was not equipped to handle marauders. “Ladies and gentlemen! There is one last surprise entrant brave enough to dare challenge the ferocity of this god among men!” He threw a large pile of gold and jewels toward his victim and whispered to him, “My way of thanking you for teaching me the greatest lesson of all- that I’m better than you.” The people were fixated like hungry animals for what was to happen next. “We must put on a show for the kingdom, championed knight! Have at you!”
The Fell Knight had brought a specialty sword with him this fateful morning- The Lockjaw. A blade made from the bones of collective armies who had perished in battle. Their sinew steeled into a wicked tool of insidious effect. The Lockjaw would break bone upon contact. Penetration was not needed. Just a sliver of contact. Even metals would shatter when challenged against its edge. Terrified of literal death, the tournament’s organizer reluctantly readied himself for his last joust.
The Fell Knight toyed with him from the beginning, for the first parry alone would end his attempts. The rest would be a tortuous delight for the Fell one. He ran at the Fell Knight full force and swung with his blade. He allowed him to slash him and stood unphased. In shock, the scrap-iron knight tried again with more force, looking to pierce his chest and end this bout quickly. From all of the Bloodlight Sonatas he had performed, the wound did little to nothing. He pushed the blade all the way through his chest and removed it from the back, handing it back to the crazed challenger. His hands trembling with anxiety and disgust. “Try again.”
The coward screamed in rage and attempted to cut The Fell Knight's face. Destroyed. His sword was blocked by The Lockjaw, rendering it non-existent. He then tapped the crest of his armor and slowly spread his blade across the fool’s chest and arms. Crushing and mangling his bones with each glide. The audience did not understand what was happening and began to jeer and throw objects into the arena. They assumed that this was a performance, ironically due to the sights beheld. “A grand finale is what you seek and I shall deliver, worry not!” His blade was brought upward, toward his skull, exploding it in grand fashion. Bone, guts and glory spread the arena as it was accompanied by the loudest cheers ever heard at the arena.
“Animals all at heart. Nothing has changed.” The Fell Knight threw all of the Scrap Knight’s “earnings” to the crowd, driving them into a frenzy, fighting over it. During the chaos brewing at hand, The Fell Knight lifts his Lockjaw and peers to the rabid crowd, “You shouldn’t support what is not real. You may lose your very foundation beneath you!” The blade tapped the bottom supports of the wooden crowd stands, sending them and all its people to ruin. Shambles.
The Fell Knight turned his heel and left. Laughing.
In Chapter II: "The Scrap-Iron Knight" of "The Fell Knight," the protagonist confronts a deceitful figure from his past. This character, having exploited the young Fell Knight's naivety during his apprenticeship, is depicted as a charlatan who undermines the true essence of knighthood. The chapter vividly portrays the Fell Knight's deep-seated resentment and desire for retribution. This confrontation symbolizes his struggle with past deceptions and the psychological journey of confronting and overcoming personal demons. His actions, though extreme, highlight a deeper quest for justice and truth in a corrupt world.
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