As dark and forbidding as death itself, the cloudy sky blanketed everything below it in shadow. Rainclouds shaded the world in grey but these sinister clouds shaded it in black.

Prince Florian Charming gazed up at them worriedly. He had never witnessed such an event in his young life and it left him feeling cold and uneasy. His warhorse tossed its head about and fidgeted anxiously, distressed and upset. The great steed did not shy from charging into tightly packed ranks of Swordenish axemen or even against the great ogres of Ogram, monstrous and terrible creatures as they were, yet today it wanted to bolt and gallop away.

Florian couldn't deny that he was experiencing similar feelings for they both faced something was far more terrifying than any ogre or axeman.

"Easy, Argentine," the prince whispered to his steed, giving it a pat on the neck. "Be strong, my friend."

Mounted alongside him was Captain Phoebus, the man in charge of the defense of the grand city they stood in. The captain eyed the distressed horse and said, "He is right to be afraid, your highness. In all my years I have never seen such a foe. The very air and sky seems to warn us of its coming."

The prince could hear his father, tough and stern King Henri Charming, berating him for allowing fear to enter his mind. Florian had been told that fear was a weakness and yet from other sources such as soldiers, fighters, and sailors, he had been told otherwise. Courage could not exist without fear, they had said, and if that was true, then Florian was quite ready for that courage to appear now.

He glanced around him, taking strength from the great force amassed around him. Our Lady was one of the kingdom's most holy and wealthy cities and Florian had always enjoyed visiting it. Its greatest attraction was the massive cathedral piercing the sky at his back, with its multitude of bells within its twin bell towers, stained glass windows flanking its sides and front, impressive architecture, countless gargoyles and reliefs, and ornate and massive double doors. Florian swore he could feel the gods' presence whenever he walked within, watching him and greeting him in their soundless voices.

Before the cathedral was a wide and expansive city square, the same square where a certain woman had been sentenced to death by immolation. That woman, beautiful and enchanting to behold, had then suddenly transformed into a frightening beast that had, supposedly, rampaged through the streets, killing with abandon. Florian had met that woman and beast in Sauradia and had never truly believed the rumors about them. After that apparently demonic beast had saved his life, and that of his father's and Sauradia's royal family, he knew he had been right to deny the common impression of them. They were lost souls searching for a home and he hoped that perhaps they had found one.

For it seemed as if the end of the world had arrived.

With his father fighting the Swordenish armies in the west, so dangerously close to the capital, and the eastern borders showing signs of ogre presence, the kingdom of Frenis was already at the brink of chaos. Now there was an even greater threat emerging from the sea and into Our Lady. It wasn't an army but a single being so powerful and seemingly unbeatable that, as if by divine assistance, he had been in the city for its arrival, able to aid in its defense. He had been seeking reinforcements and fresh supplies but he doubted that he'd be leaving the city any time soon now.

The terrible force had entered Our Lady after battling all its way through forests and down roads against skirmishing forces intent on slowing it down. They had done their duty and allowed the prince and Captain Phoebus to gather a mighty force but now that this unbeatable monster was only a few streets away, Florian wondered if perhaps he should have stayed with his father and sent someone else to Our Lady.

Standing before him were three units of The Wolf's Maw, large men armoured in plate from head to toe and bearing powerful warhammers and battle axes. They were normally used to disrupt formations and demolish an enemy's armoured forces. Behind and in front of them were several dozen crossbowmen and musketeers, their weapons loaded and ready to fire. At the flanks of the defensive force were two units of the King's Chosen, heavy lancer cavalry with enchanted lances capable of piercing through stone walls and plated armour capable of resisting many blows. They were Frenis' most powerful and expensive knights and each one of them held vast acres of lands with many peasants to tend them. Florian had watched them in combat many times and had never seen them flee from a fight or ever lose one either.

Argentine nickered nervously and swayed about, nearly dislodging Florian. The prince gazed ahead and gulped down some rising fear, not blaming his horse for being terrified. There, in the middle of the dim, torch-lit street, was the enemy.

Covered in black armour full of ridges and spikes and bearing a horned helm, the Black Knight stalked forward, its scarlet blade humming with hunger and its piercing ruby eyes staring directly at him through a thin eye slit. It had stopped every soldier sent its way and Florian worried it would do the same here.

He had brought extra help, however.

Standing in front of him and Captain Phoebus were three men armoured in silver breastplates over white robes. Their heads were shaved clean, uncovered by any helm or hood, and in their hands they held glowing maces, imbued with a heavy concentration of holy magic. Holy men rarely fought any battles but against unholy foes, such as this black knight, their time was upon them. Ireah's Chosen were protectors of the faith and the church and did not partake in war or kingdom defense. They were strictly protectors of holy sites, such as Our Lady's beautiful cathedral, and Florian felt privileged to see them ready for battle. Tales of Ireah's Chosen overcoming impossible odds were numerous and simply their presence was enough to calm him somewhat.

The sound of a sudden horn blast returned him to the situation at hand where he looked up in time to witness a whistling volley of crossbow bolts, swiftly followed by the cracking thunder of musket shot. The sour, acrid smell of gunpowder stung his nostrils as he peered through the lingering clouds of smoke.

The knight still stood.

Some bolts protruded from the armour and it appeared as if some musket balls had dented it but the knight seemed completely unharmed. A second volley was readied and fired but with similar effect as the first.

"How in the Abyss did the Kennish manage to turn this demon away?" Captain Phoebus growled as he watched a third volley get loaded.

"From what I heard it did not venture far into their city," Florian said. "Perhaps the Kennish fought with enough intensity that it turned around."

"Or it didn't find what it was looking for."

Prince Charming furrowed his brow in confusion. "What do you mean, captain?"

"Many of my men, those that have fought and survived it, say that it keeps asking for a certain Selvina woman. This Black Knight is searching for someone and it seems to think that she is here."

"I have never heard of anyone by that name."

"Neither have I."

"Do you think it would be possible to negotiate with it?"

Captain Phoebus did not reply immediately. He eyed the steadily approaching knight and eventually shrugged. "I, personally, wouldn't take that chance. It seems to be no more than a mindless animal on the hunt. My children saw it emerge from the sea, surrounded by slain merfolk. Their guardian, a hunchback who couldn't hurt a gnat even after it bit him, had saved my son's life before this demon slew him. There is no reasoning with this creature. It mercilessly killed an unarmed and entirely innocent friend of mine and I doubt any words will turn it away."

Florian had heard the story the night previous, when Phoebus had alerted him to the Black Knight's presence. He had never met the hunchback but had heard of him and how though he had been grotesquely disfigured he had never raised a hand against anyone. He had deserved a good life full of happiness and acceptance, which he nearly had before the end.

Florian watched the fifth futile volley strike the advancing knight. Crossbow bolts and musket rounds were clearly useless against this foe. He looked down at the Chosen and thought of sending them first but decided against it. They were expertly trained and a force to be reckoned with, as well as being extremely few in number.

"Wolf's Maw!" called out Captain Phoebus, his loud, clear voice echoing down the streets. "Send this demon back to the Abyss!"

With a loud cry for king and country, the armoured brutes charged forth, warhammers and battle axes raised. The sound of jingling armour and pounding feet filled the air before cries were shouted once more as the first soldiers swung the great weapons at their foe.

The Black Knight suddenly burst into motion. Its blade swept wide to its right, cleaving through plate armour and sending men soaring in the opposite direction. Florian watched as six men, still fully armoured, flew through the air as if launched from a catapult. The knight then swept its blade to the left, sending eight men flying and slicing six in two. It repeated the motion over and over as the wave of armoured soldiers pushed on, crashing against the black rock only to be sent flying back. After nearly half had suffered cuts or flight the soldiers slowed their advance and surrounded the knight completely.

"It can't stop all of them now," Captain Phoebus said, a whisper of a hint of a smile flashing on his face.

Florian watched as the soldiers paused, as if preparing themselves to attack, gathering their courage and hoping that no more of them would die. The Black Knight glanced at the soldiers around it slowly, waiting for them to move.

Prince Charming decided he had no better time than now to speak. "What is it that you want?" he cried out to the dark slayer. "Why are you here?"

"Selvina!" it hissed back, its cold and airy voice sending a chill down the prince's back. "Give me Selvina!"

"She is not here!" Florian replied, rubbing his arms for warmth. The air was growing colder and the clouds darker. "You must look elsewhere!"

The Black Knight's eyes fixed on him firmly, pinning the prince in place. "She came this way..."

"That may be true," the prince said, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering. "But she is here no longer."

The knight's gaze did not waver in the slightest and Florian dared not upset it thus he stared back unfailingly. It seemed to be considering his words. Perhaps it could be reasoned with, he desperately hoped.

"Where is she?" the armoured demon asked.

"I do not know."

The Black Knight's eyes narrowed and the grip on its sword tightened. It eyed the prince for a long, uncomfortable while, the air chilling more intensely and the sky growing ever blacker, before it finally said, "You...do not lie."

"No, I do not," repeated Florian. "Now, please, leave our city and search for Selvina elsewhere."

"Sel...vi...na," the knight repeated slowly, as if savoring the name. "She must die."

Florian exchanged a glance with Phoebus, the two of them thinking the same thing. Whatever this Selvina woman did, it had angered the most frightening of forces to ever be. Neither of them wished to be in her place yet the prince, bound by teachings of virtue and honour, felt that, whoever she was, she did not deserve such a fate. What kind of king would he make if he simply tossed the troubles of others aside without any attempt to remedy them? What kind of man could he call himself if he let others suffer needlessly? Unwilling to simply let the moment pass, he asked the knight one more question.

"What did Selvina do?"

The knight's red eyes flared into twin orbs of scarlet fire.

"She lives," was its reply. "For that...she must die."

Florian frowned as a deep, pulsating warmth grew within his chest, blasting aside the chill gripping his body. It flowed through him like a raging river bursting through a dam and it sharpened his senses, honed his resolve, and freed his courage.

Another innocent life was about to end because of this monster. Another city or town would be ravaged as this demon hunted for its prey. Prince Florian could not stand for it. It must be stopped. It must be stopped and it must be done now.

"We're killing this creature," he growled through clenched teeth to the captain.

This time, Captain Phoebus did not hide his smile. "With pleasure, your highness." He then unsheathed his broadsword, raised it high, and shouted, "ATTACK!"

Like racing horses charging ahead at the sound of gunshot or an arrow launched from a bow, the Wolf's Maw surged ahead without hesitation. Down went their axes and hammers, bashing and slicing and pounding and chopping. The sound of rent metal and cracking bones was music to the prince's ears. When all he could see were Frenisian soldiers bent over, beating and smashing at some lump on the ground, he allowed himself to smile.

Captain Phoebus turned to him, his face relaxed and his eyes warm, and opened his mouth to speak.

But thunder suddenly cracked loudly, silencing him. It shook buildings, shattered windows, and terrified the horses. It was swiftly followed by dozens of soldiers thrown up into the air by an explosion of black and violet flame. Florian paused momentarily in his struggle to calm Argentine and gazed at the terrible sight. The soldiers, scores of feet into the air, were wrapped in the unholy flame and screeching in agony as it melted their armour and roasted them alive. All they could do was scream and tumble through the air. All they could do was bear the unimaginable torment before they met a mercifully quick death upon crashing back to the ground.

Just like that, they were all killed.

The sound of the falling soldiers hitting the ground pained the prince's ears with every thud or crack. Fighting to keep his horse steady and prevent himself from succumbing to fear he ended up losing one battle and somewhat winning the other.

As Argentine galloped away at full speed, Prince Florian rubbed his aching hip. Captain Phoebus was standing beside him, also dismounted, and offered his hand. The prince took it, stood up, and the two men turned to face the Black Knight, alive and well.

"We lost our knights," Phoebus said, his eyes still on the knight. "Even their horses were too terrified to stay."

Florian glanced around, seeing nothing but dead soldiers at his sides and behind him. "The knights could have dismounted and stayed to fight, at the very least."

"They are lancers, good prince. Without a horse they have only their swords and they are paltry weapons against heavy armour. Some fighters stayed behind, though."

Florian nodded, slightly relieved to see that the Ireah's Chosen stood in the same spot they had been before the knight had ever appeared. Rooted in place by their unyielding faith in the gods and empowered by their holy grace the spectacle had seemed not to faze them in the slightest.

Without any order given, for only the gods could command them, the three Chosen marched forward, their backs straight, their eyes fixed on their enemy, their steps in unison, and their glowing maces held firmly.

The Black Knight, watching them come, held its sword up to the black sky. Its red blade began to glow and its light intensified with each passing second until moments later, it burst into flame. The black and violet fire flowed from the hilt to the tip of the blade like fiery water, crackling and snapping in protest. The knight then lowered its flaming blade and waited.

Just out of reach, the three Ireah's Chosen stopped moving.

"Mighty Victara, grant us strength so that we may wield our arms with grace," said one.

"Kingly Arkanatus, aid us in restoring order by ridding us of this chaos," said another.

"Brave Elario, grant us the determination we need to see this battle through," said the third.

Then, all three said, "Holy Ireah, grant us the purity of your soul so that we may cleanse the world of this demon."

Captivated by the sight, prince and captain watched as the three men, clad in nothing but a thin, silver breastplate and cloth robes, charged toward the frightening foe, their maces pulsating with bright, white light.

There was a blinding flash and a massive wave of force that suddenly sent both men soaring and sprawling to the ground, knocking them unconscious.

When Prince Florian recovered, the air was colder than ever and he could scarcely see anything at all. The captain was stirring to life beside him as he stared ahead, transfixed.

Three white lumps lay motionless on the ground, barely discernible in the gloom.

The Chosen, Florian noted grimly.

About a man's height above them, two orbs of red flame stared back at him.

The Black Knight lived.