Valenus threw back his long black curls, his horse desperate to ride the great winds of glory. Their king, Arthur had sent Valenus and six of his best knights to find an artefact lost in history, hidden by the years, The Holy Grail. His argument was simple, if he had it; he would be one of the greatest kings in the world as his name would be legendary, spark fear throughout history. The cup would be the jewel of his collection, unmatched by any others. He wanted it, to take it for his own, to hold it in his hands and call it his own.

Valenus and his men were to be the ones to offer it to their king, be the ones to save their king from his death by giving him the immortality he so desperately desired. The blood of the son of God, hidden in the cup, held the key to immortality, according to legend. What more did they need to hear? What more proof did they need? If history knew of the legend, if it had been passed down throughout the ages, it had to be true.

Valenus patted his large black horse, black as the shadows, beautiful. His black mane was perfect, brushed daily to look after him and nursed when he needed it. Valenus knew no better horse than the one he rode, a loyal, noble horse who would do him no harm, never once hurt him. He was great horse and one that had seen many battles.

The sky was clear, not a cloud, just the moon, barely visible and the stars, a blanket of stars sat in the sky, winking at them. The location, a large map revealed it and Valenus, Canor, Mork, Alector, Dinabron and Clant. Knights ordered to retrieve the holy relic from its resting place, to bring it back and present it to the king.

If they could do it, they would be the best knights, the king's knights. Immortal knights, fearing nothing including death, their job to protect the king, to save him from his own potential death and in turn, perhaps their own death too for the last thing they wanted was to be stuck, aging while their king lived forever, ruling his kingdom forever.

Death was one of the very few enemies Arthur and his men could not conquer, without the cup, they would have no choice but to die, to face their deaths like any other man, woman or child. No one, not a single person could normally have the power to escape it, not even Merlin had the power to escape death or age.

"The gods are with us" Dinabron stated just above a whisper, his horse kicking the dirt underneath its feet, its long white mane perfect, not a hair out of place.

"Do you really think so?" Valenus asked sceptically.

"Do you not think so?" Dinabron asked almost playfully.

"I doubt their power; I doubt their hold over us and their existence. Men can do as they please; it is merely their natures that stop them, not the gods. The gods do nothing"

"The gods helped us find this artefact!"

"Man, not God, man found the artefact's location, hidden in a series of scattered clues. This was man's doing" Valenus snapped almost aggressively as his horse raced on.

An old forgotten temple, white walls cracked and crumbling. The problems were only too clear, the damage done to it after years upon years of neglect. Strange the knights would find themselves in such a place, so easily as if they were merely following a map. What Valenus failed to mention to his small army, six other men was the whole truth. They would be the first to test the cup, taste blood from the cup to prove its authenticity. If the cup was true, they too would all taste immortality, along with their king.

"There is something, something I failed to mention" Valenus confessed quietly as others caught up.

"What is it? What is the king's wish?" Mork asked rudely, his sly tongue hidden behind his teeth.

"We are to test the cup ourselves before we take it to the king, the last thing we would wish for is the death of our king"

"Why did you think it acceptable to hide such things from us?" Mork asked in a fit of rage, his hand sitting, resting on his blade.

"ENOUGH, BOTH OF YOU, WE ARE KNIGHTS, NOT SQUABBLING CHILDREN!" Alector snapped. It was unusual; usually he spent his time hiding, watching from behind the scenes or in beds of women and company of wine.

"We must retrieve the gift for our king, our petty squabbles and disagreements do not matter" Clant snapped as his horse trotted on. He was a large man with a large appetite for wealth and food, gold was his price, gold or the word of the king.

The knights rode on towards the crumbling temple. There was nothing, just a small door but no trees surrounding the temple, no birds singing. Their only company was the howling winds snapping at their heels, brushing the backs of their necks.

"I do not like this place" Alector whispered, his voice echoing.

Canor had remained silent until finally he spoke. "Have you no pride, Alector?" he asked rudely, his lip curling.

Valenus held his hand up, silencing the pair as he got off his horse and lit a small torch before slowly climbing down the cracked steps of the once magnificent temple. Carvings on the wall, beauty made of marble, silver and gold littered the place, the very floors winked at them. The place was fit for a king or at least it would have been, before it crumbled and became nothing but ashes and rock, damage and loss.

They kept walking, lighting each other's torches as they travelled deeper and deeper into the temple. Something wasn't right; something didn't sit right in their minds... in the air. For a cup so pure, the place felt... evil... sickening. It certainly knotted up Valenus's stomach, as if a hand was twisting whatever it found there but turning back was not an option, they could not disappoint the king.

"How long until this... nightmare ends?" Clant asked as his hand shook, his torch flickered.

"Once we find and test the cup, we all may leave" Valenus promised. His footsteps echoed eerily, his mind filled with hope, wonders and promise. Normally he was a man envious of many others. He had no wife, no children and no successor. He went to bed alone, unhappily alone with a small house and no company but his own and his blade and shield.

They walked down the narrow steps, each one of them more hesitant than the last, each one of them more and more reluctant than the last. Like frightened children, they struggled as they sensed the possibilities of what lay ahead, whatever it was just felt like evil, pure evil.

There was no good there, nothing good and nothing like he expected. The walls and tunnels were unending, thick with dirt and cobwebs. There was nothing to face, merely skeletal ornaments beckoning them to turn back, turn back and leave, leave and never return but like naïve children, they pressed on, down the cracked pathway, leading themselves further and further into darkness.

Each knight thought it, it was written on their faces. Each knight wondered why there was nothing guarding such an artefact, on the way to it or within it. Was the thing within so long forgotten or just something truly twisted, evil, too evil to look in the eyes without turning away suddenly? Was the thing so dark, so cruel, it was telling them to leave?

He did not like the place, the sense, the smell, the lingering smell of pure hatred. It was not a holy site; it was a murder scene, the type of thing he'd expect to feel when attending the public execution of an innocent man. The air was thick, hard to breathe in and every step felt like agony but he could see the bottom, the end of the tunnel. Perhaps breathing was about to become so much easier, perhaps battling the fear, the sense of death was also going to become so much easier for all of them, all seven of them.

"This nightmare shall hopefully soon be over, all of us may return with the cup and present it to our king!" Valenus stated confidently, calling to his men and boosting morale but not a single man answered, they all just hurried down the tunnel after him, each with a look of nervousness or a blood thirsty look written on their faces.

Finally got to the end, finally they got to the end of the tunnel and stood in front of the large cup. It was not beautiful nor was it glistening or golden. It was plain, dark and frightening but still Valenus slowly reached out, took it from its resting place. Nothing, not a hidden trap shot up or tried to kill, they just took the cup.

"What did Merlin say about the ritual?" Valenus asked as he held the cup in his hands.

"Blood must be poured from whoever wishes to use the cup then said blood must be consumed by those who donated" Clant replied coldly as he stared at the small cup, a gentle clay object of little beauty. It was just a cup, a small cup of clay yet it potentially held so much power within.

"What are we waiting for, the cup's permission?" Mork complained as he grabbed Alector's dagger and made a small incision on his wrist, pouring the blood into the cup slowly, watching it collect and watching it grow as he past the dagger around. Every knight, frightened of the repercussions, joined in, every knight made a small incision and poured their own blood into the cup.

Valenus held it to his lips, tasting the horrific contents, swallowing it forcefully before handing it to the knight next to him. The blood made him feel... ill, he sat down on the floor, holding his head in his hands. The blood rushing through him... the blood running through him, it was boiling in his veins, as if they were on fire.

"Valenus, are you ok? Talk to me!" Dinabron begged as he knelt down to him softly.

"I am fine, drink" Valenus ordered as the cup was passed by falling knights. Dinabron took it in his hands, his hands shaking as he drained the contents of the cup, falling down next to Valenus. All of them were boiling, shaking with fear, pain. Valenus called out to his knights but his calls fell on death ears as all he could hear were the screams of his knights.

After what seemed like hours, Valenus awakened without too much problems, too much pain. He sat up, looking at the other six before he turned his head and left. The cup was not the cup of Christ, they were God's men. Merlin had been wrong, he had cursed them and made it so they could never look into each other's eyes without guilt tearing into them.

They left that night, hungry for something... something almost primal in nature. A desperate hunger, forged from the ashes of greed, the blood of seven sinners had either corrupted a holy cup or it was not a holy cup at all, instead a decoy, a falsehood. Whatever they drank from, it changed them, made them... different. Monsters, they were monsters, monstrosities with an unknown hunger... thirst... thirst for something, a need for something indescribable. What had they done to themselves? What had they become?

"We cannot allow the king to drink... from this cup" Alector stated as he almost glared at the cup.

"You are right, Alector, we cannot allow our king to drink from this cup... we cannot allow anyone to drink from this cup. Imagine it, more of us out there with unimaginable symptoms. First comes our hunger, what will we find afterwards?" Valenus questioned as he looked around the temple, looking for a place to hide the cup, hide it from view and temptation.

"What about ourselves? What do we do?" Clant asked.

"We hide our natures, whatever they may be. This night becomes our secret until our dying day. No one must know of us, of our... punishment. All of us, we all must remain in the dark about this night"

"Where will you go, Valenus?" Mork asked almost angrily.

"Far away, with this thing, I will hide it, never speak of it again. Whether or not you join me, any of you, if up to you but I will be looking for a way to undo what has been done" Valenus replied before he left, took the cup and his horse. He rode with it through the winds, past the trees to find somewhere else, somewhere to call home. He had no wife or children but now no title, no kingdom to return to. He had his brains, his will, his horse and sword as a means of survival, nothing more.