The Dead King

The first thing he could remember was the pain coursing through his body. It shot throughout him in waves, bringing his muscles back to life. His fingers tingled, his toes tingled. His mind raced with thoughts once again.

Once he realized he was conscious, he tried his arms a bit. They wiggled. He immediately knew he was face down on the ground, limbs spread out. He tried to gain the power to draw his legs in. It was quite difficult at first.

When he finally managed that feat, he flipped himself onto his back, and slowly opened his eyelids.

Who was he? Where was he? What was he?

He didn’t feel human, that was for sure. He didn’t feel his muscles aching. He did not feel his stomach turning, and finally, he realized he was not breathing.

As sure as he knew he was a human, he knew that breathing was essential. He drew a breath, but his lungs did not expand. He gasped, but it was useless.

Yet somehow, he did not feel like he was asphyxiating. He felt as though oxygen was unnecessary.

His vision was back. Eyes wide open, he stared at the brick ceiling above him. Being unable to breathe certainly made him feel as if he was in a dream, maybe in some state, but as detailed and lucid as his sight made him feel, he knew this was not the case.

He was alive, he was somewhere, he was existing. Where, and why, he knew not.

He shifted his shoulders. Muscles were working. As the seconds passed, he was regaining strength. Within the minute, he was sitting up from the floor.

His spine felt as if it was barely holding himself together. His bones felt rigid, his muscles partially decayed. He looked down and saw he was clothed in dark blue robes, a golden cross necklace hung down to his chest.

Thoughts were coming together. Coherent ones. He knew where he was. Nocturne Castle.

This is the potion room, he finally thought to himself. My lab. His eyes gazed upon his surroundings.

It did indeed look like a laboratory of sorts. Tables up against the walls, beakers and flasks sat on them. However, they were all empty. And almost all of them broken. Dust scattered on top of all of it.

He just now realized his elbow was being supported on broken glass. He jerked, and whisked the glass away with a movement of his arm.

The muscles were working well now, almost back to a normal person’s. He finally found the strength to get off the ground. As he stood up, his knees creaked. They wobbled side to side, as if ready to buckle at any moment. Something felt very, very wrong.

He took one step and instantly fell over. His bones moved as if they were an old water wheel being turned in the first time since a river ran dry years ago. He shifted some more, and stumbled back upon his feet.

He tried walking some more. His feet were in the same condition as the rest of his body. They did not like the new weight they were receiving. His determination, however, was stronger than that of his feet and legs, and they obeyed him.

Alright, he was mobile again. That’s been squared away. The next thing that he wanted to check was if his heart was still performing its normal bodily function. Two fingers sunk into his neck right below his jaw, checking for a pulse.

Nothing. Not a movement even after ten seconds. And then that’s when he knew something very, very bad had happened.

When he pulled his two fingers away, he looked down at them. They were completely pale, decayed, flesh missing from areas, partial bone in sight around the joints. He was staring at a dead man’s hand.

Instant panic, instant fear. This was not accompanied by an increased heart rate, however. And oddly enough, was not accompanied by chest pain either. He was too distracted to take note of that at this time, though.

What is this?! What is happening?! Both hands raised up to him. He flipped them back and forth. He extended and curled his fingers. His entire hands were decayed. Fingernails breaking off, skin missing, and what was left was dried out, along with the exposed bones. He reached back up to his face. It felt as if it was in no better condition. His eyes fixed to the exit of the room.

I have to figure out what has happened. In his panic, he ran, but fell over again, overestimating himself. As he tried to get back up, he clutched his knee to brace himself. When he gripped it, he felt his flesh on the knee squish together far more than it should.

He was back on his feet, and at that moment, he knew that his entire body shared this decayed state. He moved, he stepped, but was careful not to go too fast. He had no idea how his body in this state was even able to walk, and he did not want to push it.

Now he was officially walking. Even though panic and confusion plagued his mind, he was careful not to let it overcome him.

He was now at the entry way of the potion room. His head leaned out into the hallway. It ran both left and right, barely lit from broken windows that poured some overcast light in. There was snow. It was in random piles down the hallway. A red rug was tattered and torn that ran along the floor. Shards of glass on top of that. The only thing that seemed to not be in disarray was the stone brick walls of the hallway. There was not even a single crack to be seen.

This was Nocturne Castle, the man knew. It was his castle, but from what he gathered, it was in terrible disrepair. Why?

He stumbled down the hallway, trying to learn to walk properly again, like an infant. He tried not to look at his hands. As he walked down the hall, he heard something metal drop beside him. When he looked down, it was a ring that had been on his finger. It had fallen off. Quickly, he picked it up, and studied it. He needed all the information he could gather.

Trying to ignore the rather distasteful state his finger tips were in, he focused on the seal in front of the ring. It was the seal of his family. His family… He could not remember them. He knew it was indeed his family seal, but that was all that came to him. The ring really was a piece of him, and he dropped it into his pocket on his robe.

He continued to walk. He did not have a goal to where he was walking, he needed to explore, to remember. A few twists and turns down some hallways, he found himself in another room.

A mirror hung on a wall. Quickly, he paced to it. What he saw looking back horrified him.

A corpse, a zombie, you could say, stared at him. His eyes were yellow, pupils cracked and glazed. He had no nose. What remained were the two holes of his nasal cavity. Teeth were missing from his mouth.

As soon as he had looked, he had turned away in fright. What has happened to me? This can not be real. He stumbled away, and fell into a chair close by. He tried to remember. He tried to remember as much as he could. He felt as if he had been sleeping for a very long time. He debated if this could all be a very vivid dream, but he felt too lucid for that.

The potion room. My castle. Potion room… What was I doing…?

In a snap, he remembered something.

THE POTION!

He flew out of the chair, and back down the hallway. He was nearly running now, not even recognizing what a feat this was for him. He took the twists and turns of the hallway. He remembered the layout of the castle perfectly, to a tee somehow. It didn’t even cross his mind how even though he could hardly remember a thing, he perfectly knew the layout of the castle as if it was the back of his decayed, rotten hand.

There he was, back in the lab. He frantically approached the tables and desks, and started to leaf through the papers that scattered the surface. Everything was in disarray. Nothing was organized. It was as if someone had come in and purposely scattered everything around. He started reading notes and papers, and this all aided greatly in his memory.

After studying one pile of papers, he shifted over to another desk and studied the papers on those. After a while, his head slowly turned to the broken glass on the floor where he first found himself. Dread set in. Slowly, very slowly, he approached the glass on the floor. He knew what happened. He finally knew. He drew close. He picked up a few shards.

The first flashback. It was him raising a vial, a hot liquid ran down his throat. His pulse was racing, his stomach turned.

It was a huge contrast to how he felt now. The memory felt like a light breeze. It was barely there, then gone. Something wrong had happened to his experiment. He returned to his desks. He picked up a few papers and read them.

I know my math was correct, I double checked everything. The potion should have worked properly. I spent years writing the perfect formula. His mind raced with any thoughts of what could have gone wrong. None came to mind.

I must have missed something. I must have miscalculated. He squeezed the papers in his hand, crumbling them. He threw them to the floor.

Now look at me… Look what I’ve become. If anyone sees me in this state they’d-- Wait…

A concern that should have entered his mind a long time ago now made itself known.

WHERE IS ANYONE?

He bolted out of the room again, more concerns pouring into his mind. His mind, it was working now more than ever, and his awareness was increasing by the minute. Memories were being remembered.

As he entered into the hallway, things were becoming more apparent to him.

What happened to my castle?! Why is it in such disrepair?! How long have I been lying on that floor?!

So many questions, yet no one to answer him. He wandered about the castle.

The more he wandered, the more he realized that there was not a soul left. Nocturne Castle, which he had always known to be bustling full of life, was now completely empty, and left completely abandoned. Every room he entered, every hallway, it was all in disrepair. Once cherished items, if there were any left, had been thrown to the floor and broken. Decorations, vases, banners, everything was ruined. Dust coated everything that was left.

Even though he had convinced himself earlier he was definitely awake, the sheer awe of it all still had him questioning if this was some great illusion. He was now getting frustrated at how little he could recall of everything.

He was now in the main foyer of the castle. This was the largest room of the entire brick fortress. Banners were ripped off, fabric and glass scattered on the floor. A great gold cross that adorned the wall opposite to the grand entrance was scratched and tarnished. It had been chipped, and near the edges it looked as if it had tried to be pried off.

Everyone’s gone. Everything’s ruined. I have obviously been on that floor longer than I would dare think. What has happened to my Kingdom?

He glanced at the entry way. One wooden door lied on the floor, the other barely on its hinges. Snow had accumulated at the entrance, and when he looked outside, he saw nothing but white.

Snow… that is quite a bit of snow. It must be in the middle of winter.

He continued to wander. Each room he entered rewarded him with some memory.

The grand library. Oh, how awful. So much missing. His eyes fell upon empty bookshelves. A few books that were left were scattered sparsely on the shelves. As he walked past bookshelves, he whisked away spider webs that were everywhere.

This fate was shared with every room he entered. The armory was nearly cleaned out. The kitchen and pantry had food that rotted so long ago, what was left was dried out husks. This clearly had become a ghost castle. It became quite apparent to him that so much looting had happened to his castle. How many years had he been lying on that floor?

Long enough for plenty of trespassers to take whatever they wanted. The man started to assume that perhaps invaders conquered the castle, captured everyone, and took what they wanted. That must be it. All the wealth he had accumulated through the years, all gone. Everything and everyone taken from him. Then just like that, he remembered something terribly important.

The hidden vault.

He ran. He ran as fast as his questionable legs would take him. He ran down hallways, he took staircases down. His memory of the castle was proven as he took the quickest route possible to an unsuspecting room deep within the castle.

When he got there, a look of dread took over. The torch had been pulled, the hidden wall turned sideways. It revealed a secret staircase.

NO! They found it somehow!

He ran down the spiraled stairs. He descended deeper and deeper until he was met with a great steel door. When he stood in front of it, he froze in place.

The great, thick steel door was shut. It was plagued with scratches and dents. The number wheels by the handle were all spun in random values. The handle damaged greatly.

The man dared to think that maybe, just maybe, they had failed to get into the vault. Could it be?

He turned around stupidly to see if anyone was behind him. When he saw no one, he walked up closer to the door. Seven number wheels were all set to random values.

That’s incorrect. Without any effort, without a second thought, he started to spin each wheel to its correct value. He was nearly shocked that the number he needed was cemented into his brain. He had not lost that at all.

Once he spun all the numbers to their right value, he tried the handle. It didn't budge. He tried again, but to no avail. He stared back at the numbers. He knew they were right.

With great force he yanked the handle as hard as he could. The seal broke. The door moved, it started to swing open. If he had a pulse, it would be racing at great speed right now. When he finally swung the door open enough to peer in, his eyes opened wider than they had since he had woken back up.

It’s all here. Every coin. The huge vault held massive piles of gold coins. Gems shined in all corners. A massive fortune had laid untouched since he had last seen it.

He gazed at it all for a few minutes. This was the first good news he had received since this whole nightmare started. He took a few steps in, and bent over to pick up a pile of gold. The coins fell in between his dead fingers, clanging as they fell to the ground.

It’s real. It’s as real as I’m alive. He didn’t take too much more time looking at it all, as he started to feel paranoid that someone somewhere had heard the clanging gold fall. He shut the vault. As soon as the door handle clacked loudly into place, the number wheels all set to zero. It was state of the art. The best money could buy. It had proven itself to withstand quite a few attempts to break in.

All the running he had done was finally catching up to him. It took quite a bit of effort to climb back up the spiral stairs. When he got to the top, he pushed the torch back in. The turned wall reverted back to its unsuspecting state.

How did they even know to do that? That alone should’ve warded off anyone from finding it in the first place… Unless… someone knew.

He thought to himself if he knew anyone else knew about the hidden vault. His memory was proving to be quite selective in what it wanted to remember, he was frustratingly finding out. However he quickly let it be as he was thankful enough he could still recall the code.

He started to pace about as he took mental inventory of everything so far. He was deciding what would be the next course of action for him.

Obviously I’ve been out for quite a while. I’m shocked no one took me anywhere. How odd they just left my body on that floor. Everyone’s gone. The castle is trashed. There’s a shockingly large amount of snow outside. This isn’t adding up.

He continued to pace about, hand balled into a fist at the front of his mouth, deep in thought. His eyes darted at the ground.

I need to get out and find out what happened.

That was his decision. He headed back up into the main ways of the castle. He wandered a little more, one hand clutching his other’s wrist behind his back.

People can’t see me in this state. I need to hide my face, hide my skin. No one would understand that I’m a walking failed experiment. God, I really failed. Just look at me. The last thing I need is people thinking zombies are real now.

He turned to travel to his personal quarters. He walked down a few maze like hallways, up several flights of stairs before arriving to a doorway that was missing it’s door. He looked over to where the hinges had been, and took note that the door had indeed been yanked off.

Inside, his bed was shredded, clothing littered the floor. His dressers smashed, everything ruined. It didn’t even phase him anymore, he had come to accept that the entire castle was in this state. Luckily, he found a pair of dark blue gloves lying on the floor. He picked them up and slipped them on over his hands, concealing his torn skin. He found his cracked mirror still hanging. Ignoring his face the best he could, he studied his clothing. His robes were in good shape. He dusted off his shoulders, chest, and pants. His belt was falling apart, however. He looked around in the room, and found an extra belt. It was chewed up pretty bad, but the buckle was not broken. He swapped them out.

When he looked up at the mirror, he finally confronted his face. It was hideous. His robes had a hood on them. He threw it over, but his face was still far too visible.

This is no good, I really need to hide my face… but how? This hood is not good enough. I could tie a cloth around my face, but…

Then he had a goofy thought.

The theater room.

Another ten minutes of walking. I could go into the dressing rooms and see what’s left. Perhaps some of the jester’s masks are left behind… Wow, I had jester. Amazing.

He continued to surprise himself with memories that would randomly arise. He had visited the theater room earlier when he was wandering about. He hadn’t taken note of all the broken chairs before, but he did now as he walked along side of them to get into the back rooms.

When he got back there, to no surprise, almost everything was missing, and what was left was scattered around. He found most of the chests that used to hold ridiculous clothing to be quite empty. He would be shocked to find a mask at this point. However, as loose pieces of equipment and clothing lie randomly around, so did a mask. And it was not very favorable looking.

Really, this is all that’s left? I’m not going around looking like a clown. He grabbed a shard of glass on the ground and started to scrape the paint away off of the mask. It came off quite easily seeing as most of the paint was peeling already. When he was done, it was all black, just small pieces of white paint left in random spots. He threw his hood back, and placed the mask over his head. It fit snug. He threw his hood back on. When he looked into a mirror that was on the floor, he noticed he was fully concealed. Not a single person could tell anything was wrong with him, other than he was trying to be suspicious. That was indeed a problem, but less of one than looking like a walking zombie.

He checked to see if anything else needed to be done. After looking himself over several times, he decided he was fit to leave the castle finally. He made his way back to the entrance. Back at the foyer, he took note of the snow. He had seen it inside the castle too, almost everywhere a broken window had been.

That is far too much to snow, even for a winter here. This weather is not natural.

He got closer to the entrance. The light made him shudder a bit. He took footsteps in the snow, it crunched beneath his feet.

The last thing he did before going out the great doors, was reach into his pocket and grab his ring. He slipped it on a finger over his glove.

I must find out what happened to me. I must find out what happened to King Sullivan Marin.