Alister

The grand hall shimmered with opulence. A golden throne, resplendent in the torchlight, stood at the far end, raised above a lush red carpet that stretched across the marble floor. Massive pillars, carved with intricate designs, supported the vaulted ceiling, and the walls were adorned with swords, armors, and ancient tapestries. Flickering candles cast a warm glow, their light dancing on the polished surfaces. A crown, heavy with jewels, rested beside the throne.

The King, regal and stern, sat on his throne. He summoned his loyal Knights, their polished armor clinking softly as they gathered. Sir Alister, the King's most trusted knight, stood close by, his eyes betraying a storm of thoughts.

"Kneel before your King," the monarch commanded, his voice echoing through the hall. The Knights, bound by their oaths, knelt in unison, their heads bowed.

"The invaders of the neighboring land threaten our peace," the King declared, his voice heavy with determination. "It is better to strike first than to wait for them to bring war to our doorstep."

Sir Alister's heart raced. He harbored doubts about this preemptive strike, but his loyalty to the King held his tongue. As the King ordered preparations for the imminent war, the Knights were dismissed, each burdened with the weight of their duty.

Months of relentless battles ensued. The King's strategy proved effective, and victory seemed within grasp. The enemy was cornered, their forces decimated. The King, leading his Knights, rode towards the enemy's castle, the final stronghold.

The siege was swift. They breached the castle gates and stormed the halls, only to find the enemy King in a state of disgrace. The man lay wasted and drunk, surrounded by the stench of decay and the bodies of women. Broken bottles littered the floor, and the once-grand throne was a mockery of its former glory.

Disgusted, the King spoke, "This is the ruler who sent his men to die needlessly." His voice was cold, filled with contempt. "Burn it all. Let this be a lesson."

Torches were lit, flames licking the stone walls as the castle was set ablaze. The enemy King, too intoxicated to resist, was left to perish in the inferno. The fire spread, consuming the nearby village, yet no screams pierced the night—only the crackle of flames.

As the castle crumbled, Sir Alister knelt before the King. "Was this our victory, Your Highness?" he asked, his voice a whisper of sorrow.

The King, unable to meet his gaze, shook his head. He turned his horse towards their homeland, the triumph tainted by a sense of hollow victory.

On the road back, shadows emerged. Hooded men, cultists skilled in dark arts, blocked their path. Their leader raised a hand, chanting in an arcane tongue. A bolt of malevolent energy shot towards the King.

Sir Alister, driven by unwavering loyalty, leapt in front of his liege. The curse struck him, and he crumpled to the ground. "No!" the King roared, his fury unleashing a torrent of vengeance. The Knights dispatched the cultists, their blades swift and merciless.

When the battle ended, the King turned to where Sir Alister had fallen, but his loyal knight had vanished without a trace. Grief and rage warred within him as he stood alone amidst the fallen enemies.

The journey home continued in silence, the weight of loss heavy upon the King's shoulders. The kingdom had won the war, but at what cost?

---

Sir Alister woke with a start, his senses on high alert. The world around him was alien and foreboding. Towering structures, once proud skyscrapers, lay in ruins, overrun by nature. Vines snaked their way up broken walls, and trees sprouted through cracked concrete. He instinctively checked his armor and sword, the familiar routine grounding him in this unfamiliar place.

"Where am I? My King! Are you alright?" His voice echoed off the decaying edifices, but no answer came. Silence hung thick in the air, broken only by the distant call of an unknown creature. Alister took a deep breath, sheathed his sword, and scanned his surroundings. His years of training and countless battles had honed his instincts, urging him to stay calm and observant even in this strange environment.

In the distance, he spotted a figure stumbling across the overgrown asphalt, a sight both bizarre and fascinating. Asphalt, not cobblestones, paved the ground beneath his feet. Strange metal contraptions, their purpose unclear, lay strewn about the broken landscape. Despite the desolation, there was a haunting beauty to it all—the resilience of nature reclaiming its domain.

Determined to find answers, Alister approached the figure cautiously. "Excuse me, sir, may I ask where we are?" he called out, his voice steady and authoritative. The figure gave no reply, its movements erratic and unsettling. As Alister drew closer, the figure turned, revealing a face twisted in horror—rotting flesh, blood-streaked, and eyeless.

"What in God's name is that?" Alister's grip tightened on his sword, but his stance remained firm. "Stay back!" he commanded, his voice carrying the weight of years of battlefield command.

The creature lurched forward, driven by an insatiable hunger, but Alister remained composed. He stepped back, assessing the situation with a veteran's eye. This was no mere battlefield skirmish; it was a fight for survival against an unimaginable foe.

With precise efficiency, Alister drew his sword in one fluid motion. The blade gleamed in the muted sunlight filtering through the twisted canopy above. He circled the creature, analyzing its movements, looking for any weakness in its decayed form.

The creature lunged, its movements clumsy yet relentless. Alister parried with practiced ease, deflecting the attack and countering with a decisive strike. His blade sliced through rotted flesh and bone, severing the head from the body. The creature collapsed, twitching briefly before lying still.

Breathing heavily, Alister surveyed his surroundings once more. This was no mere battlefield—it was a world far removed from his own. Questions swirled in his mind: How had he come here? Where were his comrades? And what other horrors lurked in this strange land?

As he stood amidst the ruins, the reality of his situation sank in. A veteran knight of countless battles, he knew that panic was a luxury he could not afford. With resolve hardened by years of duty and discipline, Sir Alister prepared himself for the challenges that lay ahead in this apocalyptic new world.

----------------- [Author's note]------------------

Hey I'm the author here I made this ff because I was playing dark souls right and my favourite tv show was the walking dead and I was also curious what would happen if you had a full set of armor in a zombie apocalypse would you be like Guts from berserk and just cut down zombies with ease or would you be overrun immediately dying from starvation than the bites. Well I have really sweet ideas for this shi and I'll also put what Alister looks in this note.