Chapter Text
The clinking of armour echoed through the damp woods despite the 141’s best efforts to keep silent. One of His Majesty’s watchmen had spotted the smoke of a cauldron while scavenging the area. A witch, just a few short kilometers from the borders of the kingdom. With the close proximity, His Majesty had immediately dispatched his four most trusted knights to cleanse the area.
Ghost was known for his remarkable ability to stay silent, as suggested by his namesake. Despite this, even he could hardly disguise the loud clashing of steel as they stepped over large roots and ducked under tree canopies. Soap bumps shoulders with a tree, sending a resounding boom through the woods. Ghost jabs his fingers into the cloth underneath his friend’s armour, avoiding another sound while getting the message across.
“Ow!” The scot winces.
“Do you want to get caught?” Ghost grumbles, shooting a glare through his visor. He forces himself to take a few deep breaths. His shadows have been on edge all day, and his anger is only agitating them further. With the watchful eye they are all keeping on the woods, the others would surely notice if the shadows began dancing where they shouldn’t.
Soap opens his mouth to retort, but Price gets to him first.
“Shh!” The captain blows harshly, turning around to stare daggers at the pair. Soap scowls but hushes, Ghost straightening his posture. Deep breaths. They continue on their trail until it leads to a small, nearly undetectable opening.
The cabin is small and all too wonky. Vines dominate a poorly shingled roof with three separate chimneys erecting from it. Soggy wooden frames around a shabby white exterior. The only indication of anything sinister within is the faint glow that emanates from the smoke blowing from one of the chimneys. Price silently gestures for them to move forward, each of them moving to clear the surrounding woods. Once they’ve confirmed the witch isn’t outside, they move to surround the door.
A nod from Price is all the confirmation that Ghost needs before he slams the door open with a single forceful kick. They charge in, swords unsheathed as the witch inside screeches. She whips around, desperately grabbing the potions behind her without bothering to read the labels. The vials are promptly hauled at the 141. Ghost ducks, attempting to dodge the flying onslaught. He charges forward, keen on apprehending the witch before she turns one of them into a frog or something of the like.
The wall bursts into flames as one vial smashes, and a horrible stench comes from a green fluid that spills over the floor. A chair turns to a table, a shelf splinters into nothingness and sends books careening over the floor.
The witch notices Ghost through her panic just as he gets close. There’s a loud swallow before she grabs the first potion she can reach and her arm comes flying forward. The bottle smashes over Ghost’s helmet, sending shockwaves through the steel.
Ghost grunts loudly, his vision going white at the impact to his head. His helmet protects him from most of the damage, but it does little to save him from the potion that seeps through onto his skin.
He curses loudly, attracting the wide-eyed attention of Soap.
“Lieutenant!” Soap bellows, bolting through the flurry of flying bottles to go and aid Ghost. Ghost’s head whips around, eyes going wide and inky black. Whatever was in that vial, it had set his shadows off. He desperately attempts to reel them in, watching helplessly as they climb the walls, towering over the lot of them. His own stretches out further behind him until Soap’s foot steps into it.
The color drains from Soap’s body immediately. His skin goes grey, and Ghost watches as his eyes roll back into his head while he collapses to the ground.
“Johnny!” He cries, ignoring the frozen witch still panting behind him. He crawls over, but before he can reach the sergeant, his body vanishes as it melts into the shadows. The room comes to a stand still for one single, agonizingly long second before it erupts into chaos. Price begins shouting orders as Gaz panics, hurling himself towards the spot where his friend was just standing. He lands in the shadow and collapses, meeting the same fate. Price has the sense to back up, his eyes wide and darting around in alarm.
“A– a wraith?” Price says, voice barely a whisper from horror. He stumbles backwards, knocking into the wall behind him.
“Captain–” Ghost begins. Before he can get another word out, the shadows that had stretched across the walls curl around Price, pulling him into their depths.
Ghost kneels frozen on the ground, staring at the scene before him. They’re gone. All of them. The shadows dragged their souls off to who knows where, and took their physical forms with them. Tears well up in his eyes before he can stop them. He was a wraith, a beast, and one of the strongest knights in the kingdom. He hadn’t shed a tear since he was nine. And still, he wept. For his friends. For what he did to them. For Johnny, who had just been trying to help. Gaz, panicked but still determined to rush in to save them. And Price, the only one who had realized the truth– and his betrayal– before his demise.
Ghost is pulled from his thoughts by a sharp, stinging sensation and the screech of receding shadows. His head whips around, seeing the witch standing atop her counter through bleary eyes. The light spell she had cast wards off his shadows well enough, but does nothing to stop the throwing knife that embeds itself in her chest. Ghost doesn’t say a word, doesn’t feel a thing as he finally stands up and steps forward. He pulls the bloodied knife from her still chest without looking, staring instead at the wall in front of him.
Gone.
Gone, gone, gone, gone.
He stumbles out of the front door, feet carrying him off without his mind’s consent. No. Mentally, he’s still in that room, watching the color drain from Johnny’s face before he vanished. Gone.
The shadows follow him. He tries to command them to leave, to get off of his back, to disappear, to release his friends and leave him alone. They don’t listen. Instead, they climb higher and higher around him, enveloping his legs and embracing his chest. They’re freezing cold.
Ghost hiccups as he arrives at the outpost they had dispatched from, barely recognizing the king’s banner through the haze of tears still coating his eyes. Even so, his body forces him through the gate. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He finished the mission– instinct must know he’s supposed to report back. The whole team is. But it’s just him. Him and the stupid, cursed shadows that haven’t bothered to hide themselves.
Shouts resound through the walls of the camp. Monster, he hears someone scream. Arrows fly, and the shadows block them without any conscious thought. They capture those that are fighting him the same way they took his friends. He falls to his knees, watching with blank eyes as carnage once more ensues.
—---------------
He was banished. Exiled by the king for treason as soon as Ghost’s limp body was deposited in front of him. The only reason he hadn’t been beheaded was because the guillotine could not cut through the shadows that coiled around his neck. They refused to let him die, to let him be free. Instead, he was forced to leave his home. It was a silent march to him, his ears tuning out the heavy clomp of his horse’s hooves as they ran.
It took weeks to arrive at the castle. It had long since been abandoned. It was deemed cursed after the nobles who inhabited it were murdered. Nobody came through, the rocky mountains it was buried inside of making a scarcely forgiving path. Perfect for Simon. He never wanted to see another person’s face again. Never wanted to hear another scream of terror.
He needed seclusion. He would find a way to get his friends back. He just needed time.