He gazed into his promising future, no regret for what he had achieved. It was not power that he felt, but pride. As the sun set and the sky slowly slipped into a dark red that matched the color of the ground beneath him, Hadesmor sat upon his noble black steed and flicked the blood off his blade on to the crimson-soaked battleground. It had been another victory against invading forces for the kingdom of Skeltheor. Hadesmor’s silver heavy armor reflected vibrant rays into the eyes of his men as he led them back to the kingdom’s gates. He glanced up at the tallest tower of Skeltheor. The princess Malindalia looked down from her peak as her long ruby locks welcomed him back home. She blew a kiss to the returning knights, but Hadesmor knew who the true recipient was. The gates opened and a feast was ready to be held, but Hadesmor had more pressing matters to attend to.

As the gates closed there was a variety of reactions among the people. Few were grieving the loss of their fallen loved ones. Most were cheering Hadesmor’s name. The people of Skeltheor had come to see him as unbeatable. They had seen him compete in countless sword fights and jousting competitions in the games of their kingdom and not once defeated. They had seen him return from even more battles dripping blood but none his own. The whole kingdom had come to see him as immortal. He was respected and praised by all including the king. King Requin raised his goblet to Hadesmor upon his entrance. The king valued him above all of his other noble knights. The roaring crowd’s chant of “Hadesmor!” could be heard miles from Skeltheor. He raised his hand to silence the crowd. “Now people of this great kingdom,” the victorious warrior spoke with intent, “Do not favor one man. Was it one man who built this great kingdom? Or was it the group strength of our ancestors? Let this victory be shared by us all as another enemy is vanquished. Now let us feast!”

As the people of the kingdom screamed in excitement, Hadesmor tended to his own business. He made his ascent up the tallest tower. As he approached the top he could hear the beautiful voice that repeated night after night softly tormenting his dreams. The Princess Malindalia was singing in her chamber. He opened the door to her isolated room at the top of the magnificent tower in the kingdom, where she was to remain until her wedding day. She immediately greeted him in a warm embrace. After multiple visits from Hadesmor she knew that battle would not claim him, so no extreme relief was shown. However, she was more than happy to see him. He removed his armor after her dress and followed her to her sleeping quarters.

When they awoke, Hadesmor knew he had to leave. “How I wish you did not have to be imprisoned in this tower my love,” he said in sorrow, “I shall make you my wife soon enough.” “You have the respect of my father. You know that. You are dear to him as well as me,” Malindalia replied in hopes of a better future. With that Hadesmor made his descent down the tower.
With determination in his heart he made his way to the Royal Hall. He walked down the purple tiled floor surrounded by silver and gold statues and vibrant linen tapestries toward the king’s throne. He dropped to his knees, laid down his weapon, and placed both fists on the ground. King Requin then spoke, “Rise great warrior Hadesmor. I see no need for such a bow in my presence. I am just as grateful to you as you are to me. What is it you have come to discuss?” Hadesmor rose to his full height, two heads above the king. “I wish to take your daughter’s hand in marriage,” he stated in confidence. The king studied him thoroughly, almost as if looking into the warrior’s soul. “Do not think I have not heard your late night steps haunted by heavy armor ascending the tallest tower,” stated the king. The honorable knight was shocked but did not show it. “I have fallen for Malindalia. She has proven to be my only true weakness. I will protect her with my life as I have protected this kingdom my Lord.” Hadesmor was strong yet careful with his tone. Requin spoke in caution, “If it were any other man asking this of me I would not hesitate to execute him. You are different Hadesmor. You carry that claymore with honor and strength. If you carry my daughter the same, you have my blessing. You are now in inheritance of this kingdom noble warrior. I have faith in you my son.” Hadesmor bowed his head to the king, sheathed his sword and stated, “Sketheor will continue to flourish generations to come.” He then walked down the purple tiled hall and exited the great doors.
The wedding was to be held in October, three months to come. The news spread around the kingdom like wildfire. All of Skeltheor was to attend. Word of Hadesmor’s future as king spread as well. All were greatly excited and accepting of the future of their great kingdom.
However, a dark evil soon revealed itself. For years there had been vicious attacks on livestock and dogs. Many thought it to be a bear for they had never seen the creature responsible. On a full moon in the month of September, a violent howl was heard throughout Skeltheor. All of the warriors assembled around the Royal Hall ready for the demon that created such a bellowing hateful howl. Out from the darkness, standing seven feet tall was a creature with burning red eyes glimmering with bloodlust. It approached the small group of knights. “Where in the hell is Hadesmor?” one knight asked another. “Probably protecting the princess,” the other answered. The creature was only a few yards away from the assembly of warriors when it became evident what it was. They all knew it was a werewolf, from the legends and tales they were once told as children. One soldier ran. The monster snatched him with his fangs after what seemed to be a split second of chasing. The creature ripped the screaming soldier apart. Primary arteries were severed and spraying at the feet of the other soldiers. One brave warrior shot an arrow at the monster, disturbing its feast, but was effective. The beast was injured and ran away, jumping over the gates to the kingdom.
Hadesmor awoke in the forest outside of the kingdom. “Another sleep walking escapade,” he thought. He looked at a wound on his shoulder. It was a small hole that he assumed to be due to the pointed gate of Skeltheor, which had scraped him during his sleep walking. He made his way back to the kingdom to find a crowd around the Royal Hall. He saw the grim scene once he made his way through the crowd. “Paragar!” Hadesmor shouted. He recognized what was left of his comrade. “How did this happen?!” he demanded. Four other soldiers told him exactly what happened. Hadesmor approached the wife of Paragar, Widala, “My deepest condolences. I should have been there with my men to help destroy the beast. In tears Widala replied, “Do not blame yourself Hadesmor. I understand you were protecting your bride to be.” The seldom knight was speechless. He was ashamed to admit that he had simply been sleep walking. He vowed to stop at nothing to destroy the beast. For weeks he stood guarding the Royal Hall in the day and the princess’s tower at night.
October came around and Hadesmor was to marry Malindalia the following day. Festivities were held around the whole kingdom. Fire spinners, fire spitters, jugglers, and jesters were performing all over. Grilled meat and wine filled the streets of Skeltheor. Hadesmor walked and socialized for an hour or so and then began his ascent up the tallest tower one last time. Malindalia was standing at the window when he opened the door. “Is it not bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding?” she said smiling before wrapping her arms around his neck. Her crimson hair blew in the wind as they shared one last embrace. As the two walked toward the bed, the full moon shown down on Hadesmor’s face. He set his eyes on it and then nothing.
Hadesmor awoke to find the love of his life broken and mangled next to him in a pool of blood. The carnage was overwhelming. All was unrecognizable but her face. He looked into her eyes and let out a scream that set fire to water. He knew exactly what he was, a monster. The anger and sadness took over his heart. He wept uncontrollably. The first tears he had ever shed. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He addressed the current situation, picked up his blade and stood at the door.
The door broke off its hinges. Four of the king’s personal guard entered the room. Hadesmor, his life falling apart around him, plunged his blade through the first guard's chest. Still in a state of shock, the warrior had more adrenaline in his system than normal; that meant the sure demise of the king’s guard. The second guard swung as the vulnerable knight backed up and lurched forward with a powerful slice decapitating the heavy armored guard. His body stood for a moment then fell to the ground pumping large amounts of blood with the fading heart beat. The third knight exchanged swings and clashing blades for a few long seconds. The unarmored warrior severed the guard’s arm then delivered a quick and strong swipe caught the guard’s shoulder slicing downward cutting him in half. The slice was quick as the roaring wind. The soldier looked at the other half of his body that was lying on the floor next to him.Aas the organs began to slide out of his split rib cage, the guard let out a final breath. The last guard knocked Hadesmor off balance with a violent tackle. With swords scattered on the floor, Hadesmor rose to his feet and as the guard stood up. He stepped forward and kicked the guard’s chest and launched him through the stained glass window. He fell for three hundred feet, went limp at two hundred and landed on one of the metal spikes of the armored wall surrounding the kingdom and was brutally impaled. Hadesmor stood at the shattered window. The people of his once future kingdom all stared up at him in horror. He looked back down at the people. He lowered his blade in sorrow, put his armor on and descended the stairs of the tower.
Hadesmor mounted his black steed and began a stride toward the gates. As he exited the gates, every knight in the kingdom followed him on horseback accompanied by the king himself. Hadesmor understood their anger and hatred toward him. He felt it toward himself. In one night he had lost everything. As the kings shouts faded away, Hadesmor rode away in haste. His future now lay in the vast wilderness.
As the mourning of Malindalia’s death took place in the days following the violent werewolf attack, Hadesmor viewed the services from an overlooking cliff. He was changed. Anger and sadness took him over. After years of living in a large cavern hidden in silence, Hadesmor emerged in the peak of Autumn. As the leaves of October fell, he felt the crisp breeze and the bright sun as it set on the horizon. His skin had become as white as the moon that controlled him and his armor had become as black as the deepest parts of the cave. No more would he hide in sorrow. Hadesmor put on his helmet, letting his now long silver hair fall down his back. He vowed to protect Skeltheor and allow it to flourish just as he promised the great king Requin long ago. With a confusing mixture of love for his kingdom and hatred toward his cursed soul, he mounted his pitch black steed and rode toward the distant battle cries.
A decade went by and legends formed of the rise and fall of Hadesmor. His might, power, and dark secret spread around all of England. When a knight wielding a monstrous blade in armor black as hell’s ash and a horse with the hair of a panther appeared on the battlefield supporting the kingdom of Skeltheor, more legends formed. Some say the black knight had risen from hell by orders of Satan himself. Others said he was a gift from the gods. A few however, believed that this black knight was Hadesmor, the Autumn Knight, simply serving the kingdom that he once called his home.