The Demon Among The Knights-Chapter 35: The Legacy Of Brian and Brianna

The smell of roasted vegetables filled the small cottage, mingling with the faint scent of pine that drifted in through the open window. Sunlight streamed in, painting streaks of gold across the rough wooden floor. The house was humble — just two rooms, a tiny kitchen, and a stone fireplace that crackled gently, filling the space with warmth.

It wasn’t much, but to Brianna and Brian, it was home.

Brianna, no older than six, sat cross-legged on the floor, her dark hair falling in loose strands around her face as she meticulously arranged small twigs and leaves into patterns. She bit her lip in concentration, carefully placing each twig as if she were solving a complex puzzle.

Brian, her older brother by three years, sprawled on his stomach beside her, carving a stick with a dull knife. His tongue poked out slightly as he worked, brows furrowed in deep focus. After several minutes of scraping and shaping, he held the stick aloft like a prized treasure.

"Look, Bri! It’s a sword!" he declared, grinning wide enough to show his missing tooth.

Brianna tilted her head, inspecting it with the same seriousness she gave her twig arrangements.

"It’s bent," she said, her voice soft but blunt.

Brian’s grin faltered. "It’s... supposed to be bent. It’s a magic sword."

"Magic isn’t real."

Their father chuckled from the kitchen, where he stirred a pot over the fire. His hair, once a rich chestnut, had begun to gray at the temples, and lines creased his face like faded battle scars. His hands, rough and calloused from years of chopping wood and carrying heavy loads, moved with surprising gentleness as he tended their meal.

"Let him have his magic, Bri," he said, glancing back with a tired smile. "The world’s harsh enough without it."

Brian puffed out his chest. "See? Dad gets it."

Brianna just shrugged and returned to her twigs.

After dinner, their father took them into the woods — a ritual as old as their memories. He would chop wood to sell in the village, and the children would gather kindling or search for berries. The forest stretched for miles, ancient and dense, the trees towering like giants, their twisted roots snaking through the earth like veins.

Brian ran ahead, swinging his "sword" at invisible monsters.

"I’m a knight!" he declared, jumping onto a fallen log. "Sir Brian, the strongest warrior in the kingdom!"

Their father laughed, hefting an axe over his shoulder. "A knight, huh? That means you have to protect the village."

Brian nodded fiercely. "I will!"

"What about you, Bri?" their father asked, kneeling to her level. "What do you want to be?"

Brianna looked at the moss beneath her feet, thinking. "I don’t know," she said eventually, voice barely above a whisper.

Her father ruffled her hair. "That’s okay. You’ll figure it out."

They walked back home at dusk, the sky bleeding pink and purple as the sun sank behind the mountains. Brianna held her father’s hand, her tiny fingers barely wrapping around his rough palm. Brian carried a bundle of sticks over his shoulder, bragging about all the imaginary creatures he’d defeated.

It was a simple life. But it was theirs.

---

When the World Turned Dark

The days blurred together in quiet harmony. Brianna helped with chores, carefully washing vegetables and sweeping the floor, while Brian practiced with wooden weapons he carved himself. Their father worked tirelessly, chopping wood and carrying heavy loads into town to sell.

Then, one morning, he coughed.

At first, it was nothing — just a scratch in his throat. But the cough deepened, turning wet and ragged. His skin paled, and sweat clung to his brow even when the air grew cold. He tried to hide it, swallowing the coughs and forcing a smile, but Brianna noticed.

She always noticed.

"Dad, you’re sick," she said, her small voice echoing through the cottage like a solemn bell.

"I’m fine, sweetheart," he lied, the tremor in his hands betraying him.

Brian frowned, gripping his carved sword tighter. "Maybe we should get the healer..."

Their father shook his head. "We can’t afford that. I just need rest."

The next morning, he couldn’t get out of bed.

His breathing was shallow, his skin clammy. Brianna fetched water from the stream, dipping a cloth and pressing it to his forehead while Brian paced the room like a caged animal.

"I’ll chop wood," Brian declared, his jaw set with determination. "I can do it!"

Their father hesitated, his gaze heavy with something more painful than illness — guilt. But he finally nodded. "Just be careful," he whispered.

Brian grabbed the axe — too big for his small hands — and set off into the forest.

Brianna stayed behind. She sat by her father’s side, listening to his rasping breaths, watching his chest rise and fall. She didn’t cry. Crying wouldn’t fix anything.

The door creaked.

Brianna turned, expecting Brian.

It wasn’t Brian.

A long, twisted creature slithered in, its body a grotesque mockery of life. Its limbs were stretched unnaturally, skin clinging to jagged bones, and its mouth stretched impossibly wide, filled with rows of needle-like teeth. Black eyes gleamed in the dim light, empty and endless.

A crawler demon.

Her father jolted awake, coughing blood, but still reaching beneath his pillow for the knife he kept there.

"Brianna, get back!" he rasped, stumbling to his feet.

The demon lunged.

Her father tackled it, driving the blade into its side. Black ichor oozed out, sizzling as it hit the wooden floor, but the creature didn’t stop. It thrashed, claws raking through her father’s skin, ripping deep gashes that bloomed red across his chest.

He didn’t let go.

He shoved the demon against the table, breaking it in half with the force of impact. The knife gleamed as he stabbed, again and again, until his arm gave out and the blade slipped from his fingers.

The crawler retaliated, sinking its claws into his chest.

Her father didn’t scream.

He just looked at Brianna, his gaze soft, even as life drained from him like sand through an hourglass.

Then he collapsed.

The creature didn’t stop.

It tore him apart, piece by piece, long after he was dead.

Brianna just watched.

Her eyes dry. Her heart numb.

The door burst open, and Brian stood in the doorway, panting. The bundle of wood he carried slipped from his hands, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

"Dad? Bri?" he whispered, voice trembling.

The crawler turned its head.

Brian’s scream echoed through the forest like a shattered prayer.

The world smelled like blood.

Brian stood over the demon’s crumpled body, chest heaving, his small hands raw and bleeding from where splinters had dug into his skin. His makeshift weapon — a broken chair leg — dripped with black ichor, the tip still faintly glowing from the light that had inexplicably burst from it when he’d struck the final blow.

The glow had faded now, leaving only darkness.

The creature lay twisted on the floor, its tar-like blood pooling around its limbs. Its mouth, still stretched in a sick parody of a grin, hung open.

Demons didn’t die without holy water. Everyone knew that.

Brian’s breath hitched, and he dropped the wood with a hollow clatter. His legs buckled, and he scrambled to his father’s side. The man’s chest barely rose, his breath shallow and ragged. Blood soaked his clothes, painting crimson streaks across his torso, and his skin had turned the color of ash.

"Dad?" Brian whispered, shaking him.

His father’s eyelids fluttered open, cloudy eyes struggling to focus. His lips cracked as he tried to speak, voice rasping like wind through dead leaves.

"Bri... an...?"

"I’m here!" Brian cried, clutching his father’s hand. "I killed the demon. You’re gonna be okay! I promise — I’ll get help!"

His father’s fingers curled weakly around Brian’s wrist, a feeble squeeze.

"Protect... her..."

His chest fell.

It didn’t rise again.

Brian froze, shaking him harder.

"No... no, Dad, wake up!" he sobbed, tears streaking down his face. "Please — you can’t leave us! You promised you’d teach me how to build a real sword! You promised we’d go to the village festival next spring!"

Nothing.

Just the cold, unblinking stillness of death. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

"He’s gone," Brianna whispered, her voice devoid of emotion.

Brian turned to her, his heart breaking all over again. She sat in the corner, her knees hugged to her chest, her face blank. She didn’t cry. Didn’t move.

She just watched.

Brian wiped his face with a shaky hand, then crossed the room and lifted her into his arms.

"We need to go," he whispered, stepping over the demon’s body. "More might come."

Brianna didn’t answer. She just pressed her face into his shoulder as he carried her out of the house that had once been their home.

---

Life on the Streets

They walked for days. Then weeks.

Brian scavenged for food, stealing when he had to. He built makeshift shelters from scrap wood and dried leaves, cradling Brianna through cold nights as she stared blankly into the darkness.

He bartered, begged, and bled for survival.

And through it all, Brianna never spoke.

One night, as they huddled beneath a collapsed wagon during a storm, Brian pressed his forehead against hers, voice cracking.

"I promise I’ll make this better," he whispered. "I’ll get stronger. I’ll protect you, no matter what."

She didn’t reply.

But he swore he saw her blink.

Just once.

---

The Demon War

Years passed. The world grew worse.

Demon attacks escalated, spreading like wildfire across the land. Entire villages were razed overnight, their inhabitants slaughtered or dragged into the void. The knight orders waged war against the creatures, but for every demon slain, two more seemed to appear.

Humanity teetered on extinction’s edge.

By the time he turned thirteen, Brian had grown lean and strong from years of survival. He wielded a rusted sword stolen from a dead knight, the blade chipped and dull, but his hands steady.

He killed demons.

And every time he struck a fatal blow, the sword glowed.

He didn’t understand why. Until the day he saved a knight from an ambush.

The knight, bleeding and battered, stared at Brian with wide eyes as he watched the boy drive his sword through a demon’s heart, burning it to ash without holy water.

"You... the glow," the knight rasped, coughing blood. "You’ve been chosen by a god."

Brian wiped the ichor from his blade. "What are you talking about?"

The knight chuckled bitterly, shaking his head.

"Only those blessed by the gods can kill demons without holy water. You’re wielding divine power, kid."

Brian tightened his grip on the sword.

"Then I’ll use that power to end this war."

---

A Knight Rises

Brian joined the knight order at fifteen.

He rose through the ranks like a wildfire, cutting down demons as if they were made of paper. His name became a beacon of hope — the knight blessed by the Reality God, the one who could carve through darkness with the power of pure existence.

By the time he turned seventeen, he was already a gold-ranked knight, a feat no one in history had ever achieved so quickly.

And four years after he joined, Brianna followed.

She enlisted without a word.

She never smiled. Never laughed. She killed demons with mechanical precision, her sword slicing through them like they were nothing more than weeds to be cut down.

People whispered about her, too.

The Hollow Knight.

The girl who moved like a ghost, who never spoke during battle, whose eyes held nothing but emptiness.

Brian watched her from afar, his heart breaking every time he saw her swing her blade. Because even with all his strength, even with all the divine power running through his veins...

He couldn’t protect her from what she had already lost.

---

One night, after a brutal battle, Brian found Brianna sitting alone outside the barracks, wiping blood from her sword.

He sat beside her, silent for a long moment.

"You should sleep," he finally said.

"I don’t get tired," she replied, voice devoid of feeling.

Brian swallowed, glancing at her hands. They were covered in fresh cuts, knuckles split from gripping her sword too tightly.

"You don’t have to keep fighting," he whispered. "I can protect you."

Brianna looked at him for the first time in years.

Her eyes, once so bright, were as lifeless as a corpse’s.

"You couldn’t protect Dad."

Brian flinched, feeling those words like a knife to the chest.

And Brianna, without waiting for a response, stood and walked back inside.

Brian stayed there, staring at the bloodstained dirt beneath his feet, his heart pounding against the walls of his ribs.

He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms.

And for the first time in years...

He cried.

Because he knew the truth.

No matter how many demons he killed...

No matter how powerful he became...

He could never bring her back.