[center][h3] [/h3][/center][h3][hr][color=#82786E]Brandon Unicorn[/color][/h3][hr][indent] [/indent]
The inhuman screech echoing from behind Brandon only drove him to stumble forward faster. The noise, however, followed him, staying as loud in his ears as his heartbeat. Still, the light ahead gave him a clear purpose, and he didn’t stop until he emerged from the tomb, the empty, moonlit plains greeting him with silence. In the distance were the knights he’d heard, their shadows continuing to move farther and farther away from him, and any words he might have forced out were swallowed by the fit coughs he’d summoned.

Making his way over to the closest tree and falling back against it, he finally allowed himself to relax, the cool breeze on his cheek bringing a muted sense of relief. The scream had quieted, and now he was left with only his heartbeat and… 

He looked up at the tunnels, eyes wide and imploring as he stared into the darkness. Whether he was imagining the clanking sound became clear as he made out movement in the shadows, and panic filled his chest. Scrambling to his feet, he managed to right himself in front of the tree just as the darkness revealed itself. Out rolled a helmet—[i]the[/i] helmet. The one from the top of the stairs, which had fallen down the steps, followed him out the tunnel and kept rolling. Even now it was rolling towards him, but a mixture of weariness and resignation kept his feet planted. So, flattening himself against the tree behind him, he prepared for the worst. 

Toward him the helmet came, the sound of iron clattering against stray stones as foreboding as the inexplicable force that drove it into existence. Over and over it rolled, propelled by some inhuman power, and Brandon barely resisted the urge to flinch as it came to a rolling halt beside him, tapping gently against his foot. He was not, however, able to resist a flinch when the world roared to life with the mausoleum’s collapse. Then, all at once, it was quiet again, and all that was left of the demons, rot, and fire was a fast-fading memory and mound of dirt only mildly more displaced than the rest of the landscape.

Another breeze grazed his cheek, but this one, to Brandon’s alarm, had a voice. [i]Put it on,[/i] it seemed to say, and before Brandon could finish his thought, the helmet at his feet tapped against him again. A stream of familiar thoughts—demons, spirits, unholy ghosts—came to mind, then left, leaving him alone with wind and moonlight. Demons and spirits, he reminded himself, and after another beat, he picked up the helmet, turning it in his hands. Nothing caught his eye except scratches and stray dust, which he attempted to clear with a broad wipe before deciding the effort futile. Demons and spirits, he reminded himself, and with a final breath, he raised the helmet and slid it over his head, his eyes closing instinctively.