The Pale Truth

Epilogue- The Fall of a King

No cost too great.

No cost too great.

No cost too great.

The king mentally chanted his mantra, each time doubting himself more.

He was a royal figure, showing no signs of regret. He would have to live with what he did. Show no remorse.

He listened to the metallic whirring of buzz saws outside of his throne room. They always calmed him, comforted him, told him "you're safe, don't worry". And he was always thankful for that. But now...

Now he wished they would stop spinning.

They reminded him of something... something he couldn't have. A family. A child.

The king frowned as a shrill voice accompanied by footsteps forcibly knocked him out of his thoughts. He had asked not to be disturbed.

He steepled his long, white fingers, both elbows resting on the arms of his throne, and leaned forwards, preparing to fix whoever came through the door in front of him with a disapproving, steely gaze. And so he did.

The royal advisor burst into the room, panting. Her mask was cracked- well, more cracked than usual, and her glasses were askew.

"My king," she gasped, "my king, the Infected creatures- they're attacking!"

He frowned, troubled by this. He had seen them attacking in his dreams, but didn't figure that it would be on this day.

"So soon?" The Royal murmured, bringing his thoughts to life.

"Yes sire, they're at the gates of the palace," the advisor squeaked.

He lowered his gaze to the floor, thinking. "The saws will buy us some time. Now, we must get the Moulds ready for battle. Tell the Captain to send them to their posts... I'll defend the city as well, so notify them that they have one more. And tell my..."

He hesitated, reminding himself that his child couldn't be called, nor fight beside him. "And assist the Captain with setting up the defenses," he quickly recovered, "he might not remember the access code."

The advisor bowed. "Right away, my liege," she said, and scurried out of the room.

He turned his head and looked over his shoulder, staring at his dearest treasure. Half of a small, white charm was embedded into the back of his chair. The other half was with his wife, in the Queen's Gardens. He would die to keep it safe, for not only was it an object of sentimental value, but a tool to save all of Hallownest in case the Infection couldn't be stopped by his child.

The king's gaze hardened, and he stood from his throne, picking up his nail from where it was sitting next to him, for situations just like this one. He unclasped his cloak and let it slip off of his shoulders, unfurling his iridescent, transparent wings.

His armor glinted in the light, bearing the King's Crest on his chestplate.

Planting his long nail into the ground, he rested both hands on its hilt and waited, staring at the entrance to the throne room. It was him they wanted, and he knew it. They didn't want the charm, but that's where they went wrong, for it was the only thing that could destroy them.

And he would protect it until his final breath.

Sounds outside of his door, footsteps marching in time, told him that the Moulds were here. But they weren't here to protect him. They had been infected.

He had seen all of this in his dream, and he knew how it all ended. It was for the good of Hallownest.

The army of Moulds broke the door down, knocking the finely carved wood to the ground. They marched into the room, and instead of staring at their numbers with dismay, the king looked upon them with dignity, ready to face them.

He readied his nail, analyzing the sea of creatures before him.

Let the battle begin.

The Moulds all struck at once, throwing their spiked weapons at him. He propelled himself into the air, wings flapping. While they had no weapons, he flew back and forth, striking them with his nail.

The moment their weapons returned to them, they unfroze from their previously statue-like state, and attacked again.

The two sides moved to their chaotic dance, attacking, defending, and dodging in rhythm.

Many of the Moulds fell before the Royal's blade, his skill superior to theirs. He was winning.

Just when he thought he was safe, however, a Mould struck his nail, the impact so great that it shattered the entire weapon.

The king, now defenseless, flew above the Moulds, attempting to dodge their attacks. He had no way of deflecting their weapons, and relied on pure adrenaline and speed at this point.

One of the Moulds' attacks caught him in the wing, and he fell to the ground, wincing in pain.

The Moulds surrounded the Royal, closing in on him. He feared that this would be the end. Until he remembered that he had one last tool.

A last stand.

He took a small glass vial from within a piece of his armor and crushed it against his hand. Black tendrils raced up his arms, almost as if they were alive. The substance covered every part of him, turning him into a six-eyed, six-armed monster made of pure hatred and nightmares.

He roared a battle cry, grasping the pieces of his nail in one hand. The other five seemed to make nails of their own, ready to fight.

The monster fought like a whirlwind, jabbing at the Moulds' orange, Infected eyes.

Within a minute, they were all dead, and the monster was the last one standing. The black substance, now known as Void, dripped off of the king, leaving him alone in the throne room, surrounded by the corpses of his own guards.

He felt his insides being hollowed out, the Void taking its toll. With a grunt, he staggered to his throne, collapsing into it. Scattering the broken pieces of his nail, the king pried the charm out of his throne and clutched it tightly.

Gazing down upon it, he realized that this was not going to be his legacy. He wasn't going to be the king who protected everyone from the Infection. He wasn't going to be the king who fought off his own soldiers to keep the kingdom's only salvation safe.

He was going to be remembered as the king who created many, many vessels, then sentenced them to the worst fate possible. He was going to be the king who left his own child to die at the hands of the Radiance.

History wouldn't get it right. He would be feared. He would be hated. Nobody would know of what happened here today.

But as he drew his last breath, shuddering at the effort of fighting back the Void enough to think, he thought of the savior of this world. He thought of the Hollow Knight. He thought of his child.

He was proud of his child.

And then the Pale King was no more as the royal advisor gave her life to activate the defense protocols, triggering the White Palace's self-destruct with a devastating explosion that nobody would ever remember.

The King was lost.

The King's intentions were lost.

And as he foresaw, all he left behind was a legacy of fear, anger, and betrayal.