They were an odd pairing, the two warriors who braved both the night and the wilds while others huddled together behind barred doors.

One was black of complexion as those of the distant southern kingdoms, though it was a sword which hung from his waist rather than a spear. He was short and compact, while his companion was broad and towering and had about him the savage countenance of barbarian, perhaps of the northern tribes. His sword hung across his back, a huge claymore.

Both were powerfully built and scantly armored, save for a chain mail shirt on the bigger of the two and a black helmet on the smaller, which concealed entirely his face. Between his mouthpiece and the brow of the helmet was encrusted a ruby visor, from out of which he seemed, through some queer craftsmanship, to have clear vision, given the ease of his movement.

In total silence they kept pace through the ever denser, ever darker forest. Fixed upon some awesome and terrible destination, they scarcely heeded their surroundings.

The trail bent before them sharply. They made their way around it and there waiting for them, was the man they'd come to slay...the Dark Priest, the so-called Revered Leader...the Duke. The ghostly pallor of his white face stood in stark relief to his black, obsidian armor and long, dark hair. His face was worn and haggard from a lifetime of battle.

Beneath the white light of the moon, the golden belt he wore about his waist--the object of the motley pair's quest--gleamed with an unnatural brightness.

"Well done, my would-be usurpers. You made it further than I'd expect. But what you've gone through is nothing compared to the Hell I endured to gain the girdle...and to take it from me...you'll have to face all the forces of Hell...and something even worse....ME!"

Skeletal hands clawed their way up from the dirt, emerging from the ground armored heavily yet bereft of flesh and humanity. Featureless human figures rose out of the multitude of shadows, solid incarnations of darkness itself. Without fear, the barbarian and the knight drew their blades and charged forward against the unholy army that, in mere seconds, had massed against them.

As if born back on the crest of a mighty, irresistible wave, the armies of shadow warriors and skeleton men gave ground to the iron thews and huge blade of the barbarian. The knight struck amongst them like a storm of lightning bolts, there hacking into one, then gone in nearly the same instant, only to strike again just as suddenly. He sprang amongst his enemies like a dear, his blade singing a deadly song of steel and death to his foes, while his agility and speed kept him beyond the range of counter-attacks.

As his armies dwindled, the wicked Duke suddenly found himself face to face with the barbarian warrior himself. Their steel blades crashed together and exploded into a million pieces. Unarmed, they came to grips, strength for strength.

"The mute knight...seeks to overthrow me and take my gold," the Duke spoke between labored grunts. "...to save the church...and to bring the golden strap back into nobler hands...and restore to it honor and integrity...or so he has claimed...tell me...barbarian...why do you...seek my gold...?"

"Because I want it...that's all. I want it...so I'll wager my strength against yours...and see if I can't take it!"

"An honest savage..." hissed the Duke. "How refreshing. Perhaps amongst us three...you are the only honest man...for you do not dress your savage desires up in noble hypocrisies..."

The barbarian did not answer. Save for grunts, he struggled in silence against the Duke's strength. Slowly, he seemed to gain ground against his armored foe.

Then his body went slack, as the tip of the knight's sword suddenly emerged in the center of his powerful chest. The blade drove forward, impaling the Duke as well.

"So," the Duke said, laughing bitterly even as blood dribbled out of his mouth. "Now we find out the truth...all the knight's supposed honor and integrity is blasted to Hell when it gets in the way of what he wants...your soul be da--"

The truck ground to a jarring halt, startling KnightMask from his slumber. He looked out the window. Jutting white mountains looming over a vast expanse of seemingly endless pine trees yawning before him.

"Alright buddy...this is as far as I'm gonna take yah. From hereon out, you're on your own."

Just wanted I was looking for, the XWF star thought to himself as he got out from the truck and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder.

KnightMask bowed to the truck driver and turned to face the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest.

He had nothing on his person, save for a Bible, his mask and enough food to last him for the next couple of days. Out here...in the desolation of the forest...he was going to see if he couldn't cleanse his soul of whatever it was that was taking hold of it...or die trying.

The belt wouldn't mean anything, he told himself, if he didn't win it fairly and honorably. Better to lose cleanly...than to win dirty.

He told himself these things, but all the while, the desire to hold that golden strap in his hands...to claim it as his own...burned inside of him. To hold it...and to rip apart anything and anyone that stood in the way of that.

It wasn't going to be easy...but he was going to quell those fires...though they seemed to consume him...he was going to quell them.