A/N: Hello folks, here I am again (and it didn't even take a century either)
YA MUTHA FUCKA! I'M STILL WAITING FOR DAUGHTERS DLC FUCKASS!
Yeah, yeah, I know, I have a horrible tendency to start projects, then stop abruptly never to return. Daughters will be done soon. I already have the entire rest of it planned out, just need to commit it to print.
Unfortunately, I had another Fiction planned in the background, which was going to debut after Daughters of the Abyss was done, but I've gotten so distracted by the inspiration I get mad paralysis when I try to sit down and work on Daughters. School's out for now, so I have the whole summer to work on my own projects, I've just been crashed out in the aftermath of the exams.
I have no plans of dropping my fictions for an entire year straight again. I just really, really lost my drive somewhere after the gang broke up, and I'm starting to find it again. My upload schedule has always been horribly inconsistent, but I want Daughters to be finished relatively soon, with this new fiction kicking off on the side, and possibly Dragon Souls (no, it's not a dead fiction, I totes swear).
Now, with that out of the way, the actual Fiction:
This is an Alternate Universe. Most everything is the same unless otherwise noted, but it should be apparent where the major deviations take place. The setting is VERY near future, so a few months to a couple years after the start of the game, but most everything is the same up until the deviations.
Unlike most of my other fics, I'm putting some pretty extensive research into the Lore as I go along to make sure it's as loyal to the characters and canon as possible, liberties will be taken as needed.
A small thing, but noticeable, is that a lot of characters will seem a lot… smaller, than in-game. That's because I'm going re-size some of the characters, since it's no secret Miyazaki loves human characters that stand as tall as an ice cream truck for dramatic effect, and I'm going to try for a more grounded and realistic interpretation.
It shouldn't impact things too much, just don't be surprised when the size differences are especially noticeable.
The clash of swords. Even now, days later, the banging of metal on metal continued to disturb the thoughts of the High Priestess. Emma slumped in her chair, the reek of ash curling towards her nostrils as her cathedral chamber quietly smoldered, burnt to cinders by arcane flame.
As the flickering embers silently nestled against the wood and cloth, trying to find a place to continue burning, Emma could not tear her eyes from the door, the thin shaft of sunlight casting a warm glow on the stone as the sounds of raging battle echoed over the city streets. Emma was unsure of what sound would frighten her the most: the sounds of soldiers running up the steps, closing in, or the sound of silence, the minions of the Deep finally ready to break the front line of defense, one last time.
Her dark hood shifted to the side as a heavy figure slid down the ladder, hitting the stone floor near her. She saw his blood-stained steel boots before she saw his hollowed face, her gaze focused on the layer of soot covering the ground.
"My lady, it isn't safe for you here."
Emma said nothing, her weary bones slumped in their resting spot as she exhaled a deep, forlorn sigh.
"My lady…"
"I heard you." She replied, getting up from her seat, the Knight-Captain taking her arm and leading her to the ladder, Emma grunting with effort as she climbed up, hauling herself to the balcony overlooking the cathedral hall. She looked down towards the door one more time, hoping she would finally see the silhouette of the promised hero. All she saw was an empty wedge of light, the Priestess turning away and following Harold deeper into the palace, the clash of knights fading into a chorus of moaning, sobbing men.
The Captain of Lothric's guard was a tall, gaunt figure, his visor peeking open so he could dab a cloth on his head as he walked along with her, his dark mustache matted to his face as profuse sweat dripped down. She could barely meet the eyes of Lothric's injured guard as she strode down the halls. Some men had armor, a great deal had none, everyone adorned with bandages or missing limbs. The few who still had Estus were holding onto it, seeing if their wounds could be remedied by traditional means to save on their precious stores. They were slumped against the walls, barely able to sleep for fear and pain. They all looked up to her, the High Priestess one of the eldest, most respected attendants of Lothric's royal palace, representing the third pillar of rule.
There were no comforts she could offer them. She had been holding onto the spark of divine power in her breast, not sharing a shred, knowing what she had to do if things got any more desperate. In the late hours of the night, she wondered when she began thinking this way, so coldly denying comfort to her people to save her strength. It reminded her of darker times past… though these days were looking no brighter.
The war erupted within mere hours, taking all by surprise. Lothric was blighted by vile beasts of the Boreal Valley, Emma barely escaping with her life as the city streets were faced with an outbreak of violence, hundreds of knights of the Deep Cathedral seemingly spinning from the ether and assaulting every Lothric soldier in sight, one particularly grotesque monstrosity appearing in the cathedral and attempting to slay the High Priestess herself, Emma escaping with the aid of a few knights drawn out by the attackers.
To their horror, the attack on the city was merely a diversion to startle the guardians of Lothric. A second strike came from within as the sorcerers of the Grand Archives, led by one of the Preacher Twins, turned on the royal guard, felling them with hails of crystal sorceries, which shredded their steel armor like paper.
Emma knew well that the Crystal Sages and their court of sorcerers had a fine relationship with Irithyll that long predated Emma and the Prince's time, but she didn't believe they would be tenacious enough to launch such a bold attack.
It was this fatal misjudgment that lead to a great portion of Lothric Castle being conquered and the Royal Guard slaughtered by an unrelenting assault. They were able to rally and drive the rebels from the castle, but the cost was vast, too vast for it to possibly be called a victory.
If that were not enough, the dire heretics, the inhuman Winged Knights, broke into the palace, and when they found the feathered Gertrude dead, they went into a rage, massacring the Lothric Knights and Scholars, vanishing when the fighting reached its peak, no doubt pulling back to regroup.
At length, they reached a room with several haggard, beaten commanders and generals, a few missing from the table, either fighting, missing, or worse, defected.
"What news do you have of the outside?" Harold asked, the leader of the scouts across the table answering in a plain, measured tone,
"Nothing good," he gestured to a map as he spoke, "We're still unsure of how they were able to breach the city so quickly. They must have used Deep sorceries to move them within our borders, that, or they were already within the walls, scaling a few at a time. The Crystal Sage and his court sorcerers appear to have entrenched themselves on the rooftops here, here, and here, and are offering support the advance. The heretical Winged Knights have been sighted around these districts here, and are proving nigh insurmountable foes for our men," he added, trembling, "their assault has, thus far, been highly effective. Excluding the heretical angel worshippers, the minions of Irithyll are very close to outnumbering our forces, and while their regular footmen are roughly equal to ours, their elites have proven thus far- unstoppable."
"The only thing I wonder is what madness would possess Irithyll to have war with Lothric in the first place!" Another chimed, "This is a holy city, the nexus of the lands of the Lords."
"It's the Princes." Another said, "They're going to feed the twins to The Devourer, for certain."
"I agree." Emma nodded grimly, "Let's not forget these are the same people that conquered Anor Londo. Aldrich has a heart as black and cold as the lands he presides over. His delusions have turned him against his fellow Lords of Cinder, and the Flame. We cannot allow him to have Prince Lothric."
"I agree wholeheartedly," another said, "but I don't suppose you have a plan that will allow us to hold the city against a ruthless band of murderers and heathens that has thus far annihilated our forces!"
"If we were at full strength, we could win for certain. But they have already dealt a fatal blow to us from within, and now they march on us from all sides."
"Lady Priestess," The lead scout said again, drawing the attention of the rest of the table. "I do have further news, but I'm afraid-"
"Spit it out boy." A general cut,
"Well," He gulped, "We spotted a large force in motion in the southern districts, following a path cleared by the initial advance. They match the description of the knights of Irithyll of the Boreal Valley, flanked on both sides by inhumanly tall knights clad in silver. At their head is a tall stranger in tattered garb, wielding a bright blue Longsword in one hand and a burning Greatsword in the other."
"The Pontiff!?" Emma exclaimed, "He's here?" Everyone in the room was white as snow, the tired, ambling gaze on their face replaced by wide-eyed terror.
"The Tyrant-King himself." Someone said,
"There's no way we can repel a force that powerful. The man, no, monster, will rip us apart, and that's not to mention the knights of Anor Londo. These were the servitors of the Lord of Sunlight himself, the slayers of dragons. We are only men."
Emma clasped a hand to her heart, feeling an intense burning in her chest, fearing for her health if she got any more stressed. At the same time though, she felt a new resolve, her gaze hardening as the gentle side of her, which she had cultivated over the years, slid away.
Waiting for the Unkindled One to arrive would simply not do, anymore.
"So be it." Emma said, drawing the eyes of Lothric's weary guard.
"My lady-"
"If we cannot hold this castle, then we must flee." She said, "What matters is keeping that devil far away from Prince Lothric. The Lords of Cinder, and the blessed blood of Lothric, must be preserved. We will rally the last of the forces we have and use them to cover the princes' escape, through the underground catacombs. The forests surrounding Farron are dense, and the savage Ghru and the outcasts of the Legion defend it well. We will find safe haven among the ruins."
"That's suicide!" A captain shouted, "If we cannot hold the castle, what makes you believe we could possibly survive out there in the wild!"
"The proud knights of Lothric never-"
"They will flee the battle, this day. Or this castle will be our tomb." Emma snapped, "We are afforded no other option. The denizens of Farron are the only allies we can call on, Lothric is no longer safe, and territories beyond are already bewitched by the accursed Cathedral of the Deep."
"What gives you the right to command us?" Another barked, "You are none but a haggard old woman, and a priestess at that. You have no claim to rule Lothric's armies."
"You forget yourself." Emma growled, her icy stare silencing the discontented captains. "I am High Priestess of this kingdom, mentor to the Princes, the bearer of Lothric's Sacred Light, the weaver of divine tales and miracles, the third pillar of rule. I have sworn to defend the royal family and seek guidance from the gods in times of great hardship, this decree passed from the King and Queen themselves. Should Lothric be in dire straits, should our armies topple and resolve falter, it is my word that surpasses all others, as it is my responsibility to see our holy lineage endures. Indeed, I am old, and no soldier, but time has not addled my mind that greatly, and there is might in these old bones yet."
The commune was silent, Emma rocking back and forth as she breathed deeply, unable to recall the last time she found herself shouldering the Princes in such a direct manner. Harold put a hand on her shoulder,
"We stand with you, my Lady." He said, "but, those paths are treacherous. No doubt the Tyrant-King knows of them, the words of cowardly traitors guiding him. The horrors of the Boreal Valley may make progress impossible. We are in desperate need of one who can spearhead such an effort."
"Indeed." Emma nodded, "We need a champion, a warrior of great skill. Beyond that, one who can harness the black magics that swirl around us, for reasons that will be revealed in due time. Thankfully," she added, "I know where we can find both. The keys to our last hopes lie far beneath us, within this very castle, but have precious little time. The Tyrant and his armies draw close. I need a garrison of loyal knights to take me into the domain of Oceiros-"
'Oceiros? The Consumed King?"
"The same. I know that area remains in the clutches of the Deep, and our assassins have failed to dispatch the old King. It will take our finest holy knights to pierce the veil at my side."
"The 8th Legion can spare a regiment or two." Harold offered, "I was going to send them out to face the Tyrant, but if you have need of loyal souls, we will take your side."
"How much time can the rest of you secure for our journey?"
"Not nearly enough." A gruff voice replied, "But, if this is to be our last mission, so be it. Our legions will do everything in our power to hobble the beasts of Irithyll. Perhaps… one hour, at the best."
"Then we will return to the Princes and nobles, and have them making exodus within a single hour." Emma replied, "May the Sun illuminate the path to victory, and guide our blades in this, our darkest hour."
"Umbasa." A chorus of tired voices, the voices of dead men, resounded.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
The sound of numerous steel and silver boots striking old stone at once. The symphony like the heartbeat of a vast organism. Born of the chaos of many bodies in motion, an ordered, focused beat.
It had been a horribly long time since Sulyvahn had taken an army into battle. For a great span of time, he simply watched the snows drifting, directing the efforts of the followers of Deep. He knew insufferable boredom in the idle hours, infinite possibility coalescing and spinning through his mind as a vast cosmos while the world stood eerily still.
His swords overflowed with untapped energy, the blades honed to a razor's edge without purpose, his arms aching as they sat at his sides, without need to raise them.
Here, amidst, the burning rubble of a falling empire, the countless screams of agony as innumerable voices cried out in terror and pain, weapons of all weights and shapes pounding eachother…
Here, where the world was consumed by chaos and disorder, the Pontiff felt everything falling into place, the seemingly random actions working themselves into a grander order.
No longer did the world stagnate in the horrid stillness, nothing escaping the Pontiff's senses, even as he drifted within his mind, leading his grand army.
They met little resistance, the armies of Lothric already scattered by the initial assault. This outcome was fairly predictable. They were aware of his deeds in Anor Londo, but instead of declaring an attack on Irithyll, they simply allowed it, unable to justify attacking a Lord of Cinder over an old, dejected god long past his prime. Gwyndolin was an embarrassment, Lothric was too proud to associate the pantheon of the sun with him.
It was clear to the Pontiff they had an artificially high sense of self, believed they were above an attack, despite all the enemies around them, and allowed their haughty attitude to breed complacency and incompetence.
It was almost disappointing. Sulyvahn spent a great deal of effort planning their strike, but it looked as though more than half his forces, and the Pontiff himself, wouldn't even see combat for how fast the holy knights were toppling.
Near the final stretch to the palace, a figure materialized in front of Sulyvahn, the Pontiff recognizing his presence before he could fully appear in a fluttering of tattered black cloak.
The Crystal Sage was low to the ground, his body hunched around a crystal ball radiating with soul light, his deformed mask obscured by a great, broad hat tilted in such a way Sulyvahn could barely see the wild coattails trailing behind him.
"Welcome, friend." The Sage said in a gurgling voice, "It is as you asked. The deed is nearly done."
"So it is." The Pontiff nodded, "But, I will not consider it a total victory until the Princes are properly detained."
"Of course." The Sage nodded, "On behalf of the scholars of the Grand Archives, we are pleased to repay Irithyll for the knowledge their school has offered us."
"The pleasure is mine. Do you have an accurate estimation of their remaining strength?"
"Five cohorts, nearly one-half a legion, and most of their officers. One Cohort of elite knights, four cohorts of dregs. Another four cohorts injured, three of them divine knights."
"Then I was wrong, Lothric has not lost four legions in battle thus far, but six." The Pontiff said, "Should they rally with their auxiliary abroad, they will have nearly three and a half fighting legions."
"At this rate, it's less of a war than a massacre." His lieutenant spoke, "Why not spare this talk, and crush them now?"
"Even still," Sulyvahn said, gazing forward, though the subordinate to his left could feel the reprimand, "This battle is not won yet. Afterall, the souls who stand after all others falter, the embers that burn when the flame has subsided, are the brightest of them all. I believed I taught you better, Hugo."
The sorcerous knight at his side shifted in place, the Pontiff knowing his sensitivity, standing at the head of the prestigious army of Anor Londo.
Sulyvahn continued, "What of the Black Hands? I have heard tell that Leonhard has joined that pseudo-religious cult in the Deep Cathedral. That leaves two more."
"Gotthard is still missing, out in the lands beyond Lothric." The Sage said, "I find it highly doubtful he will be taking part in this battle."
"And the Black Hand Kamui?"
The Sage shifted uncomfortably,
"The Daughter of Crystal caught him in a surprise attack just before your invasion, as per her instructions. However, Kamui was somehow able to perceive the betrayal and avoid fatal injury, using his higher senses. I know little of what happened, but our dear Kreimhild barely survived and was narrowly rescued at the cost of a dozen crystal scholars. Her wounds are still being nursed, they simply refuse to heal. Afterall, those very swords were used to cut down demons, long ago. He aided in taking the Archives from us, and has been defending the way to the Princes since."
"I see, that is unfortunate." Sulyvahn said, "I have brought my own clerics, they will see to it Kreimhild properly recovers. I would say I'm surprised your finest student was bested by a single, wounded warrior, but the Black Hands can barely be called 'warrior', that would imply they fall in line with their peers."
"Allow me, Pontiff." Hugo said, shifting in agitation, "I will dispatch this-"
"No. You will not." Sulyvahn said, feeling his subordinate tensing in frustration, "I will not waste my blood on a warrior that cannot be defeated by ordinary knights. If granted the opportunity, I will dispatch Kamui myself. Are you aware of any further obstacles?"
"No, fair Pontiff." The Sage shook his head, "No-one. However, I have noticed, last I saw, they appear to be digging in much harder than earlier. They seem intent on keeping you out."
"Emma will have taken charge of Lothric castle by now. She has the authority with the bloodline in such mortal danger, and I know she is wise enough to know they cannot hold their position long. I have the tunnels below Lothric under watch, but, Lothric castle is ancient, and filled with secrets. She's planning something, and doesn't want to be interrupted."
"I agree. Shall I send my sorcerers after her?" The Sage perked up, leaning up to expose his shining eyes, "We have a new weapon. A bewitched armor, I mean to use it to avenge my fellow scholars, candle-bearers of the pale dragon."
Sulyvahn paused, weighing the risk,
"No. You, your sorcerers, and most importantly, your knowledge, are too precious to waste further. Cover our advance, stay out of harm."
The Sage nodded, "As you wish, Pontiff." He seemed to sink through the floor, the stone enveloping him as he dropped through the ground, cloak flapping in the air as it was drawn up by the wind, before it too sunk below.
Sulyvahn drew his longsword, the deep blue, nearly black energy pouring from its cold silver as he raised it skyward, thrusting it forth.
"Knights of Irithyll, unleash the wrath of Deep upon them! Leave none alive!"
…
Emma hurried herself down the hall, past the rows of columns, the footfalls of the soldiers around her echoing through the lavish corridors, soon to be overrun by the Boreal fiends. The sounds of fighting continued, and only seemed to get closer by the minute, Emma anxiously trying to hold her fastest pace as they left the main compound and entered the forbidden west wing, where the old king Oceiros dwelt.
Over the years, since he was consumed by madness and perverted into a horrid abomination by the Crystal Sages, many assassins attempted to destroy the old king, but all of them were lost. The only elite assassins who didn't make an attempt were the Black Hands, who politely refused the order.
Against their judgment, Emma dissuaded Lothric's generals from reprimanding the three for such insubordination. She remembered as though it were yesterday the oath they swore to the royal family, it was only natural they would refuse to slay their former master after such a deep pledge. Alas, respecting tradition only succeeded in making their task far more arduous, in this instance.
According to hushed rumors, Oceiros attempted to find "moonlight", of which Seathe the Paledrake was master. While he never found it, he did capture the strength of dragons, if only a portion, in his quest to become the unyielding, invincible king holy Lothric deserved.
With their most elite guard absent, and no greater allies to call on, Emma and her harrowed knights would have to succeed where all others failed, and slay this "dragon" king.
The smell of pungent decay nearly knocked Emma from her feet, the guardians of Lothric stepping into the western courtyard, and bearing witness to a festering garden, toxic sludge overflowing garden channels and lapping at the shores of barren flowerbeds and petrified trees, all resting in the shadows of the high walls.
Cathedral knights could be seen on the prowl, their heavy iron armor shifting as they strode over the terraces, watching over the creatures of the deep, which Oceiros had been inducted into.
"Disgusting." Harold grimaced, "I can't believe we allowed this mess to well up in our borders."
"You may not have to worry for long." Emma replied, gingerly treading down some stairs, the others in tow, "If we fail to pass this domain, then all will be lost."
As they neared the base, a few cathedral knights sprung out from the corners. Charging the high priestess with their great weapons, Harold trying to jump ahead of her,
"My Lady!"
A Cathedral Knight raised his blade preparing to strike, Emma closing her eyes a moment, feeling a great force in her soul, her chest feeling like a great daemon was pressing outwards from the inside.
She opened them, thrusting her palm out. The knight ahead of her looked as though he were smashed by a siege engine, his chest getting crushed as he was sent flying into the banister at the base of the steps with the shutter of twisting metal.
The hesitation of the other two was only an instant, but Emma was already reaching out, her force drawing a knight off his feet to eye level, Emma thrusting her second palm out, the metal collar on his neck screeching as his helm was pushed all the way back, his head nearly removed as he dropped to the ground.
The last knight scrambled back, raising his greatshield as Emma predicted, her hand glowing with silver light. She thrust forward, projecting a lance of sacred light, the holy javelin breeching the steel like a red hot iron through wicker. The knight stumbled back, dropping his mace to clutch the smoldering hole in his chest.
Emma brought both hands up, clutching the air around the desired point, feeling the pressure on her palms. She twisted, the knight's helm following her hands like a screw leaving a socket, turning backwards with a sickening crunch, the knight clutching his neck an instant, before falling to the side.
She heard the crack of a bowstring, Emma throwing her arms up on reflex, the wood and steel glancing off the miraculous barrier and falling to the ground. The high priestess looked to the higher level, seeing an archer with a crossbow readying another shot.
Emma blinked, her body going numb as all sensation left her, a silver ring appearing around her feet. The priestess vanished, appearing on the wall by the cathedral knight in a flash of light. The warrior of the deep threw down his bow in panic, reaching for his weapon.
He never caught it, Emma whipping him clear off the roof, his screams echoing down the sides of the walls as she teleported back down.
"My lady…" Harold exclaimed, the knights rallying to her side.
"There's further to go," Emma snapped, moving ahead, "there's no time to gawk."
Her fatigue was nearly overwhelmed by her indignation. She was high priestess, one of the three pillars of rule. She nursed Lothric with her own breast long before she trained him and Lorian to wield the sacred light, mastering it herself before they were even conceived, and was entrusted with their very lives as a second mother when the queen vanished.
She had no intentions of failing her duties so easily.
As the knights traversed the gardens, keeping their weapons at the ready, their red cloaks rustling as they closed in on the second unit of cathedral knights, Emma found herself limping, wheezing with effort to breathe. Her spirits felt drained as she produced an ashen flask from her cloak, sipping some of the luminous blue liquid within. It tasted of coldness and left a heavy weight in her stomach, but it made her feel a little better, her weary body picking up its pace a little, the pain of breathing lessened.
She found herself cursing her weakness. Some beings were ageless, the passing eras barely leaving a blemish. Emma was not one of them. Just a brief exercise of her power, after shoring her soul for many days, and she was already having trouble walking, though she tried hard to hide that fact as she staggered along.
She had never felt more impotent as the knights of Lothric clashed with those of the deep, Emma feeling the crash of blessed metal on blessed metal as they tore into eachother, their fighting styles nearly identical as they probed eachother for weakness from behind their sturdy shields, spears jabbing for the legs and shoulders, swords hacking, and greatswords landing crushing blows on great iron shields.
Emma summoned the sacred light, blasting away from behind her loyal knights, the lances focusing on the heads of her enemies, her aim unfailing. The cathedral knights were swiftly dispatched, Harold kicking a twitching one in the side of the head.
"Bloody heretics." He growled, Emma coming up from behind, the old priestess tiring further. Emma drunk more ashen Estus in kind, her soul replenishing, but the fatigue persisted.
"Are you alright, my Lady?" Harold asked, Emma choking as she tried to gasp for air between sips, finally letting the flask down and panting,
"I'm old, not feeble." Emma lied, trying to strand straight as she went past the other knights, heading towards an open staircase, leading further below.
Emma tread lightly, afraid of slipping on the stone steps, when she head unearthly screaming.
"What in the blazes of Chaos?" One of them muttered, the wailing growing in intensity as they stepped past brambles and vines growing around the disused corridor. It seemed to scream itself hoarse, taking a quick breath, before uttering another inhuman wail.
"The Consumed King draws near." Emma murmured, "Prepare yourselves, and may the sun watch over us." The knights of Lothric drew their talismans over their blades, the steel glowing a bright silver with fainter blue hues, the light radiating healing warmth, Emma raising her hands, sacred light trailing between them.
They reached the base of the steps, striding through the doorway. The walls and roof were coming apart, several patches of collapsed rubble littering the corridor with vines and growths hanging down from the ceiling. Darkness hung at the corners and along the walls, the torches long burned out, mist sweeping along the floor.
The wails shook Emma to her core, cold sweat beading down her face as the creature at the far side cried in agony. At once, it stopped, the hunched figure leaning up and peaking at her over his shoulder. Emma's heart felt sickly, seeing the once proud king reduced to such a state. His limbs were stretched painfully long, his arms and legs meeting twisted, reptilian hands and feet adorned with long talons, a long, whip-like tail curled around him. Her eyes followed his spine, numerous growths resembling weeds following the arch of his back, his skin transparent, sickly pale hide that slightly shimmered in the gloom.
"Oh, Oceiros," Emma moaned as he continued to turn towards them, "What did those treacherous sages do to you?" His face was barely recognizable as human, replaced by a lizard's snout, several whiskers resting under his chin, his eyes nothing but black holes in his skull beneath long, arced horns. She tried to see the face of her former king, but found not a scrap.
"Ah, you ignorant slaves." The Consumed King muttered, his voice distorted, like he had water in his throat, "Finally taken notice, have you? Of the power of my beloved Ocelotte, child of dragons."
"What's he on about?" Harold murmured, the Consumed King rising, pushing himself up with one arm while cradling some unseen thing in the other.
"Well, I will not give him up, for he is all that I have." He growled, feeling for a great staff, grasping it and pushing himself to his feet, looming over his former knights, his arm still cradling the air. Emma sighed mournfully,
"Gods forgive what I must do." She stepped forward, her knights in tow, forming a barrier around her and advancing on the old king. What was once called Oceiros hobbled towards them, supporting himself by his staff, sniffing them out.
As the knights drew close, the Consumed King lashed his tail at them, the limb glancing off their shields, the knights jabbing at it as it passed, pale blood seeping from the wounds. Oceiros winced, bashing one with his staff, the spearmen catching it with his greatshield, the knight visibly wincing with effort to hold the tall being back, the shield denting as the rod was repelled.
Emma lanced Oceiros in the side with a bolt of light, the king staggering back, sweeping his staff back and forth as he retreated, knocking a few knights off their feet, Emma nearly getting struck as he pulled back, her knights rallying to defend her.
"Oh, my dear Ocelotte." He mumbled, glancing blindly down at the "child" nestled in his arm, drawing it closer, "Where have you gone? Are you hiding from me?" He swung wildly at the Lothric knights, the stone creaking with each missed strike.
"You are a child of dragons, what could you possibly have to fear. Come out, come out, there's no need to be afraid!" He cried desperately, shifting with agitation. Emma struck the beast with another bolt of sacred light, his side peeling open and releasing a torrent of pale blood. The king staggered, crying out, her knights closing in as he continued to strike at them, Lothric's knights surrounding him on all sides.
Finally, one of them closed in, drawing his blade back in a mighty swing, slicing his arm open and leaving a gash in his torso. Oceiros recoiled back, his left arm dropping the invisible figure, slain by the blade.
"Ocelotte!" He screamed, his roar trailing into a draconic howl as he dropped onto all fours. He lunged so fast they had barely any time to react as he broke right through the defensive barrier, spinning on the spot, his tail scaring their metal armor.
The Consumed King charged them again, knocking a knight to the ground and immediately biting into him, the knight crying out as the would be dragon tore into his flesh, thrashing him around. His cohorts stabbed the king in the side, Oceiros lunging again, escaping their reach, clinging to the debris with his talons as he ran around, his claws sweeping side to side, dust and rock getting thrown up by the violent motions as he moved. The knights tried to hold the rampaging beast back while striking at him, but it was proving to be a difficult task as he tore their guard apart, his frenzy of claws and teeth overpowering them.
He jumped into the air, the small buds of wings on his back carrying him as he swooped down, spraying viscous blue fluid in place of fire.
The knights leapt to either side of the path, one of their injured unable to leap far enough, the unnatural substance catching his leg as he sprung to the side. Moments after settling, the fluid burst into growths of pale crystal, the knight shrieking as his leg was torn apart from the outside in by crystal growths, the floor steam as crystal burst across it.
The Consumed King intercepted the knight, his hand crashing down his chest, the talons tearing through the platemail as Oceiros bit down on his head. He let go and screamed as several blades ripped into his side, the Consumed King spinning around with enough force to knock them back with his tail, Oceiros slashing blindly at the floor as the knights on his other side closed the distance, this time aiming for the legs.
A spearmen lodged the blade deeply into the knee, Oceiros slashing at him, getting stopped by a wall of shields, the knights on the floor recovering as Oceiros continued to try and pry through the metal wall. He lost an arm as a lighting imbued greatsword buried itself within, Oceiros throwing his head around and attempting to use his crystal breath, but as he spewed the deadly concoction, it froze midair and was forced back down his throat by an unseen barrier, Emma focusing herself on the task.
The screaming beast gagged, his throat bursting as numerous crystals fractured within him, blades of icy gemstone shooting out from within, the Consumed King clawing at his neck, falling to the ground in convulsions.
A great blade was raised above him, the knight swinging the greatsword down with the force and guidance of an executioner's axe.
Everything went silent.
Emma, and most of the other knights, fell to the ground, many defenders taking the little Estus they could gather and taking deep sips to heal fractured bones and deep gashes, their armor in tatters after wrestling with the great monster.
The sigh of relief was very short lived, but they had finally put the old king out of his misery, and at least Emma and most of the knights escaped with their life.
Oceiros was an old fool, unfit to be a king or a dragon, and for that, most of them would remain in the fight, but there were others who had not returned to their feet, and never would. The High Priestess was deeply shaken by that. Who could be trusted, if even their king had fallen to such vile depths?
Emma got back on her feet, limping to the corpse of the Consumed King and reaching out. She withdrew the small, light blue soul from its vessel, its coldness making her shutter as she guided it into her bosom. Fallen or not, the king's soul deserved rest, and she certainly wasn't going to leave it behind for the Tyrant-King. Who knew what unspeakable things Sulyvahn would do with any great soul he found.
"Come on, the way is clear now." She called, Lothric's defenders getting to their feet shakily, following behind her as she lead them across the room. The corridors went a fair way, though she didn't believe the knights of the deep had infiltrated them yet. These were separated from the tunnels used to escape in times of crisis, and served a far different purpose.
The air grew deathly cold, wind beginning to pick up as they emerged from the tunnels. The sound of their footsteps stopped echoing as they reached an open space, blacker than the darkest night past the line of torches. Emma raised her hand, a glowing orb materializing to grant them guidance, the group moving in unison, huddled in the sphere of light. The wind continued to blow softly, waking over an unseen cliff, the area littered with barren trees and innumerable gravestones, all of them grey and crumbling to dust with age.
The most unnerving thing was the silence. Nothing but the wind, and their own footsteps could be heard as they took the cobblestone path, most of the rocks subsumed by the damp mud, leaving a dirt path through the tough grasses.
"What is this place?" Harold asked, peaking his visor open again, "This can't be the outside, it was daylight mere moments ago. And we can't be underground either, this wind…"
"Indeed, this realm exists outside our own." She said, "Time and space are convoluted, the timelines sprawling outwards, overlapping and interweaving with one another, just as the lands do. So much so, you can step into different points in space and time, if you have the right foothold and know the path."
"So, this is…"
"Lothric. But not the Lothric we departed. These untended graves lie somewhere in the distant past, before the last linking of the fire, and long after the flame was allowed to dwindle. This realm is deathly still. Every soul is slumbering, and not a trace of light remains."
"I don't like it here, we should leave."
"Soon." Emma replied, "The royal family has used the shrine occupying these graves as a place to safely conceal numerous relics otherwise too dangerous to withhold. I am in need of a few, that is why we are here."
"Are you sure that is wise?"
"What choice do we have? If we do not find a way to rouse the Lords of Cinder from their madness and defend the prince, this desolation will befall our own realm."
"Wait, rouse the Lords of Cinder?"
"All will be revealed at the proper time." Emma said, stepping through a gateway, "you must trust me." The knights followed Emma to the center of the area, their feet splashing in the few inches of water filling the ruin, the High Priestess seeing Harold hesitating from the corner of her eye.
The knights were struck by the shine before them, a circle of walls surrounding a pond, with a second stone plate in the center of that, many gently burning candles offering a small bit of light in the blackness.
What gave them pause was the guardian of the shrine, kneeling on one knee in his resting place. Even sitting down, the knights could sense how massive the warrior was, his massive shoulders and arms clad in antiquated, but impossibly strong cast iron armor giving him the silhouette of a boulder. His enchanted halberd, completely unphased by the passage of time, stood taller than the knight's themselves, the tip buried in the solid rock like a knife sunk into a slab of butter.
The guardian rose, towering head and shoulders above Harold, who was drawing his sword, Emma putting her hand out, motioning for him to leave it sheathed, as the Champion meant them no harm. His footsteps echoed loudly in the silence as he went to stand before Emma, the shadows curling around the engravings chiseled all over him, his face a mask of cold iron.
"Gundyr," Emma greeted, the name sending a ripple of whispers through the knights, "I am Emma, the present High Priestess of Lothric. I don't believe I have had the honor of meeting you. It has been long since any of the pillars have visited the Graves."
The towering knight gave a nod of respect, replying in a deep, quiet tone,
"Aye, it has." He surveyed the group of knights circling their Lady, "I assumed it was forbidden your knights enter these hallowed grounds. There are many terrible things that rest here."
"It was necessary. Gundyr, Lothric is besieged by terrible forces of darkness. The time has come for you to depart this shrine, and join the fight."
The great warrior hesitated,
"This is a solemn duty I carry out, one I have sworn a lifetime-"
"By my rite as High Priestess," Emma interrupted, "and protector of Lothric's holy blood, I release that obligation." Emma took a breath, "The Third pillar would believe me foolish for calling on you. They consider you a failure, but I know better. Lothric needs a Champion, even if that champion is from the distant past. Join us in this, our darkest hour, and your debt will be repaid."
Emma found it very hard to read Gundyr's thoughts, his mask, modeled the elder King Doran, carrying the same blank expression as it did all those years ago, before her time, but she could sense his confliction.
"I have been away a long, long time." He mused, "I have fought countless ashen champions, in countless timelines in my memories, but I have not raised my own hand for years. Are you certain?"
"Absolutely." Emma nodded, "You have my word. Fight for us now, and you may depart to whatever land you chose. You will owe nothing to the world above."
Gundyr turned from her, walking away. He stood over the candles, grasping his halberd and pulling it from the rock, sheets of dust falling from the tip, still sharp as ever.
"I will fight."