Embers Chapter 1: Asylum, a dark souls fanfic

Disclaimer: All characters, concepts and locations are property of FromSoftware and Bandai/Namco.

Embers

Asylum

Drip…

A cold wind howled through the icy white-capped mountains, weaving its way to unknowable destinations. It's mission unidentifiable, it's existence almost blissful unto itself but will ultimately go unnoticed by the inhabitants of the world. Such is the fate of all that is deemed insignificant to those of immeasurable importance.

Drip…

That infernal sound echoed throughout the dark prison cell. Four imposing walls of aged –yet curiously solid- brick and mortar, turned a sickly dull gray from however many years since its assembly. The pungent stench of what can only be described as suffering wafted throughout the cell and beyond the heavily rusted bars of the doorway leading to the unknown. The only light source –and the source for that wretched sound- was a single square hole in the ceiling. It allowed the cell preciously scant hours of sunlight a day, barely outlining the cell's current occupants: rusted chains littering the floor, an old rotted wooden bucket in one corner, a stack of what seemed like hay –though of an old and pale coloring, no doubt stale and lifeless- nestled in another corner and a figure in the third corner.

Drip…

The figure in the corner turned its head toward the center of the cell, covered by a black tatty hood. The horribly torturous sound had created a small deposit of water on the floor. The figure made to move, to crawl to the center of the cell, to taste what little nourishment whatever divine power had saw fit to place before it but inevitably failed, it's terribly ragged robes rustling in the process. How long had it been sitting here? It did not know. Muscles that once could have been strong and lively were now weak and thin. What would be the point, anyway? Organs that were possibly healthy at one point have now forgotten the taste of water, the texture of liquid. It could not even recall the last time it had felt the presence of sustenance within its body.

Should a body that has forgotten what it feels like to be alive have the gift of life? Can a body with no concept of death be allowed to taste the sweet sting of ultimate demise?

These thoughts fluttered to and from its consciousness –as would a small flurry of wind through the air- but it kept itself tethered to one: How long had it been here?

The thought crossed its mind several times during the few instances of lucidity in this place. Had it been mere seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? Weeks? Years? Centuries? The concept of time had long left it behind; its only indicator was the opening in the ceiling, after all.

This particular line of thought brought another question to the forefront: Why was it here? Had it committed some crime? Some act of vanity –or desperation- that had sealed its fate away in this forsaken place? It could not recall.

The being had an, at best, vague recollection of what would be considered a past; fuzzy memories of long deprived warmth and sweet aromas of forgotten flora. The only keepsakes of such a time were kept close to its body –as if the proximity would trigger more realistic remembrances, hidden beneath faded black robes.

A small, intricately designed key –one that had been used countless times on the door to its cell in hopes of freedom, perhaps it will forget again and have blissful imaginings of an existence beyond this cell for a time, before reacquainting itself with what little reality remained in this world.

The next item was strange doll clothed in a strange dress –where had it gotten this? It cannot remember. It would seem a child's toy, a memento of an innocence that had long been snuffed out.

The final item was a ring. For some reason it felt a strong empathy with this ring. The design was rather simple; red coloring with elaborate gold-yellow embroidery on the outside and a message on the inside of the same color, written in a script unknown to it. Could it have stolen the ring in a misguided attempt at mischievousness during a dis-remembered youth? The ring could have been given to it, as a token of courtship or some other equally meaningless ritual from an individual who had neither a face nor name in its mind. Whatever the reason, the ring was now in its possession and it would keep this small bauble safe.

Drip…

That achingly painful sound brought it out of futile muses. The past was unimportant, only that those events led to this cell; this sickeningly oppressive place that had been its home for an incalculable amount of time.

Lifting its hands –an act that had left feeble muscles shaking- to its view, the being saw hands that could only be described as lifeless. The flesh was horribly twisted and bruised. Skin pulled back frighteningly tight as it tried to flex its fingers, bone almost visible through the dried leather-like material that seemed much too taut. This was its existence, forgotten and left to rot like a relic of a time that had been dead and gone for ages.

Drip…

Shaking fingers clenched into fists as rotted teeth gritted so hard it hurt. It could feel pain; pain that transformed itself into a moment of clarity. It was alive. It was not dead. It was no prisoner. It remembers. It is human! Hands fell to the floor as it tried to lift itself up. Muscles ached painfully as they willed themselves to life once more. It heaved itself up into a squat and in an act of sheer willpower it stood. Black raggedy robes rustling and shifting, it took one shaky step forward on bare feet, then another, and one more until it was at the center of the cell and its form immediately crumbled, kneeling down atop the puddle of water and finally ceasing that horrific noise.

With more effort than should be necessary, it willed its eyes to focus and what it saw in the reflection in that small silver pool was enough to set even the most grizzled war veteran aflame with terror.

Horrible, scarred skin glared angrily back at it, sunken and sickeningly fleshy, showing off too much bone structure to be normal. Teeth turned green with rot and decay, it was a wonder they stayed in place, lips an unhealthy pale red and chapped. Eyes –perhaps the most unsettling, even to it- were completely black; sunken into the sockets of its skull and rimmed with bags just as dark. They were devoid of life, cold and uncaring.

It reeled back, repulsed and intrigued; had it always been this way? It could not process the thought. It was human –is human- and it was sure a human didn't look so… grotesque.

You're not human.

Blackened eyelids clenched shut as the thought echoed loudly throughout its skull like a siren's call. It did not believe that. It couldn't. It is human, it is alive.

You are not alive. Life has left your body even before you arrived here.

What did that voice know? It did not know it, did not understand what hell it was in. Its suffering was its own; it knew it could leave this place any time it wanted.

You cannot leave. You can never leave. This place is where you belong, with the rest of the rubbish.

It shook its head vehemently. No! The voice is wrong! The voice does not know it!

I know you because I am you.

Eyes snapped open and they stared at the small puddle beneath it. That incongruous creature stared back at it, lips pulled back in a wicked and ugly grin, eyes glinting with a cruel glee. It gaped at the reflection. This was not it. It did not know what it was, but this was most decidedly not it. It is human!

It was human.

It is alive!

It is dead.

It is in control!

It is lost!

It is whole!

It is broken!

It is Human!

It is HOLLOW!

Its back arched and head reared backward as an earsplitting scream resounded from what was left of its lungs, a shriek so loud and so powerful that the other creatures beyond the door cowered in fear. It was so loud it was sure it would garner attention from the demons of hell itself. It was not a sound of anger or sadness. It was the sound of rebellion. Why should it accept this horrible, malicious creature? It decided its own fate. It would leave this place.

With a disgusting crunch, its head plummeted toward the puddle; forehead making contact with hard stone beneath. Pulling back, it stared hazily at the ground. That thing was still there, taunting it in a pool of water and blood. It reared back again and descended, another nauseating crack filled the cell. It was still there, it could hear it giggling with an insane delight, another sick pop of flesh upon wet stone.

You'll never be free.

Smash!

You belong here.

Crack!

Life didn't want you,

Smack!

Why should death…?

Crunch!

Its gaze wavered; it could not see gray stone anymore. Pulling back, it slumped to the side and onto its back with a thump. The light of the sun had come and gone. Only darkness filled the cell. It was gone. Could it finally be free? Free of this waking nightmare of an existence? Consciousness faded, eyes slid shut. Breath came to a stop and for the briefest of moments and the longest of eternities it finally knew peace.

…

Drip…

Deadened eyes slowly opened again, the pain on its forehead gone as if it were never there. It stared up to the ceiling of the dark, dank cell. That infernal sound filling the space with its torturous metronome. Four imposing walls of cold, aged –yet curiously solid- brick and mortar. The pungent stench of what could only be described as death wafted through out the cell and beyond the heavily rusted bars of the doorway leading to the unknown…

To those who are following me, yes, I will be continuing 'This is War' but I simply want a change of pace.

Thank you for reading, and I hope to have you join me again soon.