A/N: Welcome brave Undead, take a rest and replenish yourselves by the metaphoric bonfire and lean thine ear to a tale of old, a tale of an undead who refuses to hollow, embracing death time and time again to link the fire, end the curse of the undead, and succeed the great Lord Gwyn- or not.
Okay, now that we have the obligatory fancy opening out of the way, I'd like to pay special tribute to Alone in the Blight, who persuaded me to get off my ass and do something interesting with his compilation "Our Dark Thoughts", which I recommend you see because it is full of amazing and inspiring ideas and it would be sweet to gather some talent and make something spectacular. This will be as faithful a recreation of the Dark Souls universe, and the journey through it, as possible, but taking his advice I've challenged myself to stay true to the lore and mood of the Dark Souls while introducing original idea's, concepts, dialogue, and characters if I can think something up that isn't half terrible. And in the spirit of collaboration, I'll check reviews and personal messages for ideas you come up with and see if they can't be done. All credits will go to their author's at the end (as not to spoil any nasty surprises at the beginning). Before you get angry, no, the main character (pronounced Ver-ez, much like Ares) is not overpowered, even if he may seem like it at the present time. He's portrayed as a character who knows how to fight very well and takes advantage of advanced combat tactics, much like a player who's played the game a few times through, the rest of it is just hard-as-nails determination not to die, but as you will see in later chapters, he does have a limit, and a harsh one at that, so fear not hardcore players, the main character will die- over and over and over again. As for the ability to function with extreme battle damage- that's basically the equivalent of his lifebar being at a sliver while still letting him live, except my way is more realistic and thematic :3
Now, without further Ado- the first chapter of "The Chosen Undead"
The darkness at the edges of the cold, dank room twitched as a small shape came scurrying across the hard stone floor, sending a shadow over the reddened orange torchlight, the old sconces stubbornly burning on as the walls of the prison gradually rotted away along with the rest of the world. The rat, who'd found his way in through a broken portion of the wall, made a pitter patter of tiny feet as it crept in on a corpse propped against the wall, sitting limply upon an old bench. The rat, already fattened from the other hapless prisoners, still chose to run in and begin climbing the old boot of the dead warrior, long ago passed- it's feet making a dry scratching on the coveralls reinforced with heavy padding to ward away fire- insulate against lighting and the elements, until at last it came to the lap of the body, seeing what it desired. The underbelly still had some meat on it, a gap in the fabric giving it free access as it snuffled over-
It was seized by strong, gloved hands, the thing wriggling as it was lifted to the face of the old wanderer, peering over it hungrily. A smile formed at the edge of his cracked, dried lips as his fingers, thin as dusty twigs, crushed it's throat, skillfully applying pressure to just the right place as the base of the skull, fracturing it. The form stopped wriggling, the wanderer feeling its essence, traces of its spirit, seep from its body in a fog of white. The spirit of the wanderer flared a moment, then died again.
He tossed the useless corpse from him, now that it was devoid of a soul- the thing most valuable to him- more valuable than his ageless armor coming apart at the seams, or his old sword, which was buried in a case of confiscated goods gods know how long ago somewhere. A thin, husky sigh escaped the lungs of the wanderer, the room feeling damper and darker than ever as his gaze followed the torchlight across the room, to a single panel of pale white light.
The dust lit up in the afternoon sun, a ray leading to the top of the room- which may as well have been the top of the universe at this point.
He'd tried over and over again, maddeningly like an opiate addict seeking his next dose, to reach that one panel of light in the ceiling, yawning open- almost begging him to cross over to freedom- to the light. His nostalgia wore off, the wanderer trying to recall what it was like- outside- or even what his name was-
At his feet, carved in with- with something- he couldn't recall- was a single word: Veres
That was right- somewhere at the back of the near hollow wanderer's mind, a spark clicked within him- his memories, all but lost to him, slowly coming together. It was so foggy, so blurred and mired, he could barely recall-
But, he knew that he was once a splendid warrior, a mercenary that wandered the lands of Carim, known for their insidious but powerful fighters- that he once paid tribute to- to- Velka, it was Velka! The goddess of sin and crows. Veres was once known to be one of the finest of all swordsmen- it was once said that he could challenge the knights of Berenike and Balder on equal footing, so long as it was single combat.
But then, one day, he died.
Trouble was- much to the astonishment of his comrades when he emerged screaming from the bonfire, clutching his neck as he felt himself burning alive- he didn't stay dead. Veres later discovered the burn had left a perfectly symmetrical hole through the back of his shoulder, a dark pit circled with a reddish crown. The Darksign.
The memories went fuzzy, after that- all Veres knew was that the one's he called "friend", the band of great fighters he once thought would stay with him- though he couldn't recall their faces or names anymore, betrayed him. They turned him in to the clerics, who had him exiled here, to rot. Though he struggled hard, he was outmatched, and each time he died, he returned to the same fire- weaker- more vulnerable- more decayed, until he could fight no longer.
Madness hung at the edges of his psyche, always. Veres knew any day now, he would die of old age or starvation once again, his spirit returning to the bonfire- only embers with a ceremonial blade stuck through after resuscitating him so many times. He would find himself standing in a pile of ashes, his emaciated, corpselike body with barely a pound left on his garish bones shambling to his corner to recover his clothing, dress, shove his own body off his bench, and sit down again.
The souls of mice helped a little, but he knew that soon, he would run completely out of energy, and hollow forever. The one thing that kept him going- was rage. He felt a rage so deep, so all consuming within him that he refused to let the last of his conscious leave, just yet. He hated the world- he hated the gods and clerics- he hated everything. His rage outweighed his madness- or perhaps he was already insane and his anger was only a side effect- so he could stay himself for just a little longer.
But… Veres shook the feeling of hope from his balded head. No-one was coming for him. No-one was going to save him. There was only oblivion, for that, was his fate…
There was a thud of metal on stone, Veres slowly looking up from his rest, half in confusion, half in curiosity since there hadn't been anything save the occasional rat since he couldn't recall when.
A body had fallen form the top of his universe- the body of an old, long dead guard who used to patrol back and forth across the roof, occasionally looking down to mock him, though he likely hollowed ages ago. Veres leaned forward, spotting as small, sparkling shape at his side on his belt.
A single, long iron key. Gods- could it be, could it possibly be-
The wanderer looked from the body, following the ray of light to the face of a knight- not hollowed- not even injured, but an immaculate warrior donning royal, elegant armor with a silver sheen and royal crest of Astora emblazoned over his cloaked chest. He said nothing, only nodded- sending a silent message words never could, and leaned back away, the ceiling once again a faint portal of light in the darkness.
The wanderer looked back to the corpse- to the key- and willed himself to move from his rest, his joints giving a hollow creak as he staggered up, dust falling from his now ancient coat of thick leathers and fabrics. The wanderer came forward a shaky step, the gravity of the room seeming to jump about, until he fell forward onto his face, his twig-like legs giving way.
But- Veres refused to surrender, and pushed himself upward once again, his spindly legs continuing to flounder under him as he used his arms to propel himself forward, until he more fell than leaned onto the body, it's hollowed face showing nothing as the wanderer reached to his belt and removed the key with shaking hands, another hand reaching down and drawing a sword from his belt- the rusty old thing that broke in two as Veres wrestled it from the scabbard.
It was nearly useless for battle- only the completely hollowed would find the rusty blade to be a good weapon, but it was better than going empty handed. The wanderer got up and staggered to the door, finding his stride as his dusty old joints ground the sand from them.
He was so terrified he'd drop the key as he reached through the iron bars, he wrenched it with both hands as he frantically scrapped some rust out of the lock with his pinky before trying to squeeze the stubborn key in.
The old key turned with difficulty, the mechanisms crunching as they were forced into motion- Veres praying they wouldn't break- until there was a great crunch, and a tinny of broken metal. His heart dropped, the wanderer removing his hands from the bars.
But- as he did so the gate started to move, Veres pushing it with his minimal but full bodyweight, the thing grinding open as the old lock finally unlatched.
He was free- he was finally, finally free to move again. A feeling bordering mania enveloped the wanderer as he staggered forward, a death grip on the broken strait sword, emerging into a long hall with many hollows along the edge, a few old torches illuminating the area as Veres came upon the first hollow, banging his head on a wall and rambling incoherently to himself.
He didn't see the wanderer coming- smirking to himself as he brought his strait sword forward, and drove it into the back of his target, driving him into the wall. The hollow barely made a sound as Veres continued to stab him, the first hit sinking in only partially as it was so dull, but the hollow finally fell to the ground.
It wasn't personal- they were all prisoners here, but Veres knew that as an undead, he would absorb the essence of any he killed- their soul entering his body rather than passing onto wherever you wish to say.
And he needed souls- badly- if he could get souls he could restore his energy, and evade his hollowing. If the rumors held, that is. Veres sighed, his throat and lungs so scratchy he gave a few dry coughs for doing so, as the soul of the hollow filled him with new energy. It wasn't much though- he would need many souls, many more souls…
The hollows gave Veres no trouble whatsoever, their bodies dropping like flour sacks as he cut them down with fair ease, though he was nowhere near his prime- back when he could've quite literally cleared the entire room at a dead sprint without so much as brief stop, but it was still a good feeling as Veres found his body moving faster and faster with each fallen hollow as he paced down the hall, finding that stabbing them in the head worked a lot faster than trying to hack away at their bodies.
Finally, at the end of the halls, he found a ladder to the surface, and with considerable effort, he worked himself up until he collapsed at the top, dragging himself from the edge of the yawning pit as he rolled over on his back and rested. There were maybe a half dozen hollow prisoners he slew below, their souls giving him the power to move thus far, but the Asylum was enormous: built to hold hundreds of undead, it would be a while before he reached the end.
There was a tremendous crash far above the wanderer, Veres hearing the crushing of stones as the dust stirred and fell from the ceiling, fogging around a lantern as it shook on its chain. What weight could be so great as to shake the area like that, the wanderer had no idea, but he wasn't stupid.
He'd learned on his travels that of all things to take with you on a journey like this, the mind was the most important by far: careful observation of the environment and disturbances, seeing items of value and hidden enemies- that was the key to staying alive. He'd find what did that, and be prepared for it.
The wanderer got up from his resting place, walking out from the rotunda into a wide open courtyard, tall stone pillars supporting a second and third level of the prison. The light was blinding to him after so many years in the dark, Veres rubbing his wrinkled eyes as he wandered over the sparsely grassy ground, until his knee hit something in his half-blinded stupor. He squinted down, seeing a familiar pile of bones with a rusty strait sword embedded within, embers faintly trickling up from the undead remains. A bonfire, if you could call it something as polite as that.
Veres was very hesitant to touch the thing, but he figured that if he could at least change where he'd be spat out at upon death, which seemed inevitable at some point or another, it couldn't hurt.
He gingerly laid his hand upon the hilt, the bones flashing and sending up a waft of smoke as the bonfire reacted at the undead's touch- yearning for respite. As he did so- he felt something strange- the souls of his victims seeping into the fire, but as it intensified, its warmth sending jolts through the near-hollow wanderer's arms, he felt the essence seeping into him, the fire and undead, bearer of the curse and catalyst of the curst- becoming one as they fueled one another. The flames died down a little, the undead slumping with exhaustion.
But, even with the strain of supporting his new power, Veres felt a new strength in his arms, he swore his skin was slightly softer- his muscle slightly thicker. He reached a timid hand to his chest, realizing he could now feel his heart beating under the dust on his clothes for the first time in decades.
So, the bonfire craved souls as he craved souls: and if they were both satiated, he would become more human, more powerful. But- something nagged him. The souls made him feel stronger, less decrepit, but he still felt a malnourishment of the spirit.
The wanderer drifted off, gradually growing accustomed to warm and light, until he finally got to his feet- realizing he could stand with little trouble now, though everything felt very heavy on the wanderer and he was still a lot slower than he was in the prime days. But, Veres was free to walk, and knew that by feeding the fire he could nourish his soul, though the true connection between the two he didn't fully understand, just yet.
There were two ways forward from here: one was a great door at the top of some stairs ahead of him, the other was a path to the side, a secure iron gate that looked like it lead to the upper level, where the noise from awhile ago came. The wanderer advanced on the iron gate, but found it was locked tight, secured from the other side, so, with great reluctance, he went to the great, slightly blue tinted door, and heaved as he pushed it inward.
There was a low rumble as the gate slowly crept open on its hinges, the wanderer seeing a great, empty hall with grand marble pillars on either side- decorative urns and jars placed all across the crumbling stone floor as he stepped through the gap. This was no doubt the grand entrance- where new prisoners were brought in. Across the way was a giant iron door- in plain view.
Veres sensed something was off- this had to be the exit, at least if his instincts were right, but there were no guards, not even hollows to block his path. Something caught the wanderer's eye as he cautiously strode into the hall. Light radiated down from the ceiling, turning the whole floor shades of white and grey- but there was one spot that stood apart, were Veres realized there were three orange marks emblazoned on the ground. As he approached them, entranced as they flickered and bent under what looked almost like a mirage or wave of heat, they turned into jagged letters: Get Away!
The floor shook under the wanderer's feet, a crash like the sky falling, rocking his vision as a plume of dust flew past the wanderer's ankles. Veres looked over, frozen in his tracks as a roar filled the room, a creature leaning up from its rest.
It had bluish grey skin from head to toe, with a soft, greenish white underbelly like a lizard's- bulging garishly as it narrowed at the top with long, slender arms and a small, boxy head full of razor sharp teeth- horns coming from its head and all over its body around it's elbows and gimpy, but strong wings.
It was a demon- a true demon- not unlike those told in hellish legends, of a land shrouded in colorless fog. Before Veres couldn't react it charged forward, its arms bearing aloft a Warhammer as long as a house, as tall as the colossal form brandishing it. The wanderer barely dodged in time, leaping as fast as he could to the side and getting knocked back from the studded iron head, an explosion of force knocking the wind from him as the stones splashed around it: pulverized, the crackle of mortar filling the air as a gaping hole was blown in the floor, stones crashing into the basement below. The wanderer instinctually tucked and rolled to his feet and sprinted as fast as he could, the demon bringing his hammer up and working his stubby legs to turn and intercept the spry rogue, though Veres kept to his ankles and worked his eyes like lightning to find an escape. He was taught to stay close to a larger target to evade them- and this target certainly felt larger as he planted his feet and swung the hammer the opposite way, the wanderer diving to the side once more, the iron hammer sweeping past his ankle but missing Veres, who peered ahead to see an open doorway.
He ran faster than he ever had- before or after hollowing, looking back over his shoulder to see the Asylum Demon bringing its massive hammer down again- needing to dodge but had tucked himself too far to the ground- had too much momentum- he dove forward, arms outstretched for the door, until he was pinned to the ground, Veres shrieking in pain as the bones shattered like glass. The asylum demon lifted its hammer again, the mangled masses of torn flesh that were once his legs slowly dislodging from the studs. The wanderer thrust himself forward towards the doorway, now mere inches from his face, his arms clawing him forward though the effort was insane as the all the muscles, which'd barely even worked since imprisonment tore like old rags under his skin.
The demon took a hand off his hammer and reached down for him, working his tiny wings to balance as he leered in with an almost comical grin on his toothy maw. Veres worked even harder, his papery lungs almost failing as he went through the door towards the stairs. The demon reached on in and grabbed him, the wanderer feeling his hips getting crushed, the demon croaking as the dexterous rogue was gleefully immobilized.
In a blind fury, the wanderer's newly incensed soul reared up, Veres turning and stabbing the demon hard in his hand between the thumb and index finger, dragging it down and tearing the webbed skin between with a gush of blood, though his skin felt thick as lumber.
The demon let up a roar of pain- its hand involuntarily relaxing, letting Veres go. The wanderer clawed forward, for the thousandth time clutching life by the barest thread and finally rolling down the stairs on his side until the demon gave up, withdrawing his hand back up the stairway as it bumped the portcullis and dropped it.
All was quiet again as Veres looked forward, his vision clouding with deep black as he went into shock, but just ahead, in a room partly filled with the water leaking down from the walls and ceiling, was the familiar sight of a small pile of undead bones, a primal enchanted blade serving as a beacon to all the cursed. Veres was moving before he even knew what came over him, the battered wanderer creeping forward as fast as he could, though each time his ruined legs were jostled by a step, it drained him even more- until he was moving by the tips of his fingers towards the fire. He didn't have to live, he only had to activate it…
Veres, for perhaps the hundredth, maybe even the thousandth time, felt his soul being pulled from the ether, the nebulous fires around him spinning into a new body, accept- the fires seemed weaker all the time, the vessel turning out incomplete and decrepit, Veres opening his eyes and hauling himself up, only to fall back down as the strength he'd gathered from the souls left him. He looked over, praying that he wouldn't be in the courtyard- be doomed to try and pass the asylum demon once again, but, to his great joy- Veres saw his body slowly fading to ashes by the bonfire at the base of the stairs, reaching its hand out, the fingertips resting upon the blade with the flames welling around the bones.
He was deprived, but lucky. God-awful lucky. Veres begun to laugh a little to himself, hoping the hollowing process hadn't infected him too greatly. He'd almost forgotten was it was like to take an insane, certain death leap in the cramped, sterile little cell he was confined to all the time.
Veres saw his bloodstain- a charged pool resonating with the power of souls, flickering like snow in the crimson liquid. If he were to die again, the power of his blood would dissipate: he could touch it, but the power would be lost to him forever. But as for this time- Veres reached out and touched the stain, his fingers tickling a little as the souls drew to his touch like moths to a flame, flowing into him, strengthening him once more, until he was on his feet, stripping his armor and broken strait sword from the ashes of his now redundant body and placing it back on his person.
There was one way forward, now that the iron gate had sealed- and that was through the doorway at the end of the room. Veres pressed on, peeking out from the doorway, recoiling in shock as an arrow grazed the side of his face. He waited- nothing happened.
Veres peaked out from the doorway once more, this time much more cautiously, and saw he was in a back alley of the prison, of sorts: a steadily rising mound of earth between a wall and a row of prison cells, a hollow with a bow at the end slowly drawing back and firing. He was slow, though, and horrendously inaccurate, the wanderer easily tucking his head back into the doorway and watching in something erring towards amusement as the harmless wooden bolt bounced from the edge of the doorway, jumping back out and going a few steps before diving into a cell to his side and spotting an old leather shield sitting by a dead guard, the wanderer graciously reliving him of the thing since the he didn't really need it anymore.
Now armed with a shield, Veres stepped into the alley and advanced on the hollow archer full stride, the arrows making a hollow thwack on the shield as Veres skillfully knocked each blow aside with little problem. As he came close, he spotted the glint of metal on the ground- a cavalier, cocksure side of him he'd long had to ignore flaring up as he parried another arrow aside, rolling forward and grabbing the blade in hand, thrusting it forward as he rolled upright in one move. The blade tore through the base of the hollows throat, poking out the back of his head, the wanderer drawing it back and beheading him with one smooth swing.
He looked down at the body he'd looted from: the body of an undead with a few arrows stuck into him. It looked like he missed the shield, and tried to make a charge without a good defense. But still-
So I'm not the only one Veres thought to himself, looking down on his new sword and grinning wide as a hyena. It was a scimitar- the kind of blade he absolutely adored, second only to the slashing blades of the east. It was light, fast, and sharper than a whetted razor on a bad day- and best of all. Veres started to spin the blade in his hand, feeling the honed, balanced sword dance gracefully around his wrist. The wanderer knew it wasn't flawless as he stripped the scabbard from the corpse and put it to his side, sheathing the blade.
It was ungodly sharp, but thin and brittle, already coated with battle scars and a ragged edge- it would need the hand of a highly advanced blacksmith to harden it against armor and tough skin- but such concerns would have to wait for now. Veres had a weapon he was familiar with, plus a shield he could handle rather easily, that was all that mattered right now.
The wanderer proceeded through a door at the top of the mound, stepping to the banister and looking down into the courtyard where he'd been just a little while ago, the door still yawning open- the frightfully strong asylum demon pacing about with its Warhammer over its shoulder in the main hall.
Veres, whose very name was once said to cut one's tongue if spoken, shivered. He was a strong man, and as he gathered souls a strong undead, but he didn't know if he was at all prepared to face such nightmarish things, with the world as it was.
He walked along, noticing another cell door with a shaft of light sweeping through the middle. The door to the cell was partly covered with rubble and bent, so it was hard to see inside, but, as Veres approached, he felt his newly beating heart skipping. The Astorian knight, the one who saved him just hours ago and gave his life new hope, was crumpled on a pile of rubble. He wasn't moving- and it looked almost like he wasn't breathing, his noble armor dented and raked by scars as it was jostled down from the ceiling, the crest on his breastplate torn away with studs of iron imbedded within. There was no way into the cell save the hole in the roof- and there was a crash like thunder awhile ago-
So, it was the asylum demon, no doubt putting an end to the knight's mission to help the other undead, though for what reason Vere's could only guess on. While the wanderer was hot tempered, and he felt a painful craving for souls to soothe his weakened body, seeing that proud knight crippled after what he did for the warrior gave him a pang of sorrow.
Veres moved on, trying not to think about it as he came to a stairwell- one set leading down to the backside of the iron door to the courtyard, the other leading up to where he hadn't been. True to his nature as a wanderer, as one who pushes forward regardless or snow, lightning, magic, enemies, armies, or even demons it would seem, Veres went for the path untaken, rounding the stone banister and slowly scaling the steps, eyes open wide and alert for an ambush, since he couldn't see the top of the steps and figured that even hollows had some level of reasoning.
Sure enough, a large, dark shape rolled over the peak, coming down with frightening speed, there was no-where to go, so the wanderer leapt from the stairwell down to the lower stairwell, the massive iron ball crashing through the wall above in a shower of old bricks while Veres landed in a way as to dissipate the fall through his sturdy old boots. The fall rattled him a little, but it was nothing too severe for him as he scaled the steps and saw the hollow, who'd so rudely kicked the ball down the steps, coming down at him with a broken strait sword, swinging it wildly as he plunged down the stairs. Veres smirked, bringing his shield up and letting the hollow careen into him, the wanderer brushing him to the side with the edge of his shield, the hollow's momentum carrying him a few steps before he found a scimitar plunged through the back of his heart, a second strike to the back of the neck putting him down for good, the dustball of his soul immediately rising up and entering Veres' chest. The wanderer smirked to himself, sheathing his scimitar when he saw the area was cleared for now. This was easy- too easy.
But… Veres frowned. There was still a demon in the hall- trying to fight him head on would be suicide, and Veres had just gotten used to having spare souls and walking strait. There had to be some way to gain the upper hand in this mess- there was no way forward for him unless that demon was dealt with. Then, a thought came to mind-
The wanderer looked into the cell, opened by a boulder crashing through the wall. Perhaps that knight had a special weapon or shield of some sort, one that could help fight the demon? Veres stepped into the dark, cool cell, the iron boulder resting against a pile of rubble as the wanderer's boots worked through the thin layer of water so common in this decaying place. As he drew closer, the ray from the ceiling casting an almost angelic glow on the noble knight, the wanderer again felt a pang of regret. He'd be rotting in his cell, doing nothing but hollowing if not for this man, to see him…
Veres' musings were cut off by a groan of pain, the knight's dented helmet creaking as he turned he towards the undead. He was alive- just barely- but alive afterall.
"Oh, you…" he rasped, almost quizzically, "You're no hollow, eh?" The wanderer wanted to answer, but found his voice is simply- gone, this hollowed throat unable to articulate even a low whisper, Veres merely watching as the dying knight took a breath, "Thank goodness… I'm done for, I'm afraid… I'll die soon, then lose my sanity…" he sighed, his helm slumping against the rubble, "I wish to ask something of you… you and I, we're both undead… hear me out, would you?" he pleaded. Veres could only nod, "Regrettably, I have failed in my mission… but perhaps you can keep the torch lit… there is an old saying in my family," he recalled nostalgically, "Thou who art undead art chosen, in thine exodus from Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords. When thou ringeth the bell of Awakening, the fate of the undead thou shalt know." Upon saying that, the tension around him released, "well now you know…And I can die with hope in my heart… Oh, one more thing," he added hastily, "here, take this," he added, slowly reaching into his satchel and producing a large, jade flask: transparent enough to see glowing golden liquid sloshing around within, but opaque enough to make out a skull on its cover as Veres accepted the mysterious vessel, "…An Estus flask, an undead favorite… Oh, and this," he added again, drawing two keys from his side.
One was slender: a key for a cell door of sorts, the other enormous, certainly for something important as it was more of a small pronged rod than a key, "These will… open the path of the pilgrim, and the way to the third level... thou shalt…. Know what to do…" he rasped, fading quickly, "…Now, I must bid farewell… I would hate to harm you after death… So, go now…" the wanderer kindly left the knight, already burning up as his soul faded away. They'd never even learned eachother's names.
Perhaps, this was not the last time they would meet. But, for now, it didn't matter. Rage boiled within the wanderer as he placed the keys on his keychain, and tucked the Estus flask safely away in one of his satchels. That knight… Veres didn't understand what the curse truly was, or where it came from, he barely even remembered the ancient lords at this point, but he understood that the world was dying- it was already dying by the time he heard of it when he was yet human, and now he could only imagine how twisted the world was now that that much time had elapsed
The ancient lords- they had to be responsible for this. While humanity withers away and darkness closes in, they sit back and do nothing. Veres made up his mind: he would uncover he curse of the undead, he would eradicate the hollows, and above all, he would avenge the undead like himself, who were left to die for nothing by the old lords. By the time Veres came to the top of the stairs, he was boiling with all the wrath he'd accumulated rotting in his cell, his hands shaking violently as he unlocked the door to the third level at the top of the stairs. He ran in, drawing his scimitar and raising his shield as a hollow archer looked to him.
The archer barely nocked an arrow before the wanderer was upon him, dodging around the arrow the instant it left the bow and lunging forward. The hollow went for its broken sword, but before he could draw, Veres sliced his arm clean off, cutting him cleanly in two with a second stroke. Another two hollows came at him from the side, the first swinging his blade wildly, only to be parried aside, his heart eating the tip of the scimitar. A second came at him from the side, Veres pulling the deprived to the side and shielding himself with the body. He removed his sword, letting the body fall and punishing the hollow that tried to strike him with a deep slash over the chest, before stepping in and driving his blade deep into the hollow's head. He fell alongside the other two hollows, Veres sneering contemptuously at them. He'd fought warriors with far greater skill and weapons long ago, so long as he kept his head, they couldn't lay so much as a scratch on him. But now…
Veres turned his attention to the asylum demon, which was still at ground level while the wanderer was at the top. Thou shalt know what to do, he'd said, trusting his experience would give him the key. The wanderer came towards an open doorway, leading to a small balcony with the banister broken off- the asylum demon far below, stomping about and bellowing as the crash of his Warhammer marked another mangled undead that tried to pass him. Goddamn demon…
Veres did know what to do, it was a warning he always heard: that on a narrow pass, the deadliest weapon was-
the wanderer charged forward full tilt, leaping from the balcony as he cleared the doorway, looking down on the asylum demon and angling himself to land just perfect. The demon looked up from his prey, an almost dumfounded expression flashing on his scaly brow as Veres fell on him with a warcry. The demon bellowed as the wanderer's scimitar tore through the front of the demon's face, gouging an eye, Veres thrusting his whole body down to drag the blade down his face, bracing his feet on the creature's collar bone and pulling out. The Asylum demon roared and staggered deliriously, dropping his Warhammer and reaching a hand up to swat the wanderer off his face, Veres dropping and rolling off, the demon smashing himself in his wounded eye. Veres laughed like mad, thrusting his scimitar into the creature's hide and letting his momentum pull him down as the wanderer spiraled across his hide, blood pouring from the savage wounds until the wanderer was dropped off the front of the creature's bulbous stomach. He hit the ground at a roll, dissipating the shock over himself and sprinting around the demon's flank while he staggered, clutching his head and limping about. He had thin, muscular reptilian legs, their joint at eye level, Veres thrusting his scimitar into the creature's knee and dragging it around, another quick swipe severing the Achilles tendon.
The leg folded like paper, Veres leaping to avoid the behemoth as it toppled, its little wings working to try and support it, even managing to lift the demon from the ground, but they tired fast, the demon falling back to the ground on his arse, and when he tried to rise, he toppled like a balloon as his now gimp leg failed to support his boated form. His wings beat the ground as he tried to fly again, but that only nudged him over more, the demon rolling onto his back and kicking his tiny arms and legs like a turtle. Veres ran to the helpless creature, feeling insane with glee as the mighty "demon" flopped around helplessly, looking over at the wanderer in rage as he made beeline for his head, now barely arm's reach away. He had him- he had him-
The wanderer was yanked from the ground as one of the demon's deceptively short arms managed to reach over and grab him by the stomach again, Veres hacking at his hand, only to find the blade was completely blunted after tearing through such thick hide- the slick, bloodstained blade whittled to half its old thickness. The demon felt no pain from the blows, reaching his other arm up and grasping the wanderer firmly by the chest, squeezing. Veres let up a yelp, the demon's grasp slowly crushing his bones and organs as he tightened. If only- hadn't been so- let his guard down-
The demon's grip loosened, the beast shouting in pain as a heavy arrow embedded itself in his wrist, exploding moments afterward as the charcoal pine resin ignited. Veres was dropped from his grip, scrambling from the creature's chest and glancing over to the door-
A figure was standing with a bow and arrow, already nocking another arrow, dripping with resin, another figure running in from behind her, and another, and then another. Veres retreated as a figure clad in heavy armor made a loud chink, clack, chink, clack, chink, clack on the ground as he ran for the demon, the behemoth finally elbowing the ground and rolling over onto his feet, getting up and cocking a fist back to strike. An arrow struck his eye, bursting in fire and leaving the behemoth wailing and blinded, clutching his ruined eyes as the warrior ran in and impaled him in the stomach, his great claymore driving far in before being withdrawn with incredible grace for such a big weapon. The demon's fist came around as he hunched over, the warrior turning with his greatshield and taking the blow, a bang sounding as he was knocked back, rolling to his feet with ease despite his heavy mail.
"Tis but the bite of a fly!" he bellowed in a hearty Catarina accent, the demon turning towards his voice, only to be struck in the head yet again by a burning arrow, the asylum demon limping towards the doorway as a maiden in dingy, ragged yet elegant dress shook a rack of bells, the air sparking with static as she nodded her head in prayer and looked to the sun. A figure swept from the shadows, her knives tearing into the back of the demon's functional leg, sending him toppling forward once again-
"Sunlight Spear!" the maiden cried, the light around her flashing into a great arch of lightning, soaring straight and true into the demon's chest, the behemoth crying as it was knocked backwards under the force of the impact, his whole body convulsing with energy. He fell to his back, nearly collapsing the floor, struggling a moment, before an ironclad warrior dove forward in a two handed thrust into the back of the demon's head, the monster going still, slowly crackling until it violently exploded into ashes, its energy blowing through the room as its spirit escaped, condensing into a dense ball that gradually settled near the floor. A demon soul, with a power beyond imagination.
Veres crept forward, thirsting as he saw the incredible mass of power pulse softly in the air, bubbling with untapped power as the other warriors gathered.
"Here," a voice said, the wanderer jumping a little as the shrouded figure threw him a small leather bag. Veres opened it, a glow of gold shinning out, "Mystic powder," she explained in a slow, dark voice, the wanderer smiling at the fact she was clearly of Carim, like him, "pour it onto any part of thine weapon, and it will seep into the cracks and restore its condition to a previous state. Tis' very fragile, and will fade quickly so use it with care, and do not remove it from the bag unless you wish to use it." the wanderer nodded his thanks, pouring the golden powder across the blade, and watching as the fine gold dust did indeed seep into the blade, patches glowing over it as the cracks warped and fused shut, the eroded blade making a metallic grind as the ragged edge cracked open like an egg with new blade pushing out. In moments, the sword was not only repaired after the fight with the demon, but restored to prinstine- the flawless steel shining in the dim hall, "So, who art thou?" the rogue asked with cool curiosity. Veres frowned, putting his hood down to reveal his hollowed, decayed face as he tried to speak, but only tore up his lungs as his leathery throat constricted. Her eyes went wide under her darkened hood, "Thou art hollow?" Veres nodded, "Yet thy sword still struck at the asylum demon?" Veres smirked, nodding again. The rogue backed off a little.
"Lilith," one of her companions called, "We are in need of thee, and you too!" she added, pointing to Veres. The two came over, to where the demon soul was gently bobbing in the air, waiting to be claimed. Unlike regular hollow souls, demon souls couldn't be simply sucked up, like fog, rather, it was a bubble of concentrated energy that when broken released its power, otherwise it slept. But, who would be the one to break it? The question went from Veres' head to the bowmen, eyeing it greedily:
"So, what shalt we do about this?" Lilith, who seemed to be the leader of the group, thought to herself on that,
"Well, souls go the native of their realm, or the one who vanquishes the demon."
"Well, I blinded it with my bow," the bow huntress said, "I think it would be fair too-"
"Ah, but it was I who finished it off!" the knight of Catarina declared jubilantly, "Just imagine what mine sword could do with a demon's soul!"
"But," Lilith interceded, "Do not forget it was this wanderer who partly blinded the demon and heavily injured his left leg. The demon was crippled- and weaponless- by the time we entered." They all got funny looks, glancing at the wanderer, who'd failed to put his hood up,
"A hollow?" the bow huntress said, reaching for her arrow,
"Calm thineself, Aerie." Lilith growled, "Hollow he may be, but he was rescued alongside ourselves, and seems to be quite placid, though he may not look it now." The wanderer nodded in agreement, Aerie reluctantly putting her arrow back while the knight clapped,
"Yes, and a fine fighter he is, as well, and he hasn't even restored his humanity! I would relish a demon's soul, but I believe it is he who should receive it, he would be a splendid ally."
"That's funny, hearing thy tongue speaketh that way." Aerie said again, uncomfortably shifting her clothes to hide a decayed spot on her neck, "he was reckless: he ran in without so much as one companion and let his guard down at the last moment. I say had he slewn the demon himself, he would receive it. Otherwise, one of us should get it."
"Are you forgetting, Aerie," Lilith replied, "we were all near hollow until we found humanities amongst the deeper parts of this prison, and none of us knew on another until by chance meeting. We undead have no allies in this world, not even death. We have only one another: the moment we fail to appreciate that is the moment we lose ourselves." The group was quiet at that, the cleric twiddling her thumbs and facing the ground as she hid under her once elegant maiden's robe, "And besides, we have a bigger problem," she added, looking towards the colossal iron door beyond the remnants of the asylum demon, "If we can't find the key to that door, no-ones getting out of here- the fall from the roof would be lethal and there's nothing closer to the ground. That knight from before, he had to get in somehow, he must have a key." Veres hung his head, drawing the heavy pilgrim's key from his side, the mood sobering, even the Catarina knight had nothing to say, "I see. Then the demon hast taken him. Were you there?" the wanderer nodded, his muteness driving nails over his back as he wished to speak, even so much as a word. But he'd have to become more human first, "then that settles it," Lilith parted way for him, "Brave wanderer, please, claim the soul of this demon- consider it payment for clearing the way, and off all of us, you need it the most." Veres smiled, she was icy, but at least she had a good heart. Much to Aerie's frustration, the wanderer stepped forward, reaching his hand over the soul- ten times the size of his fist, and tore it at the edge, crushing it.
The power that washed over him was beyond his comprehension- thousands- tens of thousands of times more potent than the hollows below, feeling strength burn through his body head to toe, the fog of hollowing at the edges of his conscious driven away as the cascade of flowing energy entered him, seeping through his old coat. When it was gone, the undead cracked his neck, stretching his limbs as a tiny sprite materialized from the last vapors of the soul. It looked like a minuscule black figure with a wreath of white and two little glowing eyes. Aerie went red:
"A humanity?" she growled. Veres reached out and took it, the tiny thing sitting in his fingers feeling like the softest of foam or silk, but packed with a feeling near nostaligia-
"Hu- man-ity?" Veres gravelly voice crunched out, the demon soul softening his skin a little,
"Yes," The Catarina knight declared, "If thou doth not know what it is, thine absence from the world must be quite a really long time." He laughed, "Crush it in thine hand to squeeze its essence from it, then drop it into the fires, and it shall restore your body to a state of living."
"But be warned," Lilith added, "Each time thine life ends, thou shalt hollow further. A single humanity can restore what was lost, but there are very few humanities, and many, many deaths that await thee in the land of ancients." She shivered, "I hath seen a little of what hath happened in Lordran and the rest of the world. Chaos demons, who savagely destroy all undead who should wander into their dominion. Hollowed soldiers by the legion, Lord Gwyn's faithful knights, but husks of their old selves roving about. Phantom's from world's far beyond ours, each with power beyond comprehension that may striketh thee without warning or mercy. I pray thee tread lightly, and be wary of everything around thee. I would hate to see thee go hollow." The wanderer nodded,
"I shalt-" he replied, the group seeing him off. He would have to remember that he was not alone, else he would die over and over again, and he would lose his souls. It left a knot in his chest, how could he pray to find an undead to help when he needed it? But, as was always the only answer Veres had was to move forward, passing the gate of the pilgrim. He scaled a long, rocky path, a part of the great prison annihilated by age and decay.
How many years had been? 100yrs? 500yrs? 1000yrs? He had no way to know, but as he advanced to the end of the rocky path, leading him to a vista where there were nothing but misty mountains as far as the eye could see, there was a flutter of wings- sent by an old friend, it would seem. He was terrified as the thing swept him off his feet, its great talons digging into his coat as he was whisked away. But, eventually the wanderer relaxed, watching the land pass beneath him as he was carried to a place far away, through the mountains and over the rivers. To the mythical land of Ancient lords, Lordran…
To be continued…