A/N: So, as you may or may not know, I have decided to take an extended hiatus from FanFiction writing. I plan on returning at some point, but if that doesn't happen... don't say I didn't warn you. The reason? Many, but the most important one is my schoolwork. I'm coming into the most important year of my school life - i.e. the final one, and I need to use what freetime I have for real-life stuff. The past year and a half has been great. I've learnt so much, and improved my writing skills to the point where I want to write a serious, original piece. Not only that, but I've made a lot of great friends, who I will remain in contact with for the foreseeable future.

But now, for the one-shot. I wanted to go out properly, with a conclusive, very final piece. In the end, I decided to weigh heart over humour. The following yarn, though based in a fictional context, was a very real experience of mine, and has affected me greatly for the majority of this year. I hope it hits you as hard as it hit me.

See ya later, FanFiction.

Affinity

The hollowed soldier leapt at me, its sword drawn, and wailing a chorus of bloodlust. I smashed my shield into the earth, and felt the blow collide with the metal slab like a punch to a pillow. My hand shook as the strike bounced across the shield, but I held firm.

The hollow on the other side of the steel wall snarled and struck again. This time, I forced the shield right against my opponent. The towering slab crunched upon my enemy's fleshy features, and the sickly yet satisfying sound of blood spewed across the open air, followed by a crash of metal upon rock. For a few seconds, there was no noise. Then, a strangled screech barraged my eardrums.

Taking my broadsword in my right hand, I sliced the fallen hollow's head clean off, and its stricken yelps were cut cleanly short.

Breathing deeply, and harder than I imagine would be considered healthy, I stood back, listening to the steady sprinkle of blood as it dripped from the end of my curved blade.

It had taken me nearly half an hour, but I had killed the hollow.

I had killed another creature.

You never truly realise what you're capable of until it's too late. And even then, how easy it is to forsake your abilities.

There is no room for mistakes in life. Only in death do you ever have true peace.

I am so deeply-sunk in my well of thoughts, that it took me longer than it should have to notice her.

A girl. No older than I; barely scraping the teens. She wore similar armour to myself - an emaciated suit of rusty steel bound together by red cloth. Her weapon, a shortsword, lay by her side. She had no shield.

In any other circumstance, I would have assumed hostility, and attacked her. Even the most harmless of creatures are capable of atrocities. I was not accustomed to trust - especially not of other human beings. Not after what I'd been through.

But it was her eyes that slowed my sword. They were small, timid ovals of light, retreating back further as though to ward off the darkness.

She was terrified. As terrified as me. Perhaps even more so.

Instinctively, I put out my hand, to show that I meant her no harm. But at the sight of my gesture, she flinched back. I cursed my ineptitude, and tried something else.

"Hey," I called, as softly as I could. "Are you okay?"

The girl did not reply, but I already knew her answer. Her face told the whole story. Like me, she had been thrown in at the deep end. Like me, she was assigned to a task she could not complete.

Like me, she was destined to be slain by the enormity of it all.

I tried again. "Listen. I'm not like those hollows. I'm human - just like you."

She followed my eyes as they darted around mid-speech. Still, she said nothing.

"I know the way," I professed. "Let me show you."

This wasn't the whole truth. I knew the way - that much was true. However, I didn't know how, or if, I would be able to pass it. I figured with two sets of eyes, it would be a much less arduous chore. The girl didn't seem to agree. Or, at least, not at first.

She finally spoke. "I don't know you."

"And I don't know you," I replied. "But I'd like to."

Her mouth seemed to tug at the sides. A smile? "How do I know I can trust you?"

I offer her a gentle grin. "I guess you don't. But life is full of chances. Chances that you can't afford to pass up."

Slowly, the girl approached me. When she was close enough, I put out my hand for her to shake it. She panicked a little at the thrust of my hand toward her, but after a few moments of deliberation, she slipped her fingers between my own.

"My name is Souffle," I told the girl.

She smiled. "White Malteser."

I tried not to laugh, and she seemed to sense it.

"Well, as if I'd tell you my real name!" she giggled.

This, I understood. I had not used my real name either. But only because I'd practically forgotten it.

"Well, come on then Malteser," I chuckled. "We can get through this, no problem."

One Month Later

As the Executioner's horse-drawn chariot thundered around the corner of the Undead Purgatory, my knees turned to jelly. The rider himself, a fiercesome undead with a spike helm and scythe, seemed to beckon me beneath the spokes of his murderous steed. He grinned, screamed inhumanly, and braced himself to mow me down.

At the every last second, I hit the ground, rolling right underneath the Executioner's guillotine. The horse whinnied as it realised that it had not been successful in crushing my body into a pulp, and picked up speed in preparation for the next corner.

Immediately, I glanced around for Malteser. I saw her near one of the necromancers. She was fighting off a skeletal warrior, her shortsword clashing with its falchion as the two duelled intensely. With a sudden surge of horror, I realised that she had not seen the sorcerer behind her; a hideous enemy that was now lifting its catalyst into the air, and preparing a rather-insidious bout of dark magic.

I yelled at her to turn around, but she could do no such thing, caught as she was in a heated conflict with a murderous undead warrior. I barely thought, barely took heed of the impending sound of hooves upon cobblestones as the Chariot drew towards me once more.

I rushed at the necromancer, plunging my broadsword through the back of its spine. The dark magician roared in pain, then softly squelched onto the ground. At that very moment, Malteser seemed to find strength unseen, and parried the blow of the skeleton soldier, before decapitating him in one swift blow.

Smiling, she turned to see me, before her eyes widened and she leapt towards me, shouting "Duck!"

Barrelling into me, we both fell onto the floor, her on top of me as the Executioner's Chariot bounded over us, narrowly avoiding our fleshy forms on its hellish bloodlust. Breathing deeply, I stared at her in wonderment, until I could finally muster the words "I saved you."

Malteser laughed, staring deeply into my eyes. "Really? Cause it looked like I just saved you!"

"Well, I saved you first!" I insisted.

She giggles again. "I guess that makes us even, huh?"

I shrug, and she rolls off of me. We both rise to our feet just as the demonic light of the chariot rounds the corner once more.

"Shall we?" I ask Malteser.

She grins, and says "We shall."

Two Weeks Later

I watch in horror as the Smelter Demon, a raging inferno of iron and magma, launches itself towards Malteser. Luckily, she dodges, just as I should have expected from someone of her agility level, and manages to chip damage off of the towering demon. This does not please the Smelter, who spins on his ankle, and knocks Malteser away with a sideways slash of his flaming greatsword.

She hits the ground hard, and I see blood. That's enough to awaken me from my slumber of cowardice. Screaming a devastating war cry, I run at the Smelter Demon, my electrified broadsword gashing against his steel flesh.

The demon grunts, but does not budge. Instead, it raises its sword above its hole-shaped head, and smashes it down toward me. Sidestepping the blow, I strike the demon with a trio of lightning-buffed swipes. This time, I focus all of my attention on a single leg, and under the strain of the barrage of attacks, I hear a metal ligament break, and the Smelter falls onto one knee, so that we're practically face-to-face.

I look him at him straight, fearless in the face of an enemy without one. Then, I plunge my sword into his open head, and I hear a prolonged wail of agony. The Smelter wobbles, and then topples, seething with extinguished steam upon the Ironhearth hall floor.

Immediately, I run over to Malteser. She is hardly breathing when I reach her, and bundle her inside my arms. She manages to look up at me, and smiles.

"That was some fight up there," she whispers.

"Yeah, well... You softened him up for me," I reply, my eyes filling with tears.

"It's okay," she tells me, gripping my hand tightly. "I'm dying, but that doesn't mean you should. There's a bonfire up ahead. You need to go to it."

I shake my head, and grip her hand harder. "I'm not leaving you here."

"You have to!"

"No, I don't." I reach inside my bag, and pull out the last of my lifegems. She looks at it as though it were a grenade, and says "No."

"Yes."

"No! Souffle, you can't! If you waste that on me, then you won't be able to heal! You only have one Estus, remember?"

"Well, I guess that's too bad for me," I declare, placing the crystallised lump of souls into her palm, and crushing it between her numb fingers.

Slowly, the colour returns to her face, and the gaping wound in her stomach sews over, as if it were never there at all.

"You shouldn't have done that," Malteser informs me. "Thank you for doing it, but it was a terrible idea. It wasn't rational."

I grit my teeth, and say "Well, I guess I'm not rational."

Five Weeks Later

Malteser and I both share the same look simultaneously. One of despair, and anguish. Our horror was justified, as the Looking Glass Knight, a hulking steel knight with a giant mirror as a shield, was summoning a Squire to double-team us.

Just when we thought the battle was ours. Just when we thought we'd won. Drangleic had another trick up its sleeve.

The summon, an enormous man clad in Alva's armour and clutching a Shadow Dagger, burst from the shield.

Mybell1997 has been summoned.

I nodded to Malteser, who bared his teeth and did her best to smile.

"I'll handle the Looking Glass Knight," I told her. "You take down the squire."

"Sure thing, boss," she winks, running at Mybell1997 with her shortsword drawn.

I take a deep breath, and face down the Looking Glass Knight. He cocks his head, as though to cast doubt upon my abilities, but I stand strong, and lunge at the knight. He swings his sword around just in time to connect perfectly with my own, and knock it out of my hands. I fall, clutching madly for my sword, but the Knight kicks it away, and smashes down at me with his sword. I only just dodge roll, the sword shattering the ground beneath my feet. I immediately dive for my sword, grabbing it by its cold handle and turning it around into both hands.

When I regain my balance, the Looking Glass Knight barely gives me a second's pause, slashing down at me with his lightning-infused blade. Thinking fast, I block the swing, before slashing out with my sword. The knight responds quickly, whipping round it's shield and smashing it into my poised stature, breaking it instantly.

I it the ground, and taste blood underneath my throbbing tongue.

The Knight looms over me. He holds his blade aloft, letting lightning strike its tip.

He's about to bring it crashing down, when an arrow lands inside his eye socket, and he stops dead. After briefly examining the projectile protruding from his face, he drops to his knees, and then crumples down onto his head, letting the arrow pierce through the back of his skull with a sticky slush.

I look around, and see Malteser lowering her longbow. The mirror squire is nowhere to be seen.

"Saved me again, huh?" I chuckle.

This time, Malteser only nods.

Eight Weeks Later

I take a deep breath to steel myself, and then, together with Malteser at my side, I push through the white fog.

Nashandra is waiting for me, her scythe drawn and hungry for flesh. She opens her palms and extends her fingers toward me, in a movement that I first presume for a taunt. But I quickly realise that in reality, she is summoning a storm of black, frothing pillars to rise out of the ground. I am within two metres proximity of one, and immediately I feel it pulling at my skin, giving off an eerie breeze that seemed to be trying to suck away my souls.

"Stay away from those pillars," I tell Malteser, who nods.

Careful to avoid the cursebound orbs, I arrive next to Nashandra, who greets me with an odious grin and a swing of her scythe. The reaper slices through the dirt in front of me. but misses my feet. I counter-attack, thrusting my broadsword into Nashandra's side, to which she responds with a bloodcurdling, deep screech of pain.

Suddenly, the dark Queen of Drangleic is lit up by a blast of lightning, her whole body quivering as the bolt is conducted through her boned armour. I see Malteser readying another Sunlight Spear out of the corner of my eye, and roll to the side. The miracle cuts right through Nashandra, and she falls limp, crashing to the ground in a tornado of soot, ash and whatever other unspeakable elements line the Throne of Want's cavern floor.

I give Malteser the thumbs-up. "We did it! I cry. "What an easy final boss. We beat Dark Souls II!"

I turn toward her, hoping for a victory hug... and perhaps a little more.

But then, my body is lit up by pain. My skin bubbles and froths as it is scalded by a wave of electrical power.

I barely have the strength to look past the red mist that surrounds my vision, but when I do, I see Malteser readying another Lightning Spear. There is someone beside her, a dark spirit I somewhat recognise.

Then it hits me: it's the mirror squire, Mybell1997.

I stutter a weak cry. "Malt...Malteser...?"

She looks at me, dead in the eyes, and I see nothing but the abyss.

"That's not my fucking name!" she screeches, before throwing her last spear right between my eyes.

The lightning galvanises my whole face, and I barely feel myself crash to the cavern floor. I hear the sounds of her and the dark spirit clambering over my stricken form, and then a whisper in my charred earhole. The words that she told me in that brief interchange broke my soul for the rest of my life. Which wasn't very long, in retrospect.

"You could never be my king."

Then, the woman that I had spent the past four or so months battling with, conquering enemies with, and defending with my whole life, is gone forever. Into her Throne, with her king.

It was only then, lying on the throne room floor with my life seeping out of me like a broken dam, that I realised my mistake.

The curse of the Undead was nothing, before the curse of love.

The curse of life, is the curse of want.

The End