Opening Notes: Here's an idea that's been resting on the table for a while. It was originally going to be titled "Drawn Like Moths" but my good friend mordreek reasoned it was too vague, so we went with something a little more direct (I also considered going with "Dark Eater" as a joke). Incidentally, we will be essentially throwing the Dark Souls timeline to the wind, which wasn't all that hard to do story-wise, what with half of the answers being lore and Soul Eater not exactly having a solid temporal placement itself. Also, this is admittedly a short chapter because it is really more for setup than anything. And finally, we will not be using the Shakespeare dialect for anybody, as it was an extra burden for mordreek on another project he partook in and I can't work the lingo to save my life.
Chapter One: The Beginning Of The End?
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"Seek strength. The rest will follow."
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Blair liked her new home. It was nice having people around, and a boy to tease was a nice bonus. And Death City was absolutely a step up. The sun had yet to shine but she had no qualms about early risings. Especially if it meant free food. Being a cat meant most people adored her if she happened upon them. Just the other day, a shopkeep had given her a nice juicy fish.
As she licked her lips, looking forward to what today might hold, a noise filled her ears. The deep chiming of a massive bell. She looked up and around. There wasn't a church or bell tower anywhere. The few people out on the streets this early in the morning were glancing around, apparently also hearing it. After about a minute it stopped.
The humans merely shrugged it off and went off, leaving her alone; stranger things happened on a daily basis in their city. As the cat sat on the sidewalk, lost as to what happened, another unexplainable event unfolded. Down the road, an orange fog filled the street a second before dissipating, and what had been empty space a moment was now occupied by someone struggling to make their way to wherever they were going.
"Am I too late already?" The question had been asked to nobody, and its owner sounded like a man with an ageless voice. He stared at the starry night sky for a moment before returning focus to his path.
He was a sight to behold. He had to be at least eight feet tall and was fully armored. His helmet looked like a snarling lion and had a red plume coming out of the back. His black metal suit looked worn, as if he'd been in a marathon of wars. The most unsettling detail was that he was holding a spear that was easily as tall as he was, and judging by his demeanor, he wasn't exactly playing with a full deck.
"It's happening," he mumbled, barely keeping himself standing, let alone walking. Any passerby would have passed him off as severely hungover. "The Bells toll, the fire fades. We don't have much time... before the Lords are lost."
He either didn't notice her, or just did not care enough to acknowledge her presense as he nearly stepped on her, making his way down the streets. She would have gotten mad at him, but clearly something was wrong with him.
He went about three more steps, and then he haulted. He stood perfectly still for a moment, and raised his right foot into the air and brought it down with such force the sidewalk cracked. Turning his boot side to side a few times, he seemed satisfied with his actions and resumed on his way, muttering to himself "I hate those filthy things. Hate her..."
Making sure he got enough distance between them, Blair crept forward to where he had assaulted the ground, and discovered he had simply crushed a spider, the cracks from the impact making a strangely fitting web around what remained of it.
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In a cemetery that was either separated, or just unseen, it was unclear, by the world at large, a Hollow that had long since lost its memory and humanity, aimlessly wandered before the tolling of the Bells began. The sound, and what it meant, didn't concern it, but then its instincts hiked up. It could feel, even practically smell, a soul near. Its animalistic disposition lead it to a coffin, unmarked and unbothered for who knows how long. As the Bells continued on, the creature went to opening the box containing its prize. The top was a stone slab that it pushed on with all its strength, needing to feast upon the soul within. Just as it managed to remove the barrier, pushing it off over the far side of the coffin, an armored arm shot up. In the hand was a knife, which was now lodged between the Hollow's eyes. All movement ceased until the hand let go of its meager blade and the creature fell to the ground, the tatters of its soul floating into the occupant of the coffin. The formerly deceased, now Unkindled human pushed himself up, completely unsure of where he was but positive that he wished to be confined no longer.
With that goal achieved, his mind was free to race and panic.
"Where am I? Who am I?!" He panted like a dog as he forcibly removed his helmet and gripped the sides of his head, forcing himself to think. But it was to no avail. He couldn't remember anything except his name. Not where he came from, how he had passed, or even why he had been buried with a sword that was covered in what he could only assume was frost. Realizing that going into a mental frenzy wasn't going to solve anything, he hoisted himself up and out of his resting place. Putting a boot on the Hollow's neck, he bent down and wrapped his fingers around the knife's handle. Getting a decent grip, he yanked it out of the poor creature's skull. He looked at his waist, and saw that unlike the icy sword, the knife didn't seem to have a scabbard. Had it been thrown into his coffin right before he was buried? He thought of tossing it away, but seeing as he didn't have a sheild and an empty hand was a waste in battle, decided to keep it for the time being. He looked down to himself again, taking note that he had been buried in sleek, shiny, form-fitting armor. Turning his wrist, he became aware of two rings on his gauntlet, one each on his middle and index finger. They looked to be adorned with... eyes, black and focused on him, as if waiting for him to do something moronic. Where had they come from, and why did he feel this urge to keep them on despite the fact they sent chills down his spine? Whatever answer there was, he wasn't going to find it standing around.
Freed from his confines and back on his feet with only one way to go, the Unkindled put his helmet back on and began on what would prove to be a long, perilous journey.
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Medusa Gorgon was, more or less, a Witch of science. Most things had an explainable answer. But when the ringing of what she assumed were church bells filled her eardrums, she couldn't rationalize it, since she and her companion weren't anywhere near anything that could be the source of the noise. She looked out the window of their current haven, seeing the sun rising, and her partner staring at the horizon. As usual, he had his armor on, concealing every inch of his flesh.
"I can hear it too." His voice was loud, but calm. He didn't look back at her, and considered the situation that was upon them. He was aware as the Snake Witch closed the gap between them.
"What's happening, Raime?" She asked with potent interest. She had heard the legends but desired to have a solid answer.
The Fume Knight reached forward, grasping the hilt of his partially buried greatsword, and with a determined pull, unearthed it. "The past is about to come back. Powerful souls are returning to their precious Flames." He shouldered the massive weapon. "We must bolster ourselves. Prepare for the worst."
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"It's starting." The Dragonslayer kept himself standing by grasping the top of one of the headstones. He still had yet to regain the energy he had lost earlier, so it was fortunate he was in a safe place, Lord Death's seemingly infinite chambers. They called Ornstein "old." He understood why. He had walked the planet for ages, seen kingdoms rise and fall, and witnessed Gwyn set himself alight in the Kiln. And now, here he was, watching as the Flame faded. He, Lord Death, descendant of Nito, and whoever else had annticipated this hadn't been looking forward to it. Lords of Cinder rising from their graves, but not Linking the Flame as they had been chosen to. Evil and blackness had poisoned the land, the Curse had spread, as had Embers. The clock of the Age of Fire was reaching midnight. Whether or not it would strike, or be turned back remained to be seen. "I guarantee the Lords of Cinder have already awoken and are retreating to their domains."
"I agree," Lord Death nodded. "And it won't be long until the Witches figure out what is going on."
"Not to mention the Hollows, lucid or otherwise. And all the Unkindled rising from their graves. If something isn't done, a lot more Kishins are going to be around." He let go of the grave marker, feeling himself get back to one hundred percent. "It is nothing to panic over. The Flames have only just begun to flicker. We have months, perhaps even a year before the real trouble starts. Still, based on what I have seen in the past, we should rally and prepare."
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The Ashen One's location was mountainous, figuratively and literally. When he reached a ledge (after dealing with a few more Hollows) he saw nothing but the sort as far as his eyes could. However, a fair distance away, he spied a building. A safe haven? Perhaps somebody was within, and they could shed some light on his situation. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to work off of.
A decent trek and even more Hollows later, he came to a massive door. Pushing it open was, to his surprise, easy. Stepping through, he found himself in a level area. In the middle was what he assumed to be a statue of a genuflecting man, and at the far end was another door. As he made his way across the plateau, he stopped at the statue. Something, he didn't know what, told him there was something more to this than met the eye. It was as if a thought that was not his had gotten into his mind. The halberd next to it gave off a cautionary air. And then he saw the sword in the thing's chest. Who ever had hammered it must have had a most steady hand, as its blade, rather than flat and broad, was a coil.
Pull it. Take it.
That unknown thought kept repeating over and over again. On some sort of instinct, he brought his arm up and had an impromptu staring contest with his rings for a moment. With a shrug of his shoulders, he reached down and grabbed the handle. With a mighty heave, it began to give way. But as it did, the Unkindled's eyes widened in shock. Blood, torrents of it, coming out as he gradually removed the sword. Before he knew it, he had completely Freed the blade from what he now realized was a man. And said man, all eleven feet of him, stood up and grabbed the halberd next to him.
The Unkindled One's right eye twitched. "I've made a huge mistake."
"I am Iudex Gundyr," he stated with a deep booming voice, not at all affected by the gaping wound in his torso.
The Unkindled stood up straight. "And I am... actually, I don't know."
The behemoth apparently did not concern himself with the Ashen One's amnesia as he raised his blade. "Prepare yourself."
The Unkindled One's pupils constricted, realizing what was about to happen. Warrior instinct kicked in and he rolled away as the halberd came crashing down on the spot he had been not a moment ago. With Gundyr busy with raising his weapon back up, the Unkindled went with his gut and swung the sword he had removed from his opponent. A feat easier said than done. It felt like it weighted as much as the Iudex. His arms felt like they were on fire (a strangely familiar sensation to him), but the effort paid off as the slash miraculously made it between the pieces of Gundyr's armor, cutting him deep.
The judge did respond to this wound, and let out a roar as he swung his blade relentlessly. The Ashen One held up the coiled sword as best he could, and kept it up, blocking the blows. After mere seconds, he felt as if his arms were about to fall right out of their sockets. As the Iudex again prepared a slash aimed right at the Unkindled's head, the latter got an idea. His legs also felt the burning of overuse, but he willed himself to roll once more out of the way, bringing the heavy sword close to him.
The blade of the halberd dug into the earth, and the Ashen One mustered his strength as much as his body would allow, and he thrust the tip of the blade forward, returning it into the very wound he had retrieved it from. Gundyr let out another roar as the steel was embedded in his guts. The Unkindled added to the cacophony and let out an animalistic shout of his own as he forced his legs to move him forward. Slowly but surely, the sword made way deeper and deeper into the towering man. Finally, the hilt itself was touching Gundyr when the undead knight let go. He pushed himself away, his body free from the burden, and breathed deeply. Iudex Gundyr just stood there, unsure of what to make of it all.
Not wanting to hold that blasted weapon any longer, the Unkindled pulled his frost-coated sword out of its scabbard, waiting for whatever was about to happen. Suddenly, a cracking sound filled the air, and Gundyr changed. Black ooze ran down from his head to his waist, thickening and expanding. It grew and grew until the judge's legs were miniscule beneath it all, and it all writhed and formed into a massive serpent with glowing red eyes and razor sharp teeth, with other parts of the slime shaping into tendrils and a claw.
The Ashen One felt himself twitch again. "I think I should crawl back into my grave."
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Closing Notes: Yeah some of the silent characters from Dark Souls are going to have dialogue here. And we're changing the combat a little to. I included that "months or a year" line because I do not want this whole thing to focus solely on the Dark Souls half due to strict timetable. I want to include events and elements from Soul Eater as well. And I'm not sure if violence constitutes an M rating, but since it isn't too extreme at the moment, this will be T for now. Lastly, if this left you with unanswered questions, that was my intention. I did not aim to make the first chapter an information bombardment.