Hello, all. My name is OneTiredSloth, and this is my second fanfiction! Sort of, if that makes sense. I haven't finished my other RWBY fanfiction, and I was looking for some sort of variety, and as I was playing some Dark Souls 3, I thought why not? I have noticed a lot of Dark Souls/Rwby crossovers that I really enjoyed, but none of them ever finished. So here we go! I hope you enjoy! I'm not sure how often I will update this, as I'm not really on a schedule. Perhaps if this picks up speed I'll update on a more regular basis. But anyways, Enjoy! Again!
The pain one endures upon death always varies from person to person. A swift arrow to the heart or a slow, agonizing infected knife wound are common dangers in Lothric. Not so often inside the great wall, however, though the hired assassin or clumsy, spotted thief can always stop you in your path. Death is a very real danger to all, so when you wake up from your death, there are obvious reasons the populous would think this as taboo. Brador was a young boy who trained sense the day he was born to join Prince Lothric's trusted knights. He was to be inducted today, and as part of the ritual, one must slay a Capra Demon who had surfaced inside the Smouldering Lake, just below the Carthus Catacombs. It was a sacred place, though High Lord Wolnir always granted access to Lothric's Knights, both as a sign of trust, and because the demons were beginning to cause problems for everyone. But not everyone wants to see success in the youngsters. Some envy there quickness to rise in the ranks, others wanting that rank for themselves. As the small troop walked throughout the Smouldering Lake, a sense of betraying was fuming. Just as Brador's blade left the horned demon, a blade of the same status entered him. With the sound of metal rubbing against metal, Brador was allowed to turn around as he felt the blade was removed from his person. The smug look on his attackers face was all he could register. The deed was done. They'd leave him to die. And die he did. Brador removed his helmet before the last sustainable amount of crimson life leaked from his limp carcass, his face contorted into a mess of anger and betrayal.
This was, until he woke up. He wasn't sure were he was, but a sense of warmth washed over him. However as soon as it came, it left just as quickly. He sat upright, slowly gaining the strength to stand. He was able to look at his armor. Burned. Melted. Charred. It appeared to resembled something of a skeleton, even his red cape had been burned all the way up to his shoulders. He was betrayed by his own brothers. His friends. He wasn't sure if he should be alive. In fact, he shouldn't. He felt death's embrace, the way his warm blood spilled from his back. After a few seconds of contemplation, he felt an agonizing burn snake it's way through the back of his left hand. A scorched burned circle was now permanently singed into his hand. Now he understood. The young knight had been cursed with eternal life. He'd been branded with Dark Sign. The heat was so bad it had melted off his gauntlet, clearing showing off the sign. The accursed were considered the lowest in society, often being hurled into dungeons or sent off to a far away asylum guarded by a large demon. This was his life now. But not before he killed the ones who did it to him. He looked down to see what had previously given him warmth. A small, stable bonfire with a coiled sword in the center. Buried within the burning bones is a small bottle, glowing with a bright orange hue. Estus. Brador tucked the vial into his many pouches. His previous sword had melted along with his armor, however it became a more elegant blade, almost as if steel was braided together, showing a hallowed blade. It was steel, but with a pulsating power emanating from it. With a quick swing black flames shot from the blade, coating the blade in abyssal power. He grinned. He had heard tales of blades seeped in the power of the abyss and he can tell this one was no exception.
Brador glanced around the chamber he was in. Ah yes, they had to pass through here to get to Smouldering Lake. Had they not seen this bonfire? Not that it mattered anymore, his life was over, metaphorically speaking. Of course it would never truly be over, he had become undead. Though he supposed that this curse was a sort of blessing in disguise, no matter how many times he died, he would kill his former brothers for executing him. Brador was surprised by himself. He was never one for petty revenge, however being slain like a pig was far from respectful. In all honestly, he would hope they would become undead just like him. Coming back to life essentially ended it, as undead were considered lower than low. Even the thieves and the thralls looked down upon the undead.
As he slowly made his way back to Lothric Castle, he couldn't help but notice a sort of hunger. He didn't need to eat, in fact none of the undead did, but it was as if he just wanted to kill something that moved. He couldn't be going hollow already, could he? That usually took a while, depending on the undead. Perhaps he needed a few souls? He had been murdered, so he assumed his soul had been absorbed by a passing undead. Something the undead had that the living didn't was the ability to absorb thousands of sounds, millions even, while as a living person could only have their own. There have been tales of people who were able to absorb more as a human, but those endings where never happy. After a short walk he noticed he was exiting the catacombs, coming into the chamber that used to be a church of he recalled. However what he wasn't expecting to see was the Abyss Watchers, especially sense they all used there souls to keep the Flame ignited. It had been forever sense the original Abyss Watchers were alive, even though the group had still remained. The Abyss Watchers were a well respected and feared group. They did their jobs well, keeping back the abyss, but often to well. If a town was thought to contain the abyss, often that town would be completely destroyed in trying to keep the darkness at bay. Their pointed helmets often brought fear into the eyes of the townsfolk, hoping they were only passing through. So when he saw them staring down at him as he climbed the steps out of the catacombs, he was confused. They all covered there mouths, but their eyes were steeped in sadness. One of them stepped out, and through the mask said, "Brador. What are you doing here? We had heard you died in the Smouldering Lake."
"I was butchered like a pig by my own brothers, Hawkwood. Riken, the slimy bastard, shoved his sword through me as my back was turned. None of them did anything. They left my body to burn. I... I woke up, it seems, next to a bonfire."
"You're undead." Hawkwood said, pulling down his mask.
"I am." Brador replied, a contempt sadness in his voice.
"We felt traces of the abyss in the catacombs. We believe the High Lord has fallen to deep into it, so were sealing of his chamber for the time being." Hawkwood turned his glance to the greatsword on Brador's back. "Do you mind telling me what's on your back?"
"... It's my sword." Brador said hesitantly.
"Would you mind giving it to us?" Hawkwood asks, his hand outstretched.
"I... I can't." Hawkwood sighs at Brador's reply.
"Don't make us have to take it from you, Brador. I know you'll come back, but I would rather not strike down a friend."
"Please. Don't. I'm going back to Lothric to kill the men who slayed me. I'll give it up then." Brador pleas, almost begging. The Abyss Watchers mull over his offer, some saying absolutely no, and others wishing to take up their friends offer.
"We can't leave the catacombs unguarded. I'll go with you Brador. I won't have your back in this fight, but I can't let you escape with that blade." Hawkwood says, approaching his friend.
"That's fine. I'll be happy to give it up then." After Hawkwood says goodbye to his former Abyss Watchers, they both leave the troop behind to go through Farron Keep, a swamp area that leads into the Crucifixion Woods. There travel through the swamp was uneventful, even for the occasional Ghru that ambushed them.
"You're pupils are black now, did you know?" Hawkwood said as they trudged through the knee high swamp.
"Is that so?" Brador asks, Hawkwood only nodding in reply. "Do you know how long I was dead for?"
"We were station at the High Wall for a while, we thought we felt signs of the Abyss there, we were mistaken, however. Riken came back with a band of men looking very downtrodden, though now I realize they were acting. They told us all of what happened to you. I was personally saddened by the lose, you've always been a friend to me. They said you had died a day ago from when they arrived. So if I had to guess, I would say around two and a half weeks." Brador's eyes widen a bit at this, though he can't say he was to surprised. The initial death usually takes a while to come back from. "I must warn you, Brador, the conditions of these lands is deteriorating quickly. In the span of two weeks many have realized that the fire is fading. About a week after you died, the bell tolled. It tolled four times, Brador. That never happens. First it was us to be awoken from our deaths. We never wanted the duty of lighting the fire, but we stepped up when the world did not. However this time we abandon that duty in order to keep the abyss back, a much greater threat. Then it was Yhorm that was awoken."
"The giant of the Profaned Capital?" Brador said, shocked.
"The very same. However he abandoned his duty as well." Hawkwood then paused, a look of disgust on his face.
"The next was Aldrich, Saint of the Deep." Hawkwood spat out his name like it was poison on his tongue. "Do you know what Aldrich is? He was a proud cleric of the Cathedral of the Deep, only he acquired a habit of devouring men. Before he knew it, he had eaten so many people that he bloated like a stuck pig. He morphed into sludge, oozing into a ball of evil. So they made him a Lord of Cinder, not for virtue, or respect. But because of might. He was a cesspit of souls, just right for kindling the flame. But just like the rest of us, he abandoned his duty. Then something that hasn't happened in ages occurred. Their was a fourth ring, calling forth the ash. Do you know about them?" Hawkwood asked.
"Yes. They were once undead who were not powerful enough to become Lords of Cinder, and they were consumed by the fire when they tried to kindle it. "Whenever the linking of the fire is threatened, the bell tolls calling forth the Lords of Cinder." So goes the saying. Only this time, the lords abandoned their thrones. So they call out the next best thing, giving the failed undead another try. Only if I recall...aren't they meant to hunt down the former lords to become powerful enough?" Brador asks, worry in his voice for his friend.
"That they do. Sooner or later we'll be confronted by an Unkindled Ash, and he'll slay us all, then do what none of us could." He says, acceptance in his voice. "Come, we should be nearing the Crucifixion Woods." Once the conversation ended, it was never brought up again, the journey containing only silence as they made their way to the High Wall.
After a days worth of walking, the sun was slowly rising. Hawkwood and Brador stopped in their tracks when they realized what was happening. The abyss had showed up, Darkwraiths were attacking Lothric. The duo ran into the keep, hoping to aid any survivors, killing any Darkwraiths that came across their path. Once they reached the High Walls courtyard they could see all of Lothrics Knights holding back the Darkwraiths, though it was obvious there numbers had dwindled. Knights with half strapped armor were running around, the captain shouting orders. In all the mayhem, Brador laid eyes upon his killer. His smug grin was replaced with relief as the knights finally stopped the last wave of Darkwraiths. After a look around he noticed that a few from his former squad mates had been victims of the attack, good riddance to bad rubbish. Soon the knights realized there were two extra's among their ranks. Some saw Hawkwood and smiled at the sight of an Abyss Watcher, however their smiles quickly faded when the saw who he was with. Almost all of the knights had recognized him, horror being the only emotion plastered on to their faces. His betrayer noticed him, and called for the knights.
Without hesitation, they unsheathed their weapons, surrounding him. Hawkwood looked down to Brador. "I have to leave now, Brador. Just... just keep the sword." Hawkwood turned heel and left his friend to the ten knights surrounding him.
"That's Brador? Riken you said he died in the Smouldering Lake." he heard a knight say.
"I did. That whoreson killed me himself." Brador replied, spitting on the ground in disgust.
"What's he talking about Riken?" The Knight's Captain said.
"He's lying. He's just angry we left his body. Look at his armor, it melted!" Riken yelled, hesitantly, trying to save his hide.
"Just let me deal with Riken. I'll leave once I've skinned the bastard." Brador says, staring down his murderer.
"I can't let you do that, Brador. If what you said is true, he will face his crimes. Leave now, we'd hate to strike you down once again." The Captain said.
"I'd hate to have to kill you all just for one man. You were my brother's once, and I'd never wish death upon you all. Should you strike me down I'll always come back to end this murderer's life." Brador announces, taking his abyssal blade from his back.
"I can't let you Brador. Please. He will pay for his crimes, I can assure you. Leave the High Wall, there's been to much blood spilled today."
"This is the last chance I'm giving you all. Captain Reyes, just let me do what you're going to do later. Let his blood be on my hands." Brador pleas.
"H-Hey, Captain Reyes, please I didn't kill him." Riken starts to beg.
"Shut up Riken. Brador for the last time, leave. We've no need for an undead here." The Captain says.
"Just kill the cursed fool." A knight says behind him. Brador can hear the knight walking up from his back, and quickly swings his sword around, using the momentum to get a powerful vertical swing. In doing so, his blade is coated in black flames, as if it the sword was a brazier for the flames. Once the initial swing is done, Brador realizes what has happened. The knights head rolls to the right along with the blade. The headless suit of armor falls to it's knees before falling at the undead's feet.
After a few silent moments the surrounding knights yell out a war cry and charge for Brador, with Riken staying behind the crowd. The undead rolls out of the way, dodging through a gap in the circle of knights. When he stands up, he does another 180 swing at his back, striking a few knights across the breastplate. Another knight charges him, sword in hand. Brador moves the sword to the side using his open hand, the blade leaving a deep gash in his palm. The parry makes the knight stumble, and Brador shoves his blade through his chest. When the knight drops, Brador puts his boot next to his sword and uses the leverage the yank out his greatsword. Brador puts down his cut palm to the floor, and a snake of black flames rips forward, burning two more of Lothric's knights. Now all that remains is Riken, Captain Reyes, and another nameless knight, who quickly tucks his tail between his legs and runs away from the massacre.
"Captain Reyes you should follow that knight's example. I never wanted the rest of you to die, but you all left me no choice. Give me Riken, or I'll strike you down as well." Brador turns his attention to the helmet-less captain, who just sighs.
"I suppose you've earned this. Just remember that these boys used to be your brothers, and you slaughtered them." Reyes says, and tosses his spear and greatshield to the floor.
"Captain Reyes? You can't.. please you can't!" Riken begs.
"Quit whining boy. You had this coming the moment you slaughtered him like a swine." Reyes scratches his bloodied beard and walks away. They both watch Reyes leave, and Brador puts his greatsword behind his back and walks up to Riken.
"Please, Brador, I was wrong. I just didn't want the competition. We're brothers, remember? Please... I don't want to die." Riken has his hands folded together, be it in prayer or a form of begging for his life.
"When you struck me down, you ruined my life. Undead are nothing in this world. You are considered lower than a slave, Riken. I wish that when you stabbed me in the back that I wouldn't have come back, but now, I'm forever cursed to walk this land. I wouldn't even wish my fate upon you." Brador says, staring at the cowering knight.
"I'm sorry, Brador. I really am." Riken reaches out for the undead, and places his hand on his shoulder. "Please... I've been a coward, I don't want to die." He asks pitifully.
"I can't let you leave, Riken." Brador grabs his wrist, locking it to his shoulder. Brador takes the dagger strapped to Riken's side and cuts his hand off. A man who is afraid to die makes a sickening noise when he is close to the end. Clasping his stump, Riken shrieks in agony.
Brador drops the dagger and holds out his wounded palm, conjuring the abyss into his hand. He places the same hand upon Riken's face and begins pumping the black flames through his body. Brador wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but on a particularly boring day of being on Wall Watch, he had begun reading about pyromancies. One in particular, Sacred Flame, was used as a sort of baptism of fire, quite literally. A person would place their hand upon a sinner's face and purify them with the flames as it coursed through their body. Not many survived the process, even without using it's full potential. Ever sense that day, Brador has always had a fascination for pyromancies, and even began learning a few, so using this abyss fueled fire was of no issue to him.
Brador could tell Riken was resisting it all, which actually made the the process worse for him. Of course the undead wanted this fool to suffer, but there's only so much pain one could cause another without some for of regret. After a few more seconds, Riken's screams stopped. His eyes were sunken in and rolled behind his head. Black fog oozed from his mouth, nostrils, eyes and ears. As the former knights lifeless husk dropped to the floor a grim satisfaction was felt in the undead. However, there was something else. An emptiness. It wasn't regret, because he didn't regret what he did, but instead of the satisfaction of completing a task, it was like nothing mattered anymore. He had a goal and he completed it, but what now? It was a terrible feeling, so he soon created another goal. Learn more pyromancies. Clearly this wasn't the time for it, so he went into the library that the young prince Lothric had. Lothric was always learning about miracles, sorceries, and pyromancies from one of his advisers, but he couldn't remember which one. There must be some books about it there.
As Brador broke into the library, he hurriedly searched for the books. He was sure that Captain Reyes would be marching a counter attack against him, no doubt angered by the fact he killed ten of his men. The Lothric Knight's had a massive size, and a few dead wouldn't much make a dent. The hurried undead managed to find three tomes about pyromancy, one from the Great Swamp, one from a Grave Warden and another from the land of Carthus. He found a knapsack nearby and placed the three books inside of it. As he slung it around he shoulder, he was already walking out of the library, however the sight before him was less than joyous. Captain Reyes and about fifty other knights, archers and pikemen were all staring the undead down.
"I know this won't bring you down for good, Brador. But I also know you won't come back here because of this. Fire." Reyes commands.
"Wai-" Brador was swiftly cut off by a flury of arrows, all striking his legs and chest, missing anything that would end him quickly. Almost all of the arrows go all the way through. He drops to his knees and coughs up blood. A few of the pikemen come up and stab his thigh, just letting out blood. A few knights come up to him and stab his chest with their respective daggers. Brador's breathing is reduced to a raspy wheeze. Finally it's his former captain that comes up.
"You were a good soldier, Brador. It's a shame it all had to come to this. Riken got what he deserved, that much I can say. Wherever you end up, I wish you the best. Be careful out there, Brador. I'd hate to see you go hollow." Reyes takes out his dagger and drags the blade across Brador's nose, causing a large wound that goes from the top left of his eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose, and below he right eye. After wounding the wounded undead, he shoves the dagger through his chest, twisting the blade. The ripping of tendons and muscle is audible to all around. "Please. Never come back." was the last thing Brador heard before his vision went black.
Brador couldn't say he was scared. He knew it was fruitless. He'd wake up again. Always. Forever. However, where he would wake up was questionable. Before, he awoke near a bonfire close to where he had died, but he hadn't touched that bonfire or any of the others he had passed, so perhaps he would just end up anywhere. When he woke up he could feel the cold ground through his melted armor. As he moved his left hand, he could feel the smooth, lush grass below him. With a slow opening of his eyes, all he saw was red. He pushed himself against something hard. It appeared he was in a forest, though instead of the sickening green color the Crucifixion Woods was, the leaves were a beautiful ruby red. This place was quite tranquil, it brought him some sort of serenity.
The silence was broken when he heard about seventeen pairs of feet coming towards him. Instinctively, he grabbed his sword and attempted to stand, though his knees gave out instantly. It appeared his body hadn't fully healed, which was odd, however the obvious sign of no close by bonfire answered the reason as to why he wasn't automatically healed from his wounds. It appeared he'd be dying very soon again, though he could think of worse places for it to happen.
"Hey uh... Professor Goodwitch? I think I... I see someone over there." A voice announced.